Thankful on August 22, 2013

One night, in the fall of 2010, I laid awake in my bed absolutely paralyzed by sadness and loneliness. Iver's visa for his mission in Mexico City had finally gone through, he was there, and I was feeling his distance physically that night. I woke up in a panic, literally unable to breathe. I knew in my heart that he was struggling. With tears streaming down my face, I plead with God to comfort me, to comfort him. And then my sweet grandma was there. Lying next to me, wiping my tears, filling me with mother-love. She came in spirit, but I felt her there, I knew that she was. I heard her voice telling me that I wasn't alone, that she would hold me up, that she would push me on. I leaned heavily on her for the next little while, even speaking aloud to her. Since that night, I have not experienced her so close to me, but I have known she wasn't too far.

In one of the final weeks of Iver's mission, in March 2012, I received a rare handwritten letter from him. In it was this: "I have decided I would like to tell you about an experience. When I first got to Mexico I had a hard, hard time. I was sick from the food, I couldn't understand people and they couldn't understand me, and I was feeling very alone. In my first apartment, we had a little "backyard" where we put out our clothes to dry. Everyday I would go out to study and to pray, and as I prayed I shed many tears. I felt desperate and pitiful. One day as I prayed I choked out a plea to God to send me someone to help me, and comfort me. I stood up and dried off my tears and we left for the day. When we walked out the door, I felt a feeling of peace and of motherly love, like someone took me in their arms and whispered, "Don't worry, I've got you. You're not alone." The interesting thing is the voice I heard was the voice of Grandma Duncan. I have the sure belief that she was sent to help me and keep me company. I have not felt alone since that day and always feel that peace and motherly love as I walk and continue forward. I thank God for sending her as a special comfort and guide. I know that it is for her that I have stayed here and continued to serve the Lord."

Then, in late spring of this year, my little Shakira was in the Missionary Training Center, preparing to serve her mission in Japan, and experiencing far more hardship than anyone should at that place. She did not fit in, she was suffering from illness, she was not catching on quickly to Japanese, and she was grieving all alone over the loss of our two dear friends, Fred and Fisher. In an email came this: "On Thursday, I got really overwhelmed and had another breakdown, but Heavenly Father sent innumerable tender mercies, one of which was absolutely incredible. That night, I found an empty room at the end of the hall and was kneeling and talking to my Heavenly Parents when suddenly, I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. I looked up and there was Grandma Duncan smiling down at me. What an incredible, perfect blessing. I have angels surrounding me, one very special one in particular, who encourage me and buoy me up. It's amazing to know that the veil was so thin in that room that night."

For many years I have longed, yearned for more knowledge of, more connection with the feminine divine. It is my opinion that my sweet grandma was sent to comfort and rescue by our Mother in Heaven. I have absolutely no doubt that She is there. Things make no sense to me otherwise. I have felt Her presence sparingly, in times that one would expect...pregnancy, childbirth, nurturing my babies at my breast, suffering through endometriosis and the hysterectomy that followed...but oh how I wish to feel Her, to know Her every moment of everyday. Currently, my limited connection to Her is strongest in my yoga practice, when my mind, body, spirit and breath unite I feel Her. I feel Her as my body flows and moves and I am keenly aware of my curves and individuality. I was not created in the image of a man.

My longing and yearning is shared by my awesome husband, and together we have decided that surely "God" means She and He. My search for Her will continue, and so will my prayers to know more.

The ministerings of my grandma-angel give me glimpses...I am grateful for this. This summer has kicked my butt. Sweet Grandma, I could use a visit. Bring me some of our Momma's love. For that I would be crazy-thankful.

Thankful on May 24, 2013

Well, it has been awhile. I began my crazy-thankful blog in the year 2010 to help me cope with the sadness and loneliness that I felt when Iver left on his mission to Mexico City. I was told over and over again that I shouldn't be feeling those things, that it was a blessing to have a child serving God full time, that my life would be filled with joy and happiness as I made that sacrifice, that there surely was nowhere I would rather have him...well, duh. Of course those things are true. Except for the "shouldn't be feeling" part. That is just completely wrong. So I wrote. I wrote with a focus on the incredible blessings I feel in my life, and the gratitude that I have for them.

Here I am again. I said goodbye to my beautiful Shakira one month ago today, and sent her off to serve God as a full-time missionary in Sendai, Japan. And here I am again, trying to cope with the sadness and loneliness I feel. So I will write.

Many years ago, when my life was a blur of blond, curly toddlers, Iver and Shak were busily jumping on and off of the futon (remember back...in our itty-bitty house, our main living quarters were also our bedroom). They were breathless, joyous, and Iver exclaimed, "Look, momma! I'm a star, and sissy's a lightbulb!" I have thought of that moment, that exclamation, often as life has unfolded. Wise three year old Iver was divinely inspired, as that statement is very true and accurate.

If you know Shakira, you know that she glows. In fact, the picture I included in this post is the picture I encouraged her to use when she submitted her mission application, because it captures that light in a very beautiful way. If you know Shakira, you also know that the light is truly the Light of Christ. Shakira KNOWS her Savior, Jesus Christ. KNOWS HIM. She loves Him. She worships Him. She reverences Him. She understands, intimately, His atonement. She testifies of Him. She LIVES HIM. She lives her life to do His will.

Shakira is intricately weaved into our family story. Once upon a time, before those toddlers grew, Corbin and I had to make a decision. We never fit. Neither one of us, throughout our whole lives, had never fit into the culture of mormonism. We didn't look the part, at that point we certainly didn't act the part, we didn't want to be the part. But we knew and loved Jesus Christ. And we knew and loved the gospel of His peace. We wanted to devote our lives and our family to Him. We decided, prayerfully, that we would do that. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints was where we found our truth. We would do what we needed to do to live the gospel and serve the Lord. We also decided prayerfully that we would be ourselves while we did it. That we were just fine being the people that our Heavenly Parents had created. And so we started on that journey...a painful one, a joyful one. We still don't fit. Everyday we are told our hair is too long, we shouldn't have tattoos, I shouldn't be working (that answer to our prayers couldn't possibly be the will of God because it isn't the "ideal"...this one will go on forever), we should support the Boy Scouts, we shouldn't have the political views that we feel more closely align with living in harmony with Christ...and on...and on...And you know what? It's really, really hard.

The apples didn't fall too far from the tree. Our beautiful, strong children, with their absolute love and devotion to Jesus Christ and their willingness to lay down their lives to serve Him, they don't fit either. So here's something for you...How interesting is it that you can still look at them and literally see the light of Christ?!

We knew that the Missionary Training Center would be a very challenging time and place for Shakira, just as it was for Iver. A place where the gospel can be learned and taught in it's purity, but also a place where tradition and culture are misunderstood as gospel. Interestingly enough, she will emerge from it even stronger in her resolve. Here is an excerpt from a precious letter: "My first few days in the MTC were really rough, not going to lie. I felt like I was suffocating and that I could not be myself AT ALL! It got to the point where on Sunday night, I lost it. I cried for hours and hours until I was all dried out. The stress was so much that it even made me physically sick! Sunday night was hard, and I spent about an hour on my knees begging Heavenly Father to give me some comfort and some confirmation that I was doing the right thing and that it's okay to be who I am. I went to bed, and even though I was really sick the next day, I decided that I'm going to laugh and have humor and have fun in my life, and that has made ALL the difference! I have had a smile on my face all week and I can see the influence that sunshine has on those around me. What a great thing to know that Heavenly Father loves me for me!"

And my Heavenly Parents love me for me, and Corbin for Corbin, and Iver for Iver. Shakira is right. And Shakira will continue to be a lightbulb because her focus is not on fitting in, it's on Jesus Christ.

Two weeks from now will mark the end of a very difficult era for me in the church. My heart and my spirit have been thrashed and broken. Will things change for the better? I am not entirely sure. But this beautiful, bright little light of mine, my precious Shakira, reminds me to have faith and hope. I will. I am crazy-thankful.

Thankful on December 23, 2011

Today my friend Jim sent a lovely image in an email as a Christmas greeting. It is a painting titled "Nativity" by artist Brian Kershisnik. This is the first time I have seen it, and I was quite surprised by the emotion it evoked.


I love that Mary is nursing baby Jesus. How beautiful.

I love the individuality of each angel, so anxious to witness the son of God, so in awe at the sight of Him, then so anxious to be on their way to share the good news.

But mostly what I love is this....The Christmas Eve before Iver's mission, we were reading the account of the Savior's birth in Luke. Now, it is not unusual for our family to be very emotional while we do this, but that particular night was very special. Iver was reading aloud, "...and suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the Heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." He stopped reading as tears streamed down his cheeks. He then said in a quiet, cracked voice, "You know what? I was there. I was one of those angels that night." I cannot read or hear those words now without feeling a very deep, personal connection to this event, to the birth of our Savior. If you look closely, almost directly in the center of the painting, is an angel who looks just like our little Iver.

So thankful for this gift from my friend Jim. So thankful for my Savior. So crazy-thankful for a son who continues to share those tidings of great joy, today in Mexico.

Thankful on August 11, 2011

So, there is a fabulous new addition to our neighborhood...it is called Dean's Urban Market, and it is located on the corner of Twenty-Third and Market. It is a magnificent, very-nearby grocery store with, truly, everything we need: gorgeous produce, delicious meats, and lots of great gourmet specialty foods. They even have Diet Dr. Pepper. And the prices are much lower than we expected. Did I mention the case of beautiful, splendid, chocolate-coconut-pecan-mousse-filled cupcakes piled high with buttercream and lovely pink posies? Oh, and in the same case are gold-dusted-ganache-covered-monster-sized brownies. And each of these treats cost only around $3...I know, I know. Chocolate causes me to digress...back to the subject at hand.

Dean's really is an URBAN market. There is no devoted parking, it is a place meant to be visited on foot. Sure, there is metered parking, but most likely a block or two away.

Last night, Corbin and I decided to stop by after dinner for a few things. Just as Corb was pulling up to the meter, I had a flurry of work phone calls to attend to. As we walked the block to the store entrance, I was distracted with the content of the phone calls, as well as my frustration in my three visits to the dentist throughout the day. I broke a tooth last week, and have endured much lost time and frustration in trying to get it fixed properly. Lost in my distraction, I was scarcely aware of the many people surrounding and passing me. When we were almost to the door, a woman came out of it with a baby strapped in a sling, balanced on her hip, and six or seven grocery sacks filling her hands. In my state of frenzied thought, I just kept on walking. But not Corbin. He very quickly smiled at the woman and asked, "could I give you a hand?"

Slow down, Michelle. Slow down. I missed that! What else am I missing?

I am so grateful for our new neighborhood addition, for a grocery store that is a quick little bike ride away. But for a husband who is focused on kindness and compassion, on looking for opportunities to serve others, on living more slowly so he can observe the world around him? For Corbin and this reminder, I am crazy-thankful.

Thankful on August 4, 2011

I awoke very early on Saturday morning. I wanted to get the yard watered before I embarked on the endless chores and tasks that Saturdays demand of me. When I walked out into the front yard, I was overwhelmed by the beauty that surrounded me. The beauty that Corbin and I have little by little created in the past three years. I sat down on the lawn and just soaked it all in. Now, if you look carefully, you will see all the imperfections in my yard...the TONS of weeds and dead heads; the uneven lawn, mowed by our old-fashioned, no-motor, push mower; the unswept porch and sidewalk; the ancient iron fence missing half of it's finials; the unruly hose that I never wind back up. But this picture represents what I saw Saturday morning. Happy, lovely little flowers surrounding me and beckoning me to smile at my fabulous ghetto surroundings. I posted this picture on my facebook page and very quickly was greeted with a response from my friend Mary. She said, "I like how you notice things in the world!"

As I have thought about this throughout the week, I have realized that I truly do have a gift of seeing the beauty around me. Life and circumstances are rarely easy and perfect. In fact, sometimes it is so unbelievably difficult, so gray and impossible, that I wonder how I'm going to make it. I have been blessed to always see at least a little bit light past that gray. I have been blessed to understand that all of my circumstances are important in creating my life. And as I think about it, I am so blessed to be surrounded by many people who do that, too.

I have a brother who very unexpectedly found himself a single dad. He was able to look past his anger and hurt and build a beautiful life for himself and his son. That precious nephew is now a thriving, talented, happy teenager with amazing opportunities ahead of him in the world, all because he had a dad who kept going and searching for good. They now have been blessed with the presence of an amazing woman in their lives.

I have dear friends who lost their beloved son to suicide. Their world was ripped violently apart. Yet they clung to each other, to their marriage and love, to their living son and persevered through the agony. They now revel in the beauty of their love, a son and a daughter-in-law full of love and light, and grandchildren accomplishing extraordinary things in life. They see the joy they have created.

I have a mother who lives with physical pain each and everyday of her life. She never complains or wallows in self-pity. She doesn't sit around at home. Instead she throws her energy into loving and serving her family, her friends, even people she barely knows. She cares for the poor and needy, she visits the lonely, she cheers up the sad. She has compassion beyond any I have ever known. And this brings her so much happiness! She actually glows.

I have a friend who I consider a brother, who's heart was attacked by a virus, who has survived two heart transplants, who's life was completely turned upside down and changed. This is a man who has traveled the world, who has climbed Everest, who has known adventure I probably never will. Yet, he is content in his situation, and grateful beyond belief. He loves his quiet walks with his dog, enjoying and noticing wildlife and nature on a completely new level. He treasures his adorable wife and her incredible love and support of him.

I have a daughter who, as a starving, struggling college student, had her debit card stolen and her bank account emptied of nearly a thousand dollars, all the money she had for her semester's living expenses. Instead of throwing up her arms and giving up, she did all she could to recover the money. Instead of losing faith in humanity and becoming bitter and angry, she looked for good in the world, and the tender mercies from a loving Father in Heaven.

I have a dear friend who wants nothing more than to be a mother. She and her husband have lost babies in pregnancy and suffered greatly through fertility treatments. Yet, she continues on. She showers incredible love on the people around her. She loves their babies like they were her own. She has perfected yoga instruction and blessed many lives with her peaceful, loving nature.

I have a son who, upon arriving in Mexico for his long-awaited and articulately prepared missionary service, found himself in a depression. He refused to let it consume him and actively and quickly sought help and treatment. He also fervently threw himself in the service of his Heavenly Father and the people of Mexico. He has found joy and relief, and has helped many others to find the same.

I have a grandmother who married at sixteen, escaping an abusive step-father, and moved across the country with unknown people. She embraced the love her mother-in-law offered her, as my grandfather went off to war and left her in this new place. She became and learned how to be a mother, how to manage a family and home. She had seven children by the time she was 28. She had many years of trial and difficulty, but always enjoyed her life's journey. She loved like no one I have ever known. When Corbin came into our family, she treated him like her very own grandchild. When Iver and Shakira were born, she snuggled them the same way I did. They were hers. I often think about her sitting up there in that heavenly paradise, looking down on her posterity and giggling that fabulous giggle of hers, so full of complete and total joy.

I am enchanted and uplifted by these people, and many others in my life. We have that little gift in common.

Recently Corbin and I were discussing the fact that the life we have created is actually so much better than the life we ever imagined for ourselves. It certainly hasn't been easy. We have suffered and endured hardships such as extreme mental illness, poverty, very difficult living situations, addiction, cancer, difficult injuries, long and extreme work hours, and stress of owning and operating our own business. But when we look back on our twenty-three years together, we see beauty. These hardships, like the weeds in my front yard with lovely periwinkle flowers on top, are the most brilliant threads in our tapestry. They have made us who we are. They have solidified and strengthened our love and passion. They have caused us to see the world through the lens of gratitude. They have given us the peace and calm to weather the unexpected. They have given us incredible compassion for those around us. They have taught us humor.

My life is beyond beautiful. It is exquisite. I am crazy-thankful.

Thankful on July 12, 2011

Overheard in Sunday's Priesthood meeting during a discussion on "Roles in a Family"...

Manly man commenting on keeping wives in line (to remain anonymous) (and cringe): "Don't forget the importance of discipline!"

To which Corbin replied in a loud whisper to all surrounding him, "Does that mean I get to spank Michelle, or Michelle gets to spank me?!"

Crazy-thankful for a husband who gets it AND for fun spankings. ;)

Thankful on April 6, 2011

On Sunday, my sister Julie showed me something most precious. Something I cannot get out of my mind. Her adorable little Cannon (age four) drew a picture to send to my son Iver, depicting Iver's mugging incident. I cannot wait for Iver to get it. He will not be able to stop smiling! I can picture it now. In Cannon's picture, Iver (with a tie) is being assisted by an angel, who is protecting him from the bad guy. What Cannon doesn't know, but I do, is that the angel's name is Maria...

About a month before Iver received his mission call, Corbin and I had the opportunity to attend the Denver temple on an initiatory assignment. If you do not know, our temples are places where we take part in sacred ordinances that we believe bind families together for eternity. In initiatories we receive blessings and annointings that teach us about our divine nature. Part of the work we do there is to provide these ordinances for those who have passed on from this life and were unable to do them for themselves. It was a very snowy night, and the parking lot was near empty. We walked in, half expecting them to tell us that they were going to close down early, but instead they were thrilled to see us and excited for us to fulfill our assignment. I went to the appropriate room, the only patron with two workers to help me. We were able to work quickly, and before we knew it, I had completed a whopping TWENTY names. All three of us were giggling a little bit because every single person I had done work for was a Maria from Mexico. I thought it was pretty cool, but didn't think too much more of it. I was grateful to be able to help each of them to receive these special blessings.

A month or so later, Iver received his mission call to Mexico. The temple ordinances I had taken part in did not even enter my mind...

Fast forward a few weeks to April 24, Iver's birthday and the day he went to the temple for his own endowment in preparation for his mission. It was a wonderful day and I had all those crazy momma emotions...nervousness, tears, joy. A lovely old woman met me in the lobby, the same time a little old man met Iver. As he lead Iver and Corbin in a different direction, I felt so sad that I couldn't be with them both for all of the experience, but before I could dwell on that feeling, my helper said, "Sister Johnson, would you like to do some initiatories while your son does his own? This will help you feel very close to him." I quickly expressed to her my worries of not being there when Iver came out of the initiatory room, and missing something that I should be a part of, and she reassured me that her entire purpose that day was to help me, and she would make sure I was in the right places.
And so I entered the initiatory room. It was very full of women this particular morning, and each name took much longer than the time before. As I was half-way through my third name, I was waiting for the workers to finish helping the woman ahead of me, and thinking of Iver. I looked down at my card. The name I was working on was a Maria from Mexico. And the two I had just completed were also Maria's from Mexico. Tears spilled down my face as the the holy spirit manifest to me what was happening. These wonderful, beautiful Maria's and the twenty wonderful, beautiful Maria's from before whom I was serving, were gathering to serve me. They were the angels who would buoy Iver up on his mission to Mexico. They are the ancestors who would lead Iver to their precious posterity, that he might help them become eternal families. And they are the angels that would surround him and protect him in times of danger and discouragement. They are Iver's army of Maria's.

This is but one blessing of the temple for my family. It is one that brings me incredible joy and comfort at this time. Crazy-thankful for that Maria who protected Iver from the drunk who would rob him. Crazy-thankful for all twenty-three Maria's who are doing what I cannot.

Thankful on February 16, 2011

Today I am able to laugh...yesterday was only tears. So today I write about my wild adventures in falling.

Yesterday morning I walked into my friendly neighborhood Einstein Brothers Bagels to buy a bagel sandwich, split into two for my lunch and dinner. I had a long day ahead of me, sitting at the convention center talking to the three or four people wandering the rows of the home show on a weekday afternoon. I grabbed the little paper bag, turned to walk quickly out the door, and my foot caught the only little puddle of melted snow in the whole place. Then came the s-l-o-w m-o-t-i-o-n, no, I'm not going to fall, I can catch my balance, whoa my top half is going down, whoa my legs are up above my top half, yes I am flying, keep my head up, OUCH!!! I was sprawled across the floor, had hit my knee and thumb hard, then twisted to hit my hip and wrist even harder. Flattened. Shocked. Skirt up to...getting the picture? Then a very sweet, eighty-something, bent and using a cane, little old man helped me to my feet. His sweet, little old wife gathered my purse and phone and bagel. She then brushed me off and gave me a hug, which of course, started me crying. Ouch my body. Ouch my ego. I thanked them for their loving gestures, then out I went, as fast as I could limp, every eye in the full restaurant firmly fixed on me. When I got to the car, the water-works broke loose, and I immediately called Corbin for sympathy, only to get his voice mail. Massive bruises started immediately, and today I sit at my desk achey and stiff, but broken I am not. Thankfully.

Yes, you may call me Grace. I am a faller. There is not a year that goes by without at least one terrible fall. A few of the most memorable...

A couple of years ago, Shakira had her first monster-huge party with her friends at our house. Corbin and I were mostly staying out of their hair upstairs, but checking in every once in a while. The kiddos had rearranged things in the living room to make room for exuberant wii participation, and one of the oversize leather armchairs was pushed against the bottom of the stairs. Shakira was sitting in that armchair (thank goodness it was Shakira!) as I walked down our very steep stairs with a full can of soda in my hand. Somewhere near the middle, I lost my footing and proceeded to catapult the rest of the way, landing hard on the back of the chair, my can of pepsi thudding firmly on the top of my precious daughter's head. As soda streamed down her face and the surrounding walls, a gigantic goose egg began to emerge, and those friends all looked at me like I was the absolute devil of mothers. Luckily, my daughter forgave me, even laughed, and most of the friends gave me a second chance and got to know some of my redeeming qualities.

Years ago, on our mountain, I was the first of the family to wake up on a lovely, sunny Sunday morning. I took a shower, then threw on a little nightgown. Because we were completely secluded, I often went outside in nothing but a nightgown and flip flops to water my flower garden. Corbin and Iver had been trying to locate our underground septic tank by digging a menagerie of large, five foot deep holes in the driveway. As I walked by the hole next to my garden, I remember making a mental note to avoid it. I watered and enjoyed my flowers, turned off the hose, and turned to walk into the house, smiling and not looking down. The next thing I knew, I was in the bottom of that hole, naked because my nightgown had hooked on a stick at the top and I had slid right out of it on my way down, and scraped from head to toe. Yes...head to toe and EVERYTHING in between. I managed to pull myself out, ran naked into the house, and climbed back into bed with Corbin, crying, laughing hysterically, and bleeding profusely. Poor Corbin...he really never knows what he is going to wake up next to.

There are a hundred stories, every one ridiculous. There was the time I slipped on the ice and landed with my head two inches from the blade of the ax Corbin had been splitting wood with the previous day. There was the time I was seven months pregnant with Iver, tripped and dove down the stairs, hit a chair at the bottom, and sent Aiko the iguana, who just happened to be sitting on the top of that chair, flinging across the room and into the window. He survived. Oh, I was naked in that one as well.

Then there is the story that started it all. It was the summer of 1980. I was ten years old and playing with my wonderful neighbor kids, the DeHaans and the Jacobs. We were playing hide and seek. I was safely and superbly hidden upstairs, saw an opportunity to get home-free, and ran down the stairs. Two things happened simultaneously, that changed my life and forever defined me as a faller. I tripped on Maria's doll on the third step down right as Kelly was walking across the bottom landing with his cello. Yes. That is indeed what I said. Cello. My dear readers, I hit that cello. I demolished that cello. Can you believe that karma hasn't come back to get me, or my dear cellist-daughter on that one? My knee was split open and I remember screaming, "my guts are hanging out!" That cut required four stitches, and as I laid in our living room recovering, my dear friend Kelly DeHaan brought over a poem he had written to help me feel better. This is all I recall from the poem:

You flung down the stairs like an old rubber band;

Wait 'til your older to try super-man.

My dear friend, Kelly, I try it often. And trust me, it was much easier when I was ten!

So, although I sit today with armpits, and a hip, and a knee that feel like they are on fire, I am crazy-thankful. Crazy-thankful that one of these lovely falls has not killed me yet. I am quite certainly convinced that one day, one will.

Thankful on January 17, 2011

I must say, with a little bit of sadness and a great deal of relief, that I am happy to say goodbye to 2010. It was a year of great trial and tribulation for me, one of tears and turmoil. But as I reflect back, there are moments of exquisite beauty and joy. For each of those moments, I am full of gratitude. Some of my favorites of 2010...

Favorite Adventure: Watching my Shakira sky dive. This was quite a day. Shakira has always wanted to do this, and on our way up to Fort Collins, to drop her off to begin her time at CSU, we stopped by Longmont and she jumped out of a plane. Anyone who knows Miss Shak, knows that this is completely characteristic. Shakira has honorary cahones. She is not afraid of anything. While watching her descend from the sky, tears ran down my cheeks. I am so unbelievably blessed to have this precious girl as my own. She loves life and all that it throws at her. She faces everything head-on with determination and sunshine. She is an incredible woman, and I look forward to the wild and daring frontiers she will cross in her life. I look forward to crossing them with her.

Favorite Gift: For Christmas, Corbin went handmade. He spent many hours back in our shop, which I was strictly forbidden to enter. I was so ridiculously excited, just like a little girl on Christmas Eve. We got up VERY early on Christmas morning...not knowing if Iver's call would be at 6:00 a.m. or 6:00 p.m. After my shower, I tiptoed downstairs, naked, in the pitch dark. I had only the light of my cell phone, because our blinds are see-through at night, to light my way to let Stella outside. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, there was something gigantic and covered with a drop cloth and leaning against the wall. I lifted an edge of the drop cloth to take a little peek and it fell to the floor! I was in quite a predicament, couldn't turn on the lights because I could be seen naked from the street, couldn't set down my cell phone to have both hands to put the drop cloth back up....and it was at that moment that I turned around and saw Corbin sitting on the stairs laughing. Busted. He made me the most beautiful floor mirror...massive and chocolate brown, perfectly pieced together from antique reclaimed wood, salvaged from old buildings in downtown. It is incredible. The loveliest piece of furniture I will ever own. The most lovely part? That Corbin loves me this much!

Favorite Day: The last Sunday in May, we had a wonderful "farewell fiesta" for Iver before he ventured off on his mission to Mexico. It started at church, where over a hundred of our friends and family joined us to hear Iver speak. And he did not disappoint. Iver gave a precious talk about kindness and following the Savior's example to love each other. He shared special stories from his life that had helped teach him this principle. Then he and Shakira performed "I Hope They Call Me On A Mission," complete with cello as a bass, ukulele, whistling, and an additional verse. There wasn't a dry eye in the chapel, and my adorable 80 year old friend Jessie gave them a standing ovation. It was perfect. After church, our home was filled with the love and well wishes of so many people. We served tacos, broke Iver and Kevin's homemade pig pinatas, and enjoyed ourselves and our son late into the night. All were confident that Iver would be an extraordinary missionary. As Corbin and I laid in bed that night, we could not wipe the smiles off of our faces. And as we smiled, we wept. We laid in each other's arms and felt such incredible satisfaction in our children and our lives. There never was a better day.

These three memories are ones I will cherish. I will also cherish the pain, and the personal growth I have obtained because of it. I am crazy-thankful for this little life of mine.

Thankful on December 16, 2010

I have a mixed history with dogs. There have been a couple of precious, loved ones in my life, but far more mean and scary ones. I have incredible fear of canines. When I encounter one I don't know, my heart races, I break out in a sweat, and my eyes start to water. I have to fight the flight instinct.

It began when I was a small child...I had the most wonderful grandpa, who had the scariest dog!! Prince loved my grandpa and was wildly possessive. My grandpa always warned me to not reach out to Prince, or look him in the eye, so I was careful to keep my distance. I remember vividly an incident when my grandpa left the room, Prince inched toward me, and growled. That picture in my memory still makes me cringe! He had these terrifying freckles...that multiplied when he bared his teeth. My grandpa walked in to save me, just in the nick of time.

I remember another dog, a collie, who violently barked and attacked the fence each day as I walked to and from the bus stop. I was a teeny little five year old and I would carefully cross the street, so I could walk as far away as possible from that dog. I will never forget the absolute terror I felt one day, as I began to walk past that house and realized the gate was open. The dog started in on it's usual barking, then came through that gate and toward me across the street at lightning speed. I didn't even have time to run. It had that same nasty snarl as Prince, jumped up on me and knocked me down. A woman, the dog's owner, came rushing out with gigantic juice-can rollers in her hair and a cigarette hanging from her lips, and pulled the dog off of me. She picked me up, brushed me off, and with a snarl herself said, "Don't you dare tell your parents about this!" I ran off as fast as I could. Of course, my little kindergarten brain worked out a wonderful solution...I would use the NEXT stop, three blocks from my house, and I DEFINITELY would not tell my parents. It was less than a week, however, that I missed the bus. I was still so afraid of that dog and that horrible woman and didn't want to explain the truth to my parents, but they were able to get it out of me.

When Corbin and I were dating, we arrived at his parent's home late one night, after everyone had already gone to bed. Corbin had forgotten his key, so we went around to the back door to see if it was unlocked. Nope. Corbin told me to wait there, he would get the hidden key, open the front door, then let me in the back door. As soon as he left me, I saw a big black figure charging at me. I realized it was their family black lab, Coalie, just as she was jumping up onto my shoulders, growling and gnashing at my face. Corbin opened the door just as her teeth made contact with my cheek. Needless to say, I made Corbin take me home, and I stayed far, far away from that mean old dog for the rest of her life.

I had another dog incident that was so horrifying, I really do not speak of it. It involves a monster, truly, eating her own brand-new puppies, then trying to eat me. It happened when I was very sick and, at the suggestion of a church leader, trying to reach outside of myself to serve someone else. The incident set me far, far back in my healing and is an image that is cemented in my brain. I had nightmares for years.

So, you can only imagine my reaction five years ago when Corbin decided that he really wanted to get a dog. He knew all of these things about me and promised to be very selective. With that promise, and the excitement of our children, I mustered up courage and agreed. I was not part of the process. Corbin had a good friend from church, who was moving and needed to find a home for their dog. She was a great breed, a German Shorthair Pointer, three years old. The friend had rescued her from terrible circumstances at a puppy mill, and she had spent the past couple of years in their home with three little girls pulling on her ears. I did not go with my family to pick her up. But when they arrived home, something tugged a little at my heart. She was such a pretty dog, and a little bit shy because she didn't know us yet. Corbin let me choose a name for her...Stella. It seemed a perfect fit. For the next several months, Corbin kept her on a "short leash," she never left his side. He taught her, and loved her, and she quickly turned into a very well behaved little creature. All the while, my heart softened and I came to love her dearly.

Stella has these ears...oh, I love her ears! They are softer than velvet, and they move to express how she is feeling. When she REALLY wants something, she gives us her cute ears, which say, "Oh, please. Look how cute I am with my floppy ears. I know you can't say no to me! I'm too adorable! And I loooovvvveeee you!"

Stella has big, gorgeous brown eyes. When I'm sad, she puts her chin on my knee and looks at me with those precious eyes, "Stella loves you so much, please don't cry or Stella will cry!"

Stella loves EVERYONE. We often joke that if someone broke into our house, she would greet them at the front door, stubby little tail wagging the whole back half of her body and say, "Hi! I'm Stella and I love you! Let me show you where they keep the food. Will you share?!"

Stella thinks that she is a small dog, and loves to sit in my lap. She loves us all so much, and has brought so much joy into our lives. I look forward to getting home each day, opening the door, and being adored. It feels really good!

I still panic around dogs. But Stella has helped me to be able to take a deep breath and try to love them all. For that I am so thankful. But for the love she gives me and chunk of my heart that she occupies, I am crazy-thankful!

Thankful on December 2, 2010

A word of warning before you begin reading today. This post contains my testimony of the Savior Jesus Christ. It also contains a personal, wonderful story about how I came to obtain that testimony. If you do not wish to continue reading, that is understandable...I will write about something lighter next week!

It is all contained in this letter I sent to Iver today.

My Precious Iver:

I am quite dismayed right now, knowing that you did not receive the package we sent with your sweaters, and knowing that there is a very real probability that you won't receive your Christmas package in time for Christmas. I have shed many tears over this, and pray that somehow these things will find their way to you. In the meantime, I know that you are receiving the pouch mail, so I wanted to send this to you, my testimony of the Savior, which I pray will be a gift in itself.

I love our Savior. I feel His love and influence in my life everyday. I know that He lives and that He is aware of me. I have had a lot of sin in my life. I have called on the Savior and His atonement to lift me and save me from those sins and He has. I have seen that same atonement and love from the Savior in your behalf, as well as in dad's and Shakira's. I am eternally grateful for Jesus Christ.

The experience I want to share with you is the most precious gift of all for me. It's a story I know you have heard, but I will share it again, because of my love and appreciation for Christ.

When you were quite young, early grade school age, I was very, very sick with my bipolar disorder. I spent time locked up in a hospital. I was medicated to the point where I existed in a fog. Those medications caused extreme side effects that caused me to be very physically ill as well. I could not go into public at all, because of extreme anxiety and fear. Most days I could not even get out of bed, or if I did, I quickly got back in. I could not function. And each day I would weep. Weep because I wasn't able to take care of my beautiful children and husband. Weep because I wasn't able to even participate in being part of our family. I would weep for you, and Shakira, and dad because I imagined how hard life was for you living with me. I would desperately pray to Heavenly Father while I wept, to understand what I needed to learn so I could move on. I would pray for Him to take the illness away. And some days, everything was so dark and black, that I would pray that Heavenly Father would spare you and Shakira and dad by just taking me home to Him. I hated myself for putting you all through such agony and pain.

One day, when my illness was at it's height, my mom went to the temple, specifically searching for the Lord's help in helping me. She purposely arrived early, so she could sit reverently in the chapel before her session began and pray for me. As she prayed, she cried. I am her baby, after all, and she felt so helpless. She prayed to know what to do, prayed for healing for me, and prayed for peace for her mourning soul. She paused and looked up to the front of the chapel. At the front of our temple's chapel is a large painting of Jesus, setting apart and blessing His twelve diciples. He is standing in the center of the painting, with eleven of the diciples surrounding Him, and one of them kneeling in front of Him. Christ's hands are on the head of the one kneeling. As my mom looked at the painting, the kneeling diciple faded away, and she saw ME in his place, being personally blessed by the Savior. Amazing peace came to her as the spirit whispered to her that I would be okay, that I wasn't done on this earth, that the Savior needed me and would bless me.

As soon as her temple session ended, she drove up the mountain, and sat down on the edge of my futon. She pulled the covers from my head and, with tears streaming down her face, told me what had happened in the temple that day. I, too was filled with peace. And I was filled with LIGHT that I hadn't felt in a very long time. I sat up and my mother held me in her arms and we cried. When she left, I was able to get out of bed. I felt hope. I couldn't explain it at all, and still can't. But I knew the Savior loved me and had suffered this for me. He knew. He knew.

Within the week, Julie Bellum called dad to tell him about an acquaintance of hers, who was part of a Johns Hopkins study of a controversial new treatment for bipolar disorder, and having incredible success. We went to her home and visited with her. Dad and I prayed together and decided that, although my doctor counseled against it, Empower and Truehope was the direction we should go. As you know, it wasn't an easy transition, but within three months, I was off of the terrible anti-psychotic drugs and doing very, very well on my supplement. And I haven't looked back. Sure, I struggle from time to time. I always will. But I am WELL.

Jesus Christ is my Savior, Iver. He truly SAVED me. He knows me. He wants me. He loves me. He needed me to be your mom, your dad's wife. He needed me to serve the youth of His church. He needed me to teach Olive and Jade and Vivian the gospel. He still needs me.

I cannot deny His love and His power. I cannot deny that He lives and loves us.

I know this. KNOW it.

Precious son of mine, how blessed I am to be alive and part of your life. How blessed I am to witness your complete love and devotion to the Lord. I love you more than I could ever possibly say.

Momma

For a beautiful December, to devote my thoughts to Jesus Christ, I am crazy-thankful.

Thankful on November 24, 2010

A year or so after we began dating, Corbin and I made this green coin in a funny little outdoor arcade in Mantitou Springs. We began talking about spending our lives together long before that...by our third date, to be exact (please keep in mind that we had already been dear friends for several years before that point). We also often talked about our dreams for our family, the kind of parents we would be, and the amazing children we would have. This coin lists the names of that future we dreamed of, Iver, Shakira, Corbin, Michelle, and has become a token of the miracle that is our little Johnson family.

Rewind to "Michelle, age 15." It was at this point that I developed endometriosis. I was hospitalized many times as a teenager, and had surgery on several occasions to remove ridiculously huge cysts from my ovaries or the mayhem left over when those cysts exploded. There were times my mother would find me passed out on the bathroom floor, or my dad would try to comfort me in the middle of the night while I was doubled over and screaming in pain. I was 16 years old when my gynecologist told me I would probably never be able to have children.

Now skip forward a couple of years. When Corbin and I began dating, he had not been active in our church for quite awhile. He began coming back. About a year and a half into our relationship, our stake president came to Corbin and told him that it was time for Corbin to get ready to go on a mission. Honestly, up to this point, Corbin had not considered doing that. He had been away from the church so long, and most young men went on missions when they were 19. Corbin was now 21. As he thought about it, he became very excited! He could be a missionary, and I was happy and eager to support him in that. He began to prepare his application papers and submitted them to our bishop.

Before the bishop and stake president were able to send Corbin's papers to church headquarters, a general authority was visiting our stake, and asked to speak with Corbin. During that interview, the general authority asked Corbin about his time of inactivity, as well as his worthiness and desire to serve as a full time missionary. He signed Corbin's papers, then sat quietly looking into his eyes for several moments. Then he spoke. "Corbin, do you have a young lady in your life who loves you and will be waiting for you?" Corbin then told him about me, and the general authority continued, "I feel very impressed to tell you that you should stay here, marry that girl, and start your family." This was very unexpected, not something that happens EVER, and there were many questions and speculations abounding. But Corbin and I followed that council, and were married several months later.

To our surprise, we quickly became pregnant with our wonderful little Iver. Only seven months after his birth, we found ourselves pregnant again with our beautiful, sweet Shakira. We were very young, and very unprepared, but we somehow made it. And we found incredible joy in the journey. My body was not able to conceive again after Shakira was born. This is truly the miracle. Iver and Shakira were both born in the little window of time when Corbin would have been on his mission. Had he gone, and not followed the council of the general authority, we would not have them.

As you know, I have a heart full of gratitude right now. With Thanksgiving tomorrow, I cannot stop thinking of my precious little family, of this most sacred gift. I am so, so, so crazy-thankful.

Thankful on November 21, 2010

As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I have many opportunities to serve others. I am able to serve the people I attend church with, as well as others in my community from many different walks of life. This service takes many forms...bringing a meal to someone who is ill or has just had a baby, visiting with someone who is lonely, giving a ride to someone who doesn't have their own transportation, holding a fussy child when a mother is overwhelmed, clearing weeds from a grave of a woman who played an important part in making my city a wonderful one. Basically, just keeping my eyes open and looking for those who might need me. Of course, these are things that I should do, not because of my membership in any church, but because I just strive to be a nice person. I do appreciate, however, the reminders that I can and should reach out.

One of the things that I truly love about my church are the formal "calls to serve." I have held many callings throughout my life, and have been abundantly blessed as I accepted and tried to magnify those callings. I have learned new skills. I have become closer to God as I have relied on Him for inspiration on how to best serve those in my stewardship. I have come to understand the infinite and beautiful love of the Savior for all mankind. I have been taken care of in my own life and family. I have associated with people who I will forever call my friends. Each experience has been precious to me.

For most of my adult life, I have served with the youth of the church. Oh, I adore teenagers! I love that stage of life, when wings are being spread, when parents are being questioned, when a child becomes her very own person. I love that this is a time of discovery, of finding out for one's self. And I loved being part of this time of life for many young men and women.

I have served in many capacities in the Young Women's organization. I've camped, I've counciled, I've presided. I've bonded with many of the most extraordinary girls you will ever meet. They are all part of my story. Some of the most sacred experiences of my life happened when I served with the Young Women, and came to know the incredible love that Heavenly Father has for his daughters.

I have spent many years as a youth Sunday School teacher, sharing the scriptures with young men and women both. I have seen, several times over, "a mighty change of heart." I have experienced young people being touched deeply by the scriptures and resolving to live their lives as faithful servants of God. I have been with them as they attended the temple, I have watched them go on full-time missions, I have seen some of them happily marry and start lovely families. All of these people own a piece of my heart.

The ward in which I now reside is a small one, and the need to serve is great. For the past year, I have held three callings, one of them being youth Sunday School teacher. I also serve as the meal coordinator for the four full-time missionaries who serve in our ward boundaries. These missionaries are young adults who give two years of their lives to serve the Lord with no distractions. They put aside education, family and friends, and all worldly influences. They pay for these missions themselves. As members of the church, we are asked to provide one meal a day for them, and I facilitate that, inviting people to feed them each day.

For the past couple weeks, some of the guidelines for feeding the missionaries have been changed. It has become evident that these two callings are colliding a little bit. So today, I was released as a Sunday School teacher so I could focus my efforts on caring for our missionaries. This was not easy for me. My two students, Emily and Ann, are so dear to me...we have learned and grown together, and have such thoughtful discussions about the Old Testament that we've been studying. It is hard to step away from them. But an awesome new teacher has been called and I know they are in good hands.

How much I love our missionaries!!! Can you think of a better place for me to serve right now?! Corbin and I have them in our home often, at least twice a month, to share our dinner with them. We invite them to bring people with them who are investigating our church, and have had such uplifting, spiritual discussions in our home. One of those investigators lately has become one of my dear friends, and another one is one of Iver and Shakira's best friends. I feel such joy in these experiences and in taking care of the missionaries, and hope to better inspire others to do the same.

This calling helps me feel very close to Iver, my own son who is on his mission in Mexico City. I know that as I fulfill it to the best of my ability, with my heart and soul poured into this service, that my Iver will be fed and loved and cared for. Ultimately tonight, that is why I am crazy-thankful.

Thankful on November 17, 2010

Corbin and I have lots of fun. We always have. There is nothing better than being married to your best friend, someone who knows absolutely everything about you, and STILL loves to be with you.

It has always been important to us to enjoy one on one time together, so since the beginning of us, there has always been date night. Some of my dear readers may be the victims of trying to come between us and our date night, and know first hand the ferocity with which we defend it! There is (almost) nothing that can cause us to forgo date night. Perhaps this is one of the secrets of a long and happy marriage? Well, since we have been happily married for a very long time, I say yes!

There was a time when money was very scarce, and babies were very demanding. Going out was next to impossible. So date night was a $5.00 Little Caesar's Pizza in the living room with a $1.00 movie rental. Picking out the movie at the video store (no DVDs in the world yet!) was half of the fun. I remember a night when we were at that video store, me pregnant with Shakira and sticking WAY out to there, and little bitty Iver on Corbin's shoulders. We were perusing the many choices for our movie that night when I snuggled up close to Corbin and reached in for a playful little pinch. To my absolute horror, it was not Corbin's butt in my hands, but a complete stranger's butt, very embarrassed by my mistaken affections!

We sometimes would strap the babies into snuggies and walk up Little Bear Creek, or have a picnic under our favorite tree. As they got older, we made more of an attempt to leave them with a grandma and go out by ourselves. We always loved to eat out on those occasions! One of out favorite dates was sleeping outside (when we lived on the side of the mountain) on the trampoline, under the beautiful stars (one of the things we miss about the mountain). Only occasionally would we be disrupted by a curious black bear!

Now that we are empty-nesters, it's almost like every night is date night! We still set aside Friday nights, usually for dinner and a movie out, or dinner out with friends. We have also added one...every Tuesday or Wednesday is wings and pool night at the Stockyard Saloon. Corbin beats me every time, that turkey. But perhaps our favorite date lately is completely impromptu....Ice cream at Little Man! Little Man is a giant milk can, situated on a hill in the Highlands neighborhood, overlooking the most beautiful angle of downtown, and it's just minutes from our house. We often run into friends there, on the same impromptu date!

I'm quite confident that successful relationships require a little bit of effort...like the hard, hard work of going out to eat Little Man ice cream! I treasure my Corbin and our date nights. Crazy-thankful.

Thankful on November 10, 2010

Warning: This might be a long one.

For eighteen years the Corbin-and-Michelle-Johnson-family lived on the side of a mountain. OK, OK, it was a lovely mountain, in the summertime. But Michelle is not a mountain woman. As I begin this post, I realize that I may sound whiny, wimpy and ungrateful as I describe this part of my life, but please understand that I must express these feelings so that I might convey the magnitude of the joy I feel now.

Our living conditions on that mountain were not easy for me. In fact, as I look back, I actually think I was able to muster incredible strength from somewhere very deep, strength that not everyone might have been able to find. I'm eternally grateful that there was strength to be found.

Our home on the side of the mountain was a five hundred square foot "cottage". It had no heat source, beyond a wood stove, so for twelve of those eighteen years, we heated with wood. We would wake up each morning, able to see our breath, with ice sometimes 1/4" thick on the insides of the windows. I remember layering our babies with two or three blanket sleepers at night, because I was so worried about them kicking off the covers! As the years went by, the mountain pushed on our house, causing large gaps in the door and window frames. We would do our best to fill those gaps, with foam or wood or stuffed-in old rags and towels. Finally, for the last six years we were there, we were able to get a pellet-stove, which meant heat all the time (as long as we kept the pellets well stocked) including while we were away at work and at night. No more coming home and spending an hour trying to warm up our house and pipes!

The winters were especially difficult. We had more than our share of three, four, even SEVEN foot snowstorms (I am completely serious). On time to work in the winter? Are you kidding? And the funny part was that no one ever believed we were digging out our endless driveway of two feet of snow when they had only a one inch sprinkle in town. The seven foot snowstorm required a week and a front-end loader. Did I mention that we had no power that week?!! I digress...I reluctantly became an expert at tire chains. Always such a joy to lay under a car in a skirt on the way to work. And my children could tell you story after story of our car spinning 360 degree-style down Hidden Valley Road (and yes, it was an all-wheel drive).

Our intention as a young married couple was always to move on, to something more practical, as our children came into the world. But when the children came, so did unemployment and a depressed economy. So we made do. Through the years, we often saw glimmers of hope that we would be able to make a change, Corbin's growing business, my ability to go back to work and not just try to make money from my kitchen. But year after year after year, those hopes were squashed by the unexpected. Broken down cars, my lovely illness with it's therapy and hospitalizations, months without paychecks as Corbin's business became established, several surgeries, bigger and bigger school fees, ridiculous commute expenses, cancer and broken down shoulders, and the list goes on and on. We couldn't seem to get ahead. We had no choice but to try to make a home out of the cottage. So we stuffed Iver in one little attic bedroom, Shakira in the other, and Corbin and I made our bedroom out of a futon in the living room. We did our best. There was a point where I thought that this was how it would always be. I would have to be OK with never having our kids friends hang out at our house, with Iver and Shakira wanting to spent their time as teenagers at their friend's houses, with never having the privacy of our own bedroom. I would just have to brace myself every winter to climb into the well house and thaw out the pipes with a blow dryer. I would always have at least a thirty minute drive to go anywhere. We would constantly be fixing the many things going wrong with our taped together old house.

Then came 2007. That is when life REALLY got difficult. I addition to everything I have mentioned, Corbin and I each had an hour commute to and from work, that was getting longer and longer, and more expensive with record gas prices. Iver and Shakira were both in high school and had MANY places to be. Iver had begun to drive, so I had that lovely mother-worry about his long drives up and down the mountain late at night. And, we were just not seeing each other. We would get home around 7:30 at night, try to put something on the table for dinner, then fall into bed, only to start again by leaving at 5:00 the next morning. None of us were happy. So we began to pray for a miracle. We knew that's what it would take.

And just like that, things began to fall into place. Our children were not upset with the possibility of being uprooted. Our income now allowed for a modest house payment. We set out looking for a new home IN THE CITY! It took awhile, as we looked at many neighborhoods, homes, and schools. One evening, Corbin left five excited messages for me while I was in a yoga class. He had found our home!

We visited it that weekend. Scary neighborhood, I thought, but the beautifully remodeled house was like a dream to me! We could just stay inside! We decided to fast and pray about it...find out for ourselves if this was the place we should be. That Sunday, we took our kids to the church building we would be attending if we were to make this move. We all loved it immediately and overwhelmingly. Then next morning we called our realtor and put together an offer. Several hours later we found out that an offer had already been made and accepted the day before. I was devastated. I gave up. But not my Corbin. We had received an answer to our prayers, and he was determined to figure something out.

Corbin learned that the builder who had done the home we fell in love with was working on another property, several blocks away. He hesitantly agreed to let us meet him there.

We went under contract on our home when it was just a shell. It had been gutted and was being completely rebuilt, a 110 year old house on the outside, brand new house on the inside. I have absolutely no vision. After all of the run-down old houses (the ones in our price range) I had been looking at for months, I should have been frightened and discouraged the moment I walked through the door. But I wasn't. This time I felt incredible peace and joy. I felt immediately that this was our home.

We have now lived in this home for two and a half years. THERE HAS NOT BEEN ONE TIME I HAVE WALKED THROUGH THAT DOOR AND NOT FELT THE SAME PEACE AND JOY THAT I FELT THAT FIRST DAY. I love our home on Marion Street. I love the diversity of the neighborhood, the entertainment that provides. I love our next door neighbors. I love my adorable little porch and the gigantic trees that shade the front yard. I love the teeny-tiny bit of snow that we get in the winter. I love my garage. I love the ten minute drive to work. I love our crazy little church. I love that we have an awesome space for a garden. I love my bamboo floors and big chocolate moldings. I love my exposed brick walls. I love my gigantic kitchen with concrete countertops. I love my fabulous garbage disposal and my dishwasher. I love that my children have their own big beautiful rooms with tall ceilings. I love Iver's eight foot door. I love that we have two bathrooms with beautiful fixtures and flawless plumbing. I ADORE our master suite! I love my closet. I love that, when I'm a bit chilly, I can walk over to the thermostat, push the up button twice, and get marvelous warm air blowing out of the vents! I love the experience my children had at east high school. I love the amazing people who are their friends. And I love that those friends love to hang out at our house!

I know that eighteen years on the side of a mountain helped form all four of us into the people we are now, and for those experiences I am truly grateful. But for the miracle of our little home on Marion Street, I am giddy, crazy-thankful!

Thankful on October 22, 2010

Gratitude. It has been on my mind. As you know, if following my musings, I am pretty sick right now. Surviving, definitely, but sick. There is something I have learned through the years that lessens my darkness, that even paves the way back to health, and that is counting my blessings. Believe me, I have blessings.

I read a story this morning about a young woman from Sierra Leone that I cannot get out of my mind. Her name is Mariama, and she spent her entire childhood in this war-torn place. As a girl, she witnessed incredible, horrible violence including the brutal murders of her own parents and siblings. She spent her teenage years fleeing and hiding from the rebels who would destroy her. She recalls laying herself down to sleep at night, in unfamiliar places, thanking her God that she was still alive. She prayed that she would be alive in the morning. She didn't pray for food, because she knew she could somehow find food if she was alive.

During this time of homelessness, Mariama was given a humanitarian kit by missionaries of the church I belong to (yes, missionaries just like Iver). This kit was precious to her and represented the hope that she had to survive. She shared that hope with others who were in the same situation, and had an incredible comforting influence on many people. Several years later she was called to serve a mission herself in the United States, was able to leave her country behind, and start a bright, new life for herself. Mariama made sure to visit the place where that precious humanitarian kit was made, and wept in gratitude when she entered the doors.

Mariama now tours our country, telling her story, and encouraging others to engage in humanitarian causes, as a way of showing gratitude for an abundance of blessings.

I feel inspired by her story. And I always feel drawn to people around me who see the good in their lives. Who are truly grateful for all that they have been given, and use that gratitude to bless the lives of others. I really want to be one of those people. I do strive for it.

When I was a young mother, overwhelmed with responsibility for my crazy toddler-creatures, struggling with an illness that had not yet been diagnosed as bipolar disorder, stuck on the side of a mountain without transportation, I often wallowed in discouragement. I saw lots of clouds, but very little sunshine. A woman I looked up to and respected shared something simple with me, that made a remarkable difference in my life. Christel told me about her "count-your-blessings-walks." She would take a walk, and with every step would name a blessing in her life. When I heard this, I smiled, knowing in my mind that there was no way I had so many blessings. I continued to think that, as I walked down our long, dirt driveway each day to the mailbox. One day, sometime later, I decided to try it. With each step I named a blessing: Iver's adorable curls; Shakira's sweet, happy disposition; Corbin's tender kisses....I got to the mailbox having blessings backed up in my brain as fast as they could come!! I started to make this a habit, and noticed my outlook beginning to change.

Eighteen years later, I know I could walk to the ends of the earth and back, never naming a blessing twice. How extraordinary is that? Though things are a struggle for me right now, there are beams of sun through the clouds. For the abundance of blessings I have been given, I am crazy thankful.

Thankful on October 19, 2010

It's not easy to send a son on a mission. I could pen an entire book about the extreme emotions I have experienced within the past four and a half months. I actually might do that some day...A self-help guide (or at least an "I-know-exactly-what-you-are-going-through-you're-not-alone book), for very inadequately prepared missionary mommas.

Today I understand that the negative emotions make the positive ones positively extraordinary. So I have come to the conclusion that I am thankful for them all.

Iver's journey so far has not gone exactly according to plan. To know me is to know that I do not do well with spontaneity. I like a step-by-step agenda. No surprises. When a set plan is not in place, I panic, and not just a little bit.

In March, while still under my roof and nestled safely in my arms, Iver received his mission call. As he read the call out loud to all of the loved ones gathered to hear, he paused before he read the location, scanning ahead to know for himself before announcing it. I searched his face, in agonizing impatience, longing to be reading over his shoulder. As he saw the location a "huh, well that makes sense" look came upon his face and tears filled his eyes. Filled with emotion, he read aloud, "Elder Johnson, you are called to labor in the Mexico, Mexico City Mission." The first thought that came to me was, "DANGER! MEXICO!" and extreme fear for his life. But very quickly, while feeling the incredible spirit in the room, and seeing the gratitude and excitement that enveloped my son, that fear was soothed, and I felt peace.

On June 9th we traveled to Provo, Utah to drop Iver off at the Mission Training Center. It was a strange, very tender day for our family. I almost cannot speak of it. Our curbside goodbye was probably the most difficult experience of my life. I can still feel his beautiful body embracing mine as it did twice in that few minutes. I had a very difficult time stepping back into the car after I watched Iver walk down the sidewalk and into the doors of the MTC, not looking back. He was ready to be there! But is a mother ever ready to see her precious child leave her side for two years? In the car, I instantly began to sob. I have never sobbed as I did that day. At one point, sweet Shakira reached her arms around me from the back seat and said, "Momma, you have to breathe." I cried all the way to Glenwood Springs. At that point, my sadness began to change...I began to feel trust, anticipation, submission. Oh, the sadness did not go away, and it remains to this day, but I was, and continue to be comforted.

As Iver's time in the MTC came to an end, his work visa had not arrived. He was discouraged and hurting, and this mother feels her childrens' pain tenfold. Iver was ready to serve! He was temporarily assigned to serve in the Washington, Spokane Mission which was helpful and relieving of his discouragement. Iver has served for nearly 10 weeks in Washington...with every letter he sounds stronger and stronger. He has developed a wonderful relationship with his Heavenly Father, has turned himself over completely, and is much stronger for the detour. My hurt and discouragement is turning to thankfulness, as I see this growth in my son. I now feel confident that this is part of God's plan for His precious servant, and I feel strengthened. I might be able to make it through this mission yet!

Today I learned that the visa has gone through, and Iver will be in Mexico City by the end of next week. As I reflect on the experiences I have mentioned and MANY more that I haven't, I feel WOW. Not sure how else to describe it. So today I am grateful for the uncertainness, the surprises, the panic, the fear, the sadness, the discouragement, the hurting. I am thankful for these emotions that have been so difficult because today I feel exquisite, hard-earned JOY. Crazy-thankful.

Thankful on October 5, 2010

Today my Corbin asked me if I had blogged recently. He didn't want to get behind in reading them. How lucky am I? I will tell you how lucky. But I should definitely say blessed.

My crazy-thankful blog was started a few weeks ago in a desperate effort to stay sane. You see, I am a manic-depressive. In other words, I suffer from bipolar disorder. There it is. The thing I never say. Out there. I don't say it because it is way, way, way taboo. It is. You really cannot understand how taboo unless you are intimately involved.

After years of ridiculous medicinal cocktails, years of therapy and hospitalization, years of misunderstanding and tears, years of wanting it all to end, years of prayer after prayer after prayer, I found a treatment. A treatment that worked for me. A treatment that my precious husband stands behind and helps me with. A treatment that has kept me pretty darn healthy, and so close to normal that most of the people in my life at this time don't even know I am sick.

As 2010 began, I braced myself, and Corbin braced himself. This is the year when everything I know as an as-close-to-healthy-as-possible-bipolar-person was to change.

In June, my wonderful, amazing son Iver left home to embark on a journey that he has prepared for every moment of his life. He was called to serve a two year mission in Mexico City, teaching the gospel that he loves, while loving and serving the people of Mexico. It has been a slight roller coaster for him, as he was supposed to leave the Mission Training Center for Mexico 8 weeks ago today. He is still waiting for his visa. In the meantime, he has been serving in the state of Washington, and at this point has been told that the time is getting closer for him to go to Mexico. Iver was well prepared for the challenges of a mission, but this was something he did not foresee. He is strong and valiant, and putting his best foot forward, trying to forget himself and serve the Lord. But I am his mother. I can feel the discouragement between the lines of his letters. And beyond writing loving, supporting words, there is nothing I can do. I am helpless. And the illness creeps into my unquiet mind.

In August, we took our incredibly beautiful Shakira to Fort Collins, to begin her education at Colorado State University. She is studying music education, following a very spiritual path and prompting that this is the direction she needs to take with her life. Her musical talent is blossoming, and she is finding much joy spending many hours with arms around her cello. I am so happy for her and the joy she feels. But there is no more of her music in my home. Shakira is my sunshine, and without her, things feel quite cold. And the bipolar rears it's ugly head.

I tried to prepare. I did. And when I think about it, there really isn't much more I could have done. I'm not sick enough to want my life to end. Or to head back to the nearest psychiatrist with his medicinal cocktail. But the dark is there. The aching. The tears. The panic. The racing thoughts of doom.

Do you know what else is there? My Corbin. My constant. This is not an easy life with me. But my Corbin remains. He holds me, he comforts me, he encourages me. He loves me. Truly, truly, truly loves me. And it is through this love that I will again conquer the beast of my ill mind. How blessed I am to have him. How crazy-thankful.

My baby girl is filled with music. Quite literally, it permeates every cell of her being. Shakira beams with melody. And her sunshine is very contagious.

Last night Corbin and I traveled to her first Symphony Orchestra Concert at Colorado State University. The Symphony Orchestra is very impressive, with many graduate performance-artist students participating. Truly breathtaking was the Brahms' Second Symphony, the Elgar's Concerto for Cello (performed brilliantly by soloist Barbara Thiem, world renowned cellist, and Shakira's professor), and piece by American composer Samuel Barber. Shakira expressed her feelings to me in a note before the performance, "Prepare to be amazed...this music moves me to tears, that is how incredible it is."

And amazed I was. And moved to tears...let me share why. As I sat observing the beauty of the group, the pure, lovely sound of the instruments melding together into the perfection intended by the composers, my Shakira still stood out. I watched the gorgeous posture she demonstrates as she wraps her body around her instrument. She is in love! And the peace and tranquility of her facial features as she experiences the piece are a joy to behold. I was taken back...

Back to the fifth and sixth grade, when the passion began. She was a pleasure to watch at the tender ages of 10 and 11! Unknown to Shakira, her tongue moved, outside of her mouth, in time with her bow! Her concentration was so deep. Everyone observing smiled at Shakira, her wonderful new skills, and her tongue! This was when we knew that our daughter was not just a kid wanting to play an instrument, but a true musician in the making. We never reminded her to practice. When returning home from school, she would immediately begin playing, for hours on end. Her skills quickly grew. And our home was filled with "The Crawdad Song" played sometimes at lightning speed.

The love continued into middle school, when many of her fellow orchestra students decided they liked soccer better, or drama, or just boys. Her desire and determination to play her cello only grew. And she played her heart out in the orchestras of two different high schools, and with the Colorado Youth Symphony Orchestra. She spent countless hours in private lessons, with teachers she loved and ones she just endured. And she continued to practice every day for hours, playing composers like Bach and Vivaldi.

For many years, my home has been filled with my daughter's music. There was a night last year, when Corbin and I were making dinner, that we both just stopped and listened to the magnificent Bach Prelude Shakira was playing. We were basking in the exquisiteness that surrounded us, filled with gratitude for this gift of a child that was ours. Now as she is away, our home is very quiet, and perhaps it is the lack of Shakira and her cello that cause us to feel so lonely. I realize, however, that she is doing EXACTLY what she should be doing and is exactly in the right place.

Last night I marvelled as my fabulous daughter played her heart out. I marvel that she has so amazingly developed this beautiful gift that has been given her. I marvel that she wants to share her love of music as an educator, and is well on her way to doing that. I marvel at the beauty that is Shakira and her cello. I am crazy, crazy, crazy-thankful.