Less than
We put up our Christmas tree last week. I can almost hear a collective sigh and rolling of eyes ripple across the waves of the internet.
It's a small Christmas tree, maybe 4 foot, and it is out of the box. We can't have real trees in the Townhouse, even if I thought I wanted one. It has white lights and a strange collection of ornaments...John Deere mini tractors, pictures of the kids each year at Christmas; a giant silver star hanging near the bottom; some straw ornaments that remind me of my Grandparents; a small tin silver angel from my Aunt Nancy; a train with Santa on it from Julie; a tiny sparkling Santa that once lived in the Gingerbread House supplies at Mom's house; a couple ornaments we made the first year we were married; some beaded bells Charlotte and I made; a white crocheted angel from Aunt Mary Jane; and a little Santa holding a light on top instead of a star. It is a cute little tree, one that speaks of family and memory more than beauty. I do think it is pretty, but what Christmas tree isn't? Eric's dad calls it a Charlie Brown tree.
Every time I walk into the living room and pass the little tree by the door, I think of snowflakes. I am not sure what it is that makes me think of them...but it is almost as if I can taste them in the air. It has only sputtered snow here, nothing that sticks, little pebbles of white that vanish before they take root on the ground. Snowflakes are fascinating creatures, really. They can be soft and chunky, or tiny little beads. They are all hard edges and intricate patterns, dazzling little pieces of art work destined to melt away. I don't like cold weather, but watching the snow drift down outside your window must be close to the peacefulness of heaven.
At choir practice on Saturday I sat next to a woman with an amazing voice. She was sight reading the music, something I can't do, and was mostly on note as we went through each new song. Her voice is quite lovely and effortless. I like my voice on most days, but it is rather ordinary. I have a talent for hearing music and being able to sing it back after only a couple times through but I don't consider it extraordinary. I make a good choir member. Sitting next to this woman, hearing the lovely notes bounce of her tongue, I felt less than she was. Less of a singer, less of a talent. As I often do, I also gave her many wonderful qualities in my mind. I am sure she is the most amazing mom, selfless, a good house keeper, a faithful scripture reader, crafty, and I bet her house has matching tablecloths and plates. She is more than I am or could ever be.
I realize, however, that I am at least aware of my faults. Although I am stubbornly engaged in "Operation Stuck in the Mire", I do see that I can be better. On the surface it might just seem that I am talking about physical faults, but I am also talking about the internal struggle with sin. My Bishop recently tried to tell me that I am way too hard on myself, and I suppose he is mostly right. I won't pretend that I didn't shiver and get all goose-bumpy when I read this scripture from the Book of Mormon on B-Happy's blog:
Ether 12: 27 And if men come unto me I will show unto them their a weakness I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.
It is amazing and wonderful that I might be able to turn my many weaknesses to strengths. I just have to give myself over to Heavenly Father so that He can help me. That seems so easy...but it is just about as easy as a snowflake that is shaped like a bead turning into a snowflake that is soft and chunky. Beneath their surface, though, each snowflake is an amazing crystaline beauty; though one seems less than the other, they are both snowflakes in the end.
Make your own snowflake.
It's a small Christmas tree, maybe 4 foot, and it is out of the box. We can't have real trees in the Townhouse, even if I thought I wanted one. It has white lights and a strange collection of ornaments...John Deere mini tractors, pictures of the kids each year at Christmas; a giant silver star hanging near the bottom; some straw ornaments that remind me of my Grandparents; a small tin silver angel from my Aunt Nancy; a train with Santa on it from Julie; a tiny sparkling Santa that once lived in the Gingerbread House supplies at Mom's house; a couple ornaments we made the first year we were married; some beaded bells Charlotte and I made; a white crocheted angel from Aunt Mary Jane; and a little Santa holding a light on top instead of a star. It is a cute little tree, one that speaks of family and memory more than beauty. I do think it is pretty, but what Christmas tree isn't? Eric's dad calls it a Charlie Brown tree.
Every time I walk into the living room and pass the little tree by the door, I think of snowflakes. I am not sure what it is that makes me think of them...but it is almost as if I can taste them in the air. It has only sputtered snow here, nothing that sticks, little pebbles of white that vanish before they take root on the ground. Snowflakes are fascinating creatures, really. They can be soft and chunky, or tiny little beads. They are all hard edges and intricate patterns, dazzling little pieces of art work destined to melt away. I don't like cold weather, but watching the snow drift down outside your window must be close to the peacefulness of heaven.
At choir practice on Saturday I sat next to a woman with an amazing voice. She was sight reading the music, something I can't do, and was mostly on note as we went through each new song. Her voice is quite lovely and effortless. I like my voice on most days, but it is rather ordinary. I have a talent for hearing music and being able to sing it back after only a couple times through but I don't consider it extraordinary. I make a good choir member. Sitting next to this woman, hearing the lovely notes bounce of her tongue, I felt less than she was. Less of a singer, less of a talent. As I often do, I also gave her many wonderful qualities in my mind. I am sure she is the most amazing mom, selfless, a good house keeper, a faithful scripture reader, crafty, and I bet her house has matching tablecloths and plates. She is more than I am or could ever be.
I realize, however, that I am at least aware of my faults. Although I am stubbornly engaged in "Operation Stuck in the Mire", I do see that I can be better. On the surface it might just seem that I am talking about physical faults, but I am also talking about the internal struggle with sin. My Bishop recently tried to tell me that I am way too hard on myself, and I suppose he is mostly right. I won't pretend that I didn't shiver and get all goose-bumpy when I read this scripture from the Book of Mormon on B-Happy's blog:
Ether 12: 27 And if men come unto me I will show unto them their a weakness I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.
It is amazing and wonderful that I might be able to turn my many weaknesses to strengths. I just have to give myself over to Heavenly Father so that He can help me. That seems so easy...but it is just about as easy as a snowflake that is shaped like a bead turning into a snowflake that is soft and chunky. Beneath their surface, though, each snowflake is an amazing crystaline beauty; though one seems less than the other, they are both snowflakes in the end.
Make your own snowflake.
Comments