Out of the Darkness

I took this picture with my iphone camera; because of that, it's not the best quality, but it nevertheless captures a very special place where I go to ponder while Isabeau tirelessly chases after ducks. It's located at the end of our forest trail, and is rather symbolic for me as I take in its wide-open beauty after leaving the overhanging branches of the densely-packed forest.

This week I spent a few peaceful hours coming to some clarity in these beautiful surroundings, as I left behind three-or-more years of troubled fears and dark thoughts.

Last week was the anniversary of both my sealing (4/11) and my divorce (4/12). Without remembering the date, Brett contacted me on the 12th to see if I might like to "talk." His offer was very welcome to me, as I have had many unanswered questions surrounding Brett's leaving and the breakup of our marriage. So, on the anniversary of our divorce, Brett and I shared a dinner, and I learned his reasons for his actions; actions that resulted in tremendous sorrow and grief for me.

By the end of our few days of discussion, I needed a long walk, and an hour or so sitting beside the pond to think things through. Although I had learned things from Brett that distressed and hurt me, finally coming to know the truth about who he was and who he has become provided a great sense of freedom for me. I had previously felt such a sense of mission and responsibility to do whatever was within my power to rescue Brett, and remind him of the sacred nature of the covenants he had made with God, that I had not allowed myself to enjoy or embrace the blessings that had come into my own life. How could I enjoy my beautiful home, for example, when Brett was homeless?

I often thought about Lot's wife, who most certainly had turned back to see what was happening to her remaining children, or Noah's wife, who, while cognizant of the fact that God had saved her, was also very aware of those outside of the ark (including family members) who were suffering despair and destruction. I really am that kind of person! When I feel warm in my bed, I think of those who are sleeping in the streets, without blanket or shelter. It is difficult for me to "have" when others have not; and when it came to thinking of this in relationship to Brett, it was particularly difficult for me.

Brett, for his part, has been declaring that he is "happier than ever," despite his setbacks. He is angry at God, and has "found peace" outside of the teachings of the Church. His life is full of new friends, new experiences, and new ideals.

As I walked through the forest, I found a new lightness in my heart that seemed surprising in light of the conversations that Brett and I had had. It took me a moment to identify the reason for that lightness, and then I discovered that . . . I felt free.

I know that I have truly and honestly done all that I can possibly do, have said all that could possibly be said, and that Brett does not want to know or hear any of it. Brett has freely made his choices time and again, and I have finally come to see and know that he makes those choices with deliberation. His choices have impacted me, have hurt me, and have set certain things in motion that I will live with for the rest of my life. In gratitude for what we have shared together that was sacred, in obedience to what I have considered my covenant, and out of love for the man who once brought such joy to my life, I have been unable to let go of any sense of responsibility - both for how I may have contributed to the current state of things, and also for the possibility of helping and saving Brett . . . until now.

I am so grateful for the tender mercies that the Lord has showered upon me, including this process of learning. I understand that I could not have rushed things along; I needed every moment and every encounter and every prayer to reach this point. I needed to see time and again that Brett was not experiencing some sort of temporary insanity, and was not behaving out of some sense of desperate "giving up," but that he was making choices for a life that he truly wants. I needed to know that I had tried everything, and given every chance. I now know that I have.

I think of hours spent lying on the green grassy meadow of our "valley" home, watching the eagles and hawks circle overhead, and pouring out prayers of longing and prayers of gratitude to the Lord. My tears watered the earth as I mowed my last night at the house, and blessed and thanked the land for its generous bounty, not only in its obvious verdant growth, but also in the solace it had given me through the long and lonely days. I had learned how to be a "pioneer woman" of strength, taking care of my own land and standing up to the frightful dark hours with coyotes howling in the night. This was an essential lesson for me.

I've learned that forgiveness is a gift from God, and one of the most precious gifts that He can bestow upon us as His children. I have felt nothing but forgiveness for Brett throughout this whole ordeal, and have thanked God for it. I've learned more deeply how extremely precious temple covenants are, and how eternally essential marriage is. I've learned how to completely surrender all expectations of what I have thought my life should be, and to give all of it up to God. I have learned how to wait, patiently, and how to not run away from pain and suffering. I have even learned that there is beauty in suffering, as my heart has turned to the Savior, and contemplated His suffering borne for us out of love.

I have tried to do these things gracefully, without rancor or bitterness. I think I have largely succeeded in this hope, but I give all credit to the grace of the Atonement of Christ in being able to do so. I have been aware of God every moment and have known that He has gently held me throughout this ordeal. While I may have wished he would save me from the pain, or restore the marriage that had been lost, I have felt His love for me, and have grown to know much better what it means to be a daughter of God.

And, so, there is a new hope, and a new lightness that I thought might never come. It did not come for my searching for it, or for my feeling that somehow I "deserved it." It came in a natural, God-given way, such as what I picture happens to those to whom the Lord says "Well done thou good and faithful servant." That kind of declaration doesn't come when we demand it, or even when we feel we most deserve it. It comes at the right time, at the completion of the mission for which the Lord has called us. For me, it came at the moment I fully realized that I have done all that I can do.

As the new leaves begin to unfurl themselves in the sheltered forest corridors, even as the tiniest fingers of sunlight finally find their hidden corners, so the light of God's hope is reaching into the corners of my heart. . . . And on a bright, sunny day, as pictured here, my heart opened fully as does the heart of a flower. Like the flower, I am tender, and bruise easily, but like the flower, I hope to bring beauty to my surroundings, and to remind others of God's grace.

Easter Joys

Easter weekend was filled with sunlight and action. Laurie and Andy Bailey, together with their sons Asher and Rowan, drove up from Portland to spend the weekend with me. I gave a talk in church on Easter Sunday, and the Baileys, together with the Leafty family, came to support me in that endeavor. I felt greatly blessed by that support, as I raised my voice in testimony of the Savior, and my gratitude for his Atonement. I cannot think of any occasion on which I would rather bear my testimony, as Easter has long been my favorite holy-day. My love for the Passover which precedes it has only deepened my appreciation for all that Easter Sunday means.

The weekend started with a egg hunt on Saturday at Lisa and Jeff''s home. Lisa was doing her usual camera-shy routine, which I cannot begin to understand, and causes me sadness that I do not have pictures of her beautiful face to post here as a memory.

The children eagerly awaited the signal to begin the hunt, and all raced off to fill their baskets with candy-filled - or best yet - money-filled eggs. Jeff''s children, Alice and Toby, had already expressed their plan of attack: if they were to pool their money together, they would all be able to buy more legos to share together in one of their favorite activities. Faith and Austin scan for eggs below:

Although the adults shivered in the early-morning cold, Alice did not seem to notice, as she anticipated a sunny day at the lake-park, and romped about in her shorts and T-shirt:

Laurie assists Rowan and Asher as Andy films all:

Later, Laurie stopped to give Andy a private photo session. How good it is to see the love that shines between them!

Faith entertained Izzy and me with her wild rides on a family-owned motorcycle. Toby's helmet tells a story in and of itself:

Alice and Faith, new "sisters" are also very close friends. Austin and Toby also love playing together, and unfortunately, I missed taking pictures of them fighting "Star Wars" style; perhaps they were just too much of a blur for my iphone camera.

I enjoyed watching Alice perform her gymnastics, and there is no question that for me, the highlight was sitting out in the yard and playing with all of the children.

Isabeau experienced "bubbles" for the first time, and was convinced that all of the blowing was being done for her benefit alone. She eagerly joined the children in chasing and popping bubbles, and it was hard to discern her behavior as different from any other 3 year-old's.

After the egg hunt, delicious brunch and yard play, we all went to the nearby Luther Burbank Park, which is on Lake Washington.  The lake glistened in the beautifully sunlit day, and the children played happily on the playground equipment, and later, at the beach.  Izzy and Lisa's Sitka romped together at the dog park, and wandered happily in the waves that rolled along the shore. I think it was the first time Izzy had a "wave opportunity," and she took to it with delight. I stood for a long as I dared on the bluff at the point, looking out across the lake to Seattle. It was breathtakingly beautiful.  But, Austin and Toby, who had led me there, were tired, and eager to return to the group. As I walked along with these sweet boys at my side, I felt to count my blessings, and tried to engrave the details upon my memory, to be called up again and again for future delight and warmth.

Signs of Spring

In many ways, it has been a two-and-a-half year winter for me. While I have always loved the first blush of spring, and looked forward to digging in the earth and searching for signs of life, the winter of my life has prevented me from seeing sunshine and flowers for quite some time.

I am trying to embrace the new life that moving into my new home seems to offer me. I often struggle with it all, and feel undeserving of my beautiful home, or concern over spending so much on a single person (and a beloved dog, as shared in a previous post). Brett's casting off of what he considers materialism and the "Eastside life style" causes me deep questions regarding my current situation (Brett has joined the Peace Corps, and leaves for Africa in September. This has been a life-long dream of mine since it was first suggested to me as a result of a test I took in high school). On a deeper level, his casting off of me makes me wonder what I may deserve. 

I have told the Lord often that I am quite willing to sell all and leave all, should I feel that that is His desire for me. I long to serve a mission, and leave all material trappings behind, but my logic tells me that it is not the time to do so, when I know that I would return at the age of 61 or so and be looking for a job. My feelings of logic and responsibility war with the temptation to leave all and wander the world as a volunteer. While it may seem of great merit and responsibility to volunteer throughout the world, there is the logical realization that someone eventually would have to pay for my keep as age catches up and the body can no longer keep up with the heart. I feel responsible to do all within my power, now, to prevent that need from arising. While I would love to look to a husband to share this with, the fact is true now that I must care for my own needs.

My waffling uncertainty is evident in my approach to my home. The week after the last snow (March 22), I gave in to my yearning for new life, and went to Home Depot to buy some flowers to plant in pots Brett and I bought together in much-happier times. The fact that those pots represented such happiness gave me pause in being able to carry out my mission. While I planted the beautiful new flowers, I could not keep back memories of Brett and I laughing together and earnestly watching over each flower and herb under our care. We spent many hours joyfully choosing, planting, pruning and watering our beloved gardens. . . . This was the first time that I would plant and watch alone. Not that I didn't spend many years caring for gardens by myself, but Brett had brought that era to an end. I couldn't help but brush away stray tears of memory as I planted on this new Spring morning, wistfully remembering, and yet still hoping for new life to take hold within my heart.

The flowers have grown beautifully since planting them just two weeks ago. Isabeau keeps careful watch for birds who now come to visit our birdhouse. She takes her job very seriously, and is afraid that if she were to come inside, the birds would surely come - and she cannot take the chance. I have to carry her into the house when it is time to go to bed.

I, like Isabeau, watch, but I do not watch for birds. I watch for signs of spring, of new life and new hope and new purpose and new mission. It feels as if I have been watching for a long time, and have seen only winter's bleakness . . . And yet - and yet! - I am planting flowers, and preparing the ground of my heart to receive spring's warming sun. The uncertainty still prevails: I may have planted spring pots, but I have not been able to bring myself to purchase patio furniture in order to sit and enjoy those flowers; that seems too permanent, too much of a commitment that would inevitably bring with it the possibility of new loss. I am a tender plant, putting forth tiny tendrils, and yearning for reassurance that all will be well, and that summer will come at last.

Snow Day

We've had a pretty snow-free winter, and just when we thought Spring had grasped the earth with her long tendrils, Winter made sure that we understood that she wasn't quite finished yet.

On March 22 (Brett's 30th birthday), we got a surprise downfall of about 6-8" at the top of Redmond Ridge. The picture above is of the park in front of the house.

Izzy welcomed the snow with a full heart, and romped joyfully in it . . .

. . . she showed no particular desire to "come in from the cold" and "chilled out" in the backyard until the snow was gone.

Izzy did show some consternation over the ice balls that formed between her toes, and was frustrated as they slowed her down later as she ran across my wood floors.

Brett joined us for a birthday walk in the forest to see how the snow had impacted it. The trees offered a shelter at the beginning of our walk, taken here, but soon gave in to the downfall. Winter had made her last stand for the season, and reminded us of her white glory.

She's a Keeper

It seems so hard to capture those candid moments with children (or adults), when they are just being themselves. You want to keep that memory forever. Lisa sent me these two pictures of Faith, taken at just such perfect moments. Above, at a consignment shop, where Faith decided to try on everything that caught her fancy. Below, Faith looking thoughtful and mischievous at the same time, caught up in the arms of a tree.

Forest Ambles

I was delighted to discover a beautiful forest trail not far from my crowded neighborhood. The trail beckons to Izzy and me each day, and now that the light is lasting longer, we both rush home with the anticipation of getting out to discover what new mysteries the trail has to offer for the day.

We've discovered fairy bridges covered in moss and surrounded by green-leafed ferns. We've tried waiting silently so that the fairies feel safe enough to come out for a ramble, but Izzy invariably gives up just as I imagine I hear little fairy bells sounding through air.

We've noticed sleeping giants and watched them as they have awakened, and stretched their arms out to the sky . . .

. . . And we have discovered naughty woodpeckers busily at work bringing down the forest.

It is alarming to see the amount of damage that these sharp-beaked creatures can accomplish in very little time . . .

. . . Just recently, we discovered a downed tree in the middle of the trail, and the culprit felt no shame in his work, even as Isabeau sharply accused him of fault.

"After all," he seemed to reply, "this particular trail is named after me, and I accept the invitation hungrily, and without remorse."

. . . and he flew to his next target without a backward glance, and began his awful work.

Sometimes the downed trees take on a particular beauty, as the forest quickly covers them with funeral leaves of ivy.

No matter what the season, or time of day, we can always be assured that there will be something magical waiting for us along the forest trail. (all pics with my iphone; I returned the camera I bought at Christmas, and am still looking for the perfect fit.)

Constant Companion

I never dreamed that my life would ever be built around a dog. Honestly, I've loved animals, but I've always been pretty concerned about their fur attaching to furniture and clothes, their dirty footprints on the floor, the sticky liquid that seems to ooze from their mouths, the cost of their food, and the fact that they make me feel so guilty when I'm gone. 

We first got a cat because Lisa wanted one so badly, and then I have to admit, that I fell in love with each one that we had. Cats are pretty-low key, don't tend to make that much of a mess, and their purring is really quite soothing. They bury their own waste, eat very little, and don't seem to have their feelings hurt when you're not paying attention to them.

George and I got an Irish Setter, Shane, right after we got married. He was beautiful, slept on the bed, and roamed freely around the San Luis Obispo countryside while we were out. Once we moved to Southern California, and the kids came, poor Shane never got the same attention he had been used to. I was riddled with guilt when he died suddenly of a flea bite allergy because I just had not noticed that he was suffering while I was juggling kids, my position as a Relief Society president - and on that particular day - my friend's nine children while was she was packing for a move. I was so horrified by discovering poor Shane in the garage, that I swore I "should" never have a dog again. They just depend on their owners so much, and I didn't think I was up to it.

Brett and I talked about getting an English Setter for almost four years. We researched breeders, made careful plans about having just the right circumstances for such an active dog, and waited until we moved onto our 11-acre property. Once we got everything settled, we began meeting with Melissa Newman, from Setter Ridge, and watching the litters of puppies to be able to identify the one meant for us.

We had chosen the name Isabeau before ever meeting her. It was the "pet" name Brett called ME, based upon the movie LadyHawke. Michelle Pfeiffer played the character, Isabeau, a beautiful woman who was cursed to be a hawk during the day, while her beloved husband, Navarre, was cursed to be a wolf during the night. Isabeau was going to be our first dog, and we planned to get the second, Navarre, a Flat-Coat Retriever, shortly thereafter.

Brett left when Isabeau was only 10 months old. We had had her in our home for 8 months. Although Isabeau had trained very quickly, she was not prepared for the sudden change that would come into her young life. Having once traveled everywhere with "Dad" and been spoiled and petted by both her parents, she was now going to have to get used to doggy day care, life without Dad, and Mom gone most of the time. It was quite a shock for all of us.

I was concerned for Isabeau's quality of life, and worried about the responsibility of taking care of her needs on my own. I talked to many about the idea of giving Isabeau to someone else, and thought pretty seriously that I would follow through with that plan once the house in Carnation sold. In the meantime, I derived tremendous comfort from Izzy's steady and consistent devotion and playfulness. She's forced me to keep moving in some ways: moving literally by taking her for daily walks, but also moving ahead with making plans, going to work, etc., so that I could provide for her. Although this was never something I would have planned for for my latter years, I have come to think of "taking care of Isabeau" and her needs in the way of "I've got to get up and go to work and provide for my family." Depression and despair have been constant companions in the last two years as I have coped with "what is" in relationship to what I "thought would be," but Izzy has also been a constant companion that has made me put one foot in front another. At the end of the two years, I still feel a constant grief and sorrow, but I have also accomplished a lot, and learned to provide and care for . . . us.

I think most of my friends and family would be stunned to realize how much time I spend alone. As a working woman, I'm only available after 5:00 on weekdays, and I'm relatively free on weekends. Most of my friends and family are taking care of their own families during those hours, and just aren't available. I've gone through a tremendous adjustment from my old life filled with loved ones to this new one. It's still very, very difficult for me, and some days, I really don't want to wake up in the morning and head off to a job I don't enjoy. But, Izzy helps me through all of that. 

So, now I am an official "dog" person, or at least, I am an official "Isabeau" companion. This may be very hard to relate to for those who have known and loved me. This little freckle-faced three-year-old provides me lots of hard work, mild frustration at times, and a constant sense of love and companionship. May she live a long and healthy life, and may she find the freedom she deserves.