Thursday, August 16, 2012

Dear Diary....

I am among world's worst journal writers in the history of ever.
I know what you're thinking.... "But, Laura, you're a writer, how could you be terrible at journaling?"
Well, gentle reader, I just don't know. For some reason, I cannot for the life of me document my own comings and goings. I'm worse at journaling than I am blogging. {gasp!}
It's truly not for a lack of trying. I have begun journal after journal, swearing that this time I really would write regularly. Then, just a few days in I get a busy day and forget and all hope is lost.

I had an epiphany regarding this journaling matter while I was at work today. It came to me as I thought about how much I disclose about myself and my life to family, friends and acquaintances and how I really ought to stop talking so much. I considered why I jabber about deeply personal happenings and feelings to people that I don't even really trust that much. I realized that I do it not because I want their approval or opinion, but because talking about it is how I sort through it.
And I thought, well, if I could just write it all down, then maybe I wouldn't have to talk quite so much... but to make my current journal entries relevant, I would have to do a lot of back story work, as I haven't journaled regularly ever.
But that would take too long and it's almost just not worth it, right?
I had the [best] idea on how to help myself out here.
I'll talk.
It's that simple. I talk to myself all the time!
I'll just get a voice recorder and talk about all the things I want to journal, then later transcribe them for the sake of having them in written form!
This is a wonderful plan, if I do say so myself.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Just a wish

There is no gift so simple nor perfect as a "wishing flower" from a child.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Sunny Days

I've never seen as much joy in any person as I see in 10 year old Matt while we jump on the trampoline.
His patience is as boundless as his energy as I rest every few minutes because of this terrible, awful, no good, cold.
During our rest times, we lay on the trampoline in the warm fall sunshine and I tickle his feet. 
With an "Up we go!" from Matt, we're back bouncing and giggling.

Nothing in the world seems nearly as important as his happiness and sweet giggles.
And the truth is, nothing could be.
[I was made for sunny days]

Monday, September 5, 2011

For the sake of writing

I would like to preface this by saying that the writings that I post are usually very rough drafts (few progress beyond drafts) and are simply written to... get the creative flow moving. So, enjoy.


He cupped my chin in his warm hand and it was, admittedly, not at all as I had imagined it. His hands were strong, rough and calloused, yet gentle, as only a father’s hands could be. My eyes didn’t recognize his face, but our souls were so familiar there was no doubt we were well acquainted. It was such a strange place and time in which I found myself, neither here nor there, and I remained perfectly unaware of any feeling aside from comfort. It was a room, I suppose, but not like a room in a house or a building, but a room just on its own in space and it was vast and light. The light came from every surface, so no shadow could be found and everything could be seen with the utmost clarity. He gently tilted my chin up so I could look at him directly, which, in my insecurity, I had been avoiding and instantly my smile mirrored his without any effort on my part. I believe it was because his face was so full of love; an unsurpassable kind of love that ensured that nothing I had done or would do could be unforgivable.  When he spoke, it was not a great and terrible voice, the likes of which would shake the very heights of Heaven or depths of Hell, but it came as a whispered secret between two very old friends. It was the sound of the breeze that passed by and shook the leaves of the trees that gave breath to the earth. My heart knew the voice well and responded with utter joy. I cannot tell you the things which he said, for they were for me and me alone. I can tell you that the words were not complicated nor disconcerting, but simple. As a parent explaining to a child, he chronicled all that I sought and so much more and I, for the first time, understood everything from beginning to end.  His voice, like him and this room, seemed to be entirely comprised of light, which swept all doubt, confusion and disarray from my mind, leaving only space for understanding. I was like a child again, thirsting after anything and everything, wanting nothing more than to absorb all I could about the world and those around me. Only this time, this time I wanted more than just the world, I craved to know all of eternity. “Not yet, my darling.” Was his unmitigated response, and with that I felt the patience, not of a child, but of a soul well beyond my earthly years. It was then that I truly comprehended that I am as eternal as he; that I am a spirit without time or boundaries and that I have within me all of the potential to become all that he is. I am not, by definition, young or old. I just am. Despite the eternal nature of my being, I lack experience. How plain a truth it is to have, yet how few obtain or maintain it. What is it then that made me so special as to gain the answer? Could it really be that all one has to do is ask? It must be.

The whole of it was over as quickly as it began and even now, as I tell it, I can feel my mind forgetting. What a feeble, human thing forgetting is. And though I’ve written it, I know that words have not done justice to what I experienced. I still grasp for words, searching everything I’ve ever known of language to find any word or set of words to capture all that I felt and saw, but I come up with nothing; just a blank where an adjective should be. So, for now, I’ll leave that blank as it is. Perhaps someday I’ll discover a word that I’ve yet to learn or perhaps a word will be created to facilitate such an encounter as mine.


Thursday, August 4, 2011

This is love

We sit around the dinner table, my grandparents, my aunt, and I, chatting about everything and nothing in particular. My grandfather remains mostly quiet as we prattle and gossip over our tacos.
He glances up at me, then down at his plate and then back up at me, this time with an expression of astonishment.
"Well, my goodness you're cute!"
He looks at me as though he hasn't seen me in years.
We joke and laugh about it... "Twenty two years and you're just noticing?"

Later, my grandfather and I stand outside. He turns to go inside, but hesitates.
"Laura, come here. I want to show you something."
He turns and walks towards the garden. I follow.
He takes a Daylilly that has yet to bloom gently between two fingers, showing me.
"You watch them grow and then one day you look and you see that they're blooming and they're beautiful. That's what I meant. I've watched you grow and now I look at you and you're blooming. You're absolutely beautiful!"

Thank you, Grandpa. 
Daylillies may just be my new favorite flower.


The newness of you

My material life is in complete and utter disarray.
Black trash bags filled with clothes and hangers and blankets litter the floor, intermingled with tubs of an assortment of things and random decorations from my previous home. 
I sit in the corner, tucked comfortably into my perfectly made bed.
I'm thoroughly exhausted, therefore torn between getting some much needed rest and trying to make sense of this stuff that proves my relevance to society.
I think that for tonight I'll sleep. There's not much I can do as far as organizing until I have shelves and drawers into which I can tuck these things.
Despite the madness of clutter and exhaustion from transferring my life from one place to another, I find myself perfectly content.
I absolutely love moving.
I love this house.
I think that I'll be very happy here.

Here's to my first night in my new [home]


Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Dear One in a Million, a million to one

On July 8th, 1961, Mary Ann Leatham and William David McNeil were wed in Logan, Utah.

On July 8th and 9th, 2011 we gathered together as friends and family to celebrate my grandparent's  remarkable 50 years of marriage with them!

aren't they darling?!

My absolute favorite moments of the night were the cutting of their very [first] wedding cake!
(You see, they didn't have wedding cakes 50 years ago.. something about Marie Antoinette and the French Revolution... the details are fuzzy.) (just kidding!)
A cake wasn't present on their wedding day, so this year, my aunt made a beautiful cake for them.
My grandmother was absolutely thrilled to have a cake and they were just too cute trying to figure out how the cutting was supposed to go.  

  Just looking at the pictures makes me giddy!

I realize this post doesn't do them, their marriage, nor the party, justice, but I wanted to keep it short and sweet.

It is such an honor and a blessing to have these two as role models. Their love continues to spread to those lucky enough to spend time in their company. They are wonderful examples of love, commitment, faith, and strength. I can only pray to someday have a bond and a marriage as beautiful and eternal as theirs.

 Their Song: