The Damage

I had to chase them around the house to get these photos.   

This is post-trim.  I snipped the jagged edges before church this morning.  Notice Kate- determined to still wear the flower in her hair.  =) 

Every time I think about them off alone in a room cutting eachothers bangs, I laugh.  They were so proud of themselves.

Don't let their sweet faces fool you-

A couple of houligans- that's what they are.  Within the last 24 hours they have managed to:

• Empty an entire case of floss and string it around the house.
• Dump and grind half a box of cereal into the family room carpet-- and eat the remainder.
• Pull their drapes off of the wall, hardware and all.
• Squirt 8 tubes of glitter paint onto the bedroom carpet and smear it in, using the excess to paint the wall and their pajamas.
• CHOP THEIR BANGS OFF TO THE ROOTS.

Arrrrrrrrrrgh!  This is the third time we've attempted to grow those pesky bangs out and we were finally making serious progress!  Poor things could hardly see in that awkward stage and had to take matters into their own hands.



No.  That's a before shot.  Be very afraid.

This is a recurring theme on my blog, isn't it.  Blasted kid scissors!  I even walked past them right before the dastardly deed and consciously, consciously chose not to put them away.  Of course they couldn't do it in one place either-- hair was strewn throughout three rooms and static-glued all over the sofa cushions.

[ Sigh...] 

At least we got the vacuuming done.

My garbage can made me laugh yesterday:  A wad of gnarly floss, topped with dripping tubes of paint, all smattered with dark tufts of freshly snipped hair. 

It's a good thing they're so utterly adorable.




Buh-bye hair clips.  We have no need for you now.

Chinese French - Another Miracle

Some call it the Gift of Tongues.  Heaven knows I needed it.  I had two years of college French behind me and an intense language course in the Missionary Training Center, but as far as I was concerned, Quebecois hardly resembled Parisian French, and may as well have been Chinese for all I understood. 

I had been in Canada nearly two months and still struggled to make out more than three words in a conversation.  Sitting in church meetings gave me headaches as I strained to follow the verbal gush.  Fortunately I was still in my training period and had a more seasoned companion to carry the conversations for us. 

Until the phone call came. 

My companion was leaving.  Transferred north to Quebec City.  And  I was staying-- to train a new sister on her way from the Missionary Training Center.

Gulp.

"How on Earth?" I thought, "I'm brand new!  How can I possibly train a new sister?  I can't even communicate here!"  But of course I didn't say that out loud.  I accepted the assignment and hung up the phone in shock. 

As my companion and I drove to our appointments that day, it dawned on me that not only could I not understand the language, but I had absolutely no sense of direction in our area. 

None. 

She had been the principal driver these two months, and for many months prior, and knew the map like the back of her hand.  I, on the other hand, had sat in the passenger seat, shockingly unaware of where we were day after day.  Shocking only now that I was faced with losing my chauffeur in less than 24 hours!

My insides were stunned.  I had the sensation of being pushed to the edge of a cliff, knowing that I would have to jump, but with no clue how to prepare- let alone save- myself, and my poor new companion.

Out of desperation and humility for all that I lacked,  I prayed that God would make up the difference.  That I would be able to communicate in Quebecois French, and that I would be able to navigate the roads of our city.  I knew that there was no way we could be effective without these skills, and I also knew that there was no way that I, of myself, could develop them in such a short amount of time.  I felt utterly dependant on a power beyond my own to make me equal to the task.

Transfers came the next day, and my new companion arrived.  Detailed directions in hand, I picked Soeur Gilmour up at the mission home in Montreal and we made our way back across the bridge to Laval.  I got us that far!  The next morning, we set out on our appointments for the day.  I pulled out the road map for our assigned area, turned it right side up and stared.  As I did, a complete aerial view of the city came to my mind.  In this image, I could suddenly see where all the major roadways connected in relation to our apartment, knew how to get to everywhere I had been in the past two months, and understood the best ways to travel to each appointment that day. 

But an even more amazing gift was given to me that day.  As we visited with each of our appointments, and as we went from door to door, I could suddenly- clearly- completely- understand every single word of French that was spoken.

I can still remember the smile of amazement and relief that spread through me that day, and the days that followed.  I never did pick up that Quebecois twang in my own accent, but to this day, Canadian French is music to my ears.

When Miracles Began

My heart was on fire.

A semester of studying the bible in the Holy Land, of walking where Jesus walked, and illuminating my own soul with the light of the Gospel had ignited a bright flame within.  I felt an overwhelming desire to share everything I had discovered with those who felt darkness.  "I want to be a missionary!"  The thought burned inside, filling me with joy at the prospect.  The course of my life had changed almost overnight, and my path was set.  Nothing could hold me back.  

I returned home and began the process to submit my mission application. Part of this included an extensive physical health exam.  I was nervous. My feet had been aching strangely for many weeks.  Bones and joints.  I thought of my grandmother, who suffered from problems with her feet and legs for much of her life.  I look like my grandmother.  Certainly this was the beginning of wearing her feet.  The doctor noticed bones shifting and referred me to a podiatrist- scribbling ominous notes on my exam form. 

Podiatric prognosis wasn't good.  I would need foot surgery absolutely.  If not immediately, then shortly down the road.  The aching would only increase and hamper me.  (More ominous notes.  Scribbling and jotting).  My heart sank.  This would surely set me back, and would likely influence the decisions made of where - and how- I could serve.  How could it be?!  How could I feel the way I did about serving, only to be thwarted from the very beginning?

I chose not to have the surgery yet, but to deal with the aching.  And I prayed and prayed that the doctors report would not affect my mission call. 

My call arrived, and I was assigned to serve a standard proselyting mission in Quebec, Canada.  Oh, the relief and joy!  My prayers had been answered. 

I entered the Missionary Training Center only six weeks later- I don't think I could've waited a day longer.  Full of enthusiasm, I dove into missionary training that first week only to end each day troubled by the ever-present aching in my feet.  I was heart-sick at the prospect of being held back as a missionary by physical limitations.  Inhibited in the work.  I was so very discouraged.

So I prayed.  I layed it all out to my Father in Heaven.  I pled with him to heal my feet so that I could serve in the way my heart desired.  I finished my prayer, wiped the tears from my face and climbed in to bed.

The next morning I awoke and rose to my feet with a complete absence of pain.  I went through that entire day with no aching in my joints.  And the next day.  And the next. 

And the pain never returned. 

I served a full mission, completely whole and well.  And to this day, nearly two decades later, I have not had any recurring issues with the bones in my feet. 

This was the beginning of miracles for me.

Where Peace Ranks

Miri:  "Luke- If you had a wishing rock and could get anything you wanted, what would you wish for?"

Luke: (without hesitating) "First- an IPod Touch.  Second- a library card.  Third-- world peace."


In that order.  ;)

Happiness is....

Warm raspberry muffins

Piano notes tickling the air

Fresh raw milk

The end of diapers

Evening guitar

A wrap-around porch

Pears overflowing

Bags of spring bulbs

Endless summer nights

A cozy little home

Part-time School

 8 year old chefs

Soaring soccer shots

Synchronized sisters

Soft cheeks to nuzzle

Tiny hands to hold

 6 year old smiles

Golden leaves shimmering
Hints of crisp air

Hot homemade spudnuts

My very good man.