You're back?

I just saw my blog and gasped - what a poor excuse for a writer. Too busy living my dream to write about it - does that pass for an excuse? An even better excuse if it's truth... it is. Does my pleading warrant blogger forgiveness? I feel I have brought disgrace to my name. Well not to my name but to Eden's name. There is no way you can make one entry about the Garden of Eden and then leave it. That's not a cliff hanger, that's a drive off a cliff. Sorry. You got ripped off. I do feel however, that that tale needs to  be developed elsewhere, so for now, just know that I have left Eden and if you leave Eden, you are never the same. I am not the same. At a glance I probably look the same but look closer - do you see that? Do you see my freckles? The ones that have settled in to their new home on my cheeks? Born from day after day in the beautiful sun. Do you see my feet? Skin hardened, rough edges, chipped nail polish, born from day after day of no shoes. What do we need shoes for? They only slow down the freedom of feeling. Do you see my heart? Do you see its shape has changed? It happens when others freely offer you love. It happens when everything you have experienced tries to fit into a heart the size of fist - impossible. Maybe I need bigger fists? Am I in danger? An enlarged heart sounds serious. Probably. I might die of love overload. Tragic.

Today someone said to me "Welcome Home". Hmm. The skin on my neck actually stood up in protest. Home? Yes I guess I am "home" I live here and I have loved here - but these last few days have stunk like a big old cow patty. Why? I am so tired of asking the question "Where is Home?" Do you know? Does it change? Do you belong one day and not the next? And what happens if you belong everywhere and nowhere? That's when you go to Eden. You go to the place where it all began.
I have a beginning; I need an end.

Life in the Garden of Eden

There is living and then there is living here. They are two very different things. "Doubt not, fear not" by my bold statement - I am more than willing to back it up.

I have been home, this home, this place, for a while now - it is beautiful and simple, it is simply beautiful. Each day brings new beginnings and medicine - what kind? Fresh air. You should try it sometime. Breathe in deeply and as you exhale wonder what mysteries of God are being unfolded to you.

Armed with my camera I set off and hope I can capture some of what I 'feel' - not what I 'see' because what I see is only surface deep - what I feel runs deep through the veins of the Garden, the Garden of my Eden.

ONE MORE DAY of this Home

I don’t know if it’s all the excitement of the past 72 hours being jam packed with activities or if it’s the the “one day left” syndrome kicking in. Either way I am hoping that by charging up in the sun right now (I am after all, a solar powered unit) I can rid myself of the flu that has thrust itself upon me. Are these my locusts? Come on, a last minute attempt to get me to stay? I don’t need that much encouragement. Dad said it would be a terrible shame if I was too sick to fly home tomorrow. No, of course not, he has no personal agenda in that sincere request (?)

It has been 72 hours of a little bit of anything. I have had no time to think about leaving because I have only had time to be with them. Every day, every moment. One of my favorite things was when Serene and I got home last night and my Dad was waiting up for us, asleep in the lounge with the T.V on. There was no need to creep past the door hoping to slip into our room unnoticed. I felt so young saying that just then. Dad wasn’t on “watch dog duty” I smile at that thought. I have lived out of home for so long that I had forgotten there was such a thing as waiting up parents. Side note: I wonder how I can work this so he can Skype wait up for me in Salt Lake City? Thoughts? My Dad woke up and hugged me and his sleepy smile was a genuinely so happy to see me smile. I sat on the couch and put my sore feet (wretched high heels) onto his lap for him to rub them a little “Tell me about your night daughter”. I loved him so much in that moment.

I will never die wondering whether all of my parents love me.

The other night I lay in bed in the early hours of the morning with my thoughts as company. I like those quiet hours – no one or nothing to disturb you. My sister had been snuggled next to me sleeping soundly, she had thoughtfully tried to wait up for me as I wrote a little but her heavy eyelids had battled and won. I am really going to miss this sharing a room thing when I go home.

I was thinking about a lot – firstly, how the kitchen and house had been restored to their pre party states – *sparkle sparkle* you could have seen your face in that kitchen floor. All the apologies for too much “noise” and loud music (loud is the only volume music has right?) had not been made at that point... I added that to the mental “to do” list. Right then, I just rested, feeling fed in every way, feeling full in every way.

We had partied authentic this week, my sister is building her His YSA empire “One soul at a time”. Last week had been a Mexican Fiesta of immense sorts and this week we had decided to add some authentic flavor - we had gone in true Japanese style… with some pizza thrown in… so pretty authentic you know (?). I don’t really do sushi. I would eat pizza over sushi any day so I had gladly voted in that addition. Wow. It’s true isn’t it, I just sounded more and more American.

There are some images that are still stuck in my mind from that day. Snapshots of important doctrine being taught in raw, real life application kind of ways. “Think of your brethren like unto yourselves, and be familiar with all and free with your substance, that they may be rich like unto you” (Jacob 2:17) I had seen my interpretation of that scripture personified. My sister had bought enough food that day to feed the state of Utah. I wish you could have seen the joy in her face as she did it. It was a beauty that looks like, well, what I imagine charity looks like in the flesh to an outsider. It was humbling.  We had been on a food expedition all that day– I had tagged along, pushing the trolley (*cart) around the supermarket for her, watching her, taking mental notes, you know the ones that commit you to being better and more than you are.  Did I mention the 102 piece sushi platter assortment? Our family doesn’t mess around. You would have been proud. We don’t do bite size dinners – we prefer the leaving our house feeling so full (full in every way) that you have to roll out the door with your take home bag kind of style. And when I say “take home bag” I mean literally a bag – look, we ran out of plastic plates and I was working with what I had. Zip lock bags, although somewhat ghetto (ok, really ghetto) had to be the go to. If only you had seen people’s faces as I spooned rice and teriyaki chicken into zip lock bags for them to take home. I know, even as I write that now I can’t believe I did that, I am laughing at how uncouth it was. It was definitely shock value. Once the public got wind of it, it was renamed “chicken in a bag.” Sounds like a business venture?

As I lay in bed after it was all over I had thought about how each of us has a responsibility to be free with our substance. Just as I had seen the examples of others that day.  I am not just talking about money, because I don’t have any. I am talking about a “tell me what you’re made of” version of substance. Actually don’t tell me, show me. Show me your substance. Show me how you use everything that He, He who we owe all that we have and are and all that we can ever hope to be to.

Actually don’t show me, show Him.

That night we ate Japanese, some of us pizza, we took home chicken Teriyaki in zip lock bags (can we please overlook that now?) but more importantly we all desired for each to “be rich like unto us”. I guess that depends how you define “rich” though. We don’t need money to be “free with our substance”. We don’t need money to freely share His love with others. We don’t need money to free others as they become “rich like unto us”.  

Be free.

Mt Everest at Home- are we there yet?

For those of you that own gym memberships that haven’t been used in about …well maybe I won’t say because I don’t want to embarrass you. You all know who you are. After today’s fitness escapades I just want to say... I UNDERSTAND! Let the days and months tick on and the membership sit neatly tucked away in the crease of your wallets. It can keep the other “frequently” used cards company, you know your loyalty card at the shop you went to once but will probably never go to again. Because getting fit is hard work! YUCK! Who wants it!

Dad and I had big plans. We decided we would go on a walk every day this week before I leave on Sunday.  On Monday night we had detailed the logistics, we had talked all the talk there was, and then some, so now it was time to walk the walk. 7am tomorrow we were climbing our Mt Everest. Word on the street was that this particular walk to the water tower was the toughest walk around – there was only one direction for this walk…up. All the other little hilly walks in the surrounding areas bowed in reverence at its grandeur. “Too easy mate” as Dad would say. We were ready.

I sleepily pushed my mask up off my eyes and onto my forehead as I rolled over to glance at the clock. One eye was still half closed.  I collapsed back into my pillow facedown. Ugh. It was 8.20am. So much for 7am- we were off to a good start. I hurriedly got dressed and we left.

Something you should know about my Dad is that he always has something funny to say. Even when he is not trying to be funny, he is funny, which makes it even funnier. Even when it probably isn’t the best time to be funny – he’s funny. My Dad is just like the value menu at Wendy’s – he offers a selection of great value items at very low cost (well, actually at no cost). I’ll take one of everything you are offering please Dad!

So as we are huffing, puffing, panting, sweating and going red in the face trying to climb this Mt Everest Dad is providing comedic commentary. The perfect time for it right?

Us: Heaving chests and panting in the blazing sun.

Dad: I wish I had bought the car door with us so I could wind down the window when it got hot.

Me: Dad do you want some water?

Dad: No I don’t need water, I need an ambulance.

Us: Struggling, legs burning, and then we reach a little flat part before the next monster hill.

Dad: Should we just wait here and have a rest for about a minute?

Me: No Dad, we don’t want to lose our momentum.

Dad: What momentum?

Us: Silence as we try to push through the pain without having a heart attack.

Dad: At least when they climb Mt Everest they give them oxygen.

Today we climbed our Mt Everest.  We may never do it again. Once may be one time too many, but we did it. Lately Dad has started saying to me “ENJOY to the end daughter, not just ENDURE”. If only you had heard how much I was laughing on the way up that hill with all of Dad’s commentary- I was certainly enjoying to the end.

KNOCK KNOCK -Anyone Home?

It is Sunday evening and I am eating, then stirring, then eating, chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream heaped together in a lumpy cake batter concoction. Don’t judge me; you don’t know what I have been through tonight. I am still kind of in shock and I hope to regain composure over feeding my habit. It has become apparently clear to me tonight that the only job I truly want in this life is going to take more practice/creativity/forgiveness/patience/resilience/sandwich making skills/listening/smelling weird things/sense of humor/LOVE and a million more job qualifiers than I may have thought. The night is now still and quiet with nothing to be heard but the creeping sounds of Australia’s insect kingdom coming out to play, ugh, I shudder.

I also know that this means one thing and one thing only. It means that my little cousins have now left the building.

If you think you will make a good parent in the future, how wonderful- that is a worthy goal to aspire to.  If you think you are a good parent already, congratulations- that is a worthy accomplishment.

 May I suggest that there is only one way to test those claims… I tested it tonight and I think I failed miserably.

 Meet them : Susanna, Shavonne, Jacob, Talia and Shane. They look harmless enough I know.

Nana and I were just relaxing when there was a loud knock knock at the door. “Who could that be? I wondered.” As I opened the door I was almost bowled down. Those lively cousins of mine had arrived in all their and glory! They quickly split up as they pushed past me at the door way, just like a football team, scattering, one person into each room, calling to each other as they went, moving full speed and hurricane like, filling the house with their presence.

I stood there watching in amazement and wondered which direction I should head in first?

I went into the kitchen to make sandwiches. Food I could do. Food is a language all Polynesians, young and old, speak. They flew in after me yelling out their orders “peanut butter, no, peanut butter and jam, JUST butter, apple juice, just one piece of bread, a whole sandwich, I want another lolly…” 

Umm should I get a pen and write this all down?

Susannna runs up to me with Jacob in tow. “Adrienne, Adriennne, smell Jacob’s cast we put perfume on it!” (hmm where did you get that perfume from I was thinking?) Jacob had broken his arm rolling down a hill. He now proudly presents for inspection by me: one solid cast, with one tiny hand poking out the end. I lean in to smell it (I know, I know that request alone should have made me suspicious!) They both erupt into heaving laughter. “Just kidding, isn’t it disgusting? It smells like toe jams!” I wrinkle my nose and then just laugh and laugh – what else could I do? It really smelt so vile.

I am trying to quickly do the dishes and talk to the children at the same time. (BIG NO NO) Haven’t you ever heard Elder Richard. G. Scott’s address when his wife says “Richard, go and play with the children” instead of fixing the washing machine for her! Sigh, I am already breaking cardinal rules and I don't even have my own children. Fail. I want those to be my priorities too. Actually, no, they will be my priorities too.  So I turn around to face these little delights as I ask them about what they learnt at Church today. I see them jumping up and down from one stool to the next at the breakfast bar and then diving straight onto the counter top – I have 3 large swimming fish children lying flat on their tummies, squirming all over the top of the bench.  Oh. Oh. Oh no.  I am secretly relieved my Nana cannot see what is happening from where she is sitting in the lounge. Nana calls out to me. I can tell she wants answers. I can tell she is not happy at the noise level or the burning buildings of destruction my lovely cousins are leaving in their wake.

They suddenly leave as quickly as they came. I am speechless. What just happened? 

I go into the lounge and look at Nana without saying anything. She is appalled. She loves them but she is old school Samoan and children are supposed to be "well behaved" in her opinion. 

“Eh, Outlaws!” she says to me shaking her head. I smile. I want to laugh. I hide it. I smile. I bite my bottom lip. The laugh is forcing it's way out. She doesn’t really mean that… I don’t think. 

If you tell the Lord you want to be a Mother, He sends you practice. Clearly by tonight's demonstration, I need a lot of it. I think I just failed my learner’s license. Please, can I have a second chance?

  

Rain Warning : Stay at Home!

The rains came down and the floods came up, and the house on the rock still stood.

I am sitting in the passenger seat of Genevieve’s car looking out at a grey stormy blur as I write this. The rain is so heavy you can barely see out the window. The window wipers, to no avail, try desperately to keep up. I love watching it when it’s like this; it lulls the heart into a state of peace. Drop after drop makes for a noisy background band. Just breathe, take it all in- How Great Thou Art.

G and I are not deterred by a little torrential downpour – are you kidding, we embrace it. I am sporting the new black sandals that she bought me, and she is sporting hers– without saying any words, we make a stand. We aren’t scared of a little bit of water. Do your worst.  A sisterly sleepover at her house is just what the weatherman ordered for days such as this. G takes care of me, complete with snacks in bed and DVD’s (she doesn’t kick you out for crumbs either) and I try to take care of her by putting my wiggling cold feet on her warm ones.  I watch her and think “Father, please help her to know her worth- to me and to you.”

CHECKLIST:

One Noah’s Ark flood – check.

One large hazelnut hot chocolate with marshmallows from Gloria Jeans- check

One sister (Has anyone seen our other sister? Please send her back to us we miss her) - check

G and I are quiet in the car now – it is not the kind of quiet because you don’t know what to say to each other but instead an existence of being totally comfortable. NO words are all the words necessary. I also think (just between you and me) that we are both still recovering from last night’s “Cotton Eye Joe” ho down. It was somewhat traumatic. They told us that the YSA dance music was usually pretty good …cough (quoting G’s famous line from last night, used multiple times) “maybe you and I have a different concept of that word?” After we got to the dance… the “Cotton Eye Joe” song was blaring from the speakers and line dancing was upon us. Gulp. Line dancing? Double gulp. I stood awkwardly in the middle of the dance floor looking left, looking right and then left again. I felt fear.  Crowds of people were enthusiastically line dancing from every side, working up a sweat.  I was trying to decide if I could give it a go- question mark. It looked intense. Skye, the hip hop group choreographer from my school would not have stood for this if she was here. There would have been a dance off showdown of sorts. One look at my sister’s face told me that joining the line dancers was not going to be an option for us. We made a quick exit to the left.

When you think all hope is lost and Cotton Eye Joe is the playlist – a nice little visit to the DJ to kindly request demand  request Beyonce is on the agenda.

Paaaarty at Home

It’s decided! We are having a Mexican Fiesta at our house tonight. I am telling you to dust off those maracas and gear up. Ok, now I just have to figure out what a Mexican Fiesta is? Yea, yea minor details.

Help- anyone?

Side Note: Before the commencement of festivities my foot got attacked, and make no mistake, not bitten, but attacked like a free for all “Rue Transonian” (Honore Daumier, 1834) massacre by a black ant Colonel and his troops. Yes and don’t you dare laugh. I also know that ants are black, so that wasn’t an obvious description of the Colonel, but his actual title. Black ants aye? Black describes the heart and intent. How could something so small inflict so much pain? Is this punishment? I’m sorry, I promise I’ll try to enjoy the good life less…OK that may be a lie. Let the good times roll and the good life roll on.

Laughter filled every room tonight; oh I wish you could have seen it. It was the best kinds of beautiful, the kinds that make everyone feel like they belong. It was togetherness. It was friendship. It was real. We are learning how to do “real” really well.

Every corner, of every space, of every inch reverberated joy and the true meaning of it. You couldn’t hide from it. Everywhere I walked I felt it. It rested in thick layers all over the house. Our home was filled with guests of all walks of life and all backgrounds. Nobody cared. Welcome and be welcomed -God is no respecter of persons.

Tonight I found out what a Mexican Fiesta is – are you interested in knowing this redefined definition? I discovered it as I busied myself around observing our guests, sneaking candid photos with my sister’s fancy camera that I had no idea how to operate. Do I need a license for this thing or what? It turns out that I probably shouldn’t quit my day job (the one that I don't have?) and take up fulltime paparazzi’ing (If you have to get the manual out to see how to turn the camera on then you have no business using it.) Anyway I don’t know what other people’s Mexican Fiesta’s look like but ours looked like this: It looked like guitar playing in the lounge with some of the best voices I have ever heard as accompaniment.  It looked like a group of boys, not at all inhibited by surroundings, sitting at the breakfast bar telling stories as they laugh about work, dating and missions. You know – real life. It looked like “do it yourself” pedicures thanks to my sister’s vast and I mean VAST selection of nail polish colors. It looked like card games on the kitchen floor (who brings cards to a Mexican Fiesta!?) WE DO!! It looked like smiles, the ones that reach your eyes, the ones that strip away everything and reveal something I didn’t know about you. It looked like fresh food full of flavor, color and “let’s try some new things” attitude (thanks Shelly for the bean dip inspiration. It wasn’t as good as yours but we tried!)

I don’t know what a Mexican Fiesta is supposed to look like, but ours looked like... L-O-V-E. I’ll take it. Tonight there was no respecter of persons. Tonight we all belonged to the same.