Happy #62: Turn to the Source of peace.

Ok, I'm going apologize right now for how sappy this post may sound. But part of what makes this blog meaningful (at least for me) is my willingness to be honest about what I'm feeling at the time while sharing with you what helps me feel better.

This last month has been a very busy one. Getting my daughter prepared to go into the mission field was an exceptionally busy time. And busyness has a way of distracting you from emotion. Which can be good. So I didn't really have a ton of time to think about what was happening, or consider the emotion surrounding it.

Knowing the tidal wave that was headed my way, a friend offered to pay for me to take a trip. All expenses included. It was the most incredible gesture of kindness and generosity I think I've ever experienced. And while I was away (having left town the day after Kelsie reported to the MTC), I was distracted from the reality of having both my daughters gone. And distracted from the emotions that are a part of that reality...

But the train I was on (quite literally as I journeyed around England and France) had to arrive at it's destination eventually. And when the it did, at 5:30 this morning, the tidal wave I was running from caught up to me.

Waking up and feeling the weight of it, I cried and cried. I tried to think my way out of it. I tried to busy myself with everything that needs my attention here at home. Nothing helped.

That's when I got on my knees and prayed.

In the moments that followed, I was reminded that turning to the Source of peace, our Savior Jesus Christ, we can find the comfort we need when nothing else works. The words to this hymn (Where can I turn for peace) came to mind.

Where can I turn for peace?
Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole?
When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,
I draw myself apart,
Searching my soul?

Where, when my aching grows,
Where, when I languish,
Where, in my need to know, where can I run?
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One.

He answers privately,
Reaches my reaching
In my Gethsemane, Savior and Friend.
Gentle the peace he finds for my beseeching.
Constant he is and kind,
Love without end.

Text: Emma Lou Thayne

When I began to feel peace through the One who is my source, the next thought I had was of gratitude. Naturally, my thoughts turned to the people in my life. And I was able to see the enormous outpouring of love and support that came through Him at the hands of my family and friends in my time of need.

I wrote a huge paragraph here sharing everything everyone has done recently that served to uplift me this morning. When it turned into a publishable book, I decided to let you all know personally and in private. :)

But let me just this: You make a difference. A big one.

Thank you.

I feel your love.

Happy #61: Leave something of yourself.

I know it 's been awhile. I got busy. And I got bored with myself.

But there's something I'd like to share with you.

On a few memorable occasions, I have been deeply moved by particular pieces of art. Inclined to favor pastoral images (especially those with water) and portraits if they captured color or light in a way that caught and kept my attention, I consistently brushed by other works of art.

This was a mistake.

Viewing Van Gough's Poplars (on exhibit at the University of Utah some time ago) I had my first experience feeling the energy of art. I can still see the droplets of apple green paint so thick with texture and vivid with color the painting looked like it had just been finished days earlier. (A picture is not included. I couldn't find one worthy to match my memory of the experience.)

This piece truly affected me. I could almost feel Van Gough painting. I will never forget the painting or the feeling I had looking at it.

Van Gough's A Wheatfield with Cypresses at the National Gallery of Art in London (one of the 30 most expensive paintings in the world, a mere $84,000,000.00) struck me much the same way. As did Monet's Bathers at La Grenouillère.

Absorbing these works of art I reflected again on the lives of the artists. Especially Van Gough. I am moved by the masters of these pieces. Not only because they produced remarkable art worthy of gracing galleries all over the world, but because in spite of what they endured personally, these people did something with their work and with their lives that has endured.

They pushed through whatever life was for them and they left something of their lives that contributes to ours. And this is what is worthwhile to me. That we can stand and behold work that is beautiful and meaningful, whomever we are and whatever appeals to us personally, because of what they did.

So here's my happy suggestion #61: Leave something of yourself. And I'm not talking about candy wrappers on the nightstand. Some one thing that will endure. Dig out that paintbrush or drawing pencil or whatever and get to work.

You may not think your work will have any significance. But if it comes from you, it has you in it. And that is significant. And worthwhile.

Even if it's simple. Maybe especially if it's simple.


Mark Rothko's White Center (Yellow, Pink and Lavender on Rose). Painted 1950. Recently sold for $75,000,000.00. (Also one of the 30 most expensive paintings in the world.)

Just do it.

Happy #59: Don't give up.

I'm still here. And so are you.

There's something to be said for that. Clearly there must be, since I bothered to write about it... :)

Not sure I know what it is just yet, but that's Ok.

It's Ok. We're Ok.

You, me, and my about to be a missionary daughter trying to get away with wearing a lime green (as opposed to the recommended Nun-like black or brown) blazer to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. Lol.

We're all Ok. Especially Kelsie in the lime green blazer.

I'll post a picture later. :)