African Party

Last Saturday we threw a big African party in honor of Sheik. I think in total there were over thirty people there from seven different countries, with all sorts of food and music and dancing. It was good times! Here are some photos, taken from Sheik's camera.

Kendall with all his African homeboys... I think he secretly loves being the Big White Man.

The woman in the gold bubu is from Guinea. She and her sister-in-law were dressed to the hilt--they were so beautiful with their hats and gold jewelry. The other woman (unfortunately not pictured) actually ran into her prom date from Guinea who had come with another friend. Both just happened to be in America, in Washington, D.C. visiting. Talk about a small world!

Sheik returned to Guinea last night. We will miss him, his bright African shirts, and his kind, gentle ways. Alhamdulilah!

Sending Notes

A couple of weeks ago I was talking on the phone to my 7-year-old niece Sierra, who lives in Colorado. She asked me if we could start sending notes to each other. So on Wednesday, after a very long, grueling day, I came home and found this in the mail:


This was the other side of the page. She always folds it long ways and then draws a triangle to make it look like an envelope. I love the high fives.Grant, Sierra, and Savannah are most certainly among my favorite tender mercies...

Picture Pages

Remember that Bill Cosby thing on TV--Picture Pages? I don't even remember what it's from, but every once in a while the music runs through my head and doesn't leave. At any rate, here are pictures from Lisa's weekend here.Indian food in Shirlington:

Dioubate, me, Lisa, Sheik, Kendall.
Did you know Africans eat their chicken bones?

National

Cathedral

Exorcist staircase in Georgetown.

Don't ask.That's just Lisa. I warned you.

Vietnam War Memorial. Kendall has this tour down pat, even to showing us the name of his mother's cousin, which I can never remember but I know there's a Z in there. He's the perfect tour guide. Plus he's funny. And hot. And great.

Here's Kendall with his handy-dandy poncho from Boy Scouts. It can double as a tarp, and it almost poked my eye out. At least I didn't lose him in the tourist crowd.

Nerds In Green

Not to be confused with Men in Black, I proudly present the Nerds in Green. Well, nerds except for the hotty bottom right.

Yesterday was the George Mason Victims Rights Run/Walk, and the Center for History and New Media proudly sponsored our team, with our spiffy M*A*S*H t-shirts. While only four of us braver ones ran, the rest walked (with rumors that they stopped for coffee and sandwiches along the route).

And I must say the run was lovely. I haven't really been running this semester... I've been tied up in books and papers and that sort of thing, so I usually just read while I'm on the elliptical or the bike at the gym. But running on real pavement in the sun and the breeze, wearing a lovely green t-shirt, now that's what I'm talking about. Of course I went home and promptly took a nap, which was also lovely.

My paper is calling... screaming, actually... must go...

Lisa my Sweetsa

When we were little, my dad used to call my sister Lisa, "Lisa my Sweetsa." Lisa was feisty, funny, and always did her own thing. And we always had a good time. In this picture we are wearing our glamorous coats, sitting in a big red chair in Grandad & GranNomi's dining room. Ah--those were the days...

I haven't seen Lisa since last summer, although we talk on the phone quite a bit. She came to visit me this past weekend, and things have not changed. She lives in Colorado with a wonderful husband and three adorable, charming children, with one more on the way. She is still feisty, funny, and does her own thing. And I love her dearly. We ran around the Tidal Basin, she fell down the Exorcist staircase in Georgetown, shopped our little legs off, and Kendall took us on a tour of the National Cathedral, Embassy Row, and the monuments. Oh--and we ate. A lot. Lisa is pregnant and was so excited to eat ethnic food. So we had Indian food and African food, and of course chocolate milk and bagels and brownies and ice cream. A couple of times.

And as soon as she sends me pictures, I'll post them. I promise.

I promise... it's true... elephants in the parking lot...

So this afternoon as I was pulling out of my parking spot at school, I came onto a little herd of elephants! It's true! Real live elephants!

Yes, it's that time of year. Every March and April the Barnum and Bailey Circus comes through Fairfax and camps out in the parking lot at the Patriot Center. I've actually been grumbling about it for the past two weeks. I just don't understand the logic of the George Mason Parking services who allow them to take up a huge chunk of parking lot the exact same time they close yet another parking lot to build some dorms. They figure it's ok to send students to park way far away practically at Dulles and shuttle them in to campus. I opt to go in early and hope for the luck of the park... which is exactly what happened this morning.

But suddenly the precarious parking situation is all ok when you suddenly come in contact with a whole chain of elephants and you just have to laugh at the sight of such wildlife in Fairfax, Virginia. What's next? A little car full of clowns? Lions and tigers and bears?

And yet another tender mercy... the other rainy day I came home out to my car and spotted the bright yellow envelope sitting on my windshield, when I remembered that I had forgotten to place my parking decal on the dash because I had been on the phone on my way in to work. Luckily it was just a warning... phew!

Ah, the Virtues of Chocolate Shakes

When I was little, I lived next door to my grandparents. Any time I or my little sisters and brothers were sick in any way, my Grandad would bring over a chocolate milkshake from McDonald's and say it was what the doctor ordered. It was magical... that chocolate milkshake would soothe any ailment, from headaches to fevers to sore throats to colds to the flu.

The other day while out and about on Saturday errands, Kendall and I stopped for chocolate milkshakes at McDonald's. Again the magic happened almost instantaneously. Enter thick, cold, chocolate deliciousness, begone cares of the world.

And then there's the wonder of chocolate milk. Almost the same as a milkshake, but a level down on the hierarchy. It'll do in a pinch. I remember one summer working at the Church Archives in Salt Lake City on a very violent, depressing, bloody historical topic. That plus the fact that I had to wear nylons every day was excruciating (and boy, do I have stories about nylons!). Then my friend Jeff introduced me to a magical wonder in the vending machine outside the cafeteria--chocolate cookies and cream milk. I tell you, there's a difference between this and plain old chocolate milk, and it's really great. It would quench me on those long afternoons as I sweltered under the pressures of John D. Lee while wearing nylons in 100 degree-heat.

Today I found myself draining a very full glass of chocolate milk at lunch. It was delightful and completely satisfying. I say there is a tender mercy in chocolate milkshakes and chocolate milk. It's just what the doctor ordered. Or Grandad, for that matter.

Let's Go Fly a Kite!

Yesterday afternoon Dorian, Jessica, and I braved the crowds and drove around the annual Smithsonian kite festival. Although there were no bowler hats and flying women with umbrellas (thank you, Mary Poppins!), the magic of kites and crowds and wind and spring were exhilarating. The colors, the dancing fabric and paper, the spring in the air, the pink and white cherry blossoms, and the Washington Monument all made the crazy crowds and hour-long drive around the National Mall completely worth it. I can't think of a better way to spend an hour on a Saturday afternoon during the Cherry Blossom festival, even with my paper kindly waiting for me at home.

U-turn

I did it again yesterday. I was almost all the way to the Pentagon on 395 when I remembered that I forgot something vital to the day's excursion. So I got off at Pentagon City, did a u-turn, and got right back on 395 back to my house.

Thank goodness I remembered at that point, because where do you a do u-turn after that last exit before the district without crossing Memorial Bridge or 14th St. bridge, or going through Arlington Cemetery to turn around? I mean, really, thank goodness for the u-turn possibilities in Pentagon City.

Those of you who know me well know that I'm not afraid of making u-turns while driving. I try so hard to follow mapquest directions perfectly, but I often go too far--or not far enough--and inevitably I have to turn around. Just ask Janell, who actually wrote about our little adventure on her blog. Or Brad, who thinks I'm a horrible person because sometimes I disobey those pesky No U-Turn signs. For the love.

And thank goodness for u-turns in general in life. So often I am in such a big hurry to get through my never-ending list, or to accomplish the impossible for the day. So often I'm in such a rush that I forget to slow down and enjoy the journey, or realize I've forgotten something important, or, worse yet, acknowledge that I'm simply going in the wrong direction. Thank goodness for those gentle reminders, for the views along the way, for the very possibility of doing u-turns, of changing direction, of recognizing my mistakes and forgetfulness and realizing alternative modes. And thank goodness, really, for all the options to arrive somewhere... really, I'm on my way.

Yesterday I was rushing to the archives at Catholic University. As I quickly walked into the library, I turned around to look behind me and abruptly did another little u-turn, just to capture the view of the basilica framed by pink blossoms. What a view! Thank goodness for u-turns!

Easter Color

Last weekend I went shopping and came home with what I thought were some great buys--a khaki jacket, a tan linen shirt, a creamy blazer, a navy blue sweater, and a white shirt with lemon yellow stripes. Jessica took one look at me and told me I needed more color in my life. While I enjoy the safety of my blacks and browns and beiges, I agree--we all need more color.

I love Easter color. I love the way spring brings color to a drab winter--and I love that yellow is a big early spring color. I love that the freeways here are loaded with daffodils along the shoulders. You have to hand it to the little suckers--they must be a hardy flower they way they can survive all the early spring cold snaps. Last week we had a lot of strong winds and my daffodils were all sort of blown down; they looked completely defeated. With slightly warmer temperatures and no wind, they're starting to stand back up again.

One of my favorite things about our Easter dinner this year was that we all put on African shirts: bright blues and yellows, reds and oranges. I'm dying that I didn't have a camera there. I arrived at Kendall's and found Kendall, Gayla, and Dioubate all decked out in their colorful African wares, and Kendall offered me a choice from several other shirts in his closet. I picked a deep indigo piece from Guinea. As our other friends arrived, I made them all pick a shirt to wear. It was great--and I really think we underestimate color. I love that I have so much to learn and that life sort of hands out these kinds of eye-opening, color-inspiring experiences. I need to break free from my usual boring pattern and embrace color. Bring it on!

March Madness

Ok. So it's totally a distraction for a busy student who should be researching, reading, and writing--and for that matter, cleaning and preparing a little talk for Relief Society and maybe even doing some laundry. But oh, the fun of March Madness... even for someone who really has not followed college basketball at all this season.

I just love filling out the bracket. Maybe it's the part of me that loves making lists and crossing things off and seeing "progress." It just feels good and accomplished and satisfying. I love that at this time of year I constantly check the scoreboards when I should be reading about the Civil Rights movement or finding archival sources for my paper. I love choosing teams whose names sound like good, solid basketball teams because I really honestly know nothing about their statistics this season. I love choosing an underdog team or two to go pretty far--simply because I believe in the challenge of making it big against all odds, and I delight in the unexpected. Oh, the excitement of it all!

Yesterday I asked the students working in our lab if they had filled out their brackets. Most of them had no idea what I was talking about. And so, for the first time in my pretty un-athletic life, I explained the simple joys of March Madness. I printed brackets for them and tried to describe the fun in blind choosing and watching scores. One undergrad even admitted that she knew sports had something to do with balls... oh there's so much to teach!

It is all paying off. My Russian friend Nastya just came rushing in to my cubicle to tell me that she saw a score flash by on some website and one of her teams is doing well. Wahoo! I think she's converted! I don't know that she's ever even been to a basketball game, but now she's addicted to March Madness. And Maureen and Tad are also playing along, waiting madly to see how their teams do. Mission accomplished!

Next mission: how will my bracket do?!? And after that: it's a good thing March Madness ends before my paper is due...

On the Cusp

I really think it's almost here... I can smell it... I can see it... I can feel it... Buds bursting, cherry blossom festival planning, sun staying, warmer temperature... it really IS on the cusp. Today I saw cherry blossoms playing hide and seek at the University of DC. Yesterday on the way home from the gym I saw some lovely purple blossoms poking out. I can hardly contain myself...

I'm on the prowl for spring. I'm actually on the prowl for a lot of things. It's this on the prowl, on the verge, on the cusp that's so exciting. I've been working away madly on a paper for a conference, hoping I can turn it into a dissertation chapter, and at the least, the final paper for my research methods seminar. I've uncovered every stone, explored every possibility, emailed every archive and list-serv in search for that blossom, that bloom, that proof of evidence that proves my thesis.

Yesterday I went through 7,000+ images on the New York Public Library website and found a trail that I followed today at the University of DC. That in and of itself was an entirely new experience--not only was I the only white person in the vicinity (I felt like I was back in Harlem!), but the layout of the library was extremely odd--the microfilm things I needed on the 2nd floor but all the reference help on the 5th floor, and the only way in between was to go back down to the 1st floor and take the elevator up, then being passed around from Mr. Hooper to Miss Bloom to who knows what. But that small lead was everything... I'm on the cusp... it's going to burst any day now.

I love being on the cusp in other ways, too... spring, I'm ready for you!

Cutting and Piecing

A bunch of quilter friends and I are making a quilt--we all chose a fabric from the same fabric line and will make 20 of the same block, then exchange and make our own quilts. See my friends blog about their blocks: Jenn, Erica, and Julie.

I love every step of the process. I loved picking my fabric--and I even bought more of my favorite fabrics from the line to add some blocks and borders. I loved cutting and piecing, pressing and sewing again. There's something ironically comfortable about the monotony of cutting and sewing, pulling apart and putting back together in new ways. I love making my points match and seeing the final project so quickly. I can't wait to figure out the overall design with the different blocks and fabrics, then add my borders and back. It's kind of like the big paper I'm working on this semester--cutting apart, piecing together. Or so many other things in my life. So many life metaphors...

There is Nothing Like a Good Haircut

Or at least a different haircut. The flip is gone, my friends. Gone the way of all old haircuts. I've entered the world of Posh Spice with a little Katie Holmes sass. Now my little stack is nowhere nearly as dramatic as Victoria Beckham, and my color is certainly not as blond, but it's a fun little change.

I think the best part is losing the weight of old hair. I don't mean pounds necessarily, but the fresh new feel and new outlook. Tomorrow morning when I wash my hair, I already know the shortness--even though it's not that much shorter--will surprise me. And I probably won't be able to style it exactly the same. But it's the change that's exciting and invigorating as I wait for spring. It's a new me--a fresh start.

One time I visited my sister Lisa when she lived in a little teeny town in Wisconsin. She had told me on the phone several times before my visit that she just didn't fit in there, that people would stare at her when she walked into a store or somewhere new. She felt out of place. Once I arrived in Delavan, I could see why. It was March and still very steeped in winter--and I'm sure the cold temperature had something to do with it. The atmosphere felt stagnant and old, like an old haircut. I had a brilliant idea. I wondered if these people all got a really great, new haircut, if it would change the town. I think it just might.

Name Them One By One

Last night I was grumbling to Kendall about a paper that seems to be swallowing me alive. I told him I was discouraged, to which he immediately sang:

"When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost
Count your many blessings, name them one by one
And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done."

I laughed--particularly because both he and I stumbled over the words (it's hard when you start a song in the middle and not at the beginning)--but I realized he was right. So before I jumped head first into my paper this evening, I named one by one the things I am grateful for:

1. The man who opened the door for me when my diet Coke bottle exploded.
2. That diet Coke--some days it just does a magical work on me.
3. The sun--I think it was up to 70 degrees today and I loved soaking in the sun for a few minutes.
4. Not having anything to do at work--and my supervisor is out this week--so I could tackle my paper.
5. Having the inspiration of HOW to tackle my paper.
6. All the contacts I have at various archives--I emailed everyone I could think of for contextualization information for my paper. I have to smile when I think of them because I've had such great relationships with them: my Jewish South African Lyn at the American Jewish Historical Society, my fantastic adviser Peter at NYU, my great, funny, real friends Bill, Randy, and Chad at the Church Archives, and countless others.
7. Learning that I can have graceful endurance--as Elder Maxwell teaches in "Enduring Well."
8. Driving with my moonroof open, blasting Elder Maxwell on my Ipod.
9. Going on a walk with dear Jessica.
10. Lighting my cinnamon vanilla candle and letting the flame carry away my negativity.
11. Realizing the power of my own clinical material--that I can learn and work and heal and arise and be counted.
12. Kendall and his efforts to un-discourage me.

I love that by naming my blessings, I know that I can name and be named.

Ukuleles, Websites, and my friend Tad

You may think the three don't belong together, but in this case, they do. Yesterday, my fellow Ph.D. student-friend Tad was talking about the web design skills he's learning (all the while grumbling about Wordpress trauma under his breath). Tad had a brilliant plan: he found a somewhat random and dilapidated ukulele-maker website. He hopes to approach the owner and propose a deal: he'll design a new website in exchange for a ukulele. Now I love that--not only is the picture of dear Tad with his curly red hair and hole-y jeans sporting a ukulele simply delightful (he says it must be easier than a guitar because it has less strings and is shorter), but the concept of bartering is back!

My friend Jenn recently made a beautiful quilt for a friend in exchange for a painting. I know people with kids often switch baby-sitting for each other. I love the idea that we all have abilities--quite different from other people around us. And we all have needs, also quite different from people around us. I believe that in the perfect world, our various needs and abilities should match up--and not only can we take care of each other, but we find ourselves very well taken-care of in the process.

So you go, Tad, with your cool ukulele website. Maybe you can play your ukulele for me and I can make you some cookies or something...

The National Cathedral... an experience of civic religion

Most of you know about my interest in material culture--how people create objects to illustrate their values and beliefs. I loved touring the Washington National Cathedral on Sunday with Kendall and Krista. The building itself is a testament of culture and national identity. Construction began in 1907 and followed the pattern of European Gothic cathedrals--sort of an example of American refinement. The typical cathedral pieces are all there--but done in a new, American way.
The rose window in most European cathedrals demonstrates judgment and hell. In this cathedral, the colors and light symbolize life and hope. The tour guide said that the color changes depending on the direction of the sun.

The stained glass windows illustrate both biblical stories and American stories. Three windows show the three branches of government--with the Supreme Court, the White House, and the Capital at the top, and biblical stories underneath (how appropriate that King Solomon and his wisdom goes with the judicial branch). There is a whole window dedicated to American agriculture, with one lancet including a John Deere tractor. One pane depicts the creation of the moon and the earth and contains an actual moon stone from the first American mission to the moon (the astronaut who stayed in the shuttle while the others walked on the moon attended St. Alban's school, right next to the National Cathedral).

Traditionally a screen separates the nave from the altar. In the National Cathedral, in the spirit of democracy, the screen is open so all can see and participate.
We went up to the tower and walked around, admiring the view. It was a cloudy day, but we could see the monuments and the Capitol on the National Mall, as well as the temple and Bethesda and Silver Spring. The tour guide told us about one "Americanized" gargoyle in the shape of Darth Vader. We couldn't find it, but this picture tells it all.

While we proudly proclaim a firm separation of church and state, I love that we can use both to illustrate beliefs and values. We can talk about our country at church and we can use churches to demonstrate our national identity. I suppose we should also have a National Synagogue and a National Mosque, too.

Enough Said.

I'm going to bed tonight with a big old smile on my face!

Potomac Primary

There's something about voting that makes me feel democratic and patriotic. And there's also a sense of responsibility--I really had to weigh out my thoughts for this primary. I loved that I wanted to think strategically--not only about what I believe and want for the government and the future of the country, but about what my vote will mean in the competition of the election. I love being a thinker...

And I love the process of showing my identity, tapping the screen (or the good old days in Utah of punching a card, or in New York of pulling that huge old lever--how did those votes really count?), and getting a sticker. I think my favorite was being able to actually put my ballot in a box. There's something mysterious about the ether world of the Virginia computer or the old-school New York voting machine--where do my votes go? I can't see them. I guess I just trust the process.

My friend A. Todd Jones emailed me yesterday. I love that every time we talk he tells me that he votes for me. There's nothing like a vote of confidence--even if it is from a man who considers himself the president of himself. He even has that printed on his checks. I love the fact, though, that we can express our hope and confidence in principles, in a democratic system, in people, and in relationships. I vote for trust and loyalty and love and hope and the future.

Whether the Weather be Good...

When I was a kid, our family went camping once at Mesa Verde. We attended the ranger campfire program and learned this little campfire song which my mom still sings to this day:

Whether the weather be good,
Whether the weather be not,
Whether the weather be cold,
Whether the weather be hot,
Whatever the weather, we'll weather the weather
Whether we like it or not.

Do not ask me why I remember that song. It's random. Very random.

The other night, though, I was so grateful for a little weather tender mercy. Kendall and I planned to go on a walk on the National Mall one evening. He had worked late and I had been reading all day with a lengthy, boring research methods class where the professor simply went around the room to each of the seven students and hashed out their dissertation topics (except when he got to me he announced he was sick and closed the class). At any rate, we both needed a walk. The weather called for torrential downpours and thunderstorms, 100% chance, right at the time we planned on going. While there's something fun sometimes about being caught in a rainstorm, it's not necessarily true when you're tired and just need some fresh air.

Well, as luck or tender mercy would have it, the rain didn't come until much later. It was a great night--warm (like 63 degrees in February!), clean pre-rain air, and of course beautifully lit with the monuments. Nice. It was just the little break I needed, in a lot of different ways. And for the record, I CAN weather the weather. I think it takes rain to really appreciate dry.

Shout Out to JBrink

Happy, happy birthday, Jennifer dear,
Happy days will come to you all year!
If I had one wish, then it would be,
A happy, happy birthday to you from me!

Today is the birthday of a dear, dear friend: Jennifer Brinkerhoff. She has been an incredible tender mercy in my life, and I am so very glad that she was born! We were roommates for two years in Tempe, Arizona. I can't tell you all the crazy things we did together, nor can I number the times she asked me, "What are you going to tell your kids about me, your crazy roommate?" I don't think I've laughed or cried as much as I have with her. I've attached a few pictures here to illustrate the beauty and wonder that is JBrink. (Please know that most of these pics were taken over 8 years ago... but boy, did we have fun!)
I still remember how excited I was to go camping with our ward. I had only been in the deserts of Arizona for a short time and I couldn't wait to get back into the mountains! We arrived after dark and opted to sleep out under the stars. When I woke up in the morning, I saw that we were still in the desert, and if it hadn't been for JB, I would have cried. She made my desert experience bloom as a rose.
We were so not excited about our new University ward after the boundaries were reconfigured. I think we were the oldest in the ward. We decided to get all decked out for the ward Christmas party--black velvet, hot rollers in our hair, and the best part: our black joker glasses. We acted as if it were completely normal. We had a great time--but we did refuse to sit on Santa (the bishop)'s lap.
One summer a group of us hiked down to Havasupi falls. It was an incredible experience--between the beautiful water falls and playing in the water, to great company (remember singing Primary songs with Greg & Hopie, and how Greg insisted he had been in Honors Primary because he didn't know the songs we sang?), to pretending the bats in the horrible outhouse were butterflies. Ah, those were the days.When Jen came to visit me in Utah, I met her at the airport in disguise. She did not even recognize me. We loved dressing up. Too bad I don't have pictures of us doing yard work in our floppy hats, or laughing so hard at the thrift store when buying clothes for our 80s party, or dressing up as the four seaons one year for Halloween.Ah, the Nutcracker 5K. We had to run in tutus. What fun!

Happy Birthday, my dear friend! Here's to a great year of peace, joy, and delight!

We ever pray for thee, our prophet dear

What a great man... Gordon B. Hinckley. I love his optimism, his hope, his candor, and his deep devotion and commitment to the cause. Particularly right now in my life, I love what he has to say about furthering education to build the kingdom. Here is a sweet slideshow depicting our dear prophet, whom I love. I will miss him, but I will try to emulate his teachings.

Mixed Metaphors: Lost and Found Pearls of Great Price

The other night I wore a pair of simple pearl earrings. I haven't worn them in years, but there's just something about pearls that I find soothing. I love their creation--the idea of sand and distress and conflict producing something so clear and precious and smooth and valuable. I love their simplicity and their enduring classiness.

When I went to bed that night, I discovered that one of my earrings had fallen out. I thought I heard it fall on my oatmeal Berber carpet, but I couldn't find it anywhere. We all know that one earring is no good without its match, and I was a bit disgruntled... but what to do?

This morning as I rushed off to yoga, my eye caught a glimpse of my lost pearl earring under the corner of my bed. Suddenly I was reminded of a random but significant tender mercy:

As our dear Emmeline Wells says: "Nothing is irretrievably lost." I sometimes doubt that statement--I have several missing socks to prove my point. But some things are important and others aren't. I know I could easily replace my pearl earring with another pair that probably looks exactly the same, but there is just something about finding my lost pearl. I really believe and hope that in the grand scheme of things, that which is lost and of value can and will be found. It is known--its location, its worth, and its rescue. I believe.

Read Your Eyes Out, or, Tender Mercies in School

It's going to be a crazy semester. I have to write a chapter of my dissertation (which means I need to magically know what my dissertation will be!), and I have to read a book a week for my American women's religious history readings. My 2oth-cen. readings class has 2 other MA students and we'll only meet once every two weeks. We all have to read two books for each meeting, but then I get to read two extra books because I'm a Ph.D. student. That means on those weeks, I'll have to read four books and then another book for my other class due the next day, not to mention the periodical writing assignments for my dissertation. Yikes.

I've already acknowledged that I won't be able to read everything. I'm all about being honest. I can't physically do it all. I've tried to work out a system where I read the first and last chapters, then the first and last paragraphs in the other chapters, then I read a couple of reviews on the books. That way I can generally get the main idea and methodology and critiques. It sounds like a good plan, right?!?

Unfortunately, one of the books for next week is a collection of essays by different people--not something you can just skim through for the main idea. However--and here is where the tender mercy comes in--the introduction is very thorough--covering the essential theme of the book and a very good summary of each essay and how they run together. Done and done. I'll take every one of these quick readings I can get.

Snow Plows at the Ready

This morning as I drove from the temple to school, there was a hint of rain in the air. Just a hint. The forecast called for a bit of slushy precipitation with snow further to the west and north. And sure enough, there were six or seven snow plows on the shoulder of the beltway, engines running, ready to meet the storm.

My first reaction was to laugh. I often mock the fright and fear of snow in the DC area. The threat can pull anything to a screeching halt, which can be somewhat disruptive.

But the more I thought about it, the more I loved those crazy snow plows. I loved that they were at the ready--anything to alleviate the headache of traffic on the beltway, even at 12:30 pm.

I believe in snow plows at the ready. I also believe in ministering angels, in dear friends, in kind words, in tender mercies. I believe that our paths are guided and that promises can be verified in every particular. I believe that our hearts are softened and that perspectives change and that love heals.

My Inner Tree-Hugger

It started yesterday. Actually, it started last week when the signs were posted along the street, warning of no parking over the next few days. Then the big white Xs appeared on the trunk of an old tree on the corner. The end was imminent. Yesterday they chopped off the big limbs off the top, and this morning when I came home from the gym, the trunk was almost level with the ground.

I feel like I'm losing an old friend. Not that I've known this tree for very long--but it was very old (maybe it saw George Washington march through to Mt. Vernon?), and it was quite friendly. I love the way these old trees cover the streets of my neighborhood. Their leaves shade from the summer sun, produce brilliant color in the fall, and hold white slivers of snow in the winter.

A couple of months ago during a freak windstorm in the middle of the night, a very large branch broke off a tree directly across from our house, landing just in between two cars and causing a huge ruckus. The sound of the cops pounding on our neighbor's door, trying to arouse her from her sleep to tell her that her car had been hit, woke us up. The limb took up the whole width of the street; someone said it had been rotting for quite a while but the city wouldn't cut it down. I know, I know, these kinds of imminent dangers require careful preventative planning, but to cut down the whole tree? The corner feels so naked and bare now.

But I guess the whole idea of pruning is painful but true. Kendall reminded me of Hugh B. Brown's story, The Gardener and the Currant Bush:

In the early dawn, a young gardener was pruning his trees and shrubs. He had one choice currant bush which had gone too much to wood. He feared therefore that it would produce little, if any, fruit.

Accordingly, he trimmed and pruned the bush and cut it back. In fact, when he had finished, there was little left but stumps and roots.

Tenderly he considered what was left. It looked so sad and deeply hurt. On every stump there seemed to be a tear where the pruning knife had cut away the growth of early spring. The poor bush seemed to speak to him, and he thought he heard it say:

"Oh, how could you be so cruel to me; you who claim to be my friend, who planted me and cared for me when I was young, and nurtured and encouraged me to grow? Could you not see that I was rapidly responding to your care? I was nearly half as large as the trees across the fence, and might soon have become like one of them. But now you've cut my branches back; the green, attractive leaves are gone, and I am in disgrace among my fellows."

The young gardener looked at the weeping bush and heard its plea with sympathetic understanding. His voice was full of kindness as he said, "Do not cry; what I have done to you was necessary that you might be a prize currant bush in my garden. You were not intended to give shade or shelter by your branches. My purpose when I planted you was that you should bear fruit. When I want currants, a tree, regardless of its size, cannot supply the need.

"No, my little currant bush, if I had allowed you to continue to grow as you had started, all your strength would have gone to wood; your roots would not have gained a firm hold, and the purpose for which I brought you into my garden would have been defeated. Your place would have been taken by another, for you would have been barren. You must not weep; all this will be for your good; and some day, when you see more clearly, when you are richly laden with luscious fruit, you will thank me and say, `Surely, he was a wise and loving gardener. He knew the purpose of my being, and I thank him now for what I then thought was cruelty.'"

Some years later, this young gardener was in a foreign land, and he himself was growing. He was proud of his position and ambitious for the future.

One day an unexpected vacancy entitled him to promotion. The goal to which he had aspired was now almost within his grasp, and he was proud of the rapid growth which he was making.

But for some reason unknown to him, another was appointed in his stead, and he was asked to take another post relatively unimportant and which, under the circumstances, caused his friends to feel that he had failed.

The young man staggered to his tent and knelt beside his cot and wept. He knew now that he could never hope to have what he had thought so desirable. He cried to God and said, "Oh, how could you be so cruel to me? You who claim to be my friend—you who brought me here and nurtured and encouraged me to grow. Could you not see that I was almost equal to the other men whom I have so long admired? But now I have been cut down. I am in disgrace among my fellows. Oh, how could you do this to me?"

He was humiliated and chagrined and a drop of bitterness was in his heart, when he seemed to hear an echo from the past. Where had he heard those words before? They seemed familiar. Memory whispered:

"I'm the gardener here."

He caught his breath. Ah, that was it—the currant bush! But why should that long-forgotten incident come to him in the midst of his hour of tragedy? And memory answered with words which he himself had spoken:

"Do not cry. . .what I have done to you was necessary. . .you were not intended for what you sought to be,. . .if I had allowed you to continue. . .you would have failed in the purpose for which I planted you and my plans for you would have been defeated. You must not weep; some day when you are richly laden with experience you will say, `He was a wise gardener. He knew the purpose of my earth life. . . . I thank him now for what I thought was cruel.'"

His own words were the medium by which his prayer was answered. There was no bitterness in his heart as he humbly spoke again to God and said, "I know you now. You are the gardener, and I the currant bush. Help me, dear God, to endure the pruning, and to grow as you would have me grow; to take my allotted place in life and ever more to say, `Thy will not mine be done.'

January Thaw

That's right, friends, we are now experiencing the January Thaw. This morning Jessica and I ran outside in shorts and t-shirts. I sat outside on the back patio working this afternoon, soaking in the 70-degree sun. It's that moment after the holidays and before the months of frozen bitterness ahead that makes me really grateful for the present. My crocuses are poking their stems up through the ground and I'm already planning for pool time. I know, I know--I have ample opportunity to wear sweaters and coats and boots and scarves, to suck the cold air into my lungs and allow it to invigorate my bloodstream, to peep through the frost on my windshield while I wait for my defrost to kick in, to cuddle under blankets, to inhale hot chocolate, to proudly defend myself against the cold, all of which I can do and of which I have lots of experience. It's just nice, now, to curl up for a brief moment in the sun and save up.

Light and Life to All He Brings

I love this nativity clip (click on photo above). I love the tender music--you can feel the sweet spirit and the powerful reverence for the birth of the Savior. I love the diversity of the nativity scenes--the multiple cultures and media through which to adore the Christ child--the wood, the beads, the stone. I love the expressions of love and peace and hope. I love the different camera angles revealing the different personalities, emotions, and deep worship. I love the connection, the draw to baby Jesus. I feel like I can be there with the shepherds and Mary and Joseph. I love the line, "and fit us for heaven," because this, too, is my deep hope.

NBA and quilts

What do the NBA and quilts have in common, you might ask? Well not a lot. I just turned in my last paper of the semester yesterday, and it happened to be on quilts commemorating war. I can tell you a whole bunch of great stories about quilts and the Civil War--like the one about the family who loaned some quilts to Confederate soldiers in their town. The soldiers returned the quilts but one was loaded with typhus germs, and the parents of the family died within four days. But they kept the quilt to tell the story. Go figure.

Jessica swung us some tickets to the Wizards v. Timberwolves game last night at the Verizon Center, and then Stacie got us visitor passes to see their friend Mark Madsen who plays for Minnesota. So what kind of conversation do I have for an NBA player? All about quilts. Nice. Jess had told him about many of my quilt stories because that's all I've been talking about lately. It was a fun night, even though I felt like a groupie watching the team come out. I loved how Mark introduced all of his teammates with some unique fact about each one. He's all about the team.

Christmas Harmony

I love Christmas in Washington, D.C. My roommates and I waited in line at the Kennedy Center in the wee hours of the morning on Saturday for tickets to the traditional Messiah Sing-along on Sunday. It was an incredible event. I have always loved performances of the Messiah--I've seen it performed with a boys' choir at St. Paul's and another performance at the Barbican in London. One old roommate even loaned me a cd of Harlem choirs rocking out to Handel. But there is nothing like participating in the event, surrounded by music instead of music just coming out at you. I had a strong bass on one side and an enterprising soprano on the other. The conductor was delightful; the soloists were wonderful (I loved how the contralto really rejoiced as she sang); and the trumpets certainly sounded. The concert hall was alive that afternoon. As for me, I stumbled around my notes, but when I hit right on, I could feel the reverberations run through my soul. I thought of Grandad singing the Hallelujah chorus along with us and I sang with all my might.

On Friday night, Kendall took me on a Christmas tour. We saw the trees at the Four Seasons Hotel--decorated by big interior designers to be sold for thousands of dollars at an auction for charity. Some of them were a little over the top--a decoupage of flora and fauna, or crowded with peacocks, or wrapped with an electric train all the way up the tree. Our favorite had glass bubbles. Then we stopped at the Elliptical to see the National Christmas Tree and the Pageant of Peace. Deeee-lightful!

Oh, the Joys of Eating Spaghetti with a Spoon

I am my mother's child. She has always taught me to make do with what I have--and to have a fun time doing it. Last night I had dinner in between work and class. For the past week or two, we've been out of plastic forks, so I've made do with a spoon and a knife. Generally I eat a sandwich or a yogurt or something like that, so I'm fine. Well last night I brought sesame chicken and noodles. Have you ever eaten spaghetti with a spoon? I mean, I did eat linguine with pesto on Saturday night and I admit, I used a spoon to scoop the pasta into my fork, as I always did in Italy. It was delicious. But it's much different when you don't even have a fork. It slides right off and spills all over everywhere. I made it work last night, but I also laughed my head off and thought of my mom. She would have LOVED it.

Lights at Antietam

Last night Kendall and I drove up to Sharpsbursg, Maryland, for the annual Memorial Illumination. The battle of Antietam on 17 September 1863 was the bloodiest day in American history--over 23,100 men were killed on one day. There was one candle for every soldier, spread out over the acres of farms and fields. It was quite the sight--the vast scale of the event. I can only imagine.While it was a long drive (an hour and a half) and an even longer wait along the road outside the park, the lights were beautiful. And Kendall even got out of his car to check to see if they were real candles--they were. We saw a couple of groups of reenactors dressed in their Civil War uniforms, gathered around fires. It started to rain as we drove away, and I wondered how that would affect the candles. But I guess that's part of the reality of the actual day.