2. Going out to lunch with Howard. Despite the fact that I was fairly low-energy, Howard kept making cheerful conversation. Some of it had nothing to do with our shared business. Also the food was happy-making food.

3. Napping.

4. It is Friday. This means that the kids and I all ignore homework for the entire afternoon and evening. We replace it with movies, video games, and staying up later than usual.

5. Taking a sledge hammer and crowbar to the final vestiges of wall in my office. It is nice to have the project ready for the next phase. It was even nicer to get to wield the sledge and crowbar. There is something really satisfying in demolition. As a bonus, I got the work done and my wrist was fine. The painful twinges from a week ago did not return.

6. Ghirardelli Dark Chocolate and Caramel

7. The weather was sunny and warm.

8. Sitting in my front room next to a potted hyacinth in bloom.

9. Someone else did the massive pile of dishes.

10. My kids, just by existing. Somehow today they just made me glad every time I saw them.

11. Scriptures and hope. Read the first, felt the second. I still have a couple of things at the forefront of all my prayers. It is my job to keep them there, but I feel strongly that the things I’m petitioning for are on the way.

12. Howard. He makes me laugh.

13. My opera wallet and new business card case. I got them a few weeks ago, but they are pretty. Holding them in my hand and feeling the slight click as they shut makes me happy. It is a little like the feeling I had as a little girl when playing dress up. I’d try on the clothes and feel like I was grown up. Now I am grown up, but holding these slightly old-fashioned things still gives me that sense of pretending to be someone I aspire to be. The right props can really make a difference.

15. The fact that one of my LTUE panel topics is something I suggested last year. This means that one of the symposium planners liked the idea enough to remember it a whole year later and put it on the schedule.

16. The fact that I arrived at the end of the day with a list of happy things.

I arrived in the chapel to see Kiki hunched over with her hands covering her face. She was mortified. This piled on top of other stresses in her life and seemed to show, once again, that she was doomed to fail in all her endeavors. The meeting conductor assured her it was fine and that she could just speak some other week. All Kiki could do was nod and try to hide her tears.

I watched her down the bench. The prelude music still played. We had two hymns, announcements, and a sacrament service between us and the moment when she was assigned to speak. Kiki probably had 20 minutes to prepare, if she could focus on preparation instead of mortification. As my daughter’s parent, I had choices. I could tell her that she would be speaking and had better scramble something together. I could tell her to let it go so that she could be properly prepared on some other day. Or, I could take the less active path, the one where I did not declare what she ought to do. I knew what I hoped she would do, what I thought would be best for everyone concerned. I hoped that she would, of her own accord, find the courage to scramble a three minute talk together from a scripture and the thoughts in her head. I wanted that for her, because to pull success out of apparent failure is a triumph. It is the sort of triumph which grants future strength and can never be taken away. I wanted so much for her to reach out and grab that triumph, but all I could do was point out that if she chose, there was still time.

The meeting began. Kiki still surreptitiously wiped tears as the opening announcements were read. During the first hymn I watched out of the corner of my eye as she opened a book and began to sing. I could not tell what thoughts were churning through her mind. I could not know what story she was making from the events of the day. Was she telling a story of victim hood: “why does this always happen to me?” Was she pounding out a story of failure: “I always forget things, why can’t I be better?” I hoped that her rigid posture was because she intended to seize her chance. During the sacrament service she opened her scriptures. I closed my eyes. Please let her have the courage to speak. Please give her the words to say.

The moment came. Kiki stood and walked to the front of the chapel to take her place on the stand. She spoke and her thoughts formed a coherent, amusing, uplifting talk. She spoke about things she’d learned in her seminary class. She touched on the assigned topic. She brought in an example from her own life. In the moment of crisis all these little preparations came together and combined to be the words she needed. It was a talk for which she thought she had been unprepared, but for which she was completely ready. In less than four minutes she was once again seated. This time she had her head high and was smiling.

After the meeting was over she came and hugged me. I hugged her back. She had found courage to reach for triumph. I’d found the strength to stand out of the way without knowing what the result would be. Both of us are more confident in the brightness of the future. It is well.

I closed my eyes and asked the same silent question I ask every week. It is a prayer of sorts, almost wordless as I reach out. It comprises several things from “any messages for me?” to “What should I be focused on this week?” to “What next?” or even occasionally a petulant “what now?” I don’t remember how long it has been that I’ve been making this overt weekly request. I think it began last year when I was pounded with unexpected inspiration several weeks in a row. I finally figured it might be better to just ask instead of waiting to be shouted at. I ask, and answers always come. It is a little frightening this receiving of answers. Sometimes I want to wrap myself in a little cloak of sameness. I don’t always want answers which may ask me to change or do some other difficult thing. But lately I have been glad of the answers, they help me set a path for the week to follow. I can’t see much beyond a week right now. However if I can get the week aimed right on Sunday, I can follow through long enough to get me to the next Sunday when I can adjust, change, or continue.

So I sat with my eyes closed and asked “What new thing shall I undertake this week? What am I to do with my time and energy?” Sometimes the answers are loud and clear, almost like being spoken to. Other times it is like I have to sort them from my own thoughts and it takes most of the meeting. Today the answer was so quiet I almost missed it, rather like a hand waving gesture which indicates “carry on.” I opened my eyes and looked down the row of my people. We’ve set a good course and it is time for us to do some calm sailing.

The casinos at Reno are in a spiritual radio shadow. I did not realize it when I first arrived. I only knew that I did not like them. I thought it was the noise, the lights, or the air of quiet desperation which rolled off of some of the gamblers. The absence of a noise is hard to notice, particularly if it is a quiet noise, even more particularly if I am distracted by dozens of new noises. So I did not notice at first. The convention was full of bright, wonderful, good things. Unfortunately I failed to give myself adequate breaks from these wonderful new things. I took care to make sure all of my people took breaks, but I neglected to take any myself. Usually when I do that, I get a message on the guidance circuit. “Slow down Sandra. Take a break.” But I was in radio shadow, a barrier between me and the signal. So I ran myself past my strength, then when I was beyond my capabilities I tried to tap into my spiritual resources. They were not there. I was left to my own strength and I was not strong enough. Fortunately I had surrounded myself with good people and they took care of me. Mostly what they did was make me go to bed. Sleep is restorative of many things.

Upon opening my email box the next morning, I found an email from a friend who does not usually email me. It said all the comforting responses that I’d been reaching for the night before. Signal was bounced off of my friend so that I could receive it while still in shadow. It helped me get through the last day of convention until I could get into my car and drive to a place where I had signal again. The experience was unpleasant in the middle, but is enlightening in retrospect. If I had been aware of the radio shadow, I could have taken steps to boost my reception. Most of those steps would also have provided me with the rest breaks in my days which would have helped prevent me from getting over-stressed in the first place. These are important things for me to know as I attend conventions in the future. Also, I’ll think twice before attending a five day event in a casino hotel again.

Today I went back to church for the first time since coming home from the convention. If a casino is in shadow, then church is like standing on a hill top in clear view of the transmitter. Light and strength poured into me. It washed over my memories of the convention, clearing away the remaining fatigue and worry so that the treasures from the event shine clear and clean. Going to WorldCon was the right thing for us to do, even though it put us in radio shadow for a time, even though it stressed us all, even though we had to drive all night to get the kids back home in time for school. I have a wealth of treasures from the convention which I could not otherwise have gained. The prize is worth the price, but this does not prevent me from planning ahead so that perhaps next time I can arrange to pay less.

Our own lives are always normal to us, except where they compare with recent history. My life feels normal to me, which is why I am bemused when someone tells me that reading my blog helps them feel like their life is more manageable, because they have less to handle than I do. I am then left to ponder, have I inched my way out into some abnormality without recognizing I have done so? If I have, why did I do it? Does it need fixed? Is my life structure a problem? On nights when I lay awake with my mind spinning and my heart racing I think that perhaps yes it is. On days when I get everything done and the sun is shining I think that perhaps it is not.

Standing in the middle of my life, it is hard to see past all my things to tell if the whole thing is running out of kilter or straight on course. An outside perspective is necessary. I rely heavily on prayer and inspiration for my outside perspectives. I get daily, sometimes hourly, feedback about whether to stay the course or shift things. I also depend upon several perceptive friends. I talk until my voice is hoarse and they see things which are invisible to me. I am extremely fortunate. Perceptive friends keep turning up in my life just when I most need them. They function in many of the ways that a good psychologist or therapist can function. Sometimes I get to be the perceptive friend for someone else. I always feel honored when this is the case. The truth is that we all need rescue sometime, often when we can’t even tell that we’re drowning.

***

Yesterday evening Howard was grouchy and decided to get out of the house. He wandered his way down to the Provo Festival of Books where several of our published author friends were presenting. Within an hour he called me because he’d arranged for a whole group to head out for dinner. I set Kiki and Link to babysitting the younger two and then drove myself down to join them. The world is a wonderful place when we can gather a group of friends for dinner and then later realize that 4 of them are New York Times bestselling authors and one was a Nebula award winner. All that authorial importance at the table and somehow the evening was completely lacking in ego. I love being at the table with high-energy creative people. They work really hard and that is why they have succeeded. Just as inspiring to me were the other people at the table, the ones who have not yet earned banner success, but who are also high-energy creative people. Dinners like that one are one of the rewards for the fretting and work we do much of the rest of the time.

***

The snowball bush is finally in bloom. Usually the blooms arrive in mid-May, but they were delayed by the cool weather. This means it is time for the annual snowball bush flower fight. This is where the kids pick snowball-shaped clusters of white flowers and throw them at each other or fling them into the air like confetti. Also in full bloom are my irises. They’re swirling their petals like Spanish dancers and filling the air with a spicy floral scent. These things thrive despite my neglect of them in recent years. I hope that this summer I can spend more time with them.

***

The thought arrived during the closing hymn. We were on the second verse of “Be Thou Humble” when I knew that though my currently-in-query-process book and all my future writings will bring me criticisms, the good accomplished by them will far outweigh the negative criticism. It was a calming thought. I have been much worried about how bad reviews and hateful comments would injure me. My book is based in my life and it will be very hard to remain objective. I have some of the same concerns in my blog. I often have an impulse to leave things unsaid and thus shield myself. But the good will outweigh the difficulty. I can hold on to that.

***

The chore lists have been updated and placed on our bulletin board in the kitchen. Each child has a grid. Seven days of the week across and ten weeks down. Each day that they complete their list of chores they fill in a square. At the end of the week, each filled square represents allowance money. Each completely filled week adds to the bonus which they can earn at the end of the summer. It is a new iteration of an old system, and thus more easily understood by the kids than explained in words. They all contemplated their charts, running calculations in their heads about money they could earn and what they could buy. I look at the charts and hope that they will help tame the household chaos and teach my kids the value of daily effort. Howard and I also have daily household chore lists. We could learn the same daily effort lesson in regards to household maintenance. The system will probably fall apart. I just hope it is tight enough to last through 10 weeks of summer.

***

I sat on a stool in my kitchen reading out loud from a manuscript page. Kiki was rolling out biscuits as she listened. Link and Patch just sat in chairs, listening with bright eyes and smiles. Mom reading aloud is fairly common, but this story was about them. One of the rules I set myself for my book was that the kids would get ultimate approval about what I say about them. This was their chance to hear my words and tell me what they thought. They loved hearing the stories, even when the stories were about their mis-behaviors and childishness. We still have more to read, but thus far only Link has requested a change. It is a minor wording change which will leave the heart of the story intact. It is a small thing to do to acknowledge to my kids that their opinions matter to me.

Yes I am aware that these answers could be coming from my own mind. I could be creating a comforting fiction of God. Except without fail those answers are right. They are right in ways that are impossible for me to predict. They are right for reasons which sometimes don’t become apparent until years after I have followed the instructions. Yes again, I could be justifying decisions after the fact by simply gathering evidence in support of them. I choose to believe that these answers come from a loving God who is as present in my life as I am willing to let Him be. That last bit is key. I can shut Him out. I can do the spiritual equivalent of sticking my fingers in my ears and singing loudly so that I will not hear Him. It is very tempting, because all too often the answers and inspirations I receive are quite difficult to follow through upon. So I grow a little shell for my heart. I hold up all the good things I am doing as a shield. “See God? I am going to church and teaching my children. I am doing regular service and reading my scriptures. It’s all pretty hard, so I should just keep working at it for awhile, right?” I stay busy with the good things I am doing so that I won’t have to do any more, rather like dodging a phone call from a friend because I think she’ll want me to volunteer for a bake sale.

This is where church meetings come in. One of those good things I use as a shield is church attendance. Except if I really want to avoid conversation with God, the last place I should go is His house. So I go there. I listen. I sing. Then my hard shell cracks open and inspiration pours in. It is like finally talking to that friend and discovering that, yes she wants me to volunteer for a bake sale, but she’s also wondering if she can come help me clean my house, plant flowers in my garden, and maybe repaint a little. I’ll have to help with all of those things too, of course. It will be work, but in the end I will be the biggest beneficiary. When the messages are clear, I adjust my life to make space for the work.

Thus I find myself posting about inspiration on the internet, which is notorious for swooping down upon people in very unpleasant ways. I also find myself tinkering with my weekly schedule because apparently getting my essay book done is still important. While I’m tinkering with the schedule Family Dinner needs to go back on it. In addition, I should keep up that time partitioning plan, because it is a really good thing. So I roll up my sleeves and start in on the work, realizing once again that perhaps I should listen to this particular friend more often. Even while He is handing out assignments, He is also doling out large measures of hope and energy. When I add His things into my life, the impossible is accomplished.

I don’t know that anyone else felt the awkwardness of that moment as I did. Perhaps they thought nothing of it. The event has me thinking about the difficulty of teaching matters of belief to children when others who hold different beliefs are nearby. I wonder if I need to be more courageous about this. I tend to keep discussions of belief behind closed doors. My beliefs are safe there where they won’t draw attack or ridicule. One of the most frightening realizations in my adult life was that there are people in the world with whom I will never be able to peacefully coexist because our belief systems are so far divergent. Yet it is by sharing these close-to-our-hearts beliefs that we have the best chance of understanding each other.

I have no answers, except to know that if I am ever in the position that my friends were in, I will try to do as they did. They did not let difference of belief make them think any less of me and I truly appreciate that.

My fingers traced across the calendar as I mentally marked our tentative press and shipping dates for the two books we plan to produce next year. My hand hovered over June and July which look empty on the calendar, but which I know will be full of preparations for GenCon and WorldCon as well as book production. I thought back to a piece from I book I’ve read recently. It talked of an old Jewish man who never made any kind of appointment or plan without speaking the words “God Willing.” For the man this was not a fatalistic prediction that the plan would fail, but rather an acknowledgment that no mortal being is in full control of his life. Many things may happen between now and next week to make a dinner date impossible, he speaks the words so that he will not be angry or frustrated if some other event intervenes.

I press my hand flat against the calendar. I have planned next year. It is a good plan. I have built in more flexibility in the months. I have place space for happiness to dwell in each day. I intend to hold this schedule loosely and not panic when it inevitably has to shift or change. God willing, this is how 2011 will be. If it turns out differently, and it almost certainly will, then I will try to trust that there is a bigger plan with pieces that I can not see.

The calendar now hangs on my wall. I’m ready to proceed.

I am in the middle of raising my children. This Fall has been a tumultuous one, not in events, but in emotions. In no measurable way am I at the culmination of anything, nor at the beginning of something else. It would be nice to have a clear marker on the road, what I have instead is Christmas. I stare at the porcelain nativity scene and look at the baby. I look at the Mary in blue, so serene. They are frozen in the moment of joy, which turned out to be a brilliant moment at the very beginning of a long hard path. But once the path was done, not a one of them would regret it.

I’ll take Christmas as my marker. The fact that I’m here means that 2010 has passed and somehow we all survived. More than just survived, we have grown. I will photograph many things tomorrow and years from now I will look back and be able to see the whats and whys of where we are. I think I will look back and see that this Fall and this Christmas were a beginning. More importantly I’ll be able to see what was begun and why it matters.

I don’t think the real Mary was quite so serene as my porcelain one. She had just been through labor, not the medically-assisted, epidural-ific version of labor that I have experienced. She did natural childbirth. In a stable. With no doctor or nurse, or anyone but Joseph nearby. She must have been frazzled, sore, and high on endorphins. She knew she was at the beginning of something, all new mothers do, but what measure of terror she must have felt when contemplating the path before her. Perhaps she did not experience the Nativity as a moment of pure clarity and beauty, but rather as a muddle which only made sense later.

I think I can have faith in that. I can trust that it will make more sense later when I am not in the middle of so many things.