"We seldom get into trouble when we speak softly. It is only when we raise our voices that the sparks fly and tiny molehills become great mountains of contention."
It’s spring now.
All the best writers advise not to start with the weather. But here
in the high desert, spring is not weather. It is a miracle.
Our winter was milder
than I have seen since I have lived here. We were below zero for much
of December but then, winter just sort of fizzled out. I misplaced my
coat and didn't find it (trunk of the other car) for weeks. It
didn’t matter. I didn’t need one.
Some years winter is
hard. Heart and soul hard. It is bone chilling exhausting. It is a
long slow game of chicken. But winter rarely flinches.
Even after an easy-ish
winter, spring feels like a miracle. We are high in the air and north
on the map. The light just seems to go away in the fall. There is
daylight in the winter but it is a soft grey light. It hangs low,
barely holding back the dark. It doesn’t last long.
In the spring, the sun
comes back. It’s high in the bright blue sky. It shines and
warms. The darkness will wait until late fall again. We all know,
when we are cold and winter-weary that spring will come again.
There will be irises in
the yard and calves in the pasture. The icy mountain passes between
me and home and loved ones will thaw. There will be visits. My
children will run wild on the mountain. I will go some. But I will
stay home too, and write in the solitary sunshine.
A little more than a
year ago, one of my favorite people, Angela, told me that her family
was informally fostering a little girl with hopes to adopt. She
shared a little of the baby’s history with me. I was delighted.
Angela and her husband Reed are the best kind people. Every child
should make it to such a safe and happy home.
But I felt something
else too. I felt like I was part of this girl’s team. I felt
like I had some little role to play. This was odd since this baby
girl was many states away. It was unlikely I would ever see her. But
still that feeling persisted.
So I did what I could,
and I prayed. Reed and Angela have fostered many children. They have
loved and healed little ones and let them go. But this was different.
This was a little one with a rough start and an uncertain future.
This girl felt like theirs.
I asked Angela if I
could buy a blessing dress for her little one. She said yes. Adoption
had to happen first, of course. And that was contested (not by the
birth parents). But I needed to get that dress.
So I found a long white
gown with smocking across the bodice and a little bonnet. I hung the
dress on the wall where we could all see it. It helped us remember to
pray. I will never forget my youngest son, kneeling at family prayer
and saying, “Please, Heavenly Father. Don’t you know that
she needs to be with the right family?”
He did know, of course.
The adoption was successful. I sent the dress. Her daddy took her in
his arms and gave her the name Julie Grace. Not long after, she wore
her long white dress to the temple to be sealed. I saw pictures of
her and her new family complete with two proud big brothers. And I
felt such joy.
Julie Grace lives here
now. The baby I thought I would never see lives in my same tiny town.
A whirlwind job offer brought them.
Here she was. As sudden
and bright as the first spring day after the grey, she bounced
through my front door. She has red curls and pale blue eyes. She is
sweet and snuggly. She is mischievous and funny. She is not my
daughter, but that seems a silly reason not to love her devotedly.
Julie Grace
She likes me too. This
is unprecedented; babies never like me. But I am quite sure she knows
I am on her team. Or I am the lady that will take her out to see the
cows ten thousand times and give her whatever I want. But she did ask
her mother for me, and I smiled for days.
I didn’t know
that there was a little girl who would be springtime. Sometimes we
don’t notice the grey when little winters of our hearts begin
to last too long. We think we cannot bear another moment in the cold.
Then, spring.
I don’t know why
I am on her team. I don’t know why being her fairy Bird-mother
was exactly the best thing for me. But I am so profoundly grateful
for her little whispers and giggles, and for all the other little
springtimes that have come into my life.
I did not know that she
was coming. But I should have known something wonderful was.
Something always is. We get, and do not get, things for which we ask.
The rhyme and reason often evades us. But there is always some little
Grace coming, to lighten and brighten. There is always a warmer,
sunnier day.
I am me. I live at my house with my husband and kids. Mostly because I have found that people
get really touchy if you try to live at their house. Even after you explain that their towels are
fluffier and none of the cheddar in their fridge is green.
I teach Relief Society and most of the sisters in the ward are still nice enough to come.