Christmas Past

I ventured out in the traffic and weather to finish the last of my Christmas shopping today. A smile found its own way across my lips when I heard the song that started to play when I entered the first store. It was my favorite Christmas song when I was 3 and 4 years old. It brought back feelings from those long-ago days that memory paints with gold. Then I knew. I knew that somewhere in Heaven I was remembered.

Learn to Fly

The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche once said, "He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying." 

And yet, just as a friend and I discussed, there is no cap on personal progression. How could there be? Perhaps we can  "fly into flying." Why do we have to settle for intermediate stages of mediocrity? Why can't we choose today to pick ourselves up and fly?!? Why do we content ourselves with resting on a plateau--peaceful perhaps, but meaningless? It is only in taking risks that we rise. 

The Gift of Wisdom, the Gift of Perspective

When I was a young child, too young to remember, my grandmother taught me a lesson I will never forget. As a tiny tot, I romped around her California home and one day romped right into an exquisite, standing, Thai vase. The vase tottered, tumbled, and shattered. My mother, filled with dread, apologized over and over for my mistake. My grandmother looked at her and smiling, said, "It's okay. People are more important than things." The vase could not be replaced or repaired, but to Grandma, I mattered more. She gently gathered up the broken pieces and removed them so that the shattered remains of the vase could not hurt me the way I had hurt it. Though Grandma never would have guessed it then, her words that day shaped who I have tried to become.


Years later, Grandma developed macular degeneration, a disease that gradually took her sight. One Sunday, she awoke to discover that she had lost about 80 percent of her sight overnight. We brought her over to our house for dinner that day. I still remember where we sat when she told us of her feelings concerning this new loss. "I have had my physical sight for many years," she said. "Now my spiritual sight can grow." 


Even at the end of her life, when her challenges were greatest, she worked to lift others. She could not see well, hear well, or walk well. Two years ago,she lost her beloved Alvin. Yet she always put a smile on her face and went about brightening the world she lived in. She visited her neighbors. She gave everything she knew how to give. And every time I saw her she would tell me how beautiful I looked. I wondered how she knew, because she could barely see my red hair to distinguish me from my brunette sister, but she always sounded so earnest when she said it that I could never argue. Grandma loved beautiful things, especially beautiful music. Her life made the world more beautiful. It made my world more beautiful. 


Now we must part for a while. I love you, Grandma.

What Is This Thing That Men Call Death

President Gordon B. Hinckley


What is this thing that men call death,
This quiet passing in the night?

'Tis not the end, but genesis

Of better worlds and greater light.

O God, touch thou my aching heart,

And calm my troubled, haunting fears.

Let hope and faith, transcendent, pure,

Give strength and peace beyond my tears.

There is no death, but only change,

With recompense for vict'ry won.

The gift of him who loved all men,

The Son of God, the Holy One.

Hahahahaha

This is why I love NPR.

Strange Relief

Do you ever have moments when you wonder what you really want, only to realize that you have always known exactly what you want? As nonsensical as that sounds, that is how I've been feeling all day today. I had given myself a goal and a direction, and found myself wondering if I were crazy for doing so. Yesterday I looked hard at my dream and was surprised to see just how out of focus it was and how much I didn't understand about my own orientation and the potential it holds. But then, today, all day, my desires have been confirmed. My path is clear. Strange relief.

To You, Friend

Friendship is an incomprehensible gift. Its majestic beauty unfolds around me like a rose-tipped sunset. It washes over me like the glorious deep, resting in my heart like the warmth of a bird, with a song just as sweet. It both strengthens and weakens me. The love in my soul glows warmer than a flame, but it is gentle as a drifting cloud and unflinching as a mountain. The gift of friendship fills my senses. I breathe it in and soak in its aroma.

To you who took my hand, lifting me and steadying me. To you who taught me to love, and you who taught me to feel. To you who showed me what it means to withhold judgement. To you who made me better, stronger, happier, safer, wiser. Thank you.



"Take my hand. Hold on tight. We will stay on the path together..." Sister Rosemary M. Wixom.

Lost and Found

I wrote this one day when I was working in the testing center. I had been reading Peter Pan and happened to have a lot on my mind that day, so I began to pour some of my thoughts onto paper. It needs a good edit, but I wanted to post it anyway because it seems to be fitting today.

Lost and Found

A little lost boy can’t find his way;

He’s stuck in Neverland—

A great abyss of seas and mists

And no one wants to play.

Sad and alone in his own dream world,

He clambers to get free,

But seas and mists he made himself

Are loath to let him out.

His way is barred, his path unclear,

He nearly sits to cry

When something in him comes alive

And teaches him to dance.

Dancing freely ‘round the land,

His dreams seem to have changed--

They’re brighter now, and full of hope;

At last he finds the way.