Set Up For Failure (or at least, a Hard Time)

I began to write this several months ago, while we were still very much in a state of transition.  

Not just transition, but uncertainty, separation, and stress.  And sometimes, in the midst of the struggle, it is better to let one's thoughts and feelings mature and ripen in private, to allow for the work that perspective and time do.  So I didn't post it then.  

But now, while still in the end stages of transition, much of the stress and uncertainty have been worked through and things are not quite so raw, not quite so desperate feeling.

Goodness, anyone who reads this whole blog will probably think that I am a very dramatic, perpetually struggling, weak-willed mess of a woman!  Well, maybe I am.  I do tend to write more during and about my personal hard times.  I find it both cathartic and therapeutic, and I have found great relief and insight from reading about other's struggles, faith, and real lives, so I guess it doesn't matter how any reader might perceive me... If you know me, reading this blog might give you new insight into different facets of my character, and if you don't know me... I guess you can just draw your own conclusions. :) 

We had come to the conclusion that it was time to leave King Salmon, and went ahead with that move despite the fact that we, at that time, had no further employment.  I am so grateful to my dear husband for the way he listened to me and counselled with me and then had the faith and courage to jump, so to speak, out of a perfectly good airplane.  I mean, leave a paying job to move his family for their good, without another job already lined up.  He takes his role as our provider and protector very seriously, and does a very good job at it, and I know this period of time was a huge stress for him.  I was very excited to leave King Salmon, although it had come to be more of a blessing and less of a trial over the months.  In fact, our last months there were so good, so full of warmth and happiness, with so many new connections, that it was just starting to feel actually do-able.  I had a few fleeting thoughts that, perhaps, in seeking for something better, I would just be jumping out of the frying pan into the fire, but for many reasons, it was the right time to leave.  

And so we did.  

I am so grateful for the generosity of my in-laws, in letting us come and stay at their house in Utah for several months.  It is not easy to add a whole other family to a household and maintain loving, peaceful order.  There were struggles all around, and I'm sorry for the added stress we brought to the house.  Nevertheless, it was a blessing to get to know Nate's side of the family better, to let them love our little ones and see our little ones learn to love them!  I was so disappointed that for much of the time we were there, Eden and Lucy were dealing with their first real colds, as well as the serious disruption of their previously very predictable lives and family, which meant that they were definitely not on their "best" behavior.  (As a parent, its almost sad sometimes how very much you want others to see the precious person that your child really is, how very easy it is to resent mis-judgment and long for mercy for your child's sake!)  

It really was such a blessing, on a very fundamental level, to have a safe place to come and be with our family and have their support while Nate was gone so very much.  I never thought I could find a harder schedule for families than that of a bush pilot, but - oh, my - I am SO glad that our time as a trucking family was limited! 

In the middle of it all, with Nate gone long and random hours (days, weeks!), trying to settle and balance two little girls whose world had turned topsy-turvy, our living compressed into one room and confined to the indoors due to continued temperatures below zero (even King Salmon was warmer!), not knowing where we were going next or when we were going there.... I came to a very important realization for me.

This was hard. 

There was no denying that.

But I had the power to make it infinitely harder on myself by thinking that it was harder than it should be. 

By expecting someone to help me with the house, the children, the state of my emotions. 

By thinking that my husband should always be available or around.

Such a very basic realization.  It almost seems silly to look at it written out. It made a huge difference in my life though! 

I don't remember what sparked my lightbulb moment. I do remember the illumination it brought!

This was not harder than it should be.

This is just the way it was.

With that conclusion, my ability to deal with it all increased greatly. 

So, to go back to the title of this post, I don't know who ever told me that life should be easy.  Or happy.  Or that it would go the way I wanted or expected.  In fact, I remember quite clearly learning the opposite! "For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things..."

So maybe I could blame it on our culture, this self-centered modern age, that wicked one, or Disney's happily ever after.  I think the actual culprit might just be immaturity (as in, just plain lack of experience and perspective). 

 But whoever is to blame, I think that we are set up for (or we set ourselves up for) a failure in life or, at the very least, a pretty hard time, by the attitude that life should be easier, more "fulfilling", more fun, more adventure, more enjoyable, more what we expected.  

Besides that, when we focus on all the things we think life SHOULD be, we miss life as it is - the ease, the fulfillment, the fun, the adventure, the enjoyment, and the blessing that we have right before us.

 :)

Aloha, Hawaii!!

So glad to be back! One of my cousins reminded me that when I returned from BYUH, all I would talk about was how much I loved it and wanted to return.  The time has flown since then, and although I still held many fond memories, I couldn't conjure up that desperate longing to return anymore.  Yesterday afternoon, driving along the steaming road just after a cloudburst, the sun pouring golden in our windows and a fresh breeze cooling us just enough, I was overwhelmed with happiness at being back. I don't specifically remember praying to return, but I'm sure that I did, and I am so glad that the Lord led us to this unexpected opportunity to come back with my family!!

  Of course, the flights over were a little exciting, beginning with Eden throwing up in the van on the way to the airport, all over the floor just after coming through security, and in tandem with Lucy as we landed in Seattle.  Thankfully the man sitting on the other side of Eden jumped in to help hold her sick bag so I could catch Lucy's puke in her sick bag! The girls did very well, though, and received many compliments as we landed in Kona.  

  The Kona landing strip looks like you're landing on the moon!  Barren, black volcanic rock is all around, not a scrap of green or even sand in sight.  My first thought upon disembarking was, "Whew! This is NOT the place to be wearing jeans!" I've worn skirts every day since then and I think I shall continue!
 We're still looking for a place to live, but even in that somewhat stressful atmosphere, it is just so nice to be together as a family again! To eat dinner together almost every night, to lay down together for bed and wake up with Daddy in the morning, to just enjoy BEING together, not feeling like we have to squeeze perfection out of every small moment because too soon we will be apart again.  Such a blessing!

Seasons of the Heart

Is a good marriage one where you gradually become more and more alike over the years? You know, the ones where people start to say you look alike, speak alike, and act alike?  Like two streams running together into one, where the joined currents cut the riverbed deeper and deeper until that path is the only one to take?  Or is it , rather, one where two separate individuals grow more and more into their unique identities, held together by promises and mutual vision, like two oxen yoked to one plow?

I suspect that a healthy marriage is really not so simple as either one or the other, but instead is a mix of the two.  Or perhaps both, just in different ways and a different times.  Its an odd balance though.

At times, all you want is each other. On the big things, you agree.  You flow together in that one riverbed with amazement at how well you complement one another, at the joy and bliss and incredibly fulfilling experience of being one in so many ways.

At other times, its a bit more complicated.  The oxen are yoked, but learning to pull together in one direction is a process. With that basic yet consuming need for one another resting in trust, there are other dreams, other ambitions, other parts of life and living that must be dealt with, and somehow it comes as a surprise that your beloved has different ideas about some of those things.  Sometimes its just as simple as a novel concept, a practice or course they had never considered.  Other times, its becomes more sensitive, when the desire, the dream, the hoped-for course, is something that your mate actively does not want, never wanted, and struggles with.

(I'm not talking about anything harmful or sinful here.  Just the many available options that, for many reasons, we want or don't want.)

Do you sacrifice your direction, your hopes, your desires, giving them up for the discomfort they would cause your spouse?  Do you sacrifice your comfort so that your spouse can pursue cherished aspirations and dreams?  Do you both cling to comfort and end up with a life of the lowest common denominator, a compromise in all things?  Do you both cling to desires and end up pursuing two separate lives under the same roof?

Its a process.  There is amazing growth, both personal and relational, to be had in going with your spouse on the adventures of their heart.  You become so much more than if you just sit in the comfort of your own ways of seeing, doing, being.  It is also a wonderful thing to be given the gift of your loved one's sacrifice in order that you might blossom in ways that are uniquely your own and so desired.

Maybe the truth is that by living together in that mutual pattern of giving and receiving, sacrificing, yet still able to fulfill dreams, you both become uniquely yourselves and yet the same in the most important of ways.

A little cryptic, perhaps.  Just things I've been pondering.

Renewed, Recharged

Well, here we are, back in King Salmon.

My feelings about that have run the whole spectrum, but now I have resigned myself to the fact - in fact, embraced it - and here we are.

I just have to say what a blessing it was, in so many ways, to spend these last few months down in California, at my parents house.

It was a blessing to have so much help with Eden, to be taken care of physically, to not have to worry about cooking or cleaning (much), in those last bulky weeks of pregnancy and first overwhelmed weeks of postpartum recovery.

It was a blessing to reconnect with my sisters and brothers and their families at our leisure, not only in light conversation at rare whole family gatherings.

It was a blessing to spend time co-mothering my children and nieces and nephews with my own mother, with my sisters.

It was a wonderful blessing to have such lovely weather, such freedom to be outside, myself, and even better, to let Eden run and play in the sun and grass and gravel, exploring the fields and roads for the first time.

It was a blessing for Eden to be with two of her older cousins practically all day, every day, and to learn from them and with them.

And it was a special blessing to be able to attend church, to physically go to church and sit in the church building, to see and talk with and serve the Saints, to feel the fire of my faith renewed and my life recharged every Sunday as the one little solitary coal of my soul was placed back into the glowing warmth of so many others' faith and testimony.

Thank you, Wheatland Ward.  

Every Sunday, I was aware of being strengthened and prepared for these coming months through all of you.  So, thank you.

Lucy's Birth

Our little Lucy is seven weeks, and not longer so little! Her knees and elbows have little dimples, her little biceps and thighs have fat creases, and she looks like a perfect little dolly!  I look back on her birth and can hardly believe that it was such a short time ago!  So here is the story…

            Short, uncomplicated version – Lucy was born, two days after her due date, at my parents house at 10:20 pm on Monday, Jan. 21^st, after two and a half hours of labor.  We were attended by Nate and, at the last second, my mother, and the midwives arrived 15 and 20 minutes later.  I did go to the hospital for some sutures, which is worse than giving birth, but as far as the labor and birth went, it couldn’t have been better.

            And now for the long, detailed version – We had hoped to meet this baby significantly earlier than January 21^st.  Nate had only a certain amount of vacation before he had to go back to Alaska, and more than anything, I wanted him to be with me for the birth.  I didn’t care who else was there, but Nate HAD to be there.  And we hoped he’d even have a little time with us postpartum to get acquainted and help us transition as a family.  Eden was born at 38 weeks, so I thought it was reasonable to expect this one around the same time.  Besides, I’d been having episodes of significant contractions every time I got stressed and over-exerted myself since 34 weeks pregnant.  Well, so much for all that.

(Actually, it probably was accomplishing a lot of the early dilation very gradually.)

Anyway, we met with the midwives and thankfully, there was a good connection there.  They warned us that second labors often go in half the time of first labors, so to expect about 2.5-3 hours total. (How right they were!)  However, the days came and went, and little baby stayed securely inside.  We walked.  We danced.  We did…all sorts of things…in an effort to help this little one make an entrance (or exit? J) Nothing extreme, being well aware that she wasn’t even quite due yet, but I was about at the end of my rope.  Never again will I judge anyone for getting tired of being pregnant, especially at the end!  Being pregnant is a miracle, one that I love and give thanks for and will accept as many times as it comes to me, but for heavens sake! All good things must come to an end, and I prayed for the end of this one!  I was so ready to move on to the next stage!  I didn’t know how much more one’s body could stretch in those last two weeks, how long the nights became when interrupted regularly by urgent (like suddenly realizing I’m going to explode!) potty trips, shooting pains down hips and calves, trying to stay on one’s left side to help baby get into a good position, and how all my clothes would just run out of room.  I went to bed each night, thinking, “Maybe this will be the night!” and woke up each morning grumpy and out of sorts because I was still very, very pregnant. 

            I finally got over my bad attitude, telling myself that I was just going to be pregnant forever, and just focused on taking each day as it came.  And really they were lovely days – soft California winter of clear skies and bright sun, shared with my sweetheart and our daughter, enjoying time with family, going for walks, just soaking up the togetherness of the time. 

            I thought I’d lost my mucous plug on Saturday, Lucy’s due date, but I didn’t want to tell anyone because I’d been pointing out every sign as it came along and so far none of them had led to anything exciting.  They just sort of petered out.  Talk about deflating the excitement!  So I didn’t make a fuss, didn’t call the midwives, just noticed and let it go.  Sure enough, nothing happened.  I had to go to church another Sunday, elephantine in my maternity.  Monday night, I was actually googling how long after losing the mucous plug one usually goes into labor, when I felt a sudden warm gush.  My first thought was to ascertain that I hadn’t wet myself, as that can be an unexpected side effect of being so pregnant.  No, I had not.  In fact, when I shifted in my seat, more warm fluid gushed out.  I asked my dad to get me a towel, and sat waiting, thinking, “Finally!  I’m so glad to be in labor!”  Not five minutes later, the first contraction/pressure wave hit, and the second came within five minutes of the first.  They took off from there.  Within probably 15 minutes I could feel sweat drip off of me as I breathed through a contraction, and I remember thinking, “Oh, right.  This is labor.  This is the work, the effort, the intensity of bringing a child into this world.  I am glad it’s finally happening, but this is HARD.” 

            I had called the senior midwife shortly after my water broke, and sent her a text as well.  She didn’t respond, and I left a message, but thought nothing of it – I had several times left messages, only to receive a return call not very long after.  Truthfully, once those first messages were sent, my mind was very caught up in other things and I didn’t even think of it again until they walked in the door.  It turns out that her phone had suddenly and unexpectedly died.  It was charged up, nothing was wrong with it – it just died and she didn’t know it until it turned itself on again.  Then, of course, they came as fast as they could, but it wasn’t as fast as Lucy!

            We took a shower, and when we got out the kitchen had been transformed into a peaceful, darkened birthing room.  Dinner’s dishes had magically disappeared. The dining room table and benches were carefully stowed out of the way.  A neatly made bed awaited me in the middle of the clean linoleum floor, and strings of white twinkle lights around the edge of the ceiling lit the room with a soft glow.  Everyone was quietly and inconspicuously holed up in their own rooms.  I went directly from the bathroom to the bed and immediately lay down on my left side.  Nate knelt near me and I rather forcefully directed him to push on my lower back, which he did for the next hour and a half, I guess.  (I wasn’t paying attention to the time!)  Every time he’d move in the least, I let him know he needed to stay right where he was, and as long as he did, I could manage.  The Hypnobabies “Easy First Stage” track was playing on my phone, and it was all I could do to focus and relax.  I began to vocalize, moaning as low and deep as I could.  (My mom later said it sounded kind of like mooing.  Oh well.)  At some point I was trying so hard to relax and my muscles were trying so hard to do whatever they were doing that my tummy literally began to jump and spasm.  I could feel it, and Nate could see it, and it was very strange!

            Suddenly I couldn’t stay down any longer and with no conscious effort on my part I was up on hands and knees, pushing.  Nate got ready to catch, and my mom, hearing the change in the noises I was making, came out of her bedroom to help, knowing that no one had yet arrived.  Lucy was born very quickly!  They caught her, I flipped over, and my wet, pink, new little daughter was on my chest, wide-eyed and ready to latch on.  We were not surprised that she was a girl; we’d sort of expected that from the time we knew she was coming.

            Suddenly, it seemed, the midwives were there, assessing, discussing, checking us all out.  I was totally exhausted – all I wanted was to curl up with my precious babe and SLEEP!  But no, it turned out I had torn and needed sutures, so I got up and we tried it out on the kitchen table.  It would have been fine – the midwife knew what she was doing – but it turned out to be more extensive than we had thought, so after consuming an egg and some toast my mom thoughtfully, and hastily, prepared, we trundled off to the hospital.  Ugh. 

(A word about tearing – it was totally my biggest fear about giving birth the first time.  Then, as this time, I did end up tearing and realized that it’s no big deal.  I didn’t feel a thing.  In fact, when the midwife asked me if I thought I tore, I answered, “No!” with no hesitation.  The sutures, however, are a totally different story.  I’d rather give birth all over again than be stitched up!!  But that's not really an option, unfortunately…)

So we had our little hospital adventure, and they were really very nice to us all.  The midwives came with us – they were great, and I wished they could have been there for the birth.  It was wonderful.  If I could do it all over again just like that, without the hospital trip, that's the way I’d go every time.  Each birth is different and every woman is different – I think that home birth is only one of many good options.  For me, for us, this time, it was absolutely the best.

The beginning of the end

Its bedtime at my house.  My baby is upstairs crying, sobbing like her heart is breaking.  No, she's not alone, her daddy is holding her and rocking her with all the love in the world, but what she wants, he can't give.  And its come to the point where neither can I.

You see, I have held high ideals when it came to mothering.  I was blessed to be able to breastfeed exclusively for the first basically eight months of Eden's life.  Yes, the first month was pretty much torture (despite doing "everything right") but by six weeks, the pain was gone and it was amazing and gratifying to watch her prosper so generously and know that it was all coming from my milk.  Yes, it is was a sacrifice of time and energy and body and self, but it was so worth it!  Even after starting the solids, nursing has been a special bond, a (frequent!) time of relaxation and connection, a blessing of peace and a way to push the re-set button on the world, if you will.  The touch of her little hands, holding soft little toes in my other hand, her bright eyes peering up at me, the contented milk-drunk sprawl and sigh replete with all things good - I count this time as a precious blessing.

But, she now has three teeth.  And more than that, I am well into the first trimester of pregnancy, which...does things to your body.  Makes everything that was used for nursing much more tender, to say the least.  So its pretty much torture again.  Even that wouldn't stop us, hasn't stopped us, but now I am finding that I have no more milk to give her and that she is sad and frustrated and confused at the change.  So we both have suffered through hours of trying to nurse, trying to comfort, and then starting over again.  I'm not worried about her food intake, as she does eat plenty and drink well from a sippy cup during the waking hours.  But my heart breaks to hear her cry, to know what she wants, and to not be able to provide it for her anymore.

We got a bottle.  She drank about 2 oz. and refused to take anymore, but went to sleep with rocking and singing.  It's the second wake-up that got us, the one where she likes to just roll into me and latch on, half-asleep, for a warm, cuddly, easy-back-to-sleep dream feed.  She did NOT want the bottle, she was not happy with me, and now, half an hour later, she's almost asleep, but still crying periodically, on daddy's chest.

Now, I'm not really asking for advice.  I know its not the end of the world, and that babies live through weaning at ages both younger and older than mine.  I am incredibly thankful for the loving and supportive daddy that my husband is to my daughter, and know that she is safe and will be fine in his arms.  And I am thankful that we have been able to share this precious nursing relationship for as long as we have.

I'm just mourning, a little, the end of that.  The end of being able to be all things to this precious little being.  Its really incredible to consider that for eighteen months now, 9 within and 9 without, I have been able to (almost completely) provide for the physical, emotional, mental, and other needs of my baby!  I love that! I have loved that!  I am glad for the support I've been given that's allowed me to do so, and I hope its been a blessing for my Eden as well, but now that time is at an end.  I applaud those who can continue to nurse their little ones through a new pregnancy, but I just can't, and I have to accept that, and realize that this is specific to nursing and yet symbolic of my whole role of parenting.

I love my daughter more than I knew I could.  If I could, I would always make her life good, always provide for her needs, always be there to comfort and fulfill and in every way, bless her life.  I have to accept that I can't.  I do the best I can, and up til now its been pretty close to possible (though a sacrifice) but she will only continue to slowly move out of my ability to be all things to her, as she should.  I sorrow for her sorrow at not being able to nurse, even knowing that it is a temporary sorrow that she will not ever consciously remember.  I'm sure that I will sorrow all the more at the struggles and trials and losses she faces with maturity.

I can't be it all.  But I do know who can.  So my highest goal is to point her to Him.  Maybe a little deep for a simple weaning, but I'm feeling pretty tender about it right now.  Who knew how much it hurt to hear your child cry and not be able to give them what they want?!

Church in the Bush Branch

One of the first things we wondered about, and indeed, many people asked about, was the size and functioning of the church up here.  We have been blessed to live, so far, in places with a strong membership and active wards, and that is something you can begin to take for granted.  The church, our callings, serving one another, visiting teaching, home teaching, long drives to the temple, all the various meetings on Sunday and Wednesday nights - sometimes it is even easy to grumble and murmur a little at the amount of our lives it all takes up!  And oftentimes, it is a considerable sacrifice.

But there's nothing like not having all of that to wake you up to the blessing it really is.

We have never had to wonder 

who to call with questions about the community,

where to turn for help with moving furniture,

how to find others who share our faith,

who will help give blessings in times of sickness,

and so much more.

Though we've lived across the continent from our families, we have been surrounded by family.

Literal brothers and sisters.

So blessed.

But now, we have the opportunity to grow and experience life without a lot of that support.

Perhaps be that support to others.

So this is how church  in the Bush Branch goes.  The Bush Branch, by the way, is based in Anchorage and encompasses a geographical area larger than all of Texas.  The "bush" country of Alaska.  We have a branch presidency that lives in Anchorage, and an elder's quorum and Relief Society presidency that have been great about contacting us already with newsletter emails and a phone call for Nate.  On Sundays, we call a 1-800 number that hooks us up to a conference call based at the chapel (I think) in Anchorage.  Priesthood is at 9am, followed by sacrament meeting, which proceeds quite normally.  Of course, there are some differences.  Roll is called over the phone and visitors get to announce who and where and how many they are. They can see your phone numbers, so you don't speak up and they don't know you, they'll ask!

You put your phone on mute and listen while the speakers give their talks, and sing along with the hymns as they are played over the phone.  When its time for the sacrament, the conducting brother says, "We'll now have the sacrament," and there is a long pause to bless and take your own.  (We had pretzel sticks and some water in an appetizer cup the first time!)

Sunday school is pretty much as usual, except, of course, if you want to comment you have to un-mute your phone and interject who you are before you do so.  I actually really enjoyed it; I felt like I had to pay closer attention to get anything out of it, and the deeper personal engagement really brought the Spirit to the lesson for me.  There also has to be more active participation than a normal sunday school class. Obviously non-verbal participation doesn't work out very well and if you don't speak up, the teacher is left talking the WHOLE time, so it kind of pulls your thoughts out of you.  At least it did for me. :) Relief Society was that way too.  Even though we only know of a few other families in this area that are LDS, and have only even met two of them, it was wonderful to feel the Spirit and light that come as we sing and pray and worship and discuss the restored gospel together.  

There is a little chapel here, as there used to be a branch.  Apparently too many people moved away, so it was merged with the Bush Branch, but I think it would be great if we could get enough of us together to organize a new branch and open the building! 

So Far Away

Sometimes, the actual distance becomes very real.  When you've been without a phone for two weeks, when your internet connection has been spotty and not in real time with real acquaintances, when the world outside is covered in wet, white slipperiness and the only living things you've talked to all week besides your husband and baby are two neighborhood dogs you first thought were the neighborhood wolves you'd been warned about - oh, right, I did actually get to talk to the two people who came to install our local landline yesterday - you realize how far away you are.  And when the baby has been fighting sleep for an hour every nap and bed time for the last three days, but when you let her stay up she's just cranky and unhappy anyway, its easy to feel the negativity creep, roll, swirl back in.  Grumpiness.  Resentment.  Bitterness.  Frustration.  Ugly words.  Ugly emotions.  Easy to sink in the slow quicksand of self-absorption.
But like I told my friend upon learning of this move - "I am not happy about it, but being unhappy won't make me happy, so I'm trying to be happy about it." Ultimately, no one else is going to "save" me from this.  Others can comfort, distract, and help with some of the struggle, but I know from past experience that if I want to actually get out of the quicksand, I have to reach up to the only One who can really lift me out of it and choose to hold on. His hand is extended and He is willing to help me, it is true, but I have to choose to raise my arms and cling to His outstretched hand.  Its sounds so trite, almost, and easy, so picturesque and storybook, but let me tell you - it is not.  It doesn't happen just by saying.  It doesn't work to make a token effort and then expect the miracle of salvation.
Sometimes we say, "Well, I tried and it didn't work, so really what I need is ____." What I really need is whatever other fix seems attractive and available and easy - shopping, medication, chocolate, a girl's night out, etc. (Please note: I am NOT saying these things are bad or that they can't help.  Sometimes they are needed and can help, and if they are in our power, great! Go for it!) We think the solution would be to change the situation. (Again, sometimes that IS the solution; I'm not against that!) 
When its really hard, though, and those other things are not available, or don't help, and you can't (or shouldn't) change the situation, I've found that the real solution is to change myself.  And that is HARD.  And sometimes I just don't want to!  But then it comes back down to the question -
Do I really want to be happy?
Because if I do, the choice is clear.  Do the work it takes to cling onto His hand.  Choose every day, every hour, every minute if you have to, to focus on Him.  Choose to fill your mind and heart with His words, His promises, His praises, to the conscious exclusion of the negativity and darkness that lurks ever-ready.  Choose to trust Him and trust that He has a plan for you and that somehow, this is part of His plan.
I know it works, because it's worked before, in darker, harder, worse situations than this.  I just have to do it.
And, hey! I'm a daughter of the pioneers! Talk about "so far away!"  Maybe I should just pull up my, er, bootstraps, and realize how good I really have it!

Making and Living with Decisions

As some of you know, moving to Alaska was not a decision that I have been particularly excited about.  The distance from friends and family, well, that's not so fun, but I have learned that there are good friends to be made in every place and technology and travel make the distance seem less.  But I’m not fond of living in the snow.  Apparently, during the spring and summer, you have to be careful of bears that wander through the neighborhood.  There are gnats and no-see-ums.  If you want to have a baby attended by a doctor, you have to fly 300 miles away to Anchorage.  And worst of all, Nate’s work schedule will take him away from home for up to 70 hours a week, up to 7 days a week, for the 6 month busy season.  That is the part I really balked at. 

However, when my dear husband came to me with this proposition and asked me to carefully consider it, I could not dismiss it, as much as I wanted to.  I cried more than once.  I tried to not think about it.  I listed all the reasons why we’d be better off if we just stayed where we were for a while longer.  I (sad to say) had a period of feeling very sulky, and even angry.  I knew how excited Nate was for this opportunity, and how unhappy he was with our current job.  I wanted him to be happy! But why couldn’t he just be happy where we were?  It wouldn’t go away.

And so I finally did bring it before the Lord.  I laid out my feelings in raw honesty, acknowledging even the immature, selfish, unkind ones.  Choking on the words, I asked him to help me set aside my desires and see what would be best for our family, not just me.  It was hard.  So many times I went back and forth, “Help me see clearly, Lord, and do what’s right….BUT I REALLY JUST WANT THIS!...Help me put that all aside and live by love and wisdom…BUT I DON’T WANT TO GO!!!...Help me, please!”

          I could not deny the answer.  Though my personal feelings hadn’t changed, there was peace surrounding the decision to go to Alaska.  “Whither thou goest, I will go; Where thou lodgest, I will lodge…”  So we came.

It’s been a crazy, whirlwind, skin-of-your-teeth move, and I really haven’t had much time to think about it amid all the hurry of making it all come together.  Last night, after moving into our new home, the fog rolled back in.  Eden had been up late with us moving, and then the bed was…well, we shall say less than what we had hoped for.  There were no curtains on the windows and outside was still bright, so while I tried to help our little girl wind down, Nate had to dig out the tin foil and borrow some duct tape to cover the bedroom window so she could sleep. After she finally succumbed to her tiredness, we came downstairs and sat at the kitchen table in the dark.  Thoughts swirled through my head, and I bit my tongue and stared out the window at the dimly gleaming snow.  What have I agreed to?!

This morning, Nate pulled out a box Jiffy cornbread mix from our suitcases and baked it for breakfast in the 9x13 pan (the only one we brought), resulting in a very thin, slightly crispy cake we broke up in our bowls and ate with milk like cereal.  As he baked, I read out loud from 2^nd Nephi, chapter 32.  I kept having to stop and reread the verses.  The words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do.  The Holy Ghost will show you all things what ye should do. 

I remembered how I came to agree to this decision.  I was told.  I was shown.  So I will live with it.  And He will “consecrate (our) performance unto (us), that (our) performance may be for the welfare of (our) souls.”

Goodbye, Alabama… Hello, Alaska!

We left like a thief in the night.  Really, we did.  At one o'clock in the morning, not having yet slept, we finished loading our suitcases into our little rental car, carefully buckled in the baby seat, and backed away from our peaceful, cookie-cutter townhouse into the dark, still night.  Although I was exhausted and should have used the time to sleep, I couldn't close my eyes as we drove through Enterprise one last time, and then left it behind us.  It has been a place of blessing and growth for us, and it is hard to say good bye.  So many dear friends - people who have become our family away from family, have listened to us, challenged us, served us, and allowed us to serve them.  People who have loved us, until we couldn't help but love them, too.  I am thankful for the year we spent in southern Alabama.

The journey, itself, was fitting, considering the whirlwind this move has been.  My dad told me that there's a fine line between high adventure and disaster, and much of that line's placement is decided by your own attitude.  So, we shall say this was truly high adventure.

Despite several reminders, we forgot to take into account the time change between Enterprise and Atlanta arrived at the airport at approximately the same time our flight left.  Adventure, right? American Airlines allowed us to switch to a later flight, but unfortunately, Alaskan Airlines was not so accommodating.  A bit of a pricey negotiation later, we were re-set to go, catching a flight from Atlanta to Chicago, then to Seattle, and on to Anchorage.  We'd now miss the evening flight to King Salmon, and so stay the night in Anchorage and arrive in our new hometown the next morning.  The first flight wasn't bad. We made it to Chicago without a hitch, and while waiting to check in with Alaska Airlines, met a man from Nigeria who highly approved of Eden.

She was not so sure about him.

          The next leg of our journey was probably the hardest.  We were both going on 36 hours with only brief naps, and it was taking its toll. Several times, we passed Eden back and forth, each afraid of literally falling asleep with her in our arms.  By the time we began our descent into Seattle, Eden was done with flying, done with being held, done with nursing, and screaming fit to be tied as the changes in air pressure hurt her little ears.  We don’t use a pacifier, for several reasons, but there is only so much you can do for little ones in that situation and forcing her to nurse only adds vomit to the wailing.  So we all suffered with her until the plane touched down.  Sorry, folks. 

          However, the “unfortunate” expensive rerouting turned out to be a blessing in disguise.  For the first time ever, we got to fly first class.  That is something I could get used to!  The extra space and careful service allowed us all to wind down from the previous flight and keep our sanity all the way to Alaska.  Our plan was to just spend the night in the airport, but after a few minutes of broadcast announcements and no dark corners, we opted for a hotel.  It was a good choice. 

          And then, finally, the next morning we made it to King Salmon!

          Some wonderful people Nate will be working with have allowed us to stay with them, and they have made us feel so comfortable! Eden adores their 3 year old daughter, who comes running, exclaiming, “I’m coming! I’m coming!” every time she fusses.

So here we are.

Hello, Alaska!

In His Hands

I am not a person who naturally likes change.  I never have.  As a not-so-little girl, I cried when my younger sister insisted on rearranging the furniture in our bedroom.  I resisted change with all my might, good or bad, and wept about it when it happened.  I felt that there was enough change and adventure in the normal course of living.  So it is somewhat ironic that I have not lived in one place for more than two years since I became an adult. 

Hawaii, Utah, Spain, Utah again, California again, Florida, California again, Alabama, and now Alaska.  Another change. A new place, new people.

I wasn’t excited about this move. But once I got over the sulks, and prayed, and thought about this move, one thing was running through my head.

“He’s got the whole world in his hands,

The tropical luxury of Hawaii.

He’s got the whole wide world in his hands,

 The dusty elegance of Spain.

He’s got the whole world in his hands,

 The comfortable down-home feel of Alabama.

He’s got the whole world in his hands.”

 Even the wilderness of Alaska that awaits us.