Red, White and Blue

This is a little bit of my view out of the kitchen window, looking across the back yard to the base of the mountains. One of the best things about our location is the view of the mountains (which this shot doesn't really highlight). But I also love the flag I can see from my window. The colors look beautiful in the early morning, right after the sun surmounts the towering blockade of Timpanogos and the Wasatch range.

Radiant morning light sets this flag aglow and lights the patriotic feelings in me. Living in the land of the free, enjoying relative peace and tranquility in a world full of religious and political oppression (among a host of other enormous atrocities) I am full of wonder at the opportunity of my blessed state. Why me? Why have I been so blessed? There are so many with better hearts than mine who are probably much more deserving than I.

I am full of gratitude for my situation. I wouldn't want to give up my life of luxury, as it were, with the freedom to worship whom I will, the confidence to walk the streets of my town believing I will meet friendly faces along the way, the gift of peaceful participation in political processes, and the support of lifelong friends and family.

The injunction to not take for granted one's blessed state in life comes to mind in the words found in Luke, "For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required" (Luke 12:48). My prayer when I look to the flag is that I may have the wisdom and strength given me that I may be an instrument for furthering love among my associates. May I be inspired to perform in a way that promotes faith and freedom, and fosters goodwill in the world. It is a difficult task to aspire to. Falling into selfishness and forgetfulness (sometimes known as laziness) is easy. Being quick to condemn and slow to reach out are far easier to accomodate. But when the sun comes up in the morning and spreads warmth down the hill into my back yard the flag lights up and I am filled with the light. I know it is the light of Christ. My mind feels clear and my heart feels full. Then it is easier to love and to smile.

As a child I noticed tender tears in my mother's eyes as we stood along the curb, hands over our hearts, and watched the flag go by during the Independence Day parade. I marveled that the sight of the flag borne by soldiers in the parade could fill her with such emotion. I certainly didn't feel much for it at the time and wondered if I ever would.

Traveling to many countries since then, and spending time trying to learn more of the diverse people of our world has helped me develop a more profound feeling of kinship, admiration and love for all of my earthly brothers and sisters. I remember the beauty of the student body at BYU Hawaii. They came from so many different countries. I had a roommate from Tonga, one from American Samoa, co-workers from Mongolia and Tahiti, a roommate from Hong Kong, a good friend from Taiwan, and a variety of acquaintances from all over the world. It was my privilege to be hosted in Tonga by a very generous woman (my dorm mom who took me and several other girls with her on a visit to her homeland) and her people. As a missionary in the Canary Islands for a year and a half I met hundreds of people trying to get by. The majority of them were so kind. There was Juanita, an old woman in Cruce de Arinaga who welcomed us with kisses and delighted in sharing time with us even though I know she didn't understand us much. There was the Muslim family I met on Gran Canaria with their 3 children. They lived in two rooms that were part of a small complex shared with other families. They had large, intricately patterned rug on the floor, and a small set of cups with a hot plate and tea pot in the corner of the room—not much in the way of physical possesions. But I have never entered a home since where I felt the spirit of love so strongly as I did in that room...and the wife didn't even speak a word in the same language as we did. Experiences in Thailand, Switzerland, and other locations have broadened my ability to feel brotherhood and care for the people all over the world.

An increase of love and appreciation for all people everywhere has also increased the burden of sorrow I feel when I learn of oppression and tyranny in other lands. Christian pastors currently being held in labor camps in China simply for believing in Christ rather than in Communism, a child only a few years back watching his family killed in civil war in Sierra Leone, then fleeing to a country whose language is foreign and trying to survive (I know a man about my age who had this terrible experience firsthand less than 15 years ago), women and children soldiers, drug related murders and beheadings (one of my mission comps had a brother who was threatened with beheading by a druggie who was found the next day subject to the brutality he had threatened.... lesson learned—do not threaten evil acts on the Lord's missionaries because you may suffer for yourself what you threaten to inflict on others).

These stories and others like it that I have heard both firsthand and through the news, paired with the greater love I have learned (and will hopefully continue to expand in years to come) for others is what heightens my appreciation for the tranquility of our relatively free and peaceful country. I see now that what brought tears to my mother's eyes was her ability (much greater than mine then) to feel and to love as well as her understanding and appreciation for the gifts of freedom our forefathers bestowed on us in the founding of this amazing country, despite its imperfections. I too am deeply grateful for this country. All of this is what makes my heart swell when I see the red, white and blue, the stars and stripes, the flag of the United States of America.

Beehive Bazaar Dec. 2007 — A tribute to my mom

Last Christmas I made some things to sell at the Beehive Bazaar. Here they are:

Note cards and Buttons

10" tall Gingerbread Cookies
("Ms. Ginger" came solo; a packet of 2 cookies was named "Fred & Ginger")

Painted Reclaimed School Chairs

I must give some credit to my mom. She helped me make and decorate all of the gingerbread cookies. She also deserves partial credit for all of the projects I do. She gave me some of the most important tools I have. She taught me to brainstorm, to think creatively, to commit myself to excellence. I remember watching her tole painting. She had such precision and control in her hand. I remember watching her pipe icing decorations on a stunning wedding cake. Again, the dexterity and discipline she exhibited were impressive. I remember time and time again coming to her with a school assignment and no idea where to start. She never failed to light the way, helping me organize my thoughts, develop ideas, and carry out the project. I certainly didn't feel creative or skilled in my efforts during those years. Moments of clouded brain syndrome still inhibit me on occasion, at which time I push aside the despair of an approaching deadline and an expectant client and try to remember my mother's lessons. You learn from doing, even someone else's doing. So moms out there: do not fear that your child isn't learning anything when you sit down and do their homework with them. As long as you do it with them, and not for them, they will learn more than you thought you had to teach.

No formula for this one

There isn't a pantone that can do justice to the magnificence of a sunrise. The colors made with light and transparency are so brilliant. One thing I love about sunrises and sunsets is the ephemeral nature of such an art display. It's of the moment, doesn't last, and can only be enjoyed for a few seconds, maybe minutes. The beauty of it is that despite the impermanence (is that a word?), it has more power to move me than any immobile piece of art. I think that's one thing I love about dance too. It moves me beyond what most other art can, yet there's nothing to show for it afterward. I like that it leaves no physical trace, no footprint, no mess. I don't have to have a place to store it or hang it. As much as I love art on paper or canvas, or some other such medium, it can become a burden in it's redundant need for appreciation and care as time passes. The past can be great to remember, but living in the moment of an ephemeral artwork, then allowing it to pass without regret is refreshing and invigorating to me. Such an act allows for the joy of creation without the aftermath of "what do I do with all of this stuff that is so precious to me that I can't throw it away, but that I really don't have a place for." Food is another medium that fits this fantastic phenomenon of ephemeral art. It can be a joy to create, and bliss to consume, and you can repeat the joy the next day and the next and the next. It actually goes rotten if you try to keep it around for too long. I am reminded of the book "The Power of Now" by Eckhart Tolle. It's a great read. I shall let go of the past, be blissful right now and throw out those shoes I've been saving that I know deep down, I will never wear again.