Be Grateful - Day #1 - Crayons

November: a month in which we should cram our brains full of blessings, instead of simply stuffing our tummies with turkey, pie and random fruit salads from great Aunt Sally.

Sure, its easy to consider some of our greatest blessings to include knowledge of God, His word and the blessing of family, yet today, I want to start my November by thanking the heavens for something temporal and random, but nonetheless brings joy to my life every week: the gift of Crayons.

While most people are digitally marking up their calendars using iPads, iPhones, iPlanners and whatever other digital device they can get their hands on - I'm reaching deep into my desk drawer like a kindergartener, eager to wrap my hands around the perfect yellow rectangular box that reads: "Crayola 24."

My 24 crayons are my best planner friends - I use yellow to mark spiritual enrichment such as scripture study, church and temple attendance as well as service. Orange, green and blue are used for work - the categories they represent switches frequently :). Pink helps me to make time for me - so that I'll continue to maintain my inner princess, it blocks out time selected for good meals and exercise. While purple reminds me to have fun and connect with friends and family, as well as ride my new best friend: Zee, a 5-year-old thoroughbred mare.

I've been planning with crayons weekly since January of 2011 - after being taught the principle of "spinning plates" or the sometimes impossible task most adults face of trying to maintain a balanced life. True, it seems  as if the world of work is always demanding more time, more ideas, and just MORE. Without an effective time management strategy one finds his/herself surrounded by broken plates: symbolically representing good health, fulfilled dreams and goals, and general happiness.

My finished product looks life this:

Endless appointments, tasks and responsibilities can become rather monotonous. Yet somehow pulling out a a while piece of paper, and strategically coloring in the lines makes life more fun, and more me: random and full of passion and color.

Hence, I am grateful for the gift of crayons, that enables me to enjoy the gift of time.

The Dream Called Life

I've been staring at this picture all week. In the doldrum of database decipherment and the monotony of mindless money-making I long to exchange places with myself.

And then my pity party is crashed by the profoundness of a prophet, President Hinckley:

“Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he’s been robbed. The fact is that most putts don’t drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to just be people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, most jobs are more often dull than otherwise.

Life is like an old time rail journey…delays…sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling burst of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.” 

Sure all of us would love to spend endless hours on the beach, barefoot in a yellow jacket away from bawling babies, lengthy lists, or mindless managers. But as Julie B. Beck, recently reminded me, "easy" and "stress-free"  living was never the dream.

"The dream is eternal life - and to get there we have to go through an experience: mortality."

Consider the things you learn during monotonous moments. Is it not in these moments we ask some of the deepest questions: Who am I? Why am I here? Where am I going?

Or ponder the things you learn during from a strenuous scene in your life theater. Is it not during those climatic conflicts that you reach for a higher power, even the God of all our souls, for mercy?

It is in the struggle that we learn and in the opposition that we find the fiber of our soul. 

"Be still and know that I am God."  Be it on the beach, smiling in a yellow jacket, or in an office surrounded by marketing mayhem, we are still progressing towards the dream.

Returned with Honor

And now, behold, I say unto you, that the thing which will be of the most worth unto you will be to declare repentance unto this people, that you may bring souls unto me, that you may rest with them in the kingdom of my Father. Amen. (D&C 15:6)

Between the ordinary and the mundane of life, one finds the the small, simple notes that compose a masterpiece of personal joys.

Six years ago, I met a 14-year-old boy in Canela Brazil, who I have since lovingly nick-named, my little Joseph Smith. After teaching, a simple lesson in less-than-perfect-Portuguese, this boy looked at me with his big brown eyes and said: "I want to know everything about Joseph Smith." I knew then that he was a special son of God.

Soon thereafter, Lucas was baptized August 2, 2005, alone with no family support, but a vibrant testimony. I was transferred out of the area only a few weeks later.

Since that time Lucas and I have communicated via letters (while I was still serving) as well as email (after I came home). I was ecstatic when Lucas informed me two years ago, that he would be serving a full-time mission in the Brazil, Sao Paulo North mission.

Words cannot express the joy I have felt as I have wrote and received letter after letter. Such a simple act of love has brought more happiness than I can describe. I have cried and laughed as I have read each letter of this stalwart missionary. Mostly,  I've loved see the joy and light in his face as he sent me pictures like this:



Yet, today my tears of joy were different. For this very day my favorite little Joseph Smith honorably returned home to his family and friends in Canela, Brazil. He has completed a mission.

Welcome home Elder Lucas Schenatto, I can't wait to talk to you!

Playing for Father Joe

"Let's Go Rose Park!"
"Come on, show 'em West Side"

Eyes focused.
Knees Bent.
Glove ready.

The crack of the bat from the opposing team. The ball soared south-west, straight toward me at alarming speed; I steadied my hand, lowered it slightly and.... GA-WHOOSH! The ball was a imprisoned in my glove.

At that exact moment, I thought of one of my greatest heroes, a man who 30 years earlier had made similar catches: my dad, who I have lovingly nicknamed: Father Joe.

Truth be told, my giddy-nature and love-for-the-game has no doubt been influenced by a father who still watches the World Series religiously. Yet, as I have played for the past ten weeks, I am surprised by the increase of love I have felt towards my father. It has become my favorite game, because it is HIS favorite game.

Each time I have walked into the batters' box, my memory flashed back to four small kids, waiting anxiously on a front lawn in rural Utah, to hear the roaring sound of a white Chevy Sierra approaching our drive.

"Pitch for us Dad, please!" my brothers, sister and I would yell in unison.

And he'd pause--nonetheless thinking of his legitimate reason to walk in the house after a long day at work and then chores on the farm--pushing all thoughts away, he played.

Sometimes he'd stay for an hour pitching and watching us as we raced around homemade bases of irrigation boots, old bottles, or ball caps. And other times, he'd only stay for 15 minutes, so each one of us could hit at least once, before church responsibilities or farm chores called him away. Nonetheless, my brothers and sisters were delighted by every second he played.

Play I did these past ten weeks, every Wednesday night, I'd pause from my adult responsibilities just like my father and enjoyed the spirit of fun.

As I stepped on the field, be it at base or shortstop, I paused again to glance at my dad's favorite glove, marked with permanent black marker: WATSON. I'd smile, prepare my stance, and think: "Dad, this one's for you. I'm going to make you proud."

After some great catches, I couldn't wait until the game was over, so I could text Father Joe and say, caught one tonight: Watson Style!

These past few weeks have reminded me that our family relations are some of the best gifts we have been given. For as my hero has taught me, "In family relationships love is really spelled t-i-m-e, time." (Utchdorf, 2010)

For 15 short minutes, have made all the difference for me 15 years later.

So let's play ball!
I'm playing for Father Joe.

Sacrifice and Compensation

I don't really think Adam looked at God after his first sacrifice and said, "So, uh, can I eat that lamb tenderloin, because it looks ooooohhhh soooo good."

So keep that in mind as you think about the content of this post, its not really about what one gets as a result of sacrifice, but the joy of realizing what comes because of sacrifice.

On Tuesday, August 28, 2005 I was sitting in a small, dusty, garage-type room packed with five computers in Porto Alegre, Brazil. I was planning to attend the Porto Alegre Temple later that afternoon with my friend, Sister Alaina Jordan, but had stopped quickly at an internet cafe to read my weekly family email. As I clicked open the email from my dad, I read these life changing words:

Tamra, Rugrat got out of his pasture on Saturday and was hit by a van. Luckily the people driving were not severely injured, but Rugrat had to be put down. I heard a neigh that night, and I figured it was him thanking me for all the hay I had given him all these years. I'm sure you'll miss him.

Niagara Falls gushed from my tear duct. My horse, my only horse, was dead. I had been the proud owner of horses for more than 12 years. My mind flashed back to the day I had said goodbye to Rugrat. I took him for a long ride around town, galloped him on my favorite trail, and then fed him some carrots while I stroked his neck. As mom and I drove away, he ran the fence line and whinnied as if to say, "I'll miss you."

It's been almost seven years since that gloomy news day in Brazil. Yet as I glance back with my 20/20 vision of perfect understanding, I realize how much the Lord has compensated me in "horses" because I left mine to do His work.

I spent more than two years riding a beautiful mare named Pacer in Hyrum, Utah. Debbie, Pacer's real owner always claimed her horse was more mine than hers. We formed a fabulous relationship, and although Pacer has been sold, I still visit Debbie often.


When I graduated from Utah State, I feared I would never ride again. Yet, I was delighted when I was introduced to four fabulous horses: Lucy, Lizzie, Paint and Angelina, in Stillwater, Oklahoma. I spent hours on their backs, relaxing my brain from the stringent demands of academic philosophy, research and writing. For the year and a half I spent in that wondrous state, those four ponies became a lifeline.

Now, as an independent woman, living in downtown metropolis, I often wonder how a cowgirl ended up swapping lives with a city girl. As I spent a holiday weekend in my hometown I found myself longing to take a pony on my favorite trails. So I called up a mom of an old pony-club pal and within 30 minutes, Tikki and I were enjoying ourselves on the dusty trail.

Since my last ride, I have realized, God truly recognizes and rewards us for our small sacrifices. I never expected to meet and ride so many wonderful horses during the past seven years, but I have, and its made my life more pleasant and joyful.

So, maybe Adam did eat a nice lamb tenderloin after he sacrificed his best lamb; and although the superb taste of the meat left him drooling, the greater sweetness probably dawned on him as it did me: God is the source of all blessings, even those that follow heart-wrenching sacrifices.

Bug Signs...Coincidence or Tender Mercy?

I was never one to believe is crazy signs. Yet I had a dear friend teach me last year that nature can teach us many things if we're willing to pay attention.

My first introduction to this concept was the "Watson Penny" theory. My mother is known for her delight in finding random pennies. To her, its a simple symbol that someone else is looking out for her. I've followed my mom's example in this simple act of faith. I've found pennies before my thesis defense, my Utah job interview, and also on many horrible-no-good-days. These small tokens are tender mercies from above.

Still, another pattern of nature has me baffled: Bugs.

The first bug I noticed starting investing my Oklahoma apartment: Jumping Crickets. The showed up in my room and the bathroom. My roommate and I found it quite ironic, due to the fact we'd never seen these bugs before. After some silly conversations, we determined these bugs were trying to tell me to "jump into my future" with spunk and happiness. After that, we never saw another cricket. The message had been delivered.

The second bug that became my friend was the lady bug. About three weeks before I was suppose to move back to Utah, I found multiple lady bugs on my shoulder, or knee. They paused long enough for me to notice them, and then fluttered away. As I pondered my lady bug encounters, I thought of that child nursery rhyme: Lady Bug, Lady Bug, Fly Away Home. That was all I needed. A simple answer from heaven, that truly answered my countless prayers inquiring whether I was making the right choice to graduate and move home a semester early. After I came to this realization, I didn't see another lady bug until the day I left for home. It was a sweet reminder of heaven's approval of my choice.

Recently, obviously with the long winter, I haven't seen lots of bugs; until a few weeks ago. My new bug friend is SPIDERS. (I'm sure Ronald Weasley would not approve). I find them on my patio, in my sandwich during a picnic date, and I even found one on my arm, when I was sitting on the grass after a softball game! So naturally, do to my past experiences with the lady bug and the jumping cricket, I thought I would amuse myself this evening by googling: "symbolic meaning of spiders." I was baffled by some of information I read. Here's some of my favorites:

The Spider serves as a reminder that our choices construct our lives. When the spider appears to us, its a message to be mindful of the choices we are making -- and ask ourselves: How are my choices affecting my life? How can my choices improve my life? How are my choices affecting others in my life?

The appearance of a spider says the decision can be any direction, but just remember whatever you end up with is what you yourself have weaved.

As I've been presented with many choices these past few weeks, its no wonder the spider has been stalking me. I don't really believe in destiny, nor fate -- but I do believe that God uses small and simple things, like nature, to teach us.

Yet, I do agree with Ronald Weasley who proclaimed in the second movie: "Follow the spiders? Follow the spiders?! Why couldn't it be "follow the butterflies?"

Bandwagon Traffic Jam

And now for the traffic report....

We're seeing some serious backup happening between the Watson Interchange of idea central and time required. Expect some delay due to agricultural advocacy and local business development, coupled with family and church responsibilities, as well as academic goals and playful hobbies. Communication channels are expected to be sparse, random and slightly jumbled, until problems are resolved.

Keep alert listeners, its going to be a fabulous summer.