josh

Really?


Are there even any words that can be added to such a picture?

Nope.

Well, creepy is about the best I can figure.

Josh is grand. Josh is great. He turned 11 with this last birthday. I can't believe that he'll be a deacon next year! I love his new glasses. I love his crazy comments and I love having readathons with him. He's still a cuddle-bug sometimes, and I'm also a fan of that.

ps: sorry about all the crappy photos, but they're off my phone so they're not very stellar...

papi

Well, I never did anything fancy on here for my dad's or Josh's birthdays because I was in California that weekend. So I thought I'd write a little about my dad.

The above picture was taken just last week on a little jaunt up Squaw Peak road. I'm grateful my dad will always adventure with me. Of late, our adventuring has taken the form of bike riding. In the past it has included hiking and camping, among other things.

Dad's also the greatest cheerleader ever. He always supported me in soccer and swimming. Now he's quite the stalwart in coming to my triathlons and helping me out. So kind of him. Granted, I've only done five, but he was there for my first four. It's so nice to have someone cheering me on. (Don't worry about him not coming to my fifth one because I had the lovely Mr. Smith being ever so kind and supportive.)

Lastly, my dad's slightly crazy. Here's a picture of him taken Wednesday. This is after he fell off the tree and onto the tree. He bruised several ribs in the process. I can empathize with how much it hurts, but I'm still bad because I have to laugh at his pained face every time he coughs, sneezes, or laughs. Injured ribs are not pure bliss. Hopefully he'll heal up soon.

Huzzah for such an amazing father!

story corps got me again

For the second time this week, I've been brought to tears.

Here's the story.

Happy Friday!

Only one day till the weekend and three school days till Thanksgiving break. Hurrah!

eli's birthday

This baby, born a year ago tomorrow,
must be eating lotsa chips to be getting so big.
(Look at those cheeks!)

Happy Birthday Elijah!
Love, Aunty Lynny

sometimes

when I'm driving in the car and listening to the radio, I cry. Stories like this abruptly affect me and before I know it, I'm wiping away some tears. Sometimes I just don't understand; I don't understand this world. I don't understand why a little three year-old is not alive anymore.

So I cry. I pray. I pray that I might love all with whom I come in contact. I pray this is the right thing. I hope it will be enough. Because right now my heart's a wondering if it ever will be.

Loves.

what have i done for someone today?

I served with a really wonderful couple named Elder and Sister Ray. They were in my last district in Simferopol, Ukraine. They are some of the loveliest and dearest people I know. Well, they're back at it and serving again--this time in the Russia Samara mission. I had to share a paragraph from their most recent email. I hope they won't mind. This little story is just too beautiful that I couldn't help but share it:

"There is one last story we want to tell you. We had a couple get baptized last Sunday. Before they came to the baptism, however, they went out to a village and bought meat to give to poor people to show their gratitude for finding the Gospel and being baptized. This is a couple that has very little, but they still wanted to share. When the baptism was over, they drove around their neighborhood and handed out the meat to those who needed it. There are so many people better than we."

As President Monson asks us to ask ourselves, I echo, "What have I done for someone today?"

Happy new week!

that you are here

School's out for the day and for the week.

I just keep coming across things I want to share. I love this:

O Me! O Life!

by Walt Whitman

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,

Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,

Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,

Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.