COLOR MY WORLD

by Shauna Brown 

When I was a little girl I was thrilled each Christmas to get a very predictable gift from Santa.    Among  his Christmas gifts always included a box of Crayola Crayons and a few coloring books. Clearly he knew that I loved to ‘color.’  

        I was truly surprised one year when I unwrapped the large - jumbo box which held 64 different colors, plus an added feature -  a sharpner.  64 colors imagine my joy! I had favorite colors, but new ones excited me. Today Crayola creates over 120 different colors of crayons.  On top of that I can still smell the amazing waxy scent.  Interesting fact I learned: according to a Yale University study, the scent of Crayola crayons is among the 20 most recognizable to American adults.   

         I miss those moments when I  spent hours upon hours coloring “within the lines.” How my parents marveled and applauded my careful handy work. As I grew older I even knew to add a deeper color to give dimension. Artists call it shading.  I was becoming an artist, at least I felt like one.  

            In 2008, Crayola came up with ‘Kids’ Choice colors for their 50th anniversary 64 box. I thought it was interesting what titles some of the children came up with.  Let me share a few: Awesome - Giving Tree- 

Famous - Fun in the Sun- Best Friends -Super Happy - Happy Ever 

After - Bear Hug . 

         What names would I give my crayons today?  Imagine it, 120 

colors!   

        My life has been filled with vibrant shades of color.  Of course I would have to name one - Giggles Green - Polka dot Pink - Remembering  - Sunshine Yellow - Sacred Satin  -  Pondering - Joy - Inspire - Hope -  Happy - Sympathy - Forgiveness - Sunset 1 - Sunset 2 -Sunrise Sparkle - Morning Mist - Tickle Bug - Lady Bug Red. . .  

        It’s kind of fun - thinking what you would name the colors surrounding you (in your world) .   Anyway, I am grateful for color, that I can see it, enjoy it, and love the gift of it.  

        Color is meant to evoke responses within the soul. I love the vibrant color of  “Cornflower Blue,” it makes me want to clean. “Yummie Yellow” that makes me smile. “Lavender” makes me think of Mama.  “Pink,” makes me think of large erasers that cost a nickel, back then.  “Granny Apple Green,” makes me think of tummy aches. Think about all the colors that trigger a memory.

        I am motivated by some subtle tones, intensity of hues, and inspired by rich displays of colors placed before me.  I am grateful that the eight colors in the crayon box have been replaced by 120. However, I fully recognize that God has created far more brilliant creations and colors than that. Knowing this fact forces me to want to see beyond, to appreciate even more the shades, drama, values and tones created for our lives. 

            “Gratitude is the real treasure God wants us to find,  

because it isn’t the pot of gold but the rainbow that colors our world.”  

                                ~ Richelle E. Goodrich 

        This year I want to color more. I want to use the whole box of crayons!   I just might want a splash of “Silly Pink,” when others color with their “Perfectly Pink.”  I can’t say I will color ‘in the lines,’ because I like change and need change. I want to see more sunrises and capture a “Dandelion Yellow” moment. Dancing in puddles might mean I use the “Razzle Dazzel Rose” or “Denim Blue” depending on the dirt.  I want to blow up more balloons in jewel tones and have love launches with my family. At the end of day I want to blow kisses and color “Vibrant Orange” across my page, exclaiming what a wonderful adventure this life is.   

        I’m sure our Father in Heaven appreciates our expressions of love and gratitude for life. I’m sure he gets out his “Tickle M Pink” crayon or “Magenta,” when we do. 

  So this Sabbath day, let’s get coloring!  

        Tones of Gratitude - Hues of Happiness 

         Call it what you will... but just color! 

  Love always, 

           Shauna  

                                     Let Him In

by Shauna Brown 

          I cherish my memories of my childhood. I frequently take myself back to my favorite day of the week, Sunday.  I don’t know if it was because I got to wear my Sunday dress, best Sunday shoes and jewelry, but it was the day I always looked forward to.  Something about sitting on the church benches, singing songs and feeling reverence in our chapel. I loved learning about my Savior. 

          It was in that chapel that music became a key role in my life’s story. From “Jesus Wants Me For a Sunbeam” to solos with performing groups and stage plays. Music to me is the vibrational force behind the spirit. So it is of little wonder when certain hymns were sang I wanted to sing out, louder and with full voice.  Songs about my Savior have always been among my favorites. Sometimes I get stirred within to the point that the tears flow freely and the voice can’t render a musical note. I believe that when music stirs you to that point, it is inspired by God.   

        In preparation for giving a talk in church today I did a little bit of research of the author of a familiar hymn, I Know That My Redeemer Lives.    

         His name is Samuel Medley. As a young man he wasn’t happy with the trade he was learning, so he joined the Bri­tish Roy­al Na­vy, be­com­ing a mid­shi­pman in 1755. During one of the battles he was critically wounded. The doctor told him that if the leg didn’t get any better during the night he would have to have it amputated.  Samuel, at that point in his life was living a carefree lifestyle without any thought of God.  As a child his Grandfather had taught him the importance for a belief in God. So considering his options Samuel began to pray.  He prayed all night, and then more. He experienced a miracle, he let Christ into his life, and his leg remained. That long night of prayer and pondering changed his heart. Peace and joy entered into his soul. Eventually Samuel became a Baptist Pastor and wrote numerous hymns.   

     Let me share just a few cherished measures. . .  

He lives to silence all my fears.                He lives to wipe away my tears.  

He lives to calm my troubled heart.        He lives all blessings to impart.  

He lives, all glory to His Name!                        He lives, my Jesus, still the same.  

Oh, the sweet joy this sentence gives,                 I know that my Redeemer lives!    

        

Yes, the two last lines always induce me to a desire to testify. Tears are frequently found, as I feel the surge of the reality that Jesus Christ is very much aware of each of us. Oh, sweet the joy this sentence gives:

“I know that my Redeemer lives!” 

 

  Might we all ponder the thought shared by Elder Neal A. Maxwell:  

        “Each of us is an innkeeper 

     who decides if there is room for Jesus!” 

Grateful that Samuel let Christ in, and blessed us with 

beautiful hymns to tune the heart.   

  

   Enjoy your Sabbath, and Enjoy the Season

With Love to All,

Merry Christmas!

Shauna   

                   

                     Sweet  Remembrance!

by Shauna Brown 

Last Friday night a group of young single adults arrived at our house, just as Rick and I returned from a company holiday party. Eagerly the group of twelve danced around us singing a familiar Christmas melody: We Wish You Merry Christmas.

      We marveled at their youthful enthusiasm as it was freezing cold outside. It was easy to tell it, as white puffs of air appeared as they sang. We joined in the melody, singing as well. We invited them in, but they countered “we’re going to sing to others as well.”   Quickly they shared warm wishes and expressions of love.  Stepping to me, Heather, one of the carolers held out a handmade paper sack reindeer, “I’m so sorry, it lost one of it’s eyes,” she said embarrased. 

“But I still love it!” I replied.

“Well, the cookies are good,” she said, as if trying to make up for the missing eye on the reindeer.

      Hugs were given and the carolers were off running to their cars. I could only imagine the joy they would continue to spread, as they shared more gifts to another blessed soul. 

      I giggled as I carried in our one eyed reindeer into the house. It was so cute and so thoughtful. From the sight of it, it instantly took me back to those moments when young children of my own, gathered around our kitchen table to make delightful creations. Elmers Glue was a staple then. Pom poms, glitter, popcicle sticks and pipe cleaners filled my craft drawers.  Oh, how I cherish my memories, and thrive in creating new ones.  

I’m sure those carolers were unaware of how important their one eyed reindeer sack was for me. Remembering can be such a gift of itself. 

The cookies were good, just like she said. However, it was the desire of their hearts to think of us, to remember us, that meant the most. Our group of Christmas carolers brought joy, pleasure and sweet memories to our hearts.  

“There is no better time than now, this very Christmas season, for all of us to rededicate ourselves to the principles taught by Jesus Christ. It is the time to love the Lord, our God, with all our heart – and our neighbors as ourselves. It is well to remember that he who gives money gives much; he who gives time gives more; but he who gives of himself gives all.”  ~ Pres. Thomas S. Monson

Don’t you just love that thought?  

                               ‘He who gives of himself gives all.”

And Jesus did!  Jesus the Christ, has bestowed the greatest gift possible to 

everyone of us. Each and every day we can unwrap the red ribbon tied personally, and feel of His everlasting love.  Remembering Him and seeking to follow and to do his will, shall be the greatest gift we can offer in return.

Each of us is an innkeeper who decides if there is room for Jesus!” 

     ~ Neal A. Maxwell

May your season be filled with thoughts of the Saviors redeeming grace. 

Enjoy Your Sabbath

Love to All

Shauna 

                                                                

                                    MAKING JOY

by Shauna Brown 

     While shopping recently at Hobby Lobby, I giggled aloud when I heard a surge of musical sounds coming from a nearby display filled with music boxes, musical toys of all varieties.  I say, giggled because, even without looking I knew it must be my husband Rick, setting each one in play mode.   

       Peeking around the corner I observed him going from music boxes, to musical monkeys and dolls, one by one. It was as if he was orchestrating a non-stop, continuous, magical moment of Christmas. From the looks of it he was the maestro of a Christmas melodic menagerie.  His eyes reflected his enjoyment and merriment. In truth, I wondered as to when the store’s management would come and quietly escort him out the door.  But for those few minutes I stood in glorious wonderment as he created a moment of JOY.    

      Yes, there were those who looked at him a bit oddly and quickly walked away.  Some paused, watched, smiled and giggled at him, as well. A few of his onlookers seemed to wish they could join in the fun.  One grumpy woman looked annoyed. I could almost read her thoughts: ‘so childish!’  I smiled watching a little child stand mesmerized as Rick moved from one toy to another, perhaps thinking, “don’t you touch.”  Rick chuckled as he continued to circle the display enjoying the spontaneous wave of melodies.   

     Upon noticing my observation, Rick looked a little sheepish and quickly stopped.  His greasy grin however, radiated victory.  He had clearly seized a moment to spread some holiday fun. 

     I think I will forever delight with the sound of music boxes, and dancing monkeys. It’s not every day you find a person who is a JOY MAKER.  

     On occasions I may act a touch embarrassed by his unusual antics and ability to create odd and unique moments, sometimes even to the point when I must declare, “He’s just kidding!”   I am grateful for his ability to generate smiles, lots of them.

     Like I said, Rick is a JOY MAKER.  For years now I have awakened to a man who came wired to be just that.  Thankfully, he is well balanced in so many areas of his life. He is grounded in his love of the Lord and serving others.  I have watched him both near and far and truly sense that he is squeezing the most out of each and every day. 

    He realizes:  

                       “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass,  

                        it’s about learning to dance in the rain.” 

      

Or how about this thought, as it truly applies to my JOY MAKER

 of a  husband.  

                        “Life is not about making others happy.   

                 Life is about sharing your happiness with others.”       

    We are taught, “Man is that he might have joy.”  Might is the heavy, operative word, a word filled with choices. It is an opportunity, a chance for all of us, no matter our position in life, our wealth, or social status to find and choose JOY.  I have discovered that practicing the attitude of joy must be practiced in order to become a habit.  I believe with full heart that our Father in Heaven wants us all to be surrounded with joyful moments.   

      So, go ahead push that button, dance to that song, laugh, blow on a baby’s belly, paint the room shocking pink, wear purple, leave a kiss mark upon a window pane, doodle in the margins, make bubbles in the bathtub, splash in a puddle, scream out loud: “I love you!” Eat pizza for breakfast, make a snow angel, become the next JOY MAKER, just because you can.   

       It’s alright to say, “Move over Rick! . . as  I know he is more than happy to share in the fun.  

Enjoy your Sabbath Day!  

Love to all, 

Shauna

                           Within His  Hands

by Shauna Brown 

     Years ago I took a sculpting class. I have always marveled how one can take a piece of clay and fashion it into a sculpture that reflects beauty, and emotion.  

    The class was taught by Karl Quilter. Karl Quilter, passed away this weekend. Many people have never heard of him, but they would definitely recognize his work. He is famous for sculpting the Angel 

Moroni statues that sit atop most of the temples of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints. At this time of year his white nativity scenes are displayed at many of the temples He truly was a master artist.   

    My love of sculpting was short lived. Little children’s fingers 

certainly can’t be trusted around soft clay. Even though I placed my piece high upon the piano, I soon discovered I too had artisans living within my walls.    

     Once a week my friend Elaine and I would travel to Karl’s beginner’s sculpting class. I was eager to learn, as I purchased all the necessary supplies and tools. I loved working with my hands. There is something of an art to clay. I have great memories of that experience. There was session I shall never forget when I questioned all of my time, effort and ability.  

    My focused piece was sculpting a bust of my little daughter Brittany. I was delighted as her form and features were beginning to be realized. I had carefully figured dimensions, and proportions. I was excited that it was going so well.  Karl came to my table to review my piece.  I was hoping for a compliment, or at least a word of encouragement.  Holding a photograph of her next to my clay figure. He stood quiet. Then to my surprise and shock he quickly took his fingertips and drug them across my sculptured face leaving a distortion of clay for a head.  Just thinking about it makes my eyes bulge, not nearly as wide as then, but close.   

    “Do it again,” he said calmly.  My heart beat sadly, as I set to start over. A touch of discouragement filled my soul.  Where I thought I was putting on the finishing touches, I was now literally starting again. For days I didn’t even touch it.  

    I have pondered that breath taking experience many a time.  I  was at first crushed by Karl’s insensitivity to my young and budding talent.  But with time I have come to realize he was the master, trying to instill within me the desire to become even better.  

     While reading the book, Mere Christianity, by C.S. Lewis,  I was taken with the comparison:   

     “Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.”  

      Each of us are sculptors. We may not be working with clay, but lives are being molded by our very actions, words and examples.  We must be wise and discerning as to the impressions we leave upon tender clay.  

         Enjoy your Sabbath. 

Stand Tall • Strive Daily • Seek for the Best • 

     

Love always, 

Shauna 

                                 LINE UPON LINE

by Shauna V. Brown 

     I recall well a ritual my mother performed nightly. She would take an white envelope and clip off the sticky part  into long strips and then apply them criss crossing upon her forehead. One looking at her could well her imagine her fitting well into an Indian tribe. Her ultimate desire was to pull her skin tight while she slept. It was her unique and hopeful way of fighting the lines of age, and gravity. I thought she was beautiful as she was. Yet, with hope in her heart she diligently apply them night after night. Mama was determined to fight mother nature, but the lines of aging came, one by one. 

     In her later years we had a professional photographer  take a picture of her. When our picture proofs came back mother gave a serious inspection.  Then with a touch of chagrin she asked the photographer, “Can you fade, airbrush, feather , something and remove my wrinkles?”  He looked at her and quickly countered as he grinned wide, “Why, would you want to remove them, they’re beautiful, and you’ve earned everyone of them.”   Mother seemed so disappointed and clipped back, “Character lines I guess.” 

     To a photographer he saw her distinctive beauty as a masterful work of art and sculpting of the spirit. Even now as I look at that picture I smile, as I realized the photographer had deeper perspective. He saw in fact, ‘between the lines.’ 

     Clearly he couldn’t see  into her life’s story. He was unaware that she had fought the battle of breast cancer, suffered heart attacks, was nearly blind.  A woman who had tenderly cared for her husband who suffered with Parkinsons for twenty years, was a widow, raised six children, was a Bishop’s wife twice. She thrived being a mother, inventor, prize winning candy maker, author, and yet, surprisingly feared failure.   

     Mother was right she had ‘character lines’ which revealed not only that she had been courageous, faithful, devoted, but she had learned to lean on the Lord.  God had allowed the shaping of her life, without any help of sticky tape, nip or tuck or feathering.  

      Mother frequently regarded her trials as ‘compliments,’ compliments from God. He knew she would withstand any degree of testing.  

      She loved learning and was a constant reader. With red pencil in hand she always was underling favorite thoughts. Often she would pin a quote to the kitchen curtains. This was one of my favorites. It always makes me think of Mama. 

      “No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude, and humility. All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our soul, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God.” Orson F. Whitney 

     Mother definitely relied on the Lord, and sought diligently to allow her life to be refined, shaped and molded by his loving care.  Mama practiced faith and from that faith came lines of perfection and refinement. You see, mother knew that with God all things are possible. He would shape her to become the very best.    

         I recall well a ritual my mother performed nightly. She would take an white envelope and clip off the sticky part  into long strips and then apply them criss crossing upon her forehead. One looking at her could well her imagine her fitting well into an Indian tribe. Her ultimate desire was to pull her skin tight while she slept. It was her unique and hopeful way of fighting the lines of age, and gravity. I thought she was beautiful just as she was. Yet, with hope in her heart she diligently applied them night after night, determined to fight mother nature, but the lines of aging came, one by one. 

     In her later years we had a professional photographer  take a picture of her. When our picture proofs came back mother gave a serious inspection.  Then with an element of chagrin she asked the photographer, “Can you fade, airbrush, feather, something and remove my wrinkles?”  He looked at her with surprise and quickly countered as he grinned wide, “Why, would you want to remove them, they’re beautiful, and you’ve earned everyone of them.”   Mother seemed so disappointed and clipped back, “Character lines I guess.” 

     Even now as I look at that picture I smile, as I realize the photograper 

perhaps had a deeper perspective. He saw in fact, ‘between the lines.’ 

     Clearly he couldn’t see into her life’s story. He was unaware that she had fought the battle of breast cancer, suffered heart attacks, was nearly blind.  A woman who had tenderly cared for her husband who suffered with Parkinsons for over twenty years. She was a widow, had raised six children, was a Bishop’s wife twice. I’m sure he couldn’t see how she thrived being a mother, inventor, prize winning candy maker, author, and yet, surprisingly feared failure.   

     Mother was right she had ‘character lines’ which revealed not only that she had been courageous, faithful, devoted, but she had learned to lean on the Lord.  Mother frequently regarded her trials as ‘compliments,’ compliments from God. Through thick and thin, line upon line, mother had trusted God to shape her life, without any help of sticky tape, nip or tuck or feathering.  She understood that refining often takes time.

            She loved learning and was a constant reader. With red pencil in hand she always was underlining and sharing favorite thoughts. Often she would scribble a quote and pin it to the kitchen curtains. This was one of my favorites. It always makes me think of Mama. 

      “No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude, and humility. All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our soul, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God.”

      ~ Orson F. Whitney 

     Mother definately qualified for being a choice ‘child of God.’  She relied on the Lord, and sought diligently to allow her life to be refined, shaped and molded by his loving care.  Mama practiced faith and from that faith came lines of perfection and refinement. You see, mother knew all along that with God all things are possible.

Stand Tall • Strive Daily • Enjoy the Journey

Love to all Shauna 

                          PERFECT FIT

by Shauna V. Brown

     There is an age-old adage “Everyone has at least one good book in them”.  Encouraged by friends to share one of my Christmas stories, ‘my book’ began.

   Threads of Faith~ a Christmas Miracle,  evolved and was inspired by true stories written within pioneer journals. I will be forever grateful for those who jotted down some of their challenges of faith, short comings, as well as rejoicing moments of their lives. I’m sure those early pioneers never gave thought that years and years later someone would cling to their testimony, or trust in a God who listens, as they did.  They never imagined that their life would be a motivation to another. In some instances just a sentence was there for me to ponder. I will be eternally thankful for their messages of hope, faith, trust, and the sacrifices that they experienced.  I hold dear their stories.   

     When I received word that Cedar Fort, wanted to publish my book I was thrilled.  Believe me the writing of it didn’t happen over night. It took months of revising, rewriting, and editing. I am forever grateful for editing skills offered by Katie Van Dyke. I’ll never forget the day when Katie suggested to me that I might consider writing the story from a different point of view. I had written the story in third person, and now, when I thought I was achieving the final draft she offers that first person could be better. 

     “First person?” I questioned.  I admit, I was overwhelmed with the idea. But, I knew Katie, and between her and the good Lord I began again.  I quickly realized it wouldn’t be an easy task. There were moments when I almost quit. However, I soon discovered Katie’s suggestion would hold a far greater impact and perspective.  The story took on a whole new meaning to me as well.   What I imagined would take months and months to complete was dissolved with a renewed constant, driving, loving, pursuit. I loved writing it. 

     In fact, I  was so taken with my leading character, Hillary Whitman, that I could almost hear her breathing. I cried when she cried, I laughed aloud when she did. Hillary, in first person, became the voice for so many.  

     It’s sweet to explain, but there were numerous times when I felt heavenly companions standing close by. I could sense their emotions while I wrote of their personal particle of the story. I was linking lives, real lives, through the written word. Believe me it is quite the experience. I will be forever grateful for the lessons learned from them, by them, and a gift for us all.  

      Little did the publisher to know that I envisioned and hoped that my Christmas book ~ Threads of Faith, would be the same size as a Book of Mormon.  You see, I visualized it as well, tied with a red satin bow around a copy of a Book of Mormon, and given as a gift.  I wanted my book to become a sweet introduction about my latter-day beliefs. 

      I giggled with delighted when the first copy arrived from the publisher. Imagine my joy when I quickly realized it was a ‘perfect fit.’ It was just as I envisioned it.   Once again I know: With God nothing is impossible. 

    The suggestion of ‘first person’ from Katie was inspired for me. The book within me may have centered upon some experiences of early saint’s stories, but in all truth, it gave me an opportunity to share my voice. Through charming characters I share my hope, trust and faith in God.   

Enjoy your Sabbath and Season

What’s in your book? 

Love to All  Shauna 

                         

                                             Vertical Momentum?

by Shauna Brown 

  When I was in high school I had the desire to become a cheerleader.  Yes, those girls wearing short skirts, pompoms, cute as a button and then some. I knew I had all the pep and enthusiasm and definitely a loud voice - perfect fit for me! 

After the announcement for tryouts I spent weeks constantly practicing  routines, round-offs, high kicks. However, the ultimate goal for me was to learn how to do a front flip. Many of the other girls knew how to do flips effortlessly. 

I recall with great clarity one day as I was in the back yard practicing.  My older brother Richard was attempting to be my spotter. Mother was cheering me on as I tried to learn how to do a simple front flip. I’m sure they both could recall that experience  as well.  I thought all one needed to do was to get enough momentum and simply tuck and wala = flip.  However, I always landed on my back.  

     It finally got to the point where all of us were laughing at my attempts, move over Carol Burnett. If someone was in need of comic relief, my acrobatic movements certainly would have filled the need.  Over and over we tried all angles with little success. Disappointment and failure, began to set in. I think mother and Richard both realized I was without even a trickle of hope.  Yet, I can hear mother encourage, “Don’t say can’t - because you can Shauna!” But I all truth I couldn’t. I got to the point that my only prayer in becoming a cheerleader was a hope in my smile, ability to do the routines, wave the pompoms in the air and cross my fingers that my enthusiasm  alone would sway the judges and student body.     I finally concluded that I must place my hope within the hands of the Lord. If faith could move mountains, I was certain that by some outstanding thrust of faith I could rotate in such a way to wow everyone.  

Votes were cast and I once again realized: “I guess I wasn’t meant to be that back bending, high kicking, ever flipping and bouncing cheerleader.”  However, I held on to the reality that I still had a great smile, enthusiasm, and could use my cheering voice from the bleachers.    

     Just this morning I Googled how to do a font flip. What a difference a simple article could have meant fortyish years ago. Watching a YouTube on how to do a flip was eye opening. Do you know it only takes five basic steps to do a flip? There is a set order to follow to achieve and complete the  “front tuck,” “punch-front” or a “front somersault.” 

The article said:  

     “Many people find it hard to do because you can’t see the landing point; the flip can only be completed if you commit yourself to it fully. Once you learn the proper form and prepare accordingly, however, it’s actually a simple move that can be easily mastered.” 

    Easily mastered? Why then did I end up out of breathe, bruised and beaten down? It is clear to me that what I lacked in my pursuit of a flip was a ‘going up’  - vertical focus, instead of merely leaning forward!  I know I was committed.  I could run and generate the momentum, but beyond that it was simply a disaster. I hadn’t learned the steps of how to perform a flip. Fact, I hadn’t envolved a coach or someone who knew how to do a flip into my pursuit. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a landing point.  

     Today, I ponder where my lifes landing point is. Where do I wish to land?  Have I have defined it well enough. Do I practice my vertical commitment frequently? Who is my instructor? Or do I once again consider using the : ‘fake it till you make it’ attitude? Have I gone to the source where I can learn how to reach that eternal landing point?  

    “Whenever you want to achieve something, keep your eyes open, concentrate and make sure you know exactly what it is you want. No one can hit their target with their eyes closed.”   ~ Paulo Coelho 

        Isn’t that what we all want to know about our personal journey of life. Where does God want us to be, and what does He want us to become?  Are we seeking continual, committed vertical momentum? 

      I have wondered if my life would have taken a different path if I had become a cheerleader. Where are my goal posts positioned? 

I guess that is why I like the thought of L. M. Montgomery, (Anne of Green Gables fame) :

                “The little things of life, sweet and excellent in their place,  

                must not be the things lived for; the highest must be sought 

                and followed; the life of heaven must be begun here on earth.”  

        I know that God had a different landing point for me.  My cheerleading days would evolve around the four walls of my home.  I was meant to be a fulltime cheerleader for my family. There is no routine, no high kicks visible, no pompoms,  but what a blessing to know that I landed smack dab in a place where high fives, hugs, smiles and ‘good job’ can be routinely bestowed.  I love being a mother!  I love being a grandmother!  I love being!

Enjoy your Sabbath!   You can do it!   You can do anything! 

Love Always Shauna 

                                    

                                     

                                      Hold On!

by Shauna Brown 

        I walked into the backyard yesterday and captured a last few remnants of fall for my memory.  I realize that winter’s chill is fast approaching and snow flakes are just around the corner.  

    I have always had a fascination with Autumn. I cherish my childhood memories of walking to school down Dearborn Avenue, lined with tall leafy trees. My friends and I frequently were late, as we found it so much fun to kick the fallen leaves, pile them high into mounds and burying one another, only to be discovered over and over again. I can still hear the laughter, and smell the earthy aromas. 

      I am renewed each Fall with sweet and savory memories. Golden and rustic leaves, corn mazes, and freshly picked pumpkins evoke great times of family gatherings and childhood carvings, canning seasons and apple cider. 

     Yet, this year,  while walking in my grove of golden beauties I felt an added feeling, a pensive one, perhaps a touch of melancholy. Lately, I have come to realize that I am fast approaching that Autumn, season of life. I have danced beyond the newborn Spring. My cheeks reflect the age of sunkissed summers.  

       I drew closer to a large tree and focused on a  few remaining leaves upon it’s branch.  I smiled as I voiced aloud, “Hang on, hang on, cling, just a a little longer. For once you drift and fall, you will settle and with the earth remain.” While looking at the leaves it stirred my thoughts to the story written years ago by,  O Henry.  He penned it in 1907, the Last Leaf.    A sweet story of a young girl, Johnsy, who has fallen ill and is dying of pneumonia. I understand well the reality of it's power and pain. Being sick this past week I constantly prayed for it to stay out of my lungs.

    Anyway, back to the story.  Johnsy has a view from her bed and window of a vine with leaves growing upon it. She observes that each day a few more leaves fall from the vine with the change of season and weather.  Being so sick, feeling little hope, Johnsy decides that when the last leaf falls, she too will die.  

     A neighbor living near by, is an old, frustrated artist named Behrman.  For years he has been claiming that he will paint a masterpiece someday. When Behrman learns of the young girls demise and her declaration about the falling leaf and life’s outlook, he is set to pondering.   Then, that night during a bad storm, with wind howling and pouring rain, Behrman decides to paint his best work. 

     The next morning  someone finds him laying helpless with pain.  His shoes and clothing wet and icy cold. It was later realized what Behrman had been doing.  A lantern is found and still lit, a ladder, an artist palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, some scattered brushes laying on the ground.  Looking upward revealed a masterpiece painted upon the wall. It was Behrman’s hope that Johnsy would always be able to see one solitarily, beautiful, believable, forever painted leaf. Hope filled Johnsy’s soul with faith and she, just as Behrman wished got better.  However, Behrman had been exposed to the harsh elements of the storm and lived but only hours.

     I love the story, and realize everyday I am surrounded by many people who are ever painting leaves for me. Even though they may not carry paint brushes, or climb the ladders,  they often share words to uplift, smiles to give acceptance, tucking messages of hope within my heart. While still others sit an listen.  

     We must all look around and realize that we all have masterpieces to complete--souls to save.  Thanks be to God that He allows us, encourages us, and always is ready embrace us.   Life is good and the lessons come, and each of us will enjoy the eternal masterpieces and seasons of the Father. 

Enjoy Your Sabbath!   

               

                                                        FENCES

by Shauna Brown 

     I love taking photographs. Something within my soul that stirs me to capture a moment in time. Perhaps even a thought. What a  blessing pictures are, as they will often help us recall that experience.  Helping

 us to reflect upon the time that took us there.  

    Recently our family enjoyed a weekend away. Fall is a beautiful time, and between the crisp morning and golden afternoon, we took a long Fall walk together.  I took pictures of  trees bidding bye to their blankets of yellow leaves. I embraced and captured the sky blue mornings, smiles on faces and random poses to delight. It was while on our slow saundering I came upon a old fence with barbed wire. It appeared to be the  last remaining remnants of a time past. Yet, it set my mind to contemplate how the farmer had worked so diligently to build the fence. Post by post he dug deeply. Then nails he positioned and pounded.  Heavy wooden planks he secured, creating the desired boundary. Carefully unwinding the wired barbs he placed it a top the fence, hopefully to restrain unwanted entrance or disturbance.   

     I wondered how just how long it took took the farmer to build his fence.  A fence so sturdy and strong to stand against the wind, time, as well as weight of animals.  When completed did he and his bride stand back with an extra measure of pride upon completion? Was it then they felt more secure?  What did he want to protect?   What did he want to keep out? How many nails did he use to re-enforce and fortify it?   

   “The wide world is all about you; you can fence yourselves in,  

        but you cannot forever fence it out.”   J.R.R. Tolkien 

    You and I are finding that today we must seek to secure and protect all that is dear to us. We must dig deeply and seek the greatest fortifications and foundations. It is imperative to install limits, sometimes barbed boundaries, while continually praying for protection and guidance. Much like the farmer, our charge is to be aware of broken posts and then hasten to rebuild and secure our fences.  

      How many fences will we build in a lifetime? Some of our fences will never see a nail, or a wooden post, but they are there. We will feel the pressing pressures and influence of the ‘world’, but holding the hammer of hope in hand, we can build them. We must distance ourselves from conflicting voices, dark thoughts, distracting beliefs and abrasive behaviors.  

   Often I am taken in thought to visualize a moment when I am standing with the Savior in my “field of life.”  I see there were times when I pushed against the fence seeking to explore beyond,  and there were other times I sat upon it. I see my fence, getting older. Some boards and posts have been repaired and replaced.  I see as well, some strong posts dug deep when faith was the only means of securing.   I pause as the Savior once again smiles at me while he scans my field and fencing.   “Behold,” he whispers and stretches forth his hand. 

I see a sagging post. He points to my bucket of nails. I nod with understanding. You see, He knows the effort, value, and worth of posts and nails. 

        “You will one day stand aside and look at your difficult times, and you 

         will realize that He was always there beside you.” -Thomas S. Monson 

    

Enjoy Your Sabbath!

With Love Always

Shauna 

Breath Taking!

by Shauna Brown                  

    “If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...  I could walk through my garden forever.”   

                     ~ Alfred Tennyson 

         Imagine for every thought one had for good, there would be endless gardens forever.  It comes as no surprise that walking through God’s gardens generates a sense of tranquility. Trees and flowers beckon one to acknowledge that God has planted loving messages within the branches. Tucked within the petals are divine feelings to penetrate the soul. No wonder a bouquet of flowers fill a room with energy, brightness and a renewed hope and trust, almost whispering that God is well aware.  

For a moment let me, with Alfred’s permission, rearrange his thought: 

      Come, walk through my gardens 

              for I have flowers and trees for you, 

           hand picked and planted. 

                      Listen, and you will feel of my grace. 

                Walk and smell of seasoned scents. 

                      Peace I sowed, for my thoughts are of you, 

                            and ever ready for your embrace. 

                          

       Last Tuesday, Rick and I decided to enjoy one of the  last days of Fall, surrounded by gardens of change. Almost, as if in a parting message we acknowledged God’s timing as leaves are drifting down to become a blanket.  I love the sounds of leaves crunching under my toes, kicking them into the air, as in bidding goodbye. I marvel at the vast and vibrant hues of the season. With camera in hand I gathered together my own bouquet of God’s thoughtfulness.                                

      Holding hands and walking slowly we felt further embraced and grounded by greatness. No wonder there are so many sacred groves and pathways flourishing, for we are ever in his thoughts.  Trees and shrubs reach heavenward inviting us to see above and beyond.  It was as if all things were in harmony, testifying, and proclaiming as God wrapped hues and scents of wondrous love around us. Oh, such masterful magnificence! It inspired my soul to understand that God has planted firs, oaks and elms to envelope our hearts to beat in tranquility. He has sprinkled dandelions, sunflowers and wild blossoms to encourage our beliefs. God's hope is that all will become fully rooted in His supportive and enduring love.  

      Therefore as you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him, having been firmly rooted and now being built up in Him and established in your faith, just as you were instructed, and overflowing with gratitude. Colossians 2:6-7 

        So walk in Him. I love that! Each day we are invited to thrill with the opportunity to walk, embrace of His goodness, and thrive in His excellence.  

        Oh Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder  

          Consider all the worlds thy hands have made,  

          I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder  

          Thy power throughout the Universe displayed. 

Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee, 

How great thou art!  How great thou art! 

Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee, 

How great thou art!  How great thou art!”     

~  Carl Boberg 

Look around you - see all - feel all - hear all.   It is evident that God's merciful messages are ours for the taking- it can be - it is - breath taking!  

Enjoy your Sabbath 

Love to all 

                     Both Sides 

by Shauna Brown  
 
              Not long ago as I was welcoming new students to seminary a young girl came bouncing through the front door. “I’m sorry I’m so late,”  she said almost out of breath.  Her eyes were deep brown, and shiny long black hair accentuated her features.  I was taken by her beauty and equally taken back by a very contrasting black shirt that she wore. The shirt featured a huge white skull on the front of her t-shirt. With reflex of thought I said excitedly, “Oh, you’re coming to do work for the dead.”  She giggled in surprise and smiled. I laughed aloud, as I amazed myself for my quick wit.  She then came closer to me. In some what of an embarrassing tone stated, “You see, I used to be Gothic.” I nodded my head a bit surprised, yet in response to understanding the term.  
        “ I didn’t have any clean clothes this morning. This shirt is a left over.” 
        “ I’m glad it’s clean,” I said with a smile.  
        Then she added, “I decided being a Goth wasn’t really what I wanted to be.”   
         It was then I broke with rules and gave her a welcoming hug. “I’m glad you’re here.”               
        For weeks now my little friend comes late to school almost every day. I have encouraged her on numerous occasions to try harder to be punctual. I admit I am a shade fearful she will slip back into patterns, and behaviors that are not the best for her. In fact, I admit I find relief when she comes through the front door. My response is a wide smile. She stops momentarily and shares her reasons for being tardy. They are as varied as most: busy with marching band practices, keeping her grades up, couldn't sleep, staying up late, had to get an assignment done, had to do the laundry. She then holds up her tardy note and rushes into the classroom.   Yet, in all the times Kate has come late, she has never shared with me that she is the one who basically helps her younger brother get ready for school. I found that fact out by accident from a school aid who informed me that Kate’s younger brother, a seventh grader,  is autistic. It seems Kate is the only one who can work with him to get dressed and ready without him getting upset and agitated. Most mornings are beyond busy for her.  As the aid shared her insights, I was taken with a great sense of wonder. I saw more than a fourteen year old who had withdrawn from darkness, a girl who frequently looks more frazzled than fresh.  I see a young girl who is hanging on the hope that someday she will have new friends who have forgotten how she used to be, and hopes that God will understand and forgive.   
     Isn’t it interesting that too often until we have more facts, ‘both sides of the story,’ we can easily assume, question, create opinions, evaluations and make hasty judgments.                               
       
              “We all make mistakes, have struggles, and even regret things in our past. But you are not your mistakes, you are not your struggles, and you are here NOW with the power to shape your day and your future.”    
                                                                Steve Maraboli       I find great comfort in knowing that Jesus Christ stands as our advocate with the Father.  He knows our full story, He knows our hearts, He knows our will. Both sides of the story of our lives are clearly understood and felt.  His love for everyone is unconditional. He loves us inside out and outside in. His desire is that we show up for the daily lessons and take heart and hope in all the possibilities.
Enjoy the Sabbath!
Love to all,
Shauna