Hello Firecracker,

Hello Firecracker,

Your daughter is cutely asleep on the floor beside me. Who knows what such a little what dreams.
You know how, the other week, we went out to the cemetery in Lodi and, though there were hundreds upon hundreds of headstones to observe we found your ancestor almost immediately? Well, I really can't help but know and testify that God cares about every effort in our lives. We may have wandered forever and never found the headstone (there were plenty that were no longer intelligible), but instead we began our search almost on top of our prize.
I can remember President Howard expressing a similar story while he and June were out grave hunting. He said they had an enormous cemetery and no map to search by, but he parked the car and almost stepped out onto the very plot they had come for!
the Lord is so very mindful of our every little something. I know He cares about our family history. I know He cares about our current families. I even know He will take an interest in our mortal pleasures—including sex.
What a mighty and warming thing to know that God is mindful of us and will provide for all that which we cannot do for ourselves.
You are a treasure in my life. Remember that.
I love you.

.Patrick the boy


Sent from my iPhone

To My Firecracker in Life,

To My Firecracker in Life,

It is, at times, overwhelming to love someone as deeply as i do you and yet be limited by the strength of language to express it. i take consolation in the hope that, perhaps, my actions fill gaps left by my words.
i love you infinitely.
My heart aches for you after reading your last letter. i do not know that i realized (at fault to myself, likely) how deep was your disappointment at not having served the mission you so entirely set your heart upon. i do not feel it would be fair for me to say i am sorry you didn't go. Nor can i say that i am sorry they didn't change the age limit earlier. i hope you understand by this that i only intend an expression of joy in my marriage to you. i dread the idea that any part of time's trajectory be changed and your hand never end up in mine.
Often i have heard science tell of the perfectness of the universe; that were one small event changed we might not be.
Still, i mourn for your mourning. i have wanted nothing more than for you to be happy. Thrilled, rather, at every moment and i am sorry that such constant elation has not been provided to you. i miss you each day as i am away and this is augmented by the knowledge that you are at home yearning for more. i am sorry that i cannot seem to provide the answer to all of your heart's aches. i hope that you will always find respite and comfort in me and i pray that, one day soon, you and i will both find the challenge and excitement that passion brings.
One verse for you, as it has been upon my heart recently, are Nephi's words as he is being shown his great vision in 1 Nephi 11:17 "I know that [God] loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things."
i used to feel that what i needed was more and more knowledge; that through ability i gained worth in people's lives and, while this is true, it is a temporary thing. What i really needed was more love. Love is power, and caring compassion. This is something for which you have been my model and inspiration, but i have struggled to feel comfortable letting go of prideful capacity for love and trust. How could i be the help everyone needed if i did not have every talent necessary at every moment? i felt i didn't have time for anything else because there was so much to learn, so many talents to acquire.
The answer has always been trust in the Lord. He has never needed us to be anymore than loving. He asks us to do nothing more than love others and love ourselves; he provides all of our needs.
That, i feel, is what Nephi expresses here. He doesn't have all the answers. He, in fact, has hardly any answers at this point, but he knows the love of God and that is everything. You recall that he ultimately takes he time to laboriously keep two separate scriptural records and he never knows why. He states it is for a wise purpose known to God. He doesn't need to know why the Lord has moved as he has, for he knows God's love and trusts Him.
i hope that at least you always remember that God loveth his children, even if we sometimes do not know the meaning of all things.

i love you firecracker. Keep on shining! We'll have a new bedroom soon.

.a boy


Sent from my iPad

Dear Boy,

This is where my mind has been drifting in drift-able moments this week. Imagine, as you read, a handful of paragraph breaks instead of the one large one presented. You'll probably imagine them in places similar to where I originally put them. Unfortunately, Blogger's new interface seems to have one the battle over readability. Ahem: President Monson announced upon opening General Conference that the age minimum for missionary service has been lowered from 21 to 19 for women.  The news has had a powerful effect on me.  In fact, in the moment, I couldn't hold back the small dam from overflowing my eyes.  I felt the same loss that I've felt many times over the past number of years.  It stung.  It still stings whenever I venture these thoughts afresh.    When I laid my eyes for the first time on two girl missionaries, my heart rejoiced with the realization that I could amount to something of the same sort.  In fact, our branch had sister missionaries for the last years of my Primary membership, who sometimes taught my Sunday School class and I almost worshipped those sisters.  I wanted to be just like them.  And so I planned for and desired to serve a mission as a young woman.  It was the most definite plan I had for my future; its accomplishment was stated as a fact in my patriarchal blessing, and it was a fact in my heart as well.  In high school, I spent plenty of spare hours on "splits" with the sisters.  I relished their company.  I corresponded with them after they left and in return they would send little encouragements my way via post.  I purposely bought missionary styles of long skirts in sizes a bit larger than my then-current frame. Simultaneously, church leaders always preached my missionary service as a second option. I was ingrained with this doctrine, "If a viable option is presented for marriage, it is your responsibility to take it." Mostly, I ignored the second-option declaration, taking little affirmations along the way that it simply would not pertain to me.  For instance, my first experience at EFY gave me the impression that Mormon boys were not interested in girls like me and even if the idea was deflating, it also fueled my mission preparations.  I knew that young ladies were encouraged to get married and have babies, but I knew much deeper in my heart that I needed to serve a mission, that serving one would mold something important out of what I already was, that the world needed something that I had to offer.  Along with knowing those things, I assumed that the opportunity to marry would simply not be a viable option until later.  I even made a deal with my best friend, a boy, that if I waited for him during his missionary service, then he would wait for me while I served; thereby  ensuring a "viable option" upon my return and relieving any guilt I may have otherwise carried for avoiding RMs. We all know how my plans panned out.  After a year and a half of avoiding guys and even months of wearing my roommate's fake engagement ring, I met you, and completely by surprise, my heart knew love in a way it never had before.  I worried it might not ever again.  Suddenly, I had a viable option!  It was my duty to run with it.  So we got married and I knew it was good- you were good- we were good, but I was barely 20 and struggled sometimes against the dreams I had to let go, most particularly the dream I had of being a missionary out in the world on my own, just me and God.  I missed the opportunity.   I gave it up for something divine and wonderful, but I did still give it up and with it the person I was when I had that goal and believed I could do and become something great.   Sometimes that sense of loss still bites down hard; it especially has in the minutes and hours since Saturday's announcement.   My first thought was bitter.  "Ten years too late!" I cried.  But it feeds my inner cynic to be bitter, so I'm choosing to be happy for my sisters and especially for my daughter that the second-option tune seems to be fading into history.  Dear girls, follow your truest dreams!  We will no longer tell you what they should be. Love,  A Lady

Firecracker,

I was thinking, just yesterday (not like thinking is so unique to me that I am announcing it, but like I considered something afresh), as your lips were on mine, that one reason you're a real firecracker is because—corny as it will sound—each time you kiss me it feels like a show of warm fireworks starts up inside. Do you know what I mean? Like my insides begin to warm and feel like they are expanding, kind of like the feeling you get when you hold your hand real close to a campfire on a cold night.
There are a myriad of reasons I would consider you a firecracker, but this is just one I really felt as you kissed me yesterday.
In other news I am excited to have this week to spend with you and, let's be clear, it's not just because work is some miserable place. I don't mind work. There are nice people there. It's a good job. A really good job. It challenges me. It provides me new experiences. It pays the bills. Yet I would at all times prefer to steal time with you if possible because, well, you are my muse. You are my muse and every soul, moved by both mind and heart, will seek out time with their muse at every opportunity.
I know you always wonder why, and I am ashamed to admit that in areas of the heart and inspiration my analytical mind always fails to find conclusions. I have no explanation for it. I have never been able to explain it. You said yes to one date and I have been committed to you whole heart and mind ever since. You are my Wendy. You are the girl who illuminates the adventurous boy in me and encourages me to dream as large as I would like. You are the girl to whom I would like to show every wonder and with whom I would like to share every adventure, and for no other reason than that you are you.
On this note, though we have much work to do this week, let's not forget to have fun to. Like tomorrow, for instance, let's not forget that Nolan has a day off from school. Let's not forget that it is a holiday for his little heart. Let's not get lost in construction and chicken stuff. May we work hard and effectively, but let's remember to make it a vacation day for him. We will have to head into Ithaca anyway to shop, so let's do someone fun, shall we? Maybe the Sciencenter? I still have a free pass.
In closing, to answer your query, I think that it is not socially acceptable for men to wear skirts because we have such ugly, hairy legs. I mean, we're often pretty repulsive looking in general (with the exception of Brad Pitt), so to wear any outfit that shows off more of the male body or even hints at some unsupported private possessions (think Scottish kilts) I fear the roadways would be lined with casualties as men tried not to look at each other and, as a result, crashed into street signs, walls, etc.
Additionally there has long been a movement to bring women into equality with men. This has always been done through women trying to mimic and achieve the allowances of men (and let's be clear, I have always felt women superior to men, so mimicry is not necessary). Never was the feminist movement interested in equality by injecting female traits and activities into the male population; it has always been women wanting to go to the work place, women wanting to vote, women wearing pants. Do you see what I mean? We moved away from loin cloth and robes long ago as men. It seems more convenient and sensible, out in the working world, to wear pants. Now women do it, but the idea of men going to skirts may just be viewed as backwards (again, not to mention disgusting).
Also it is just a current social requirement (think the church expecting clean shaven priesthood holders). Maybe in another hundred years we'll be back in skirts and women will be wearing overalls.
Bytheway, we should get you another pair of overalls. I always loved you in your overalls.
May the sky forever be your vantage point. I love you.

.Boy

Sent from my iPad

Dear Boy of My Cherried Heart,

Here is the question of the day: Why is it socially acceptable for women to wear pants, but not for men to wear skirts? Love,  Me