Love You

Kent read to me from the Church News that came yesterday that two missionaries serving in Romania have died. I was at the computer and turned to him, stunned. It's bloodletting to hear when a mother's and father's son has died. There was a gas leak in their apartment. Asphyxiation. I stumble writing it. I have tears in my eyes.

How may I serve these families?

I cried too just now after browsing Michael McLean the songwriter and singer's website, reading his February 11th post...

At about 12:43 pm it was my turn. The chapel was full and the family and friends were taking turns dealing with the waves of emotion that flood a memorial service for a twenty-seven year old husband, father, son, brother, friend. I thought I could get through my part of the service if I didn't look into anyone’s face as I sang . . .

I think of the moment just after Dad called last January asking if I'd sing at Grandma's funeral. I said of course, then crumpled into the wall, weak-kneed . . . knowing. I began a fast. I said a prayer. I thought I could get through my part of the service if I didn't look into anyone's face as I sang.

Michael's amazing with words. Enjoy his post some time today if you can. I especially like the words to the first song in the medley he sang at the funeral.

“It would be crazy for me to even try and pretend that I know what you’re going through.
And I haven’t found answers that make sense to me so I don’t have an answer for you.
But I want to say something to show that I care and I wish it would do some good.
But I can’t comprehend all that you’re feeling now;  I love you and wish I could.

I don’t understand why this ever had to happen to you.
I don’t understand, so I’m not sure how to help you get through.

It’s such a mystery why this happened to you and not to me.
I know there is a plan and that we’re tested, but this doesn't seem fair.
I don’t understand, so I don’t know how to say “don’t despair.”
I’m just hoping that you can see that I’m saying that I care,
That I always will be there,
Because I understand one thing eternally:;
And that’s how much you’ll always mean to me.”

This is the prevailing condition of my heart.

To you who I know read my blog, I love you. I look out for you mentally, in my prayers, and in my heart. I respect and admire you SO very much. I smile, thinking of you . . . by name, and by name, and by name . . . (I love you!) and the tears are here again. It's good.



We're a few, and I look to you for inspiration. If you can carry on, so can I. And if I carry on, will you? When you struggle, it's true I "don't understand, so I don't know how to say 'don't despair,'" and often I feel weak-kneed and wonder, how may I serve?

... but I had to look into those faces (Michael finishes and so do I) and let them see my tears and my broken heart. It’s part of the deal when you go to a funeral, whether you've been asked to sing or not.

Rain, rain, go away

It's raining buckets.

Temperature is

d
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and I just put on a sweatshirt. Our LP gas supply in the tank outside is at 8 1/2 %, the lowest we've let it drop to in seven winters. We fill up in summer (lowest gas prices) and use that from November to March for the fireplace; never run anywhere NEAR under 10% before summer again. Never have before, I should say. Right now I'm outta gas and putting on a sweatshirt.

Two years ago this week Dana and Brady were here.

Playing outside in shirtsleeves



A picnic. 75 degrees.

Grapes his fave.



Not so keen on the pasta salad.



Uh huh.



Kisses and kisses.



One year ago this week Kent sprayed for weeds.



We'd love to plant peas two weeks from now; can't so much if the garden stays a mucky mess. Can't till. This weekend (you saw) it was all under snow. Forecast today is for a sleet snow mix...

s'okay, though.

Yesterday, for all its sunny brilliance, the high was 55. Wasn't supposed to get warmer before it got cold again... yeah, stayed cold. We need the gas truck to come with LP. It's been ordered - with a winter price tag. I need to be better from my sick and not shivering under double blankets on the couch. Today the sweatshirt (with hood) should be right... that, and getting up from here and back on the couch. No picnic.

I'll be listening for the truck...
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Two years ago

Memories are made of this

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Isn't this (link) the cutest thing? (Thecutest.info)
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Few little scrappy pages...
<

Mm hmm

Uh huh

Woo Hoo!

IT'S SNOWING!

OUTSIDE!

A-hem . . . yes!

It is.

In middle Georgia.

It isn't sticking yet.

But it WILL!  :)

Delicious!

Chefs talk about layering flavors in recipes. Melissa D'Arabian does on the Food Network every show, and the "Chopped" judges (all gourmet chefs, and discerning) look for it in the dishes contestants slap down in front of them after a 30-minute scramble getting crazy ingredients from scratch to the plate to them... I digress.

Layering flavors makes food a true experience! I say so to myself when I cook now. I steam onions for a casserole maybe, or fajitas. Caramelize them, thinking, "I'm making the aromatics." Crumble turkey sausage into scrambled eggs, drizzle olive oil over new potatoes spiked with rosemary, and... it's lovely.
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That came to mind as I drove to choir practice last night. It's a 13 minute drive to the church and I took it between 5:42 and 5:55 pm yesterday to rehearse four three tenors and a bass on "Come, Follow Me." Left the house as the sun peeled out from under overcast skies, dropping in a blaze in the southwest. Traveled a straight line east, dull and boring, after a minute turning on the CD "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing." MTC.

(...? But you DO: Mormon Tabernacle Choir.)

Until the sounds swelled into the car - the sun dazzling behind me and the late afternoon light pinking beautifully in front of my eyes; and birds everywhere suddenly, migrating maybe, for a thousand if not a hundred thousand spiraled over me and away - until I'd gone a mile with no soundtrack to what I was viewing, the ride was regular. A box mix. The Choir became a layer. Everything, everything shimmered. Sunset was one, and the evening light another. And the birds, winging, leaving my heart hammering. Or was that the choir?  Or for heavens 's sake, literally, the light?

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing Thy grace; streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise!

I know where this is going . . . me and the car, straight on our way. The birds, can't tell - there's no end of them and they're breathtaking. The Choir, the next verse with a key change, and the sun, down, down, down in (apparently) flames.

O to grace how great a debtor daily I'm constrained to be! Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,  bind my wandering heart to Thee. Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love; here's my heart! O take and seal it, seal it for Thy courts above.

I said to myself, cooking up this blog post there and then, this simply can't be put into words.

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Impressions

Kent read me this paragraph aloud from Gospel Truth by George Q. Cannon. The man's eternally reading. (All good.)

"Trials are for our own benefit. Why did the Lord ask such things of Abraham?



"Because, knowing what his future would be and that he would be the father of an innumerable posterity, he was determined to test him. God did not do this for His own sake for He knew by His foreknowledge what Abraham would do; but the purpose was to impress upon Abraham a lesson and to enable him to attain unto knowledge that he could not obtain in any other way.

"That is why God tries all of us. It is not for His own knowledge for He knows all things beforehand. He knows all your lives and everything you will do. But He tries us for our own good that we may know ourselves; for it is most important that a man should know himself."

What's the operative word in those sentences? Test.

Of course.

What about impress? What about impress? Aren't we in fact made new when something is impressed upon us? A thing comes to bear, leaves it's stamp.

-I burned myself recently. Left a half-moon impression where I grabbed the curling iron - I'm careful where I place my fingers near that thing.

-I was in a car crash in 2002. I drive deliberately.

-I heard and saw Elder Bruce McConkie bear his testimony of Christ in General Conference in April 1985. He died a few weeks after. I'm still changing through the conversion process that conference address began for me.

Abraham is not unique in what he went through I think. His experience was what he especially needed. Christ knew what Abraham's future would be, that he would be the father of a huge posterity; nations.Then (and we liken the scriptures to us today) our experiences are what we especially need. It is true for each of us as it was with Abraham: We are impressed upon with lessons that enable us to "attain unto knowledge that we could not obtain in any other way."

That we may know ourselves.

"We would have missed lessons learned"

Just please enjoy this blog post.

I did.

Life's Challenges

In fast and testimony meeting today Sheila Melvin gave her testimony. She's been ill as long as I've known her with one thing or another. Pretty chipper though. She looked ragged at the pulpit. She talked about why she comes to church. (It has to be difficult every time. Every.) Said she's begun to have seizures. She bore a solemn and sincere testimony of Jesus Christ.

She was first. She walked slowly and carefully from the pulpit to her pew two ahead of where we sat and snuggled in next to her husband, exhausted. Thirty minutes later she was seizing, quietly and forcefully, tucked under her husband's right arm while the closing hymn was sung and the prayer said.

Not many caught it - they were seated in a side pew - because their attention was on the meeting closing. I watched Sheila's shuddering body, my heart racing . . . Sarah, my sister, those weeks after her surgery when she was often seizing . . . happening here, now, to my friend... was she okay? Perfect, perfect Ed, her husband, shielding and supporting . . . why is my friend going through this . . . help!

She seized through the closing prayer and didn't stop when it was done and the congregation got up. A doctor passed near and spoke to Ed while he held her and she shuddered. Ed smiled at me when I spoke to him and said, no, there wasn't anything I could do right this minute. I touched Sheila's shoulders though I was afraid I would "spark" her. I sparky! I sparky, Sarah would plead when I touched her in those days over three years ago, and I learned not to. No, I wouldn't spark her, Ed assured me. It'll pass. Sheila came to, dazed.

Kent and I talked about it on the way home from church and he commented that even though people have the gospel and are faithful; even though we're promised safety and protection for obedience to God's commandments; though supported in every way, even in (and especially in) trials: when the challenges DO come, they're hard.
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I don't know . . . I've written in the past here a lot about suffering and sadness. It's time to give it up or look away or keep it to myself. These, Dad says, are the local conditions. Meaning mortality. Matters of fact.

I didn't want to go to church this afternoon because I'm tired. Too tired to stay awake in Sacrament meeting I was afraid (looking at the clock at 12:00), and snatched a half hour nap before we left the house. I had thoughts of bailing out of church altogether while I put on my pantyhose much earlier. But I knew I'd go. I have a commitment to; it's what I DO. It's how I am. Being tired . . . doesn't matter. The little nap, testimonies and lessons, being able to take the sacrament, my commitment, my love for Christ all bring me there. I was thankful to hear from Sheila today why she comes to church, and felt distinct truths thrumming in my chest, listening. Silently I applaud. Amen!

We chose to come.

Me, a tad sluggish.

Her, (sigh) ill and so very, very challenged.

You 'Bake' Me Happy

I called Kent for dinner tonight about as soon as he walked in the house from work. I'd made Sandra's funeral potatoes from the Hale cookbook with our red potatoes for dinner and hoped Kent would taste-test them. They were cooling on the counter. I first grated semi-thawed frozen potatoes in my new food processor. This recipe was a great idea for the very reason that the food processor itself needs testing. I grated all my cheese in it too; so I'm good with this purchase to replace my old one. Lots of parts to clean though. Funeral potatoes is a messy prep.

Oh they taste good! I actually substituted Ricotta cheese for half the sour cream and like it. After I did funeral potatoes for Christmas Eve dinner in Utah and they were a flop, I've reinvented them using Sandra's recipe as the springboard. Dad and Kent each didn't like mine then. Dad wrinkled up his face. (After dinner.) Who knows about the rest at the table - I didn't love them. I LOVED these tonight.



Partly because of the grated new potatoes (even frozen, when Kent and I have sworn we prefer eating them right from the ground), and because of outing half the sour cream - ricotta stands in beautifully! A bit o' butter in the recipe is a must and I doubled the onions, carmelizing them before adding the soup. I added bits of a left over rotisserie chicken and well, salt and pepper to boost flavor. I definitely kept in the one ingredient Sandra always cooks with.

TLC.

"Souper" Sour Cream Potatoes

6-7 med potatoes
1/2 C chopped onion
1/4 C butter
1/2 C sour cream
1/2 C Ricotta cheese
1 can cream of chicken soup
1/2 C grated Cheddar cheese
Crushed cornflakes
Tender Loving Care

Cook potatoes in skins, then cool, peel, and grate them. Saute onion in butter until just tender, then add sour cream, Ricotta, soup, and Cheddar cheese. Heat this mixture until cheese is melted. In a greased baking pan or dish place alternate layers of grated potatoes and sour cream sauce (making sure to end with sauce). Salt and pepper to taste. Sprinkle crushed cornflakes over all and bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes to an hour, uncovered.
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SCOTT! I LOVE YOU!


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