There have been a lot of crazy, and by crazy I mean really sad and heartbreaking, things happening in the life of my friends. Sometimes it weighs just a little heavy on the heart because I want nothing more than to be able to make everyone's troubles go away. And a lessening of my own heartbreak wouldn't be refused. I have had more than one friend remark to me that what we all need is a beer.
The other night Kyle, Katy, and I were heading home after a night of adventure and Kyle says "I can't wait to get home and crack open an ice cold Fanta." But he didn't have one on hand so we headed to Smith's where he got his Fanta and I got a Neuro Bliss. If it does what the label claims (eliminates stress and promotes happiness) then we are in business.
Umm. I am not sure it worked because I drank it the next day at Education Week classes. So I think that being with a very dear old friend, and studying the gospel all day, I wasn't going to feel stress anyway. It is great that there is a drink that will reduce our stress and increase happiness. But guess what?
What we really need is to be able to more fully apply the atonement in our lives. Because the miracle of the atonement is that suffering is not required. That is what Christ did for us. What He needs from us is a change of heart. Sometimes a change of heart can only happen by suffering. So we have to learn how to offer up a broken heart without suffering, or with minimal suffering. Ummm... That sounds real hard and like maybe I won't ever figure it out in this life. Well surprise, that is what this life is for. Until then I am finding that forgetting myself and going to work is a great step in the right direction. Forgetting myself and serving is my ice cold beer, I mean Orange Fanta.
My very first post ever on this blog involved the making of my mother's cinnamon rolls.
My mom's cinnamon rolls were perfect and looked something like this
But for some reason whenever Katy and I make them they always kind of look like the cub scouts made them.
Last night I got the recipe of a friend who's cinnamon rolls are also always perfect. Okay this time we have to get this right. Right? Well I decided to half the recipe but then the last ingredient I put in, the warm water, I forgot to half. So we just do the whole recipe right? Well I didn't have anymore yeast. So I have to run to the store for yeast. We get home and fix it and then realize we need 14 cups of flour and we have a grand total of about 2 in our house. So back to the store I run. Mind you we had somewhere we had to be at 7:30 and the last trip to the store was at 7:18.
We get the dough done and it is rising beautifully and we take off, letting the dough rise while we are gone. We come home to perfectly raised dough. We roll it out, cut it up and place in the pan to rise again. And it is doing it! I didn't kill the yeast this time and I am so so happy. Once they go in the oven we realize we don't have the ingredients for the frosting. This time Katy heads off to the grocery store while I monitor the baking. But after double the baking time they are still doughy in the middle. I am heart broken and saying a little prayer, because I know God cares about my cinnamon rolls. But in the end I gave up and went to bed.
I lay in bed wondering why for the life of me I can't make a decent cinnamon roll. I mean I think I am a pretty good cook but cinnamon rolls are always a failure. I concluded that maybe mom doesn't want me to be able to make them without her. I will just have to accept the perfect cinnamon rolls died with her.
This morning I woke up and thought about putting them back in the oven while I got ready and I decided to taste just one little piece before hand. They were perfect! All the doughiness went away in the night! So thanks for coming and finishing my cinnamon rolls after I went to bed last night mom. Just like you did my project on Norway, and my pinata, and my science fair project on biscuits.
When mom would made me hug my sister and tell her I was sorry for pulling her hair or hiding "Big Pa" I never meant it.
I wouldn't have hid Big Pa or pulled her hair if I wasn't mad at her.
Recently I hurt a dear friend. I didn't pull this person's hair. I did something much worse. I pulled on the heart. I found the thing that would hurt the most and I said it. And then when the hurt appeared in their eyes all I could think of was how bad I wanted to hug and say I was sorry. And I did, and this time I meant it. I really really meant it.
I realized instantly that I didn't believe any of the things I had said. I realized there wasn't a hint of truth in them. But it doesn't change things. Sorry doesn't work as well as an adult. Words that are said remain said, and sorry doesn't wipe them out. These scars remain.
Recently I was reading a book on forgiveness and I jotted down a line that struck me. "You don't regain another trust by assuring them there is nothing to worry about but by assuring them that you are doing the worrying for them."
And I am doing the worrying. I worry that I am not the friend I want to be. I worry about who else I have hurt. I worry that things won't ever be what they were again. But worry doesn't fix anything.
I came across this Mormon Message Sunday morning that explains the friend I want to be.
I want to be the friend who "Assumes the good and doubts the bad." I am not going to be perfect in this life, but I plan on trying my best. And when I screw up, believe me I am going to be doing the worrying for you.
I have been trying to remember stories about my mom.
If you have one, even one I have shared with you, please pass it along.
Here is one of my favorites:
One night my friend dropped me off late at the house. As I was walking up to bed I heard my dad say "What were you doing out so late? He better not have been kissing you!" Not in an angry way, in a teasing way. Mom then chimed in "If he had you out that late he BETTER have been kissing you!"
but something about this little man has me captivated!
I believe this has been well established in past posts.
I got home late the other night and noticed my Dad's Facebook status:
"Simon got squished by the tail gate/ ramp on our trailer and fractured his pelvis."
I was FREAKING out but I didn't want to wake anyone who might have a fractured pelvis, or someone who had been in the hospital with the broken boy all day. So I just sat there awake picturing all kinds of horrible things happening to the love of my life and really having no idea how broken he was. I did all I could do. I prayed like crazy.
I called in the morning and found out that my little monkey was playing in the yard and pulled the pin out of the flatbed trailer resulting in the ramp crashing down on his little body. The final prognosis: Three fractures in this pelvis. Hospital stay, followed by 3 weeks bed rest, and then up to two months with a walker. Ask me how you keep a three year old off his feet for the rest of the summer. I don't know. I suppose his parents are figuring it out a day at a time. If he doesn't he risks internal bleeding and or major Surgery.
When I called him in the hospital he told me all about the dinosaurs on the tray they brought his Jello in on. All about the "Metal" balloon Dad brought him that just wasn't worth it. Also that he was done being brave and was ready to go home.
All I could think about all day was how badly I wanted to be there to just hold him until it was all better, and I am not even his parent so I can't imagine how they were feeling. But they DID get to hold him.
I am very grateful to friends and family who dropped by and brought him little packages and to my friend Emily who made ME peanut butter bars because even when it is just your heart that is fractured in three places you'd be surprised how peanut butter bars can speed up the healing.
I also found myself grateful for friends like Matt, Trevor, Lolly, and Drew who go out of their way to get to know my family.
This picture warms my heart. Two of my favorite men.