News Trend Heart-Shaped Happiness|Actual

I have always been a sucker for heart-shaped things.

Ever since they were tiny, my girls clued into this love of mine and during their childhood, were forever bringing me heart-shaped things.

Heart-shaped rocks.

Heart-shaped cookies.

Heart-shaped art.

Heart-shaped shells.

Heart-shaped flowers.

Yesterday, my second-born rushed into the kitchen with a sparkle in her eye. "Look what I found in your bathroom." And with ceremony, she handed me over this perfect heart-shaped leaf, left over from a retired eucalyptus bouquet.

Though they have long since grow up, my daughters still know exactly what makes me happy.

News Trend Dear Mormon Mom|Actual

This is where I was working when your son spied me

and confidently strolled over to greet me.

Dear Mormon mom,

Your son stopped by my house the other day.

I know he's been out on mission for a while so let me fill you in.

He looked good.

Shiny shoes,

neat hair cut,

brushed teeth.

I was wrestling with a unwieldy rose bush as he and his partner approached. Excitedly, they asked if they could help with my project. If I had let them, I'm sure they would have laid aside their bibles, loosened their ties, and worked until they sweated through their crisp white dress shirts. But I turned down their offer, laid aside my clippers and launched at them a barrage of questions about their work as missionaries and how their adventure was unfolding.

Your son stood up straight, looked me in the eye, and smiled as we talked.

As your son stood and talked, this bounty of wood hyacinth prepared to bloom on his right.

We had a great conversation. They've been away from home for a few months now, still getting into their routine, growing accustomed to ongoing changes as they move from place to place, working with different partners, meeting new people. Though I assured them that I've already got plenty of Jesus in my life, they walked me through their approach to sharing the good news, offering me a booklet and asking me what I thought about the picture on the cover.

Your boy was confident, caring and calm.

Stepping stones.

During our chat, I let on about you. I mentioned that I have several friends who are Mormon moms with sons out on mission and that sometimes, my friends worry about their son's well-being. Both boys smiled understandingly and said, "Tell your friends not to worry. We take pretty good care of ourselves." They told me about a pair of local doctors who provide free medical care and one boy said to the other, "If you don't stop hiccuping so much, I think you better call them."

These guys look out for each another.

Another topic of conversation: how fortunate your son was to be placed for his mission in this naturally beautiful corner of the country.

We talked for maybe fifteen minutes. As we began to say our goodbyes, I reached for my clippers and the boys took one more shot. "Are you sure we can't help you with this yard work?" they politely asked.

"Thanks but no," I explained. "This is my therapy."

"Oh, it's our therapy too," your son said.

I thought that was adorable.

But in the end, they strode off together, that pair of eighteen-year-old Elders, sincere ambassadors for the Latter-Day Saints and all-around good men.

This heap of thorny trimmings is less than half of what I cut away from that troublesome rose bush, and I've got the scars to prove it. I'm happy to report that your son escaped unscathed.

Mom, I know it's hard to be so far away from your son, with the lines of communication cut to a bare minimum. There are plenty of things for a mother's mind to worry about and good reasons for concern.

But trust me. Your son is doing just fine.

And he totally made my day.

Sincerely, Diane

* * * * *

P.S. Wait. Young women can be LDS missionaries too? Then all my sentiments apply also to them and the mothers who love them. Don't worry, Mormom moms: I'll keep an eye out for your girl!

News Trend Where I Belong|Actual

"Coincidences are God's way of getting our attention." - Frederick Buechner

Peace out, Edmonds. We on a boat now and we're headed for adventure!

I grew up on Ore Lake - a medium-sized freshwater lake in southeast Michigan. As a dreamy adolescent, when I wanted to enjoy a sunny summer day, I would often row out to the middle of the lake, drop anchor on the sandbar out there, lay back in my little aluminum craft, and think about life.

Always, my eyes drank in the scenery that encircled me:

deep blue water surrounding my boat,

stretching out to endless weeping willows along the shore

to whipsy white clouds at the horizon

topped by a perfect powder blue dome.

And when my imagination was fully fired up - which was often - I would stare at the clouds and imagine snow-covered mountain ranges hiding within them. I could almost convince myself that the peaks were there, and as much as I lived my lake life, I yearned for those mountains too.

At first, the varying waves and intricate patterns of the rolling deep captivated my attention, until I noticed a solid white bulge in the clouds to the left.  That, my friends, is our beloved Mount Rainier, and any day when the clouds part and she presents her pretty face is a good day indeed.

Now I live near Puget Sound - a protected inlet of the Pacific Ocean on which Seattle is located. On a gorgeous summer-like day this week, two of my daughters and I decided to take a pleasure cruise across the Sound on a Washington State Ferry. As we strolled around the windswept upper deck, I found myself drawn to a sunny railing on the lee side of the ship where I fell deep into thought.

My eyes drank in the scene:

deep blue water around my boat,

stretching out to the triangle-y tree tops along the shore

to whispy white clouds at the horizon

topped by a perfect powder blue dome.

But this time, I didn't need my imagination to conjure up snow-capped mountains playing peek-a-boo within those clouds. There they were, as real as can be, in all their majestic glory - Mount Baker to the northeast, Mount Rainier to the southeast, and the Olympic Range spilling along the horizon to the west.

And my soul was sweetly, deeply, profoundly satisfied.

The Mountain, as the locals call her, dwarfs the city skyline as she appears to float above the horizon.

As I stood there in the snapping winds, my mind turned over and over the remarkably similar circumstances, the almost-prophetic adventures of my youth.

Lying back in my rowboat, decades ago, did I somehow know what my future would hold?

Were my imaginings some sort of vision or just a lucky coincidence of how my life would eventually unfold?

Did it matter that I dreamed of mountains? Did my yearnings somehow influence my life's decisions, even though my conscious mind would insist they did not?

Baker looms on the northern horizon, close to the Canadian border, and her subtle presence among the low-lying clouds is exactly the vision of my youth.

Ultimately, I decided, it doesn't matter.

Premonition or no premonition,

Coincidence or not,

I am here

floating in a sea of blue

surrounded by endless trees,

tufted with white clouds

hiding snowy-peaked mountains

under a dazzling blue sky.

And this is exactly where I belong.

The ridge of the Olympic Mountains appears blue in the afternoon sun, but their jagged snow-covered peaks definitely make me feel at home.

News Trend Coincidence|Actual

"Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous." - Albert Einstein

This week, I stumbled upon a book left lying around the house by my second-born, and soon fell fast and deep into the story.

During a time of frustration and pain in her own life, a teenage girl loses her dearly beloved uncle. As she grieves, she must come to terms with the new knowledge that her uncle was gay, and died from AIDS. Making peace with his lover is a critical step as she rebuilds relationships with her family.

[Tell The Wolves I'm Home by Carol Rifka Brunt]

Last night, my husband scrolled through a list of movie ideas, and randomly chose one for us to watch. I was riveted.

During a season of stalled growth in his own life, a thirty-something man loses his dearly beloved father. As he grieves, he must come to terms with the fact that four years before his death, at age 75, his father came out as a life-long gay, and died with his new lover at his side. Making peace with his father's partner is a critical step as he works to establish a relationship with a new woman in his life.

[Beginners written and directed by Mike Mills]

* * * * *

Well. Cue the thunder bolts, electrical jolts and epic floods.

Because I can see that these plot lines share more than a passing similarity.

And the emotions that I felt as each story unwound

my fondness for the main characters,

my sympathetic pain and confusion for their struggles,

my shifty discomfort that the endings left things far from truly resolved,

were spot-on the same. I feel as if I'd strapped into two seemingly unrelated roller coasters and ended up taking the exact same ride

God often lays for me a trail of bread crumbs like this one. I know without a doubt that I'm supposed to pay attention and learn something from this pair of matching stories, this highly specific coincidence.

But I haven't figured out yet what that might be.

I have no severely ill or recently deceased male relatives.

I'm seriously lacking in father figures altogether.

No recently outed gays in my life.

Ditto that on any loved ones' partners whom I might be challenged to love and accept.

So, without any obvious parallels in my life, I have a bit of a mystery on my hands.

In the next few days, I'll be mulling over this puzzle.

I'll go back to each story, rereading passages and rewatching key scenes.

I'll daydream about each story makes me feel and what buttons each one pushes within me.

And I'll probably end up asking God to make his point a bit more clear. Sometimes I need extra help to catch on.

But one thing I know for sure: whenever I experience a coincidence like this one, the real truth is that it is no coincidence at all.

News Trend Twenty Years |Actual

Twenty years ago, we DIYed these little shelves into an alcove in our master bathroom.

And for the next nineteen and a half years, they drove me insane.

Well. That's not fair. I can only blame myself for the ongoing tides of flotsam and jetsam that drifted across their unsuspecting pine planks.

Too easily did I just stash ordinary things here, neglecting to bring beauty to this space.

Too long did I make other areas of the house a priority  and ignored this private corner of the house rarely seen by anyone outside the immediate family.

Too many times did I use the excuse of money to deny myself some much-needed change.

A few months back, I finally snapped.

My inner stylist demanded that we stop the madness and do this space up right.

My inner therapist insisted that I should do this for myself, even if no one else saw it.

My inner financier siphoned a hundred bucks out of the grocery account and felt no shame.

Then we all got busy and here's what we came up with.

Towels

I used to jam bath towels onto these slim shelves, but I finally realized that hand towels were a much better fit. I spoiled myself with two new sets.

Candles

Every busy woman on the planet fantasizes about ending the day with a long, leisurely bubble bath surrounded by glowing candles. Well. I am not a fan of soaking myself but I love me a candlelit shower. And on the nights when I forget to light a candle, I just enjoy seeing them sitting their on their shelf, all white and clean and fresh.

Plants

Let's be honest. My little philodendron hates his life in this shadowy corner, and much prefers when I take him on holiday to a sunnier room. He comes back now and then to visit his friends on the shelf, but we've all come to accept that his time here is limited.

Trays

I used to tell myself that trays are essential organizers and I need them for functional purposes. That, however, is a bald faced lie. I will now proudly admit that I buy trays because I like the way they look, even though I could just as easily set my bottle and jars directly on the shelf.

Geometric Thingy

I'm obsessed with metal geometric sculptures and they pop up all over my house. I'm also obsessed with spray painting them on a whim, and this one's recent reincarnation in white makes me happy.

Polka Dot Dish

It's  white. And square. And just the right amount of little. And covered with gold polka dots, too? When my eyes fell on this gem, I knew I had to buy it and was forced to invent a use for it on the spot. Hair bands and bobby pins deserve a home of their own and I feel no remorse whatsoever,

A Word About Labels

Call me neurotic, but after purifying my soul with these newly styled shelves, I was not about to pollute my creation with brightly colored, text-saturated plastic bottles and jars. But my inner realist scoffed at the idea of repackaging my toiletries into generic containers; I may wish I had the discipline to squirt my new bottles of lotion into a silvery dispenser, but I know perfectly well that I do not. So I've come up with a compromise: I buy products in white or clear packaging, and peel off the labels, leaving me with satisfactorily neutral containers to live on my shelves.

* * * * *

It's been five months since my shelves transformed and I'm happier than ever with how the project turned out.

I love this little corner of calming white.

I smile to myself every morning as I stumble into the bathroom to start my day.

And I'm pretty sure that no one even noticed the budget meals I slid onto the table during the pay period of my purchases.

In fact, my only regret about styling up my bathroom shelves is that it took me two decades to get round to making it happen.

plant | home depot

plant container | ikea

chevron towels | cost plus world market

plain towels | target

candles | target

marble tray | bed, bath & beyond

white tray | nate berkus for target

geometric sculpture | hobby lobby, painted white

polka dot dish (similar) | hobby lobby

News Trend Baby Blue Baseball Skies|Actual

Play ball!

I caught a couple games of the Seattle Mariners' series with the Texas Rangers this week.

I know. It's only April, a bit early for a civilized outing to the ball park, especially up here in the soggy Pacific Northwest. But when my daughter's favorite team comes to town, we go, no matter what.

And anyway, t's a well-documented fact that I love me some major league baseball.

The long-standing rivalries between the clubs

The slow, lyrical pacing of a leisurely game.

The sudden bursts of adrenaline from a home run or a double play

The sustained rally of an inning full of solid base hits and strong base running.

The always-present suspense of knowing that with each pitch of the ball, anything might happen.

I'm also a huge fan of the baseball culture:

Honoring our country before the first pitch.

Filling in my score card.

Listening to the vendors hawk their wares

Singing my heart out during the seventh inning stretch

And oh my gosh, the smell of those garlic fries is pure heaven.

But I must confess that on top of all those sports-specific pleasantries, I may most appreciate the simple joy of spending a few hours sitting outside under a baby blue summer sky.

Or in the case of this week, a sunny but shockingly chilly mid-spring sky.

Monday night's game was rough - despite my hat, mittens, boots, and layers of sweaters, I shivered through the game.

Tuesday was even colder. At forty-eight degrees, the air hung heavy and cold, damp from the day's rain. Luckily, I was prepared. Wrapping myself up like a burrito in a fleecy blanket, I managed to stayed warm as toast for all nine innings.

And best of all, on both nights, after the game had ended and I was home tucked in bed, I slept with the wonderful weariness that only comes from spending hours in the fresh air.

Magical things happen under those baby blue ballpark skies and my summer baseball mojo is off to a great start.

* * * * *

For more stories about baseball, check out:

Take Me Out To The Crowd

Buy Me Some Peanuts And Cracker Jack

As American As Apple Pie

#yolo

Face-Off

Safeco Sunday

News Trend Uncontrollable|Actual

Some years, spring comes wandering in like a dawdling child.

Slowly

Cautiously

Taking her own sweet time

And no matter how excited you are to see her, or impatient you might be to have her bloom into her full glory, you just have to let spring happen when she is good and ready.

Then there are other years, when the opposite is true.

When you are still comfortable with grey skies, tumbling clouds, sweater weather and only a tiny hint of change in the air, she rushes in, all posies and tree buds and pink-cheeked toddlers playing outside after their naps.

And BAM.

Whether you are ready or not, spring arrives. She can be quite bossy like that.

This spring, for me, has been the pushy kind. I would be happy to wear my boots and cable knits for a few more weeks, but oh no. Today, I had no choice but to break out my sandals, throw open all the windows, and take a nap on the grass in my backyard

I can't control Sirius either. But he is not putting up much of a fight on this warm spring afternoon.

Spring, I can't control you. And that's just as well

Because you are a very good reminder that this life is not meant to be controlled at all.