I've felt like a mother for 2 years. It was about 2 years 2 months ago that I first became acquainted with Mark, and then less than a month later that I began to feel, by some miracle, the love of a mother for this boy. It was weird at first, until I realized what it was. I knew I loved and cared about him a lot, and described it as "a mother lioness protecting her young" or "a mother hen protecting her flock."

But having a son halfway around the world who you have never met, never hugged, never seen the precious beauty of with your own eyes, it is not the same. It always felt real to me before, but having met him now, it feels really real.

I was worried in LA about missing my connection, because my first flight was delayed, but it ended up that the Sydney flight was 2 gates away from my incoming flight, so that was a great relief for me as I walked off that plane. Then the 15 hour flight was actually not that bad. I slept maybe 6-8 hours, rested more than that, watched a show, journaled, studied scriptures, and enjoyed the beautiful sunrise out my window. I had brought Mockingjay to read, but found that I did not think I would have enough time to finish it, so didn't even really read it at all. Perhaps on the flight home. But anyway, then I got off the plane, through immigration, the conveyor belt was broken, so there was a delay getting my bag, but as soon I saw my bag, I took it and ran to customs. Got through customs quickly, and quickly walked down the ramp, scanning the crowd, looking for him. I didn't see him anywhere, and then I saw him, and I doubled speed, weaving through people, and turning a corner to see him. And then I was there, and he was there, and I just got to hug him.

I have wanted so many times to do that. Just out of happiness, or wanting to comfort him when all sorts of bad stuff is going on, and I finally got to. But then just like, as the day wore on, I just felt like...well, we were walking around the neighborhood with the lady who owns the apartment I am staying in, and we were going across a crosswalk, and there was a car coming towards us, Mark first, and I was just like, instantly in my mind alert, and if the car had not slowed down, I would have done something. There is no way I was going to let anything happen to him. And I would throw myself in front of a bus to stop something from happening to him. And like, that's stuff I kind of had an inkling for before, like I felt that general protectiveness of him, but it's so real, when I am right here.

He is beautiful, and he is my baby. I love him so much.

In the Air

So for some reason I decided to use the free Wi-fi this time on my flight, and of course what to do but update my blog!

So it seems like I will be able to see Mark every day while I am in Australia, and pretty much all day, so that is awesome! :D

I am on my flight from Salt Lake to Los Angeles at the moment, and don't want to sleep on this flight. Want to save that for the flight to Australia...because let's be serious, I am going to need as much time-sucking as I can get on that flight. But towards the end, I will probably just get giddy and just want to bounce in my seat.

I kept jumping up and down various points through the past two days, partially when I was waiting in the line for security. I'm just so excited.

This is probably the most planning I have ever done for a trip. I started an actual packing list like 3 months ago, and started packing a whole nine days before departure (this is a departure from my usual pack in the last 20-30 minutes before leaving the house. It usually works well though). Of course I've been looking forward to this trip for two years.

One day I will have to write out me and Mark's story, and how we came to be bonded as mother/son. But that time has not yet come. He's an amazing kid, though, and I can't wait to meet him.

I feel so blessed, to have this all work out, that I am going to get to see him so much, and just that I know him at all. The Lord works in mysterious ways, but they are beautiful.

8 days

Eight days. I leave for Australia in eight days. The reason I planned this trip was to go and meet this boy I love like my own son. I've been planning to go there for a couple years, but planning to come at this time since maybe March or April. He moved out of his parents house and in with his girlfriend at the time and her parents, then some bouncing back and forth when they broke up. Then he needed to find a place on his own, and she felt bad for him, so they found a place together, and lived together again, while remaining broke up.

And now she has accused him of attempted murder and assault. At first I believed her. But the more I talked to her, the more her story didn't add up, and then after he was arrested and released back to the custody of his parents, I got to talk to Mark, and hear his side of the story, and then I really didn't believe her, because he did admit to striking her, though not in any sort of forceful way.

I've known about this for a couple weeks, and just kind of been holding on, trying to hope, praying, and it seeming like the evidence is so crap that the case will not go anywhere. And it's been up and down, back and forth about whether I will even get to see him at all while I am there. It seems probable right now, but no certainty.

And so today I decided to start packing, and as I am packing, I realize I have no idea where my passport is. I cannot find it. I look all around. I find my -old- invalid passport, but cannot find my passport. Then I find it, and I am still sad. It finally all comes to a head. And I just start sobbing. I am sad that someone would do something like this to my son. I feel so helpless being able to do nothing for him. I want to save him from all pain and suffering, and here he is with so much heaped upon him. And I just think over and over, Why? Why is this happening? Why would she do this to him? Why? Why? Why? Why would someone be like that? Why would someone want to destroy someone else's life like that?

Before this all happened, people would ask me what I was going to do in Australia, and wonder if I was going to see much. Since my main plan was to cook and sing and play games with Mark, I did not figure I would get out to see much, so I'd say no. And they would seem a little confused. I leave in eight days, and I don't know what I am doing while I am there. I don't know if I will get to meet this boy who has touched my life, and changed me, and blessed me with the title of mom. But I do know one thing: that even if I don't, the trip was worth it. It is worth the chance.

There is something beautiful and special about a world blanketed in snow. It may move the colorful world to a world of seeming black and white, but it has it's own kind of majestic beauty as well. Though it is cold, it seems quiet and peaceful, the sun rise, seen in the south, not yet over the tall eastern mountains, and I can still hear birdsong.

I want to bask in it, to soak it in and let it fill me, to let it overcome the turmoil and worry I have been experiencing. It seems in the most basic way to be the earth heeding the call of the Lord to "Peace, be still", and makes me want to do the same.

Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea

Or demons or men or whatever it be

No water can swallow the ship where lies

The master of ocean and earth and skies

They all shall sweetly obey thy will

Peace, be still, peace, be still

They all shall sweetly obey thy will

Peace, peace, be still

Today, I trust in the Lord. That all things will be done according to his will, and that will be best for me, and for those I love, that the trials will bring experience and be for our good, and that it all works into his glorious plan.

Who am I?

I have been thinking about the lack of depth to characters I write. Like I have been considering this story in my head for a couple weeks, and the characters are a bit of a blur. They don't stand out to me - it is the actions and the circumstances that interest me (I suppose that is a good thing, at least). Then I started to think about how I view people, in this sort of mish-mash way of the things they do and their circumstances in life. And those things can be interesting, but that is not what makes people human.

In my 50 pages of story that I was writing before, there was crying on almost every other page. It's because that is how I experience, exult, and joy in sadness. To me, sadness is beautifully experienced by crying. But people experience sadness a variety of ways.

I guess I think it is important that I understand what my traits are, who I am as a character in the story of my own life, so I can see when I am falling into the pattern of seeing everyone as I see myself. I want to love these people, love them for their weaknesses, and their strengths that can inspire me, and I think that begins with the journey of understanding myself, and taking time to see people around me in a different way.

I like to relate people to me. I think it tends to make me pretty empathetic, with a few exceptions, but I try to consider myself in the situations others are in, doing the things they are doing, and following the thoughts and feelings that would lead them to be that way, and I see myself in people, and I see them in me. I see how I could potentially react that way, how I would feel if I was going through that.

But I want to see how they are not me. I do this most often with my parents, because it is a relationship that is most surrounded by a natural inequality, difference, separation of understanding. I think I will be surprised and inspired by what I see. People are amazing.

Sacrament Hymns

I have been studying the atonement for my scripture study for the last little while, and this week I've felt like I should be singing hymns about the atonement each day to enhance my study. So as I have been singing these songs, I have noticed a pattern, one that I had never really realized before, because not often do you sing songs about the atonement (ie mostly the typical sacrament hymns) all together. You usually get one a week, and there is a lot else to focus on, like the importance of the coming ordinance, a time to reflect on the past week, and lots of other worthy things, so analysis of the hymns is not usually something that occupies my mind during that time.

As I have been singing these songs one after another, though, I have begun to realize something. It came, because I was thinking, "Man this is some dreary music for some really hopeful words," as I was singing something, which I don't remember which hymn it was. But then I thought, well of course it makes sense, sacramental music should be penitent, and a lot of it is repentant, but almost always, the last verse is these hopeful and beautiful words, full of promise and brightness, which I think I never noticed before, because it seemed to just fit with the rest, and get sung that way, and so I never noticed it.

But as I have been singing, I have felt the power of those verses, and they make me smile, and feel joyful, and as I sing them, they don't sound the same; they have that feel they should have, that matches the words, even though the music is the same. It's like I feel like I am finally singing it the right way.

So for all my LDS readers out there, next time you sing a sacrament song, try to find that beauty and hope and love in that last verse, and sing to match it, and find the true joy that comes from that, but more appropriately from the source of all hope and joy and love, which is Christ, through his atonement. Because that is what we sing about.

How glorious!

A quilt as a metaphor for life

I wish I had pictures to accompany this post, but they were just taken this morning, and I left New York, and did not bring pictures with me. I am sure I will get them within the next few days, but this is more about the process than anything else, so I guess the pictures don't matter so much.

This quilt I just finished has had so many pitfalls, and because I was making it for someone else, and not for myself, I had to overcome my inclination to give up. I made the center the first time, and then the back fabric bled, and so I had to scrap that one, buy new fabric, and do the whole thing again. Sewed the blocks all together, and it was super super huge, so had to take off a row of blocks, which i had to unpick them all, and then also re-sew part of the other blocks. And all of these things are obstacles that would have stopped me up, probably from ever finishing a project. I have so many unfinished projects, that I just got to a point where I was too frustrated, it seemed like it would never work, so I gave up.

It has been interesting seeing how the option of giving up being taken away has taught me that so much more is possible than I would have thought, and I can do a lot more than I once gave myself credit for.

But the real analogy that I have been thinking about is something that happened Friday night. My mom left to go work at the temple, and I was there with George (the quilting machine), quilting the quilt. The tension had some problems, and it being my first experience with George, I did not really know how to fix it, so I went along as best I could. I got the center piece finished, and started on the easy pieces, and was getting a decent amount done, feeling like I was closer to being on schedule. Then my mom came home, and started unpicking all of this work I had done, because there were these problems on the back.

I went to bed angry, and woke up deflated, to see almost all of my work taken out. It was not until today that I understood why. With the quilt finished, we took it to the quilt guild, and then we held it up, hanging over this bannister, so my mom could take pictures of it. Then my mom came over and took the side I was holding, and sent me over to see my quilt. It was stunning, absolutely beautiful. Then they turned it around, and I looked at the back, and it was gorgeous. This was a work of art, on both sides, through and through. This was perfection, insomuch as it was possible for this quilt.

My mom and I talked about Saturday morning, because she had spent a lot of time taking this work out, feeling like she had done me this great favor, and was wondering why I was not thanking her for it, and why I seemed to be in a bad mood. Once I told her how I felt about it, she understood a bit more.

But I think there is an important lesson I learned from this, and it was one I did not learn until I saw that quilt hanging in its final form. I wonder how many times Heavenly Father sends us a blessing, something to help us, to take us back from the point we were at, to re-try something, so that this time we can get it right. And we get upset and angry, and he probably feels a bit curious, as to why we are so upset, though he knows, but still must think we are being foolish, because it is for our good. Because he sees the finished masterpiece of our lives and self before we do. We get caught up in the details, in the worry of day to day living, and he is worried about bringing us to that level of perfection.

I think what looking at this project, seeing its beauty and perfection really taught me was that perfection comes through an imperfect process. So many times I have given up on things, because I have made a mistake, or I have messed something up, and it seems beyond repair, or not worth the effort. But the mistakes, the hitches, the problems, they are all just a part of the process. The inferior center flowers, and the thread that is in the trash lays by the wayside, but this quilt lays in its new home, hopefully wrapped up around its new owner, fulfilling the purpose of its creation.

I hope I can do that for my creator.

And thanks again mom.