Getting Uncomfortable

There is a concept that has long been a theme in my life.  

It's this:

When I find myself getting comfortable with where I am in life, it usually means it's time to make a change. The choice is always mine. I can stay comfortable and be just fine, or I can step out of my comfort zone and discover just how much the Lord wants to bless me. 

This theme reoccurred four years ago when Mr. Brown Eyes and I were consulting as to whether I should quit my job. It was something we had talked about long before we got married. I didn't mind working and helping to pay the bills, but when it came down to working or being home with our children, I wanted to be with our children. 

Our oldest Brown-Eyed Boy was seven years old and I was still working part-time, able to be with him and his sisters more than some working moms, but I didn't feel like I could give them all my focus. I couldn't shake the nagging thought that I needed to be home with them more.

Mr. Brown Eyes agreed, but neither of us felt totally confident about how we could survive on his income alone. The firefighting job he was blessed with in this post provided for us, but it didn't pay well and the benefits weren't great. That's where my job filled in the gaps. But the more we talked about it, the more we prayed about it, the stronger we felt that quitting my job was something that needed to happen. 

It was time to get uncomfortable. 

Living on one income was immediately a struggle financially, but Mr. Brown Eyes and I learned to budget, and we always paid our tithing first, and our one income stretched much farther than we ever thought it could. Being home with our children was difficult but fulfilling. 

We actually weren't too uncomfortable at all. 

Then came another blessing--Mr. Brown Eyes decided to test for another bigger, better-paying fire department, and, after all our past disappointments, he got hired. 

Our prayers were answered. Immediate blessings for choosing to follow that prompting for me to quit. That was easy might have even crossed my mind. 

Until we realized that during his fire academy Mr. Brown Eyes would be making even less money than he had at his previous department.

We had already dipped deep into our savings to make up for my lost paycheck. We just couldn't see how we could survive another year like that. 

This is when we got uncomfortable. 

I remember that night so clearly. The panic and worry that we had made a wrong choice. Thinking, oh, if I had just worked another year. Then the late-night talks, the earnest prayers, the very clear answer--stay close to the Lord, and trust in Him--and the ensuing peace. 

My inspiration to stay close to the Lord was to keep a list posted on our kitchen wall of all our blessings. During a time when I didn't feel very blessed at all, those pages filled up quickly. I was able to recognize the Lord's hand in our lives, a Hand that was there every day, even if not in the ways I would have expected it. I grew closer to my Savior during that uncomfortable year of pinching and saving than I ever would have sitting comfortably at my desk at work. 

And now Mr. Brown Eyes is working at his dream job. 

Get uncomfortable. Throughout my life those words have terrified me and simultaneously brought the most wondrous blessings--friendships, a college education, job opportunities, learning, growth, strengthened faith. What is true for working out applies to life too--no pain, no gain. I am so grateful for a God who not only encourages us to stretch and grow, but helps and sustains us every step of the way. 

Still growing,

The Brown-Eyed Girl

The Worst Year of Our Lives

 I keep hearing people call 2020 the worst year of our lives. 

It has taken me a while to figure out why that statement bothers me so much. 

Yes, I know many people suffered during 2020. It was a year of fear and loss and struggle, magnified so many times because so many people were affected. And I don't mean to downplay that at all. 

But 2020 was not the worst year of my life.

2019 was. 

2019 was the year I lost my mom. It was the year I watched her fade from her warm, smiling self to a barely-moving figure in a hospital bed, tubes connecting her to machines that whirred and beeped. It was the year I sat by her hospice bed in the living room of my childhood home, holding her hand while she slept in a drug-induced haze. It was the year I spent nights pacing my bedroom, crying to Heavenly Father to please give me more time with her.  It was the year I saw my solid, steady, unbreakable dad break down with grief.

For my family, 2019 was the beginning of a long, lonely road of realizing what life without Mom meant. 

My heart goes out to the people who suffered in 2020, especially those who lost loved ones. But 2020 was not the only year that brought heartache and suffering to the world. It's just the year that so much of the world shared the same heartache and the same suffering. Heartache and suffering have existed since the Fall of Adam, and will continue until our Savior comes again. Just because the whole world isn't suffering, doesn't mean that someone, somewhere, isn't.

I'm not sure what point I'm trying to make with this post. Maybe just trying to let my voice be heard because for some reason I feel like if I didn't suffer in 2020 for some Covid 19-related reason, my suffering was unimportant. Because my mom died in 2019, of cancer, instead of in 2020 of Covid 19, my suffering doesn't receive presidential condolences or a monument built in its honor. But that doesn't make my suffering any less real. 

All I wanted, when I first lost my mom, was for people to talk to me about her. Loss is such an uncomfortable subject for so many people--including me, before 2019--that we often try to avoid it. But that was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to remember my mom, to live in the memories I love so much about her. I even wanted to talk about what happened to her, those last days with her. It hurt when well-meaning friends skirted around the subject altogether, as if my loss was something that could just be brushed under the rug and forgotten beneath more cheerful subjects. 

I just hope, as humans, we take a moment to see the daily suffering around us, and reach out a hand of gentleness and compassion. We never know what hurt might be hiding behind a smiling face we pass in the street. I hope it doesn't take a worldwide pandemic for us to realize that suffering is everywhere, and the littlest kindness can ease that hurt tremendously. 

The joyful part of this post is that even in our deepest suffering, our Savior can bring us incomprehensible peace. When it seems that our grief is never-ending, He can bring comfort that I don't have words to describe. That is my hope for every suffering soul, in this year and every other. 

Love,

The Brown-Eyed Girl

Volcano Adventures

Since posting this almost seven years ago, where I described my first visit as an adult to Mt. St. Helens, my nerdy fascination with volcanoes remains as strong as ever. 

During a recent visit to Sunset Crater in Northern Arizona, I pondered the many volcanoes I've visited since that post. 

This was our second visit to Sunset Crater and the surrounding extinct volcanoes that make up the San Francisco Peaks. 

(Look how little they were! The kids, not the mountains.)

We also froze at Crater Lake, Oregon, in the middle of June.

     

Mr. Brown Eyes and I hiked through a rain forest to the top of Mt. Liamuiga in St. Kitts during our ten-year anniversary cruise. 

That was definitely at my insistence. And it was amazing.

                             

And last summer we explored the super volcano that is Yellowstone National Park. We camped in the nearby Tetons (in July) and got snowed on, but it was so worth it.

                              

                              

                              

                              

All right, so this doesn't even scratch the surface of the 1,500 potentially active volcanoes in the world, but it makes me happy. I love that every trip has been an adventure. 

But I definitely have a lot more volcanoes to see. 

                              

Here's to more adventuring,

The Brown-Eyed Girl

Bad Days

 I love this picture. 

And not just because it's of my chubby, smiley youngest child. 

I love the day this picture reminds me of. 

It was a terrible day. Mr. Brown Eyes was at work and I was cranky with the kids, getting after them over every little thing, getting so mad at my little Brown-Eyed Girl, Kora, for wetting her pants over and over again. That evening we had been invited to watch my niece play volleyball at a nearby school, and of course the kids made us late and I was crankier than ever. 

After the game the kids talked me into letting them play on the playground, but then Kora wet her pants again and I was DONE. I stormed into the bathroom with her, part of me raging that this was it, I was going to cut their playground fun short and blame it on Kora. "It's the only way she'll learn," I told myself. 

But, thankfully, another, quieter voice whispered, "Let her play. You guys need this."

This picture reminds me how grateful I am that I listened to that quieter, kinder voice. 

We played at the playground for another hour, the kids running and laughing, the baby crawling everywhere and discovering sand for the first time. My bitter, cranky heart softened and I remembered how joyful I am to be the mother of these sweet children. 

This picture reminds me that every bad (week, month, year) day comes to an end, and then we appreciate the joy and peace of our good days so much more. 

I am trying to listen to that kinder, quieter voice, also known as the Holy Ghost, more often. 

It makes for way more good days. 

Love,

The Brown-Eyed Girl

Mama Hen

 One year ago, we bought six little chicks for the kids. 

We lost one to a mean dog. 

Another one grew up to be a big, mean rooster who delighted in attacking me and the kids, so we had to get rid of him. 

The remaining four have been very prolific (with a little help from our incubator), and as of a week ago, they had increased their numbers to eleven. 

Then this happened. 

One of our hens, lovingly named Fatso, hatched her first chicks without the aid of the incubator and officially became a mama. 

She started with one chick, then three, then six. There are now officially eight, though I can't seem to get a picture of all of them at one time.

She is such a devoted mama. I could stand there all day, watching her tuck her little babies under her wings, clucking lovingly at each one. 

Her mothering instincts amaze me. Her dedication to doing nothing but sitting on those eggs for three weeks, the way she's given up her days of roaming free through the yard to be cooped up with eight hyperactive, adorably obnoxious chicks. All to be a mama. 

As she settles into her nest, little cheeping balls of fluff scrambling all over her, pushing under her, jumping onto her back, I can almost hear her thinking, "What did I get myself into?"

It was the same thought I had when I brought my first child into the world.

Thank goodness there weren't eight of him! 

Hang in there, mama. It's so worth it. 

Cluck, cluck,

The Brown-Eyed Girl

Book Review: Spiritual Resilience: Leading our Children to Go and Do

Welcome to Day Two of the Blog Tour for Spiritual Resilience: Leading our Youth to Go and Do by Sharla Goettl. Today also happens to be the release day for the paperback and eBook, so happy Release Day!

I feel like we should have cupcakes. 

Instead, you can celebrate by earning free stuff like eBooks and online courses! You can enter the contest through the Rafflecopter in my sidebar, and go to www.SharlaGoettl.com for a free gift. I love free stuff. 

When my youngest daughter was just two years old, I lost her at Fry's. One second she and her siblings were right there next to me, looking at tables of books, and then I looked up and she was gone. 

Panic flooded my heart. 

We searched all around, up and down the aisles, backtracking the way we had come. Just when I thought my heart would burst with all the fear and worry building inside, a woman walked toward me, holding my daughter's tiny hand. I gathered my daughter in my arms, spouting my thanks to her rescuer, who pinned me with a haughty, judgmental look and told me she had gone all the way outside. 

As heart-rending as it is for me to think of ever losing my children, this is not my greatest fear. My greatest fear is losing my children spiritually. I fear failing as a mother, failing to teach my children to turn to their Savior for guidance and strength and help. I fear them slipping beyond my reach, choosing to cut me out of their lives, no longer speaking to me. I fear failing my children. 

I have found many resources to guide me in my motherhood, first and foremost being my Savior and His Spirit, the scriptures and the words of living prophets. But I was also fortunate to be able to read Spiritual Resilience: Leading our Youth to Go and Do. Even though I don't yet have teenage children, the counsel in this book can apply to parents with children of any age. 

Sharla's insights on teaching our children by first fortifying our own strength are empowering without being overwhelming. The whole book is designed to help parents set goals and receive their own direction for teaching their children, complete with blank pages to take notes. But she emphasizes that the revelation we need for our children does not have to be huge. In fact, one of my favorite parts of the book was her describing her experiences with small, simple guidance from the Spirit. I have experienced this same guidance with my children, sometimes receiving promptings as simple as giving my children a hug. But every followed prompting, no matter how small, empowers us and enables us to follow just a little bit easier the next time. 

Sharla points out, "It is very difficult to feel empowered through the Holy Ghost when we are constantly reminding ourselves we are not good enough. If you need reassurance on whether your efforts are acceptable for today, ask in prayer and write down the response you receive."

The Lord wants to help us in our parenting. We are good enough, mistakes and all. The Lord knows that we are imperfect, and He still entrusted us with His precious children.

Quoting some of my favorite words from President Gordon B. Hinckley, Sharla reminds us, "Please don't nag yourself with thoughts of failure. Do not set goals far beyond your capacity to achieve. Simply do what you can do, in the best way you know, and the Lord will accept of your effort."

Spiritual Resilience is a wonderful resource for any parent who desires a little more direction in helping their children become resilient, to be able to weather the storms of life and keep their faith in Jesus Christ. That is certainly what I want for my children. And Spiritual Resilience reminded me that, with heavenly help and abiding love, I don't have to fear losing my children. 

Don't forget to check out the rest of the blog tour! Here's the schedule in case you need it. 

And here's a cupcake. 

Love, 

The Brown-Eyed Girl

Dog-Person

I have never been a dog person.

Growing up, we always had cats. They basked in the sunshine outside our front door and curled around our ankles when we walked outside. In the spring, there was always at least one litter of brand new kittens to name and snuggle and love.

We had a few dogs growing up, one that died on my birthday and another that followed me to school and then escaped our yard again never to return. My brother's dog was a mean Keeshond who chased all my friends away.

So, you see, I've never had much luck with dogs.

When Mr. Brown Eyes first talked about getting a dog, we got a horse instead. Then talk turned to getting a puppy, which sounded like way too much work when we had our own human babies to take care of. But now and then the topic continued to come up. 

I conceded that I wanted a dog that would 1) live outdoors 2) scare unwanted strangers away and 3) go running with me. Mr. Brown Eyes wanted a dog to kill gophers. The kids just wanted a dog.

Ohana does not live outside, she usually plays with the gophers instead of killing them, and she occasionally rolls in roadkill. Otherwise, she is perfect. 

She puts up with all the kids' shenanigans. And trust me, there are a lot of them. 

Such as, 

Ohana the Reindeer:

And Gangster Ohana:

And let's not forget when the youngest Brown Eyed Girl went through her phase of never being able to go to the bathroom by herself. Lucky Ohana got to sit in the bathroom with her every time. 

Ohana is also a practically tireless running companion and she loves to come camping with us. 

She dreams of catching a deer. Or at least a squirrel. 

Oh, and she thinks all the babies are her puppies. 

The only one who doesn't love Ohana is the cat.

One afternoon Ohana rode in the car with us to pick the kids up from school. On the way home, she was enjoying sitting on top of my son's backpack, sticking her head out the window. My son decided he wanted his backpack, and as he tried to pull it out from under her, I suddenly heard a cry from the back of the car.

"Mom! Ohana jumped out the window!"

In my disbelief I glanced in the rearview mirror and there she was, standing bewildered in the middle of the road. 

I muttered a few choice words as I pulled the car onto a side street and leapt out onto the sidewalk, running full-tilt. As I ran I panicked, worrying that Ohana had been hit by a car or had run off and that we might never see her again. 

I can still remember the relief that flooded through me the moment I spotted her through the bushes, surrounded by some good Samaritans trying to find who she belonged to. And I knew the moment she saw me because her whole body shook with joy. She bolted down the sidewalk and hurled herself into my waiting arms. 

"Oh," the good Samaritans said. "She's obviously your dog."

It was then that I kind of understood the whole dog-person thing. It's kind of amazing to find an animal that can love so much. 

Even after you just accidently abandoned her in the middle of the road. 

Ohana is part of our family. She proved it last summer when, all on her own, she joined our family pictures. 

No wonder the cat doesn't like her. 

I'm still not sure I can say I'm a dog-person, but I'm definitely an our dog-person.

Still can't handle that dog breath, though,

The Brown-Eyed Girl