Three semi-profound musings and a walk

On Friday (January 18), I had three semi-profound musings, or at least they seemed profound to me when I was thinking them.

Semi-profound musing #1: We had our first visible sunrise of the year Friday morning! I took Jeff to work as the sky was lightening, and by the time I got home, the colors were bursting across our big open sky. I stood out on the cold driveway and drank in the bright vibrant view. It has been so gray and cloudy that we have not glimpsed the sun for more than a few minutes here and there all month. This sunrise was an extra-special gift. I took a few pictures of it with our tall tree sticking up black and bony right in the middle of the sunrise. Sometimes I think that big gnarly tree gets in the way of my view, but other times I think it makes the view better. Perspective.

Semi-profound musing #2: While I was practicing piano just now, I felt a surge of awe that I was able to play songs that seemed completely impossible a year ago. It is amazing how FAST pride comes into the equation when it comes to any physical achievement. In the Book of Mormon, the Nephites got prideful after God helped them defeat the Lamanites. It is my life, my hands, my time, and I did have to force myself to be disciplined enough to practice piano endlessly and learn the songs. Maybe that's where the pride comes in: when I do my very best I feel proud of all that effort. 

What that pride fails to remember/acknowledge is the remaining percentage of the task that was filled in by God's grace. The Lord promises us that if we do our part, or our very best, he will make up the difference with his grace (divine help). Saying that God makes up the difference makes it sound like we have to do a certain percentage of work before we qualify for his help/love/peace. But God doesn't just "make up the difference." He is with us for the entire journey, helping us along or giving us space to learn--whatever is best for our development. So being prideful is pointless!

And yet whenever I play a piano song well, I feel the tug of temptation to "boast in my own strength." I practiced for an hour every day for three months to learn these songs and it worked. I know the songs so well! Every time I have to play in front of people, though (aka once a week at church), I am humbled back down and find myself back to praying for peace and help. It's my own personal pride cycle. And I always thought that the Nephites were a little ridiculous for not just recognizing the obvious divine assistance in all of their battles.  

Semi-profound musing #3: Amber was trying to do a big floor puzzle while I jotted down these thoughts. She kept asking me for help. I gave her some ideas to try:

• spread out all of the pieces 
• turn all of the pieces over so you can see the pictures on them
• look at the picture on the box and try to find pieces that go together

Amber kept getting frustrated. I noticed that instead of following my advice, she was simply taking random pieces and trying to cram them together. At her next frustrated outburst of "MOMMY, HELP!" I told her: 

"You need to look at the pictures on the puzzle pieces. Then they will be easier to fit together."

I thought wow, there's a lesson in there. Since Amber is only a year and a half from starting kindergarten (it feels SO CLOSE some days and SO FAR other days), I have been trying to fit together the pieces of my various futures: after all of my kids are in school, after my youngest kid is in middle school, after my youngest kid is in high school, after all of my kids have graduated from high school, etc. For some reason, I want to know/plan everything right now, and I have been feeling so muddled and confused and kind of stressed about a decision that really doesn't need to be made for another decade or more. After advising Amber on her puzzle, I realized that I need to take time to assemble more of my "life-puzzle-pieces" and examine them carefully before I figure out which one to add to my personal puzzle next. That's something that I can do over time as I adapt to each new phase of life--I do not have to know the full picture right now! (as much as I want to!)

Other symbolic, potentially-eloquent things I said to Amber while she was working on that puzzle and begging for help (aka wanting me to do the puzzle for her):

• I am helping you by giving you ideas to try.
• I know you can do this.
• You only THINK you can't do this right now because you're frustrated.
• Puzzles are not supposed to be easy!
• Don't throw the puzzle pieces across the room.
• Gather the puzzle pieces and line them up so you can see all of them.
• I will help you more when you've tried all of the ideas/help I have already given you.
• I love you. Stop whining at me.
• I am helping you but you haven't listened to me.
• I am giving you things to try and you aren't trying them.
• If you aren't willing to try, I'm not going to do it all for you.
• If you want me to help, you have to help yourself too.
• You CAN do it.
• Can you PLEASE stop whining?
• Helping doesn't mean me doing it for you; helping is giving you ways to do it for yourself!

So many godly parallels in a simple 32 piece jumbo floor puzzle. While I typed, Amber stood at my elbow whining for a while, then went over and started playing in the kitchen sink, leaving the puzzle scattered across the floor. Kids.

After I got up from writing my three musings, I went to the family room floor and helped Amber do the puzzle. I realized that one of the reasons she doesn't think she can do a puzzle on her own is because I have never taught her how. I dislike doing puzzles so much that usually I sit there and hand her the pieces and tell her exactly where to put them while connecting other sections of the puzzle by myself, to get it over with as fast as possible. So I swallowed my puzzle-boredom and kept a lid on my patience (although that lid was rattling with pent-up steam the whole time) and coached Amber through all of the steps: turn over the puzzle pieces so they're all visible, look at the picture on the box, etc. We spent a solid 15-20 minutes on a 32 piece puzzle. It felt longer. That sounds bad, like I was not happy to be a mom teaching her child at that moment. I am glad I took the time to help Amber do that puzzle. It just wasn't easy. The carpet kept getting caught between the puzzle pieces and when they didn't snap together on the first try, Amber assumed that she had it in the wrong place. 

It was slightly maddening, but we got through it together. 

Motherhood in a nutshell, right there!

At last, Amber added the last piece to the puzzle. She sat back and admired her hard work with shining eyes. For the rest of the day, she paused and admired the puzzle on the floor whenever she walked through the room. Speaking of pride... I think she remembered that I helped her do it, but in this case I kind of don't mind if she forgets that I helped her, if it means that next time she'll have the confidence and skills to do the entire puzzle herself. A mom can dream.

The walk: After lunch, the SUN briefly peeked out from behind the clouds again and the thermometer said 48 degrees. I hustled Amber into her boots and a jacket and we went outside. We wandered across the field and visited all of our favorite spots: the dirt piles, the creek (rock throwing), the muddy road, the mud puddles half a mile down the creek, the neighbor's chickens, the vineyard, the willow trees, and the big dry canal bed. 

Early in our walk along the creek, we were surprised to see an OWL sitting in the shallow stream of water. It was just sitting there! When we approached, it started moving its head back and forth and spread its wings out. I thought it might be stuck in the creek (in the long grass under the shallow water or maybe there was a wire tangled down there). So I took Amber's stick and gently slid it down to the owl's feet. It lifted a foot and weakly grasped the stick. "Good!" I thought, "I'll pull it to safety!" But then the poor bird just let go of the stick and wouldn't grab it again. I prodded its other foot and saw that it wasn't stuck on anything when it took a step in the water. Amber and I stood there staring at the owl wondering what to do for it for a while, but I realized that sadly it was probably injured and there was nothing I could do for it. I'm no veterinarian! We walked on and I tried to shake the sad guilty feeling from not being able to help the poor soaked owl. 

We slid through mud, splashed and squelched in mud puddles, watched the creepy chickens through the fence, threw rocks into the tiny trickle of creek, worried a random white cat that followed us, ran, stomped, squelched, and skidded. Amber climbed the big willow tree twice without help--I put my hand on her back while she climbed to give her confidence, but I didn't actually lift her. She is quite the monkey! On our way home, Amber had to slide down into the canal bottom to check things out. At last after nearly 90 minutes outside, her little pink hands got uncomfortably cold and we walked home. 

Sad owl selfie. 

I think I need to invest in some rubber boots so I can keep up with my 4 year old.

Climbing the willow.

She said "It's our tree! It's our tree!"

Doing a few hill repeats: up and down, up and down.

In the canal.

It was SO GOOD to be outside rambling with Amber again! It is so peaceful to be with Amber in nature where she can dig, throw, splash, and explore unfettered. I don't have to tell her no, as long as she's not throwing or splashing at me. I felt quite refreshed when we got home. Amber was quite a cold muddy mess, though, so into the bathtub she went, emerging 20 minutes later mud-free with extra curly drippy hair.