I want kissing to feel like a breathless game of tug-of-war.

I want my next success to feel like the top of Kilimanjaro.

I want my body to feel like it can love me.

I want smiling to feel like that day between Winter and Summer when you notice the warm sun sinking into your pores for the first time in months.

I want my friendships to feel like those safe, quiet moments when you rest your head on someone’s shoulder.

I want my spirit to feel like sun rays busting through the clouds.

I want my integrity to feel like the tallest redwood tree in the forest.

I want my world to feel like a stranger’s smile.

I want my laughter to feel like pop rocks and moon pies and Coca Cola from a bottle.

I want the end of the day to feel like Chopin and candlelight.

I want my word to feel like the Eucharist on my tongue, a symphony in your ear.

I want being of service to feel like a mama bear’s instinct for her cubs.

I want my giving to feel like being caught in a torrential, but welcome, rainstorm.

I want my challenges to feel like the spider I crushed against the wall with one swift blow.

I want love to feel like laying in a hammock on a hot summer’s day, lemonade in hand.

I want my love to feel like the treasure at the end of the rainbow.

I want my writing to feel like the rivers that lead to Victoria Falls.

I want my ideas to feel like watching the stars come out at night and being lucky enough to see one shoot across the horizon.

————–

*I am quite aware that I am not a poet, by any stretch of the definition. I know very little of stanzas and rhyming patterns, but I set a writing exercise goal to craft a “poem a day” for a month. I conveniently chose February, as it is the shortest month of the year, but just my luck–it happens to be a leap year. So unfortunately for me, or for you (however you care to look at this), I have 29 poems to write. This inspiration for this poem came from here.

Sometimes I’d rather scream

For behind the

shiny silken screen

is a broken story

at least it feels

making due

getting by

but barely

at times

it seems

wondering

is this really the plot

how did it get here

where is it going

and when will it just end

the way I want

But even these words are

too honest and raw

And another step forward

another line written

is

perhaps too far.

And so I smile

And swallow the scream.

————–

*I am quite aware that I am not a poet, by any stretch of the definition. I know very little of stanzas and rhyming patterns, but I set a writing exercise goal to craft a “poem a day” for a month. I conveniently chose February, as it is the shortest month of the year, but just my luck–it happens to be a leap year. So unfortunately for me, or for you (however you care to look at this), I have 29 poems to write.

Just let the words fall

Just let them flow

They may tumble

or trip

They may bobble

and skip

At times their absurdity

may wrinkle your brow

But spit them

scratch them

be brave

allow.

Just let the words fall

Just let them flow

‘Tis better to open

than silence endow.

————–

*I am quite aware that I am not a poet, by any stretch of the definition. I know very little of stanzas and rhyming patterns, but I set a writing exercise goal to craft a “poem a day” for a month. I conveniently chose February, as it is the shortest month of the year, but just my luck–it happens to be a leap year. So unfortunately for me, or for you (however you care to look at this), I have 29 poems to write.

the sun’s first rays

through the dusty blinds

the orange poppies

on a mountainside

You’re the funny fizzle

of pop on my tongue

the goldest star

on my job well done

You’re the scent of sugar cookies

as I breeze through the door

the swirling water

on the ocean floor

The top of the ferris wheel

the flight of a swing

You’re daydreams

and bird wings

and glittery things

You’re a run through the sprinkler

you’re the paint on the walls

the tumbling river

of a waterfall

You’re the wrinkles that line

the edge of my eyes

A bright red kite

in the bluest of skies

You’re Christmas morning

and birthday balloons

You’re twinkle lights, candlelight

the stars and the moon

You’re my deepest laugh

and the widest sea

My rocketship

My anchor

You are

———-

*I am quite aware that I am not a poet, by any stretch of the definition. I know very little of stanzas and rhyming patterns, but I set a writing exercise goal to craft a “poem a day” for a month. I conveniently chose February, as it is the shortest month of the year, but just my luck–it happens to be a leap year. So unfortunately for me, or for you (however you care to look at this), I have 29 poems to write.

to roll around

in nonsense

for at least an hour or two.

To flap my wings

with absurdity,

and nary a care,

or shadow of worry.

And if any look on

and wonder at the sight –

then let them wonder, I say.

For I’m beginning to see

that it’s in my absurdity

and nonsense

that

the best dreams take flight.

———-

*I am quite aware that I am not a poet, by any stretch of the definition. I know very little of stanzas and rhyming patterns, but I set a writing exercise goal to craft a “poem a day” for a month. I conveniently chose February, as it is the shortest month of the year, but just my luck–it happens to be a leap year. So unfortunately for me, or for you (however you care to look at this), I have 29 poems to write. This particular poem was the result of 4 minutes of free thinking. No mulling. No chewing. No editing. Simply writing the words that marched from my head to my hand without pause.

The hum of whispered chatter that begins the ladies’ meeting on Sundays is one of the happiest sounds I think I know.

Class began and the woman beside me read, “…Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.”

That’s hard sometimes. To love your neighbor, that is. All of them. And without equivocation. Especially the prickly ones.

But as I thought about it, I came to some conclusions.

Loving your neighbor requires that you get outside yourself. You have to sidestep your bubble of life and extend your reach beyond your daily task list. I think we get so caught up in our “busy,” our “hurry,” our “need,” that we don’t see each other sometimes. Sure our eyes generally register that another human being is somewhere within the vicinity of our sight. But. We’ve got to start seeing each other. We’ve got to start looking the people in front of us in the eye, and seek to understand what’s behind the blue, or the brown, or the green. We’ve got to push the edges of our spheres out a bit and position ourselves inside opportunities to love another soul.

Loving your neighbor is easier when you know their story. Each of us is a vast library of collected works. We are chapters upon chapters of events and experiences and education. Some good. Some bad. Some happy. Some sad. And the sum of those stories equals our “why’s” for doing what we do, acting the way we act, thinking the way we think, and saying the things we say. But I have learned that love comes more easily and swiftly when you know those stories. Because the stories bring understanding. And understanding brings compassion. Yes. Loving someone is easier when you know their story.

Loving your neighbor is impossible without extending grace. No one is perfect. People don’t always say what you’d wish they’d say, or do what you wish they’d do. Sometimes they say hurtful things. Sometimes they say stupid things. Sometimes they don’t say anything—when they probably ought to. But. People are human. People forget. People don’t always know. So perhaps a better response to those disappointments or frustrations or annoyances is to simply give someone the benefit of the doubt. To remember that we’re all just trying to do our best. That sometimes our best comes out a mess. And just extend grace.

At the end of the lesson, the teacher made a passing comment that I think went mostly unnoticed, but was perhaps the most profound sentiment of the class. She said, “God makes amazing people.”

And I think she’s right.

God does make amazing people. And to love them is not just a commandment. It is a privilege.

Behold: comes from a Mid English word meaning “to keep”, which came from the Old English word behealdan, meaning “to hold”. The current definition is “to perceive through sight or conception.”

Perceive: comes from the Latin word percapere meaning “thoroughly to take”. The current definition is “to attain awareness or understanding, to become aware through the senses.”

Now the word Desire: It comes from the Latin word desiderare, meaning “long for, wish for; demand, expect.” The current definition is to long for, express a wish for. To request.” The dictionary goes on to say that desire stresses the strength of feeling and often implies strong intention or aim.

So interesting, no? Enlightening.

As I read the scriptures this morning, I found that I was paying close attention to what certain people desired. And then I began noting what they were “beholding.” And in understanding the words more deeply, I understood the Word more deeply.

I beheld a tree, whose fruit was desirable to make one happy … wherefore, I began to be desirous that my family should partake of it also; for I knew that it was desirable above all other fruit. … And … I beheld a river of water; and it ran along, and it was near the tree of which I was partaking the fruit … and I beheld your mother … And … I beckoned … with a loud voice that they should come unto me, and partake of the fruit, which was desirable above all other fruit. (–Lehi, a prophet in the Book of Mormon. Reference.)

And I … was desirous also that I might see, and hear, and know of the these things, by the power of the Holy Ghost, which is the gift of God unto all those who diligently seek him, as well in times of old as in the time that he should manifest himself unto the children of men … And the angel said unto me again: Look and behold the condescension of God! And I looked and beheld the Redeemer of the world … And I beheld that he went forth, ministering unto the people. (–Nephi, Lehi’s son. Reference here and here.)

And between her moves (in those heels, no less) and the 5,000 key change’s in this thing, there is only one thing to say:

Beyonce kills it. Every. stinkin. time.

And yet, I still herald New Year’s (new weeks, new days, etc.) with the hope that it will dawn bright and with faith that change is indeed possible.

The older I get, however, the more I understand that it’s not so much in the event that change is made. It is in the choice–regardless of the date.

To be different today, to be something better, to make something meaningful, to do something remarkable, depends not upon the occasion, but rather — upon me.

So while I’m grateful for the cycle and seasons of life and time that give me reason to pause and reflect, I find I’m particularly aware on this first day of our next trip around the sun, of where I am now, of what I want, of what stands in my way, and of the choices I need to make–deliberately from moment to moment–to actually live the life I have resolved.

___

It is not enough to want to make the effort. It’s in the doing, not just the thinking, that we accomplish our goals. -Thomas S. Monson

And then I up and committed to the tour. And not only committed to the tour, but offered to hostess and promote the first show. And then I got asked to be the Choir director at Church–which meant I was in charge of the entire service on Christmas Sunday. So I had to pull a choir together (which is like puling teeth, don’t you know) and write the program. And practice it. (Holy Smokes. If it actually happens how I see it in my head, it will be a miracle. Please pray.) And then my sister told me that she, her husband, and their child–i.e. my pumpkin of a niece–were flying in to stay for a week over Christmas. And then there was the invitation for the work party. And then the Church party, that we hostessed a portion of at our house. The night after the concert at our house. (Oy vey) And then two TV appearances to get ready for. And a Christmas meal to plan and make for the family that was now coming.

And … well. All of a sudden Christmas is tearing around the corner and I don’t have any presents for the people who will be waking up Christmas morning at my house. I don’t have a turkey. Or stuffing. Or mashed potatoes. Or pie. I haven’t drunk any hot chocolate. And I haven’t read a book in months.

And while I’m so happy I did the tour–seriously. I love being on tour and I love Mindy’s music. And while I’m thrilled my sister and her family are here (even if my niece still doesn’t like me. What’s that about Laela?!). And while I’ve loved the bustle and energy of the last few weeks. I’ve just really wished, too, for that quiet holiday I saw in my head months ago.

And so at night. When everyone goes upstairs to their beds. I’ve stayed downstairs. And I’ve sat by the tree. And though I’ve been working my laptop overtime with all the “stuff” that still needs to be done, even past midnight. I’ve allowed myself to wrap up in the quiet. And the glow. And just. Be still.

p.s. I was on Good Things Utah again this morning with a little crafty for any of you last-minute (like me) gift givers. They’re these cute little tree pins that I hope I’ll have a picture of later today to post for you. So easy. And so inexpensive. And If you’re just finding me through Good Things. Welcome. I hope you’ll stay a bit. And I hope we become friends. If you want to know more … these are my favorite posts.