Merriest Christmas

From our family to yours...

Life and Times

When I was expecting Max I hoped he would have so many characteristics. I saved the list I wrote in his baby book and it begins: He’d have a good heart, would never give up, would be funny, honest, and athletic, forgiving, musical, and that once, he’d score the game winning goal.

He has a sweet heart and has found a sweet girl to share it with, Kyla. They went with a whole group of friends to see the lights at Temple Square last night and then came back to our house after for hot chocolate and watched a movie until way too late! :) As a result he woke up late for his hockey game this morning. 

He has a persistence in whatever he sets his mind to, and I love his witty sense of humor. He's obviously athletic and would play every sport if I had time to take him. He's forgiven me for so many of the mistakes I've made in being his mom and if I could change some things I would make different mistakes. 

He had a drum solo in the band concert at school on Tuesday night and I could see the smile on his face while he was playing. 

He had the game winning assist today.  

So Max when that little voice says, “You might as well give up,” Remember all the times I believed, encouraged, supported, and all the times I rose to my feet and cheered with tears in my eyes so you could overcome all the trials that have come your way. When that little voice says, “No one needs you,” remember this: Someone does.

Someone counts on me to be there when he wakes up,
When he goes to sleep,
When he is scared,
When he is happy,
When he is sad.

My boys can count on me to be there.

Not perfect.
Not yell-free.
Not toned, fit, and styled.

To be there.

Not always calm.
Not always smiling.
Not always pretty.

Trying and sometimes failing, but getting back up and trying again, hoping to do a little better than the day before. I round up all the strength I have in my weary soul and say these three words loud and clear, at least once a day:

I am here. 

Someone is counting on me to be here, and I am.

I am.

And today, that is enough.

The First Day

"I remember what you wore on the first day. You came into my life and I thought, "Hey, you know, this could be something." - Martin Johnson

I grew up seeing handwritten notes of love. My mom worked long hours teaching us and  she often wrote small, square papers on the bed for my sister, Sheri, and me to find. Sometimes it was just a smiley face, other times she simply wrote the words “love you” in her beautiful cursive, but it was more than enough. Starting in 1980, I started writing notes to my grandma who lived in Portland.  What I loved the most is that Grandma Jo always wrote back. The excitement I felt when I looked in the mailbox and saw a letter in my grandma’s shaky writing never disappeared. Even in college when there were tests to study for and work, I took time to sit on my floor and read my grandma’s letters the moment they arrived. By studying her handwriting, I could almost tell how she’d been feeling that day. In the end, her manuscript became barely legible. Those notes are now treasures.

The words "I Love You" from my mom, written in her signature beautiful cursive, birthday cards containing funny memories, and thank you cards from my friends, students and church members written by hand, and ticket stubs to games I want to remember are all important things I can't bare to throw away.

But I have to tell you, my greatest notes have come from my youngest son, Markus. Around the time I knew I was falling, my son was learning to write words. As I took the steps to be more present, he began writing me love notes. The timing on these couldn't have been coincidental, these powerful visuals fueled my efforts to take a step back.

It's been six years since I went to the game where Markus and I danced to the Macarena like no one was watching. But I still have the ticket, and the notes of love that he has written to me. I keep them here and there around my house. Now they are not so much for encouragement as they are reminders- reminders that time is fleeting.

Because the backward letters have disappeared. The floating letters have been grounded on stable lines. The phonetic spelling has become traditional and the letters are no longer gigantic, but small and neat. But the love, the love is still there.

Throw out some love -- it has a way of coming back to you. As you know I am a lover of words. So Markus inspired me to take 30 seconds on a busy morning to tuck a colorful post-it note inside a guitar case, on a pillow, next to a breakfast burrito, or in a coat pocket on a wintry day. All I have to do is imagine the smile on the face of the one who discovers it and I feel good too.

Notes

They have a way of creating connection despite the busyness of life. What calms a boy's school day fears can be found in the smiley face above the letter "i" or in the curve of an imperfect heart. What creates hope in the heart of a weary mom can be scrawled in all caps on a paper in a neon-colored sharpie and left on the counter. What makes a friend feel beautiful can be a bouquet of flowers with a note of encouragement. What brings my distracted mind back home can be a stick-figure family drawn beneath a giant yellow sun.

What I believe in and I loved can be seen in my handwriting 50 years from now, even after I'm gone. What really matters most in life is at our fingertips. So grab a pen and anything you can find to write on, my friend. Throw out a note. Watch love multiply.

And it may come back to you when you least expect it, but need it the most.

*****