Last Easter I had my Aunt and Uncle come over for dinner. It was my first time hosting a holiday and I had "adulting" written all over my face. I was mildly stressed, but mostly excited about it. It went off without a hitch, and it was grand. I loved having the opportunity to serve my family in that way to celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord.
After a delightful evening chatting with my dear aunt and uncle, we said our Easter goodbyes and goodnights and sent them on their road home. After the door closed, my husband and I had a nice discussion about how much we admire my uncle for his vast knowledge and experience. There are some people who seem to soak in information like a sponge and my Uncle Bill is one of them. I would consider him an expert on everything from flight and physics, to real estate and investing to interpersonal relationships, pedagogical method and scriptural studies. The man truly knows how to learn.
We decided that the next time we saw Bill we would ask him how he spends his time. How does he decide what to do when he finds a free hour? What sort of books does he read? We just wanted to be more like him.
Nothing could have warned me or prepared me for the fact that Easter was the last time I would see my dear Uncle Bill in this life. His sudden passing just a few weeks later was a shock to everyone. I never had the chance to sit down and ask him how he learned to learn. I wish I had just called and asked him the very next day, but I didn't. Instead, he took that mystery with him to the grave.
Or so I thought.
I had a particularly hard time grieving Bill. I didn't realize just how much of an impact this giant of a man had made on my life. I was surprised to find that I thought about it and the things he had taught me EVERY SINGLE DAY. It speaks worlds that I usually only saw him about once a month, but I lived and applied things from him every day. I still can't butter my toast in the morning without smiling about his tableside lectures on radiant heating(always remember to keep the toast pieces together so they warm each other to melt the butter). I was surprised by how I reacted to his passing, given that I didn't see him that frequently anyway.
After a few months of daily grieving, particularly regretting that I never told him how I admired his intellect and inquired about modeling mine after it, I had an epiphany. I may not be able to ask Bill about his learning strategies, but there is another teacher out there who knew the answers and could tailor them just to me. A Teacher so inspired and so invested that He would do anything for me. A Teacher who is my Eternal Heavenly Parent.
Suddenly James 1:5 meant something more to me.
"If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him."
I was in mourning not just for my Uncle Bill, but also for the lack of wisdom his passing represented. So I prayed for wisdom. In particular I prayed for the wisdom to know how to spend my time that I might more fully become a master of many things. The answer was simple:
"Ask me how to spend your time, and I will show you the best way."
It was that simple. From that time forward I made it a point to stop to say a prayer to Heavenly Father pleading to know the BEST way to spend my time, particularly when I get a quiet moment to myself uninterrupted by my kids. Since that time I've begun cultivating new talents(piano), revived old ones (singing), and enlarged my skills in many areas(woodworking, sewing, housekeeping, keeping in touch with family, family history, etc...). I've found that I truly DO have the time to help and love and serve others. I was led to the inclusion of audiobooks in my life(my eyes are so much happier). I've discovered that there are times that my sanity and health really do require an evening of rest(tv and facebook aren't evil, they just shouldn't be our first resort).
Now, I really have no idea if my Uncle consistently prayed about how to spend his free time. My guess is that, as any natural man, his decision-making on that subject was at the mercy of all sorts of varying motives and desires. But I do know that he spent his time doing not just being. And that's where our best education in the Lord's University of Life comes from--it comes from action.
Today it's been a year since my Uncle Bill went to share his knowledge with those in Heaven, including his dear parents. He might have passed on to the next stage, but he's still near to my heart and I love him dearly for all that he's taught me. I wish I could hear another airplane story (even if it's one I'd heard before), but as that's not Heavenly Father's plan, I'll just have to express my gratitude for Bill's willingness to be a beacon of light in my life. I'm so grateful for him and all he's taught me.
I love you forever, Uncle Bill.
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
Thursday, September 24, 2015
The Day My Worst Nightmares Didn't Come True
Moms, you know that little voice in the back of your head. The one that comes after you think "I know my kids will be just fine if I leave them strapped in in the car and run inside for 5 minutes to find that ONE thing I forgot." Then the voice comes up, "But what if someone reports me to Child Protective Services?" So you promptly unstrap your run-away three-year-old and your so-clingy-you've begun-to-think-you-were-born-with-one-hand-not-two year-and-a-half old and you tote everyone back inside your house to find that ONE small thing. What could have taken a matter of one or two minutes has suddenly turned into a twenty minute excursion that will most assuredly make you late.
When you stop and think about it, it really is quite insane that we give so much heed to that fear. But what else are we supposed to do? We love our kids. We want them to be ours. We want them to stay with us. The fear of having them taken away runs deep, even though most of us are trying our best and really can and do take care of our kids as well as or better than anyone else could. But we've heard so many crazy stories (mostly fueled by fiction and the internet) about Moms who did just that one, innocent thing, that resulted in a mass CPS invasion.
Well, last week, I was that mom. I was building up my defenses and ready for full-on war with that untouchable enemy known as Child Protective Services.
It all started when I was helping my parents declutter their home. The kids were running about in the house for most of the day as I dug deeper and deeper into the pit of decades past. Just after I moved a table that had been sitting buried by papers and books for at least a decade I discovered a mouse nest along with a plethora of droppings. It was at that moment that my three-year-old asked me if he could play in the front yard. I figured I'd rather have him outside than playing in the mouse poop. I could see the whole yard clearly from the window I was working near. The previous day I had let him play out there and he always came in to check in every 3-5 minutes. He stayed close and came in frequently to show me the treasures of pine cones and rocks he was finding in Grandma's yard. His favorite place in the yard is behind some trees, away from the street and closed in by the fence and the house. It really did seem like the safest place for him. When I let him out, his not-quite-two-year-old brother wanted to go with him. I figured they would be safer together--ceartainly safer than playing in mouse poop, so I let them out.
Then I dug into the task at hand. Vacuuming excrement, picking up nests, trying not to breathe anything that was being kicked up in the process. I delved into that awful task, all the while placing efficiency at the priority so I could get it over with.
It couldn't have been more than 10 minutes before I remembered my kids were outside and I looked out the window to check on them. My heart skipped a beat because they were NO WHERE in sight. I ran out as fast as I could, leaping over piles of trash, donations and other sundries and started calling their names. Thinking maybe they had come through the house without me noticing I ran to the backyard to call for them. Nothing.
I said a prayer, then I ran into action.
As I raced to the car to start looking for them, a lady on a scooter came from the north, and I asked her if she'd seen two small boys walking alone from the direction she came. She said no. So I took off south, with the windows rolled down, shouting their names, and driving slower than my dad (if you know my dad, you know that's slow) with the hazards on. I reached the end of the road. My stomach seemed to stretch from the back of my throat to clear to my knees. I drove around the block, and now approached my parents house from the north. A few houses in, I hear my not-quite-two-year-old screaming from an open garage. I pulled over, called him by name and rescued him, frantically asking where his brother was.
Just as my three-year-old came through a doorway I noticed him. The man on the phone. I heard him say, "It looks like we have a mom that just arrived."
The man had found my kids wandering down the street by themselves and had called 911. He can't have been on with them very long. In fact, I think that if I had gone north first, I'd have found my kids before he did.
He passed the phone to me and the dispatcher asked me how long my kids had been missing and where they had come from. Then she informed me that a police officer would be coming to my parent's house to check on the kids.
Fear filled my heart as I thanked the concerned neighbor and took extra care to be sure I strapped my kids into the carseat exactly right. Nice and snug. Clip at armpit height. Then I said a prayer of gratitude that they were safe.
When I got home, I frantically wiped their faces (they were filthy from playing in the dirt outside) and waited for the cop to arrive.
His visit was brief. He just asked to get a visual on both kids to see that they were okay. Then he got down and told my three-year-old that he needed to tell mom when he was going to go somewhere. Then he said, "Next time you want to run away, tell your mom first, and she can come with you!"
With that he turned around and went back to his patrol car. He never even took my name. Relief flooded as I realized that CPS would not even hear about that incident.
It turns out it was a great learning experience. I learned that people, neighbors, and cops are generally just trying to do the best they know how. I learned that I, even in my mouse-poop-recovery state, appear to other adults as a responsible parent--one who cares for her children--not requiring intervention from CPS or anyone else. I also learned that my younger son has a lot of sense and my older son has a lot of adventure. I find comfort in the fact that they balance each other out that way. The Lord really does hand-pick our families.
Now, instead of taking bike rides or walks, we "run away" together. And I'm perfectly comfortable with that.
When you stop and think about it, it really is quite insane that we give so much heed to that fear. But what else are we supposed to do? We love our kids. We want them to be ours. We want them to stay with us. The fear of having them taken away runs deep, even though most of us are trying our best and really can and do take care of our kids as well as or better than anyone else could. But we've heard so many crazy stories (mostly fueled by fiction and the internet) about Moms who did just that one, innocent thing, that resulted in a mass CPS invasion.
Well, last week, I was that mom. I was building up my defenses and ready for full-on war with that untouchable enemy known as Child Protective Services.
It all started when I was helping my parents declutter their home. The kids were running about in the house for most of the day as I dug deeper and deeper into the pit of decades past. Just after I moved a table that had been sitting buried by papers and books for at least a decade I discovered a mouse nest along with a plethora of droppings. It was at that moment that my three-year-old asked me if he could play in the front yard. I figured I'd rather have him outside than playing in the mouse poop. I could see the whole yard clearly from the window I was working near. The previous day I had let him play out there and he always came in to check in every 3-5 minutes. He stayed close and came in frequently to show me the treasures of pine cones and rocks he was finding in Grandma's yard. His favorite place in the yard is behind some trees, away from the street and closed in by the fence and the house. It really did seem like the safest place for him. When I let him out, his not-quite-two-year-old brother wanted to go with him. I figured they would be safer together--ceartainly safer than playing in mouse poop, so I let them out.
Then I dug into the task at hand. Vacuuming excrement, picking up nests, trying not to breathe anything that was being kicked up in the process. I delved into that awful task, all the while placing efficiency at the priority so I could get it over with.
It couldn't have been more than 10 minutes before I remembered my kids were outside and I looked out the window to check on them. My heart skipped a beat because they were NO WHERE in sight. I ran out as fast as I could, leaping over piles of trash, donations and other sundries and started calling their names. Thinking maybe they had come through the house without me noticing I ran to the backyard to call for them. Nothing.
I said a prayer, then I ran into action.
As I raced to the car to start looking for them, a lady on a scooter came from the north, and I asked her if she'd seen two small boys walking alone from the direction she came. She said no. So I took off south, with the windows rolled down, shouting their names, and driving slower than my dad (if you know my dad, you know that's slow) with the hazards on. I reached the end of the road. My stomach seemed to stretch from the back of my throat to clear to my knees. I drove around the block, and now approached my parents house from the north. A few houses in, I hear my not-quite-two-year-old screaming from an open garage. I pulled over, called him by name and rescued him, frantically asking where his brother was.
Just as my three-year-old came through a doorway I noticed him. The man on the phone. I heard him say, "It looks like we have a mom that just arrived."
The man had found my kids wandering down the street by themselves and had called 911. He can't have been on with them very long. In fact, I think that if I had gone north first, I'd have found my kids before he did.
He passed the phone to me and the dispatcher asked me how long my kids had been missing and where they had come from. Then she informed me that a police officer would be coming to my parent's house to check on the kids.
Fear filled my heart as I thanked the concerned neighbor and took extra care to be sure I strapped my kids into the carseat exactly right. Nice and snug. Clip at armpit height. Then I said a prayer of gratitude that they were safe.
When I got home, I frantically wiped their faces (they were filthy from playing in the dirt outside) and waited for the cop to arrive.
His visit was brief. He just asked to get a visual on both kids to see that they were okay. Then he got down and told my three-year-old that he needed to tell mom when he was going to go somewhere. Then he said, "Next time you want to run away, tell your mom first, and she can come with you!"
With that he turned around and went back to his patrol car. He never even took my name. Relief flooded as I realized that CPS would not even hear about that incident.
It turns out it was a great learning experience. I learned that people, neighbors, and cops are generally just trying to do the best they know how. I learned that I, even in my mouse-poop-recovery state, appear to other adults as a responsible parent--one who cares for her children--not requiring intervention from CPS or anyone else. I also learned that my younger son has a lot of sense and my older son has a lot of adventure. I find comfort in the fact that they balance each other out that way. The Lord really does hand-pick our families.
Now, instead of taking bike rides or walks, we "run away" together. And I'm perfectly comfortable with that.
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Photography Samples
As requested, here are some samples of my hobby photography. You might notice a few very prominent models. While my kids and neighbors do make great subjects, I am looking for opportunities to expand my repertoire and build more skills. If you are interested in getting a GREAT DEAL on family portraits, kid's pictures or personal shots, email me at robisonrailroad@gmail.com.
Friday, August 28, 2015
Life is an Experiment
Hello,
I'm a person of many interests. It would be unfair to say this is a woodworking blog or a photography blog or a what-to-do-to-keep-your-kids-busy blog, because a person is never limited a single thing; erego this blog will be all-encompassing of my many endeavors. My current interests include but are not limited to woodworking, photography, teaching, tinkering, sewing, and gardening.
It is said that the difference between science and play is documentation. While such a definition is far too generic to give credit to the field, I recognize that recording results greatly increases the likelihood that you will learn from them. This blog is documentation of my explorations and experimentations in life.
Because, as I see it, life is one big science experiment. You either learn from it or you don't!
~RR
I'm a person of many interests. It would be unfair to say this is a woodworking blog or a photography blog or a what-to-do-to-keep-your-kids-busy blog, because a person is never limited a single thing; erego this blog will be all-encompassing of my many endeavors. My current interests include but are not limited to woodworking, photography, teaching, tinkering, sewing, and gardening.
It is said that the difference between science and play is documentation. While such a definition is far too generic to give credit to the field, I recognize that recording results greatly increases the likelihood that you will learn from them. This blog is documentation of my explorations and experimentations in life.
Because, as I see it, life is one big science experiment. You either learn from it or you don't!
~RR
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