Start Out Walking and Learn to Run

I have 23 unfinished posts just sitting on my draft board.  So many thoughts and yet I struggle sometimes to organize them comprehensively.   I'm running out of time to write as I get back into the saddle of school again.  Since I started last Monday with my first homework assignment, it has been a race against the clock to fit it all in along with trying to make sure things are picked up around the house, meals are made, the kids get to appointments, I help them with school and play with them a bit.  I just hope I'm giving my children enough of me especially when I feel spread so thin.  I have very little sleep.  I'm pretty tired but I'm not complaining... This is an exciting time in my life.

My little Micah turns 10 tomorrow (I guess today, It's past midnight here) and Miriam is already 12. Those two can entertain one another for hours with their ingenious creations and whimsical stories.  I often think to myself if anything were to ever happen like a financial crisis and we lost everything we owned, those kids would be perfectly happy entertaining one another with sticks, rocks, dirt, and a little water for some mud.  Miriam has always loved to play in mud.  I hope they never lose that sense of contentment, it will serve them well throughout their life.

It's amazing how fast they are growing up.  I watch the home movies of my children when they were babies and I miss their tiny voices and disconnected sentences.  I miss falling asleep with their warm little infant bodies snuggled on my chest, the weight of them pressing into me and filling all the voids within my heart.

I suppose I'm still a new mom.  More experienced mothers would say to me, "Oh just you wait.  You think time has gone by fast now, it goes even faster." I don't doubt it, I believe them.  Days are hours, weeks are days, months are weeks, and years are months.  It's strange.  Our time on this earth really is so short.

I wonder if we will watch old home movies of our lives here when we are in heaven?  I think I'd like that.  I wonder if I'd play back all the scenes that made me laugh until my stomach hurt. Which events would be my favorite?  What would I see as most important and would it be what I value now?  Would I fast-forward through the hardest parts or would I slow them down to see how they were the very tools that were carving and shaping the beautiful?

Life is interesting.  I'm so thankful for it.  I feel so blessed.  I have a good life, a very good life, far greater than I could ever deserve.  Sometimes, I feel like shouting "hallelujah" for all I have!  And even when this life is over, it's only the beginning.

Well, it's late.  I should get some sleep.... an imperative I often forget I need. But before I do... I might just plug in my head phones and listen to one of my old-time favorites before I rest my head.

We've only just begun to live
White lace and promises
A kiss for luck and we're on our way
(We've only begun)

Before the risin' sun, we fly
So many roads to choose
We'll start out walkin' and learn to run
And yes, we've just begun

Sharing horizons that are new to us
Watching the signs along the way
Talkin' it over, just the two of us
Workin' together day to day
Together

And when the evening comes, we smile
So much of life ahead
We'll find a place where there's room to grow
And yes, we've just begun

Sharing horizons that are new to us
Watching the signs along the way
Talkin' it over, just the two of us
Workin' together day to day
Together
Together

And when the evening comes, we smile
So much of life ahead
We'll find a place where there's room to grow
And yes, we've just begun

-  The Carpenters

Soulful Writing

This past Sunday, I had something I was making which required the help of the other young women leaders and the girls.  As a result, I had the opportunity of spending the late afternoon and evening going into several homes and visiting with many wonderful sisters.

One of the leaders I visited with has a darling blond-haired 8-yr-old daughter, Lily. She answered the door and cheerfully invited me in.  While Lily called for her mom, she excitedly told me how she was in the middle of writing a story. I could see the computer screen and a paragraph of words already typed. I responded with how wonderful it was to see someone as young as her already so passionate about something.
My friend, Heidi, walked in and said, "Lily's excited because her dad is writing a screen play."
"Yeah!" Lily's face lit up and asked, "You wanna see it?"
"Sure, I'd love too!" I said.
She scurried out of the room and skipped back with a thick stack of pages bound together with a couple of office clips.
Heidi invited me to sit down.
"Wow. this is evidence of a lot of hard work," I said, holding the stack of papers.
I asked Heidi, "Do you enjoy writing too?"
"Yes," she said, "I actually blogged for a long time, especially when we were living in New York.  I discovered a company that publishes blogs into books." She pulled out a couple of thick heavy books off her shelf and showed them to me.
"How awesome is that!" I said, turning through the pages. "What a treasure!"
I told her how I blogged for several years and then quit.  But I started up again this year.
"Really?" She said with interest, "What do you blog about?"
"Things from my heart, meaningful experiences, and testimony," I replied.
"Oh, soulful writing!" she said, "That's my favorite kind!"
"Soulful writing?" I asked.  "I really like the sound of that.  It's a good description." I told her as I continued flipping through her book.
"You're going back to school, correct?" she inquired. "What are you going into?"
"Communications" I said.  "I asked the counselor which degree I would need to get if I want to go into writing and public speaking and that's the one he suggested."
"That's excellent! What a perfect fit for you!" She said encouragingly. "You know something, I've been thinking of you and just told my husband the other day how you intrigue me and how I want to know your story."
I laughed in disbelief, "Serious? My story?"
"Yes," she said, sincerely.

Well, what was supposed to be a short 3-min visit turned into us talking back and forth and sharing testimony for over an hour.  She gave me a list of some awesome resources and told me that I reminded her of her mom.  I've met her mom before and was humbled by such a comparison. "Well, maybe someday I will be like that," I said.  We concluded that our conversations could go on for hours more and that we needed to just hang out together sometime.  It was a wonderful visit!

I kept thinking about the words, "soulful writing."  I really like the sound of that.  My mother-in-law taught English for 20 years and is an author.  She's published a couple of books and has written for the Friend Magazine on a number of occasions.  (She goes by her maiden name when she writes.)  I would call her style, "fictional writing."  My daughter loves to write fictional stories too and I could easily see her being a published author someday.  I'm not a fictional writer and I don't know if I've ever imagined myself publishing anything.  But I really like the sound of being a "soulful writer." There's something that satisfies me when I can find the perfect words to express what's in my heart... it helps me to heal.  In fact, the title page of my old blog was called, "That Which Heals Me"

My earliest recollection of writing for healing was when I was 9 years old;  I had a pet tree frog named Kermie.  I loved how he fit perfectly in my palm and I carried him everywhere.  I could feel his wet little body snug between my fingers and felt confident he wouldn't get away.  One day, I ran across the lawn to my friend and didn't bother checking to see if my pet remained in my hand because I could still feel his cool little belly.  I looked down after a minute and to my horror realized he was gone!  I frantically searched everywhere in the green grass for him but the color of the blades matched that of my frog exactly.... it was no use.  I was terribly upset, I loved that little frog so much!   I ran in the house crying and locked myself in the bathroom.  I sobbed uncontrollably for nearly an hour. I left the locked room for only a minute to grab some lined paper and a pencil. With tear drops blurring the ink of blue-printed lines, I began to write my very first poem:

Frogs
By, Alicia Manwill - age 9

Frogs are cute, frogs are green,
Frogs will jump on anything.
I had one once, but now he's gone.
He's probly somewhere on the lawn,
Or maybe somewhere in the leaves,
Or maybe somewhere in the trees,
Oh, will someone find him please!

It was true "soulful writing," complete with tear stains on the paper and everything.  I can't help but laugh out-loud every time I think of this poem now.  Even as I type it here, I am laughing.  But as ridiculous as it is, it came from my 9-year-old heart, and somehow it helped me heal.

It's the same for me today... I don't expect people to read the things I write, I just do it when I have a lot on my heart and need a place to put my words.   I like using a blog because I feel that I write with a little more effort knowing there's a possibility of an audience.  Having someone listen inspires creativity and that's true for everyone.

I'll continue to write from my soul, even if no one is listening... because it heals me.  But maybe, just maybe, in the process, it might help heal someone else too.

-Alicia

More Than Words

"We see in ourselves, brothers and sisters, the unnecessary multiplication of words—not only a lack of clarity, but vanity. Our verbosity is often a cover for insincerity or uncertainty. Meekness, the subtraction of self, reduces the multiplication of words.

Without meekness, the conversational point we insist on making often takes the form of I, that spearlike, vertical pronoun. Meekness, however, is more than self-restraint; it is the presentation of self in a posture of kindness and gentleness. It reflects certitude, strength, serenity; it reflects a healthy self-esteem and a genuine self-control."
- Neal A. Maxwell

The words from  this talk  by Elder Maxwell echoed through the rooms yesterday as I tidied up my little sphere I call home.  I've heard it many times before. But this particular part about "the subtraction of self, reduces the multiplication of words" hit me like a ton of bricks and I had to go back and read it.  I am a woman of many words.  I am very passionate about writing and speaking (even though I don't feel very skilled at it.)  Still, I can't help but ask myself if my verbosity is merely evidence of my pride.  I never want to sound preachy or act like I have all the answers.  I want to be the one who "walks the walk" not just "talks the talk".   After all, "Well done is better than well said." - Benjamin Franklin

Oh, how I ache to "learn meekness" and to "become" the woman God intends for me to be.  I suppose it's reasonable for me to "ache" in my desire of such things because Neal A. Maxwell also says:

"Meekness is one of those attributes acquired only by experience, some of it painful, for it is developed 'according to the flesh' (Alma 7:11, 12). It is not an attribute achieved overnight, nor is it certified to in but one exam; rather, it is certified to 'in process of time' (Moses 7:21, 68, 69). The Savior said we are to 'take up [the] cross daily' (Luke 9:23)—not just once or occasionally—and taking up the cross daily surely requires meekness."

There is a poem I heard years ago. I loved it so much that I made it into a fridge magnet. (How is that for supreme homage?) ;)

 It's called "My Creed" by, Edgar Guest.  These are just the last few lines of the creed but it's the part that emphasizes most on the core of what I desire to become:

"To be the same when I'm alone

As when my every deed is known;

To live undaunted, unafraid

Of any step that I have made;

To be without pretense or sham

Exactly what men think I am."

-Alicia