One Little Snowflake

For the first three to four months of the year, I usually count myself as one of the snow-haters. I feel like snow should be "allowed" in December (only when it doesn't interfere with holiday celebrations and travelling) but usually dislike very much the fact that it usually sticks around until the last week of April.

Ice in the driveway. Extra chores. Longer commutes. Slush everywhere. Gray, gray, gray. Dirty floors. Bursting coat closets. Ongoing coughs and runny noses. Higher utility bills. Extra layers needed just to take a bag of garbage out to the trash can. Cabin fever.

As I am not a skier or snowboarder and am not a fan of being cold, I really have nothing good to say about the snow.

Except that my mindset changed today.

Many of you have probably seen this cool link floating around social media.

Really, check it out.

photo by Alexey Kljatov, featured on the Huffington Post

I saw this article and these photographs a few weeks ago. And today, when the blizzard showed up at my house in full force, instead of groaning, I looked outside for several minutes and simply marveled at the way that the uninterrupted white covered everything in a kind of quiet perfection. I admired the beauty of the tree in our backyard whose branches were perfectly outlined and highlighted by the snow. I thought about how many billions of snowflakes it takes to make up that kind of beauty.

And I remembered that each one was created different, but equal.

I realized this morning that God did not mean for snow to be an annoyance. I think, rather, that He meant it as a way for us to pause and count our blessings. I think He meant it as a way to slow us down so we would have to talk to Him a little more. I think God created snow as His testimony to us that even the smallest creation takes a lot of work and effort, and even though it is too small to be seen (let alone appreciated) by the naked eye, it was worth His time and effort. 

And if a snowflake is worth that kind of work, what does that say about us, his sons and daughters?

That we are worth it.

That we took work. That we still take work. That though we may not see ourselves and our lives as perfectly organized now, there is an order to His plan that makes our lives make sense somehow in the end. That as a single person in a big old world. we add our own unique kind of beauty.

Who am I to wish that away?

Growing Up: a literary analysis of "The Nutcracker"

While we were spending time with my side of the family this past weekend, my daughter helped her Grandma set up for Christmas. Christmas is a big deal in the Burningham household. It requires a complete redecorating of 60% of the house, two trees, over six Rubbermaid tubs of decorations, two+ nativities, and a whole day of work.  

During said Christmas Makeover 2013, the Christmas books came out. I love my mother's Christmas book collection. There are some real gems in there (need a suggestion? My favorite Christmas book for teens/adults is Little Red Buckets, for teens and older kids, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, for adults, The Christmas Box trilogy, and for small children my favorite is a book my mom has that is now falling apart called The Smallest Elf). 

Kevin made herself at home with the books and soon pulled out a Little Golden Book (you know, the ones with the gold foil on the spine) entitled The Nutcracker. When I noticed that it was my name in the front cover, I claimed it to bring home with us and although my mother resisted at first, I did find it in our "Box of Stuff Rinda Left Here Last Time" when we got home.

Yesterday, Kevin and I settled in our living room to read some Christmas stories by the light of the afternoon sun floating in through our front window and the lights on the Christmas tree, which must always be on while Kevin is awake. 

And though she listened only to the first two pages, I finished the book (took two or three sittings--yes, this is a children's book, but I am also a toddler's mother). It brought back memories of attending the ballet with my mother and my friend Jennifer and her mother (and occasionally our little sisters when they could stomach it) throughout the years. The productions we saw varied from the smallest local dance company to a full-blown, professional version done by Ballet West. I love the story. I love the music. I love the ballet. I love the name Clara. I love the pesky little brother who "is ruining everything!"  I love all the different characters and cultures that dance before Clara and her prince, and I especially love the very beginning of the ballet where the families dance together, in and around each other.

And as I was reading the story version to my daughter, I realized that the Nutcracker is not just a beautiful Christmas fantasy put to music by Tchaikovsky.

This is a story about growing up.

At the beginning of the party, Clara is still a little girl in a party dress. By the end of the story, she is treated as a queen. 

What makes the difference?

Perhaps the fact that her toy nutcracker becomes a living prince. Love can change girls into women. 

Perhaps it was caring for her fallen soldier, a toy though he may be. Caretaking can change girls into women.

Perhaps it was having to forgive her little brother for breaking her most prized possession. Forgiving can change girls into women.

Perhaps it was the part where she had to be courageous and fight a hard battle. Being brave can change girls into women.

Perhaps it was the journey she took to a faraway land and the people she met there. Time away from home can change girls into women too. 

In the story, Clara doesn't age more than a few hours, but when the story ends, she is much older than she was before. The Nutcracker is her ticket into becoming a woman.  

Perhaps Herr Drosellmyer knew that, like Wendy Darling in Peter Pan, Clara is on the verge of no longer being a little girl. Instead of a doll, as all the other little girls get for Christmas, he gives her a soldier. Instead of making the nutcracker instantly better, he gives Clara a charge to watch over him carefully as he mends. Instead of setting things to right with the chime of the clock at midnight, he sends his goddaughter on an adventure, even if it was only in her dreams.

What happens to Clara when she wakes up in the morning? Is she more kind, more noble, more regal? Does she begin to act like the princess-the queen--that the citizens of the Land of Sweets see her as? Is she a little quicker to forgive when she is wronged? Does she realize that she can fight hard battles, overcome evil, and yet show mercy? Does she have a better understanding of her divine nature? Did she grow up, have a family, and tell the story to her daughter by the light of the Christmas tree in the middle of the afternoon?

I hope so. Oh, I hope so. 

One of those seasons...

First off, I want to apologize for the three-week break I took from this blog. I didn't mean for it to be so long--I took a sick day and then I took a holiday and now I am still trying to recover from all the moving madness and the sickness that took out all three of us for ten days (one word: miserable). Now we are trying to get settled in to our new house and I am, well, struggling.

If there is one thing I try to be on this blog, it is genuine. I won't tell you my child is a perfect sleeper if she still wakes up during the night. I won't pretend I married the perfect man because he and I both know he has his faults. I won't act like I know everything and make the best choices all of the time, because I don't. I won't write things just to get your pity or your compliments or your attention. If anything has come across that way, you can bet that's not how I meant for it to sound. I simply want to share my experiences and my thoughts and hope it can help someone else along the way.

I love Christmastime. Usually. I look forward to it all year. And yet, along with this season comes another--winter. And winter usually means I get the "blues" in some form or another. It started when I was nine and my family moved to a place completely foreign to me (yes, I got culture shock moving from Cache Valley to Davis County). I started getting anxiety attacks. I was in despair. Luckily I was able to pull mostly out of it by the time I was twelve and my family moved back to Cache Valley, but every year since then, when winter sets in, so do my sour moods, and it becomes harder and harder to keep myself going every day.

Compound that with the loneliness that comes with being in a new place and at home all day with only an onery toddler (who is also lonely), and, well, as I said before, I'm struggling.

Here's something to hold on to, though. It is something I have been telling myself for the past two or three months as we've been working on finding the right home and then getting all moved and getting Scott into graduate school and figuring out where our family is meant to go from here.

Blessings take work.

Even the small ones.

If I want a friend, I have to put the effort out there to find one.
If I want my house to look nice, I have to start working on that mile-long list of projects.
If I want my daughter to be happier, I need to spend the time with her just playing and I need to give her opportunities to succeed also (and succeed at more than just coloring all over our new refrigerator--Thanks Mr. Clean for your awesome Magic Erasers!).
If I want my husband to rise above the challenges facing him, I have to give him unwavering support.
If I want to be a better person and let go of the things holding me back from being the person I really want to be, I have to learn to let go.

Have you ever noticed that the best things in life take a lot of effort? And time? Planning a wedding. Growing a baby. Serving a mission. Getting back to good health. Cultivating relationships. Succeeding in the workplace. Achieving a goal. Christmas celebrations...

At this time of year, it is hard to consider adding more tasks to an already long list (because no matter how simple you try to keep Christmas, it still takes a lot out of you!), but sometimes it is worth it.

A few days ago, I found this list on a blog that I follow. It is President Howard W. Hunter's list of the most important kind of Christmas gifts to offer this season. The things he lists are not easy. Some are very difficult. But oh! what a beautiful holiday if we could have these things be part of it!

This Christmas, 

mend a quarrel. 

Seek out a forgotten friend. 

Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. 

Write a letter. 

Give a soft answer. 

Encourage youth. 

Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. 

Keep a promise. 

Forgo a grudge. 

Forgive an enemy. 

Apologize. 

Try to understand. 

Examine your demands on others.

Think first of someone else. 

Be kind. 

Be gentle. 

Laugh a little more. 

Express your gratitude.

Welcome a stranger. 

Gladden the heart of a child. 

Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. 

Speak your love and then speak it again.

 

Christmas is a celebration, and there is no celebration that compares with the realization of its true meaning—with the sudden stirring of the heart that has extended itself unselfishly in the things that matter most. 

I have realized over the past few days that there is a reason that Christmas comes in the middle of winter and not at the beginning of spring (when Christ's birthday really happened). It seems to me that we need Christmas more in December when the days are long and dark than we do in April when everything seems to be sunshine and new growth. We need the reminder now that there is a light--a star--in all that darkness that tries to pull us down. We need to know that ultimately, when nothing else seems to work, Christ is the answer. His atonement can heal any wound, forgive any sin, and give peace to those, who like me, may be floundering. Yes, sometimes extra help may be needed in the form of medication or therapy or a change of pace--but when you allow Christ to be part of your healing process, the healing happens in a miraculous way to a miraculous degree. He can do things we can't. He can understand things that we won't. He can, and does, suffer with us.

He offers the "great joy" we may be missing.