Carpool Lane?

I ask myself Why on a Saturday? and Why in the middle of the afternoon? as I pry myself away from The Kid On the Lawnmower and The Overworked Husband and The Babysitting Teenager and The Newborn Puppymania and climb into the car. I am late and I do not want to go and I get in the car anyway, all by myself, because it’s the right thing to do. 

I call my dad one more time. Are you sure they’re still going to hold this thing in the rain? I ask, secretly hoping it’s been rescheduled. What? he asks, just slightly annoyed. “It’s pouring rain,” I say. “Well it’s sunny up here,” he replies. “Where are you?” I ask. “In Bountiful.” Oh my gosh, he’s already there. I don’t want him to know I’m just getting in my car.  I balance an onion bagel on my knee as I back down the driveway.  Because 62 miles sounds like a long way to go on no lunch. 

As I enter the freeway and pray for no construction today I try to push the leftover laundry and nagging, unmopped floors out of my head, to no avail. Outside, the storm clouds follow me. It’s like a race. Sometimes I can stay just ahead of the rain. Sometimes it catches up to me. 

I push the iPhone connector into its jack and Pandora defaults to Earth Wind and Fire. I’m not sure 70s funk is exactly the mood I’m in, but I’m whizzing down the freeway at breakneck speed, and not quite reckless enough to look for another station.  In minutes, without even realizing it, I’m singing my heart out to “September” (one of our favorites) and suddenly I see our whole family standing at the Hollywood Bowl, swaying and cheering and smiling and having the time of our lives as fireworks literally fill the sky overhead. It was a spur-of-the moment roadtrip last summer that ended up being one of our family’s favorite memories. I think of how Josh still texts me out of the blue to say, “Thanks for taking me on that roadtrip to see Earth Wind and Fire!”  --Something we did that was NOT a mistake! (yay!) 

I remind myself, Family is EVERYTHING! 

I can see downtown Salt Lake creeping up on my right, in the distance. On the hill behind Temple Square is the Capitol Building, where my grandpa worked. I think of how he walked home every single day so he could have lunch with his sweetheart, my Mrs. Santa Claus grandma. (Who wouldn’t?) Suddenly I’m reminded that it’s BECAUSE OF HER that I’m doing this, that I’m driving to far-off Bountiful to see the plaque erected in honor of her parents. I think about how she taught us in a million different ways that family is EVERYTHING! How this event would be her absolute top priority if she were still here. How happy she’d be that I’m going. Suddenly I’m flooded with tears. She would LOVE this reunion. The sun pops up from behind the clouds as if to underscore my thoughts, buoying me with a stronger sense of purpose.

I focus on the yellow lines in the center of the highway as the signs whiz by...I-80, Ogden, Beck Street. As I approach the park where the reunion takes place, the rain returns, streaking the windshield as the tears streak my face all the way to Bountiful. 


Oh my gosh, THIS is the park? These beautiful acres of lawn and trees in the center of the city, with a rec center and a pavilion and...my great-grandparents' fields and orchards provided this sanctuary.


The clouds are still heavy, the sky wet, and I slosh across the lawn under my polka-dot umbrella toward the picnic area where people are gathering. I see my first piano teacher, still so elegant...Dad's first cousin. Another of Dad's cousins, Jim, is there with his wife Betty, who has unforgettable deep blue eyes. I remember riding their horses in Heber when I was a kid. My aunt is setting up bushels of fresh peaches for centerpieces, old people are shuffling around, trying to get the sound system to work. (It doesn't.)  My dad is the youngest, but he is becoming one of the Old People. I am so proud of him. One cousin circulates platters of all the fresh fruits and vegetables our great-grandparents grew. Pieces of our family history. A beautiful gesture. We gather and sing as rain patters on the roof. What is happening here is, to steal some words from my friend Heather, both ordinary and extraordinary.


This whole thing is bigger than I am. Bigger than football practice and yardwork and chores. Bigger than a hundred Saturdays. Bigger than any of us realize. I feel eternity stretched out like the handstitched quilt on her old hand-carved oak bed, wrapping me in its linked-together pieces, simultaneously adding to and wiping away my tears. I feel HER, and all those linked to her. I feel as though I picked up my grandmother way back at that point along the freeway and carried her all the way to this reunion, this honoring-place, to be with the people she loves most. I am grateful she did not want me to go there alone.

This is me with my grandma. This photo appeared on the cover of the Salt Lake Tribune on Thanksgiving Day a long, long time ago. :)

This post is inspired by  Just Write, an exercise in free writing. {Please see the details here.} 

I didn't chop her head off after all!

A few months ago my daughter committed a capital offense. She was on my computer one evening and logged onto my facebook account at the exact same moment as a notice appeared announcing my upcoming (gasp!)  30-year high school reunion. Oh, but it gets better than that! She REPLIED, masquerading AS ME, saying something along the lines of “That sounds great! I’m excited to see everyone, and I’d love to help on the committee. Here is all my contact info.” (not exaggerating!)  

So out of the blue I get an email from our class president thanking me for my offer to help, (what the...?) and could I please create the invitation and a memory page for people to fill out. I was stuck. I felt like I had to follow through. But I wasn’t very excited about it. My daughter is a social networking machine! I, on the other hand, am a little bit of an introvert. I’m great in front of a class full of college students, and pretty good one-on-one, but I’m miserable at small talk, and an event like this foreboded LOTS of uncomfortable small-talk.

Me in full uniform (my first pair of Nikes!)

As the date approached, my dread increased. To the point that I had a mini-breakdown one night and spilled my guts to my dear, long-suffering husband: Most of my friends graduated early, like I did. I was invisible in high school. No one would miss me. I wasn’t up to reliving any of it...the cliques, the drama, the awkward insecurity. Worse, I felt stifled in high school. I tried too hard to follow the unwritten rules, to blend in, so I ultimately felt like I sold my soul for a stupid pep club uniform. As soon as I got to college I was liberated. Freed from the shackles of superficiality. Reborn with the courage to be myself. Why would I want to go back? And yet I felt obligated...since I’d helped with the invitation and stuff. 

I realized I was falling into that old high school mentality. I was having a minor identity crisis over things that are completely shallow! Like worrying about the fact that I don't weigh 97 pounds any more. Instead of celebrating the fact that I've finally gained enough weight to have cleavage! The question, To go, or not to go? was sending me spiraling into a vortex. 

Finally the class president sent me another email: “I’m trying to get a final head count. Are you coming to the reunion? A lot of your friends are coming...blah, blah, blah.”  It was all I could do not to write back, “What friends?” But I stopped just short of that, and at 11:45 p.m. on the last possible date to RSVP, I sent back a simple Yes. I needed to confront my trepidation. Besides, it was the right thing to do.

Luckily, a great guy from my graduating class married one of my favorite people ever, and we decided to carpool to the reunion. So in addition to my handsome, hilarious husband, at least I’d have two friends there, I consoled myself. 


Then right before the reunion, as I was getting in the shower, I got the worst stomach cramps of my life. I was doubled over, feeling a little dizzy, and breaking into a cold sweat. I had visions of fainting right there in the shower and bumping my head on the glass door. I still don’t know if it was psychosomatic or pure coincidence. But it took me long enough to recover that we were nearly an hour late. 

That turned out to be perfect timing. Plenty of people were still arriving, and they hadn't started dinner yet. At first, standing in line at the registration table, I felt a little shell-shocked and still wasn’t sure I wanted to be there. Then the guy in front of us in line suddenly turned around and threw his arms around me. It was Geoff Lee, a guy I’d known since junior high, who had also worked with me at a regional magazine during college. I have to admit, I love the guy, he’s hilarious, and I’d missed him. 

The rest of the evening went pretty much like that...I kept running into people I hadn’t seen...or even thought about...in decades, and was completely surprised that they remembered me, were excited to see me. And *shocking revelation* I was genuinely thrilled to see them too--all of them. It was like rereading a favorite book, a classic, and rediscovering all your favorite characters, but with the added perspective maturity brings.

Something about three decades separating us from our high school years seemed to make all the difference. Three decades is long enough to humble us, let life knock us around a bit, make us appreciate each other in a new light. By this age, nearly everyone has lost a parent, a child, a spouse, or a sibling. Many had suffered through a divorce. Still others never married, or never had children. Life had leveled the playing-field and made us all kinder, wiser, deeper, stronger.

I realized I cared very deeply about these people. I loved them. I wanted to become a gatherer...find the ones who were lost, or chose not to come, and tell them, “Things are different now. It’s safe to come back. You’ll be amazed.”  Sure, some still had designer clothes, foreign sports cars, and looked like supermodels. But none of that seemed to matter. Instead there was an abundance of caring and sharing, hugging and mugging (for the camera), and a rare sense of unity. 

When I got home my teenage daughter actually complimented me on my outfit *small miracle* -- and then asked the big question -- “Aren’t you glad I signed you up?” I hate to admit it, but I’m glad I went, even glad I got involved...and I’m already looking forward to the next one. 

Me -- straight from my junior year East High yearbook.

The Ultimate Girls' Weekend

The invitation came wrapped as a gift. And that was just the beginning.
It opened like a little book, bound with stitches.
Inside was page after page of what awaited us at this getaway in the mountains...

I'm not a photographer, but I want you to get the feel of this, so I shot each page...

Can you imagine how over-the-moon excited I was?
To top it off, if you read the text, this amazing friend of mine hired me to teach a watercolor workshop at her mountain retreat. Most of my trip was paid for, and I got to do what I love best.

The whole weekend unfolded just as magically as the invitation promised.

As soon as I pulled up to the cabin, Allison waltzed out to greet me, and a swarm of friends grabbed my bags and showed me where I'd be sleeping (upstairs in the dormer, where she had eight matching wooden beds, all with matching wool blankets. It honestly looked like something right out of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs To my great joy, all of the guests were a collection of favorite people!

We sat on the deck in the evening breeze, relaxing in big adirondack chairs and laughing and talking like we'd never been apart. The time flew by, and we could barely stand to pry ourselves back indoors when Allison announced it was time for dinner. She had fixed the most simple food, beautifully prepared and perfectly seasoned: Salmon fillets, Israeli couscous, and green beans. Heaven!  Then everybody started breaking out the snacks...caramel popcorn, mud pie, Trader Joe's mints...and (as promised) we watched THREE Jane Eyre movies back to back, starting with the old black-and-white Orson Welles version and ending with William Hurt, so we could decide once and for all who was the best Mr. Rochester! (The jury's still out, by the way.)

The next morning we awoke to the most fabulous aroma...Allison had baked a giant tomato and basil strata for breakfast, complete with beautiful sweeter-than-candy plums and apricots she'd grown herself. Then it was my turn. My watercolor workshop was the main event. I started by sending everyone off into the woods to collect flowers and leaves to paint, then explored some principles of abstract underpainting (to capture the growth pattern).

Once that dried we followed up with layer upon layer of negative painting (painting around objects)

which is a very calming way to paint.  

The women were amazed as they saw their floral subjects gradually appear, and with so much depth. (Some called it magic, and one who has a PhD in microbiology exclaimed, “It’s like fractals!” which was a surprisingly cool observation.) While I was teaching, Nikki the masseuse would pull people out one at a time for their individual foot massages. At the end we had a mini-exhibit and put everyone’s paintings up on the wall to enjoy the diversity of results and applaud the finished products. So great!

THEN...
The unsurpassed weekend in Lake Arrowhead was over...but my summer roadtrip with my daughter continued. Here.

Wind and water. Mountains and ocean. Friends that are family. Healing and peace.

I am so much better for having gone.

Where has this summer taken you?

So I Married a Genius. A Handsome, Hilarious Genius.

This? Is my husband. Speaking at a TEDx conference. (Sorry, people. He's taken.) But if you click right here, or press play below, you can see his presentation on Trans-Media Storytelling, plus some of the millions of reasons I'm crazy about him. (Starting with the red shoes.) LOVE!

THE LIST. Plus Two More Lists of My Own.

I read this book quite awhile ago...almost the second it came out. Why? Because my friend wrote it. And because I adore her, it had to be good! 


I'll be honest — Initially I had the hardest time getting over the idea that the main character had supposedly been a missionary, and yet she was SO SHALLOW.  In fact, I tried as hard as I could not to like the main character, because she was too pretty, and too knew-she-was-pretty, and then, you know, the shallow thing.  I spent about 2/3 of the book being mad at this person who doesn't even exist! But then I kept not being able to not like her (yeah, I rock double negatives when I have to) because she is also SO FUNNY. Like laugh-out-loud, clever, Gilmore Girls funny. I was totally sucked in. I couldn't put it down.


So what fuels the plot is sort of a bucket list—a list of all the things she solidly MUST DO before she gets married. (And again, some of these items are respectable, and others are completely shallow, like Get A Sports Car.) And the list has this power over her that is other-worldly. I kept thinking, Wait — you wouldn't PRAY about finding the right guy, and try to listen to the spirit? Something that makes more sense in my world? So I also tried not to like The List itself. (Not the book. Just the list.)


And then I realized that, list or not, I had checked off a majority of the exact same items myself before I got married. So I mentally started checking off The List. And then I pulled out some sticky notes and started writing in my own checkmarks, and here's what I came up with:

Items on The List I Somehow Managed to Check Off Myself Before I Got Married:  
(even though I didn't have a List, per se)

1. Climb a mountain: Check - Angel's Landing

2. See a show on Broadway: Check, plus one better: two shows in London

3. Sing Karaoke: Didn't exist back then?

4. Read all the standard works: Check

5. Get a master's Degree: Nope.

6. Study Abroad: Check

7. Serve a mission: Check (although it seems sort of glib and irreverent to check off something as life-changing as a mission.)

8. Learn to make sushi: Almost. I had an offer.

9. Own a pair of Louboutins: Never heard of 'em

10. Complete a triathlon: No.

11. Snowboard on a black diamond trail: No (snowboarding wasn't even born yet)

12. Read a Russian classic: Check

13. Learn to surf: No desire. I saw the gory goose-egg my dad got surfing!

14. Visit Europe: Check

15. Do an (overseas) humanitarian project: Still my lifelong dream...I even have a savings account devoted to it

16. Get a sports car: Check (Toyota Celica—looked like a speeding bullet)

17. Have a summer fling: Check  (During #6, above)

18. Take a cruise: Was supposed to be our honeymoon, but we cashed it in and did the I-15 honeymoon instead...St George, Las Vegas, Los Angeles...

19. Skydive: No desire. (Plus, Im rather fond of being alive.)

20. Learn a foreign language: Check

21. Publish a poem: Check

22. Learn to play guitar: Nope (I wish)

23. Be a movie extra: Check. (Does a student film count?)

24. Try internet dating: Didn't exist...

25. Learn to tango. Check (sort of)


So? I surrendered. In a big, big way. And now I proudly present:

Lounging in Laguna, by Jana Winters Parkin

25 Things I love about The List: (The whole book)

1.  Star Wars Band-Aid 
(plus the first line that cracked me up: "Nice band-aid.")
2.  Naturally curly hair that doesn't always cooperate

3.  Not a blonde bimbo
4.  Gilmore Girls-esque dialogue
5.  Megan's colored pencils
6.  Frayed shorts
7.  Awkward wetsuit dance
8.  Witty comebacks I wish I 
had said
9.  Laguna Beach
10. The fascinating deaf girl (especially knowing where Melanie got the inspiration for her.)
11. "Dude, nice doilies!" (hahaha!)
12. "Insincerity dripped like venom from her invisible fangs."
13. "I surrender the title of Loser Magnet. It's yours."
14. "Chasing after babies in a full body cast seems like an awful lot of trouble."
15.  Cap'n Crunch Peanut Butter: "Your cereal's gross." 
16. "You can't have any no matter how nicely you ask."

17. "That's why I'm a dictatorship of one."

18. "Come over to the dark side." (brunette) 

19.  Hiding chocolate behind wheat germ

20. Hallelujah chorus

21. "It was exhausting to miss him so much."

22. Kenny! 

23. And his band!

24. Kissing and more kissing

25. Redemption

And see? there were so many, I didn't even have to add: My friend wrote it! (I'm so excited for her.)
So...What should top your vacation packing list?
The List. By Melanie Jacobson. Perfect Summer Read. 
(And she doesn't even know I'm posting this!)

p.s. Summer is now in session!

Where Faith Meets Story Meets Art

I had a strange (and mildly hilarious, if not frustrating) conversation yesterday, with an oldish man at the edge of the Lacrosse field, waiting for the game to start:

Him: What's that you're reading?

Me: (not too keen on striking up conversations with strangers, buried in my book) It's a book by Madeleine L'Engle, Walking on Water.

Him: Oh, is it a fantasy?

Me: (still buried in the book) No, she's written some fantasy, but this is actually non-fiction. (I point to the subtitle: Reflections on Faith and Art.)

Him: Faith and Art? What do those things have to do with each other?

Me: (wanting to laugh) Everything.

Him: Huh? Are you being serious?

Me: Creation. Everything. Think about it: The world was created by faith. All genuine creation is connected to faith.

Him: Oh, I guess when you put it that way, it kinda makes sense. So...is she an artist?

Me: In a way. She's a writer. Her writing is her art.

Him: Then is that a romance novel you're reading?

I kid you not. That was his exact final question. AAARRRGGGHHHH! 

I grew up in a home where the gospel, the arts, and creativity were seamlessly woven together. Sometimes I forget that the rest of the world didn't grow up like that, doesn't think and feel like that.

* * * * *

I had been planning to attend a writers' conference this year...until I realized it fell on the exact same dates as a watercolor workshop I signed up for clear back in October! It was the strangest thing...our watercolor society was flying this amazing internationally-recognized painter here from Uruguay. I was over the moon at the prospect of studying with him. And yet, as I contemplated the opportunity cost, I was also grieving the fact that I couldn't attend the writers' conference. I grappled with these mixed emotions right up until the workshop started, a little over a week ago.

BUT. As soon as Alvaro started talking, I realized I was at a writers' conference after all. This guy was talking about Creation with a Capital C. And everything he said about painting also applied directly to writing. I was learning about both painting and writing at the exact same time...my favorite, most exhilarating way to learn!

Consider these opening lines: (This is verbatim, as fast as I could copy them down)

Decide what you want to say.
Tell a story.
Establish a mood.
Exploit the main elements to tell a better story--make it more dramatic.
Cut through the light with a dramatic dark.
It's all about spontaneity--less control.
Be unpredictable.
Embrace absurdity.
Don't be too obvious; capture the essence.
Your work should be enigmatic and mysterious.

And then here is a series of quotes I jotted down over the next few days:

A work of art is gut feelings. The depth of the painting resides in the philosophy of the artist. We have to be sensitive and succumb to the truth around us. If you are more perceptive and can withdraw from the analytic, mechanical to access passion, you have a chance to make it. Don't try to show me your intelligence. I'm looking for a higher intelligence, which is intuitive, spiritual.
Everything has an opposite: ying/yang; light/dark; cool/warm; hard/soft edges; lost/found. We need to be aware of them, use them, love them.

Subject doesn't matter--what matters is how you address the subject. Don't choose a postcard (obvious subject--too pretty, too perfect). If you do it, you have to do it in a way that moves my soul.
You could have the best technique in the world but if you paint without passion, you are worthless, you are nothing. You have to paint with LOVE.

Don't destroy the unity of the painting with disjointed darks. One of the best ways to have unity in your painting is by connecting a pattern of darks. 

What is the mission of the artist on earth? Create the most powerful emotional impact. Exceed what happens in nature, exaggerate. Capture the essence, the abstract, the inaccessible.

Imitating reality is just matching up; we are intelligent beings. We can imagine things. The only chance we have of rising above is by capturing the essence, not manipulating by intellect but by incorporating a combination of innocence, purity, and mystery. Become like a child.
The brain has the ability to project. Whenever I make a mark on the paper to paint a figure, I see it so clearly in my mind I can already see it on the paper. I see every stroke before I paint it.

I'm here to deliver a message, but you have to be ready to receive that message. At some point our thoughts will meet in the ether. After much experience painting, years of practice, there will come a time where my words ring true, where you realize that I'm right. Not just now, where you believe me, but once you get to that point, through your experience, you will know.

* * * * *

See what I mean? Faith. Story. Art.  Inseparable.
Or, as Keats said, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all
        Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.


--Oh, and you also need to know that we have a winner of the buttermints: Congratulations, Inkmom! If I can get a batch to turn out in this warmer weather, I'll send them your way right away!

Atonemints

I have always loved buttermints. Any and all. But then one Christmas my friend Heather brought us a tin of the most amazing homemade buttermints. First, who even knew you could make such a thing? I thought it was like licorice—something only “the store” made. Second, this was pure heaven. It melted in your mouth with the most perfectly glorious flavor. There could be no substitute. Heather’s buttermints were infinitely superior to anything else I had ever tasted.

Every Christmas we hoped we might appear once again on Heather’s gift list. And that the gift would again be her fabulous buttermints. And year after year the mints would appear. Then one Christmas we were sadly forsaken. Of course we weren’t offended. We love the Joneses with or without their holiday offerings! But we did long for that little taste of heaven. Then in March, after the snow melted, there sitting on the lawn was an auspicious-looking tin. It didn’t take much imagination to envision our dog dragging it from the porch to the snow back in December. We pried open the lid, and to our joy and amazement the tin contained a perfectly-preserved batch of pristine buttermints, undisturbed by our dog or the elements, and we lovingly savored every single one (and had a good laugh with Heather about our serendipitous snow treasure afterward)!

Finally this past Christmas I couldn’t stand the suspense any more. I had to know how Heather performs her magic. I rallied the guts to ask for her recipe. She said she’d do me one better — she’d come here and teach me how. In March we finally made it happen — a personalized buttermint tutorial. I had no idea what I was in for. I started taking copious notes. The process is extremely nuanced and detailed, with instructions like: “Cook to 250 degrees...not the bottom of the line, nor the top of the line, but right in the center of the line.” Sometimes I think the artist in me is not equipped to deal with that kind of precision. But she assured me that if I followed every step with exactness, I would have wonderful buttermints.

This week we’ve been making these fabulous buttermints (or, what my friend Luisa calls, "the most scrumptious confections of all time") and I hope this becomes an oft-repeated Easter tradition. Here’s why: The process is a beautiful analogy for the lifetime process of sanctification, culminating in a powerful atonement metaphor.

Consider:

Zion metaphor:

We’ve been studying the three Zion communities in the Book of Mormon for Family Home Evening over the past couple of months. Each of these communities, during a time of great adversity, was described as “the happiest people ever.” Nephi “taught [his] people to live after the manner of happiness.” One of the great keys to their happiness was hard WORK. Nephi taught his people productive skills, and to love manual labor. Making buttermints is a new skill, working with our hands.

Next is the people of Moroni: “ But behold there never was a ^ahappier time among the people of Nephi, since the days of Nephi, than in the days of Moroni...” Moroni taught the power of preparation and unity. My preparation was my tutorial with Heather. (Heather’s preparation was making 18 batches in one day, until they got it perfect!) In the buttermint making process, everybody LITERALLY pulls together (unity) for the stretching and cutting, and many hands make light work.

I think one of the best parts of making a big batch of buttermints is sharing them with our friends and loved ones. In Zion communities there is always a Service component (we share what we have with others). This kind of cooperation and outward focus leads toward no contention (peace, charity) and the kind of Zion community we find in 4th Nephi. “And it came to pass that there was no contention in the land, because of the love of God which did dwell in the hearts of the people....and surely there could not be a happier people among all the people who had been created by the hand of God.”

Personal righteousness: Everybody starts with clean hands

Careful Obedience: Follow the instructions exactly

“Cook to 250 degrees...not the bottom of the line, nor the top of the line, but right in the center of the line.”

All of the instructions must be followed with precision (exactness and honor).

This kind of precision requires FOCUS: keeping our eyes on the prize and single to the glory of God.

If you follow these safe candy-making procedures, you can avoid the laborious washing process, saving much time and trouble.

Adversity metaphor: Stretching

Pull edges up and over, toward the center, so they don’t harden.

(Reminds me of how we need to be careful not to harden our hearts.)

As soon as it is cool enough to handle, butter your hands, pick up the candy and start stretching. It will be slimy and out-of-control at first. Resist the urge to knead and squeeze. Lightly pull and stretch, establishing a rhythm...side to side, over the top, repeat. When it becomes more manageable, hold the ball in one hand, pull and fold with the other. When you can, move it to your fingertips and continue spreading and stretching, using the length of your arms. It will become opaque and lose some of its glisten.

Stretching is the longest, most difficult part

It’s completely outside our control

The only way through is to stretch (grow)

Then the very nature of it starts to change

This stretching process takes way longer than we think

(How long, O Lord?)

Repentance: If you really screw up, you can always throw it back in the pot and return to the boiling step. :)

Patience: After all that hard work, you are dying to eat some, but it turns out there's a very long curing process. They are edible now, but nothing like the finished product. You have to learn to wait.

Atonement metaphor: Curing

Line a half-sheet baking pan with plastic wrap. Arrange pieces on plastic in a single layer to cure. Cover with another sheet of plastic wrap, making sure the cover is air tight. Allow to cure for up to three days.

Even after paying careful attention to detail and doing everything precisely,

the mints look like they didn’t work, like they won’t be any good.

Some are chewy, some are grainy, some are crunchy.

The curing process takes care of all that.

They must be entombed in sheets of air-tight plastic for up to three days.

After the three days, even the most stubborn and silly-looking buttermints will wind up perfect, white, creamy and delicious.

An Easter miracle

No matter how hard we try, how carefully we observe the commandments, we are flawed. Without those crucial three days in the tomb where our Lord lay down his life and took it up again, there is no way any of us would ever be “good enough” or reach perfection. But, given those three days of grace, there is hope for us all.

And it came to pass that I did go forth and partake of the [mints] thereof; and I beheld that [they were] most sweet, above all that I ever before tasted. Yea, and I beheld that the [mints were] white, to exceed all the whiteness that I had ever seen.

And as I partook of the [mints] thereof it filled my soul with exceedingly great joy; wherefore, I began to be desirous that my family should partake of [them] also; for I knew that [they were] desirable above all other [mints]. —Adapted from 1 Nephi 8:11-12

* * * * *

I would like to send you a little package of these wonderful Atonemints for you to try for yourself, along with a brief summary of the atonement metaphor. Just leave a comment to be entered in the drawing.