A pick-me-up

My sister Rindi wrote this on her blog. I don't think she would mind me reposting it here. It is a great little pick-me-up. I have been trying really hard to live in the present and not the future. It is hard! Enjoy today!


Thursday, November 4, 2010 The Tulips of Life
I took my two little boys out shopping earlier this morning. Before entering the store, I had to stop for a moment and soak up my surroundings. The warm sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the temperature was nearly perfect. We are in our absolutely gorgeous time of year here in Southern Utah. The large palm trees lining the front of the store were swaying slightly, and the birds were chirping happily overhead. For me, it was one of those happy moments, when you feel full to the brim of gratitude for your very life. Sometimes we get so busy with life that we forget to live.

I guess it was my happy mood that caused me to remember an experience I had during our first winter in cold, cold, cold Pennsylvania. I had been eyeing the dreary-looking flower bed next to our front porch for months. 'All it needs is a good splash of color,' I kept telling myself as if that would instantly transform our humble little home into… well… something better.

For weeks, our entire yard had been burdened under layers of frozen snow after the incredible Valentine’s Day Blizzard. I loved seeing the local florists out in droves on that snowy February 13th trying desperately to fulfill their orders before the real snow came dumping down the next day. As romantic as it all sounds to see a parka-clad, boot-stomping delivery man standing on the step holding a dozen snow-dusted roses, I already had my heart set on something different: warmer weather. Winter just didn’t seem to want to leave.

Still, there were a few brief moments between then and Easter when the sun actually shone down on the patch of dirt running along the front of our house just long enough for me to imagine what it would look like full of pinks, reds, purples, and greens.

I love the springtime. It signifies survival after a long winter. And a long winter it had been! I let my mind drift to the future when Greg would complete his residency. I felt like that would be the ultimate springtime of my life. A survival of sorts. After four years of undergraduate work in Provo, Utah, we moved to Ohio for four years of medical school. After medical school comes residency, and the first year of residency is typically referred to as the intern year. We moved to Bountiful, Utah while Greg completed his intern year at LDS Hospital. From there, we trekked back across the country to central Pennsylvania, where he would finish his three-year residency. It had been a long haul, to say the least.

I was mildly intrigued one brisk morning as I herded my three small children along our front walkway to see bits of green poking through the conglomerate of sun-bleached bark and dirt filling this same large flower bed. As the days progressed, we all became convinced that something was indeed growing before our very eyes. We soon settled into a morning ritual of rushing to the front windows to peek out into the bed of dirt trying to discover what special surprise had lain hidden in our dirt all winter. When the neighbors’ yards all started blooming with color, our little sprouts of green did nothing except slowly grow a bit more each day.

Some things require a healthy dose of patience. I can vividly remember sitting in a large auditorium on the campus of Brigham Young University one fall evening. My husband, Greg, and I were huddled together somewhere near the top, listening intently to what was being said. The room was full of some of the best and brightest minds at B.Y.U— pre-medical students. This lecture was part of a series on the nitty-gritty details of the medical school application process. Discouraging statistics and dismal odds were aimed at us like golf balls. I kept thinking the lecturer should shout, “FORE!” before reading the next set of numbers so we could effectively take cover. I wasn’t sure if the point was to frighten us all so we would quit or to inspire us all to try harder. My palms were starting to sweat, and my heart was starting to race. Would we ever make it to that end goal of doctorhood?

I have to wonder, as I sit here all these years later, how many other young wives were sitting in the lecture hall that night? How many other young wives were trying desperately to memorize all the valuable insider information while formulating a confidence-boosting speech she could deliver to her overwhelmed husband upon exiting the science building? I’m sure I wasn’t the only one. I began that day to think in the form of 'we'. We would fulfill this dream Greg had been harboring for years. We would do it together!

At the time, I had no idea how long the curvy road would be. I didn’t stop to think about how old we would be by the time Greg would be billing his own patients. I didn’t fully calculate the costs of medical school tuition. I couldn’t have imagined the places this journey would take us, the experiences we would have, or the people we would meet along the way. I didn't know how our family would grow, or the way I would love my little babies. I didn’t anticipate the things I would learn trying to support my husband and raise a family while he became a doctor. In the beginning, it was all about getting to the end. Somewhere for me, it stopped being about the end and started being about the journey and the amazing surprises along the way.

I’m back to thinking about my flower bed. One morning I stumbled into the front room rubbing my eyes and yawning. I pushed back the bright white curtains out of habit to glance out our windows. There, as if smiling right at me, stood two straight rows of bright pink tulips. I actually gasped. “Girls,” I yelled, “come and see, quick!” They rushed to my side, with their matching nightgowns and messy hair. Squeals of laughter soon filled my ears. Grabbing their hands, I danced happily around the front room, spinning them off the ground. I just kept thinking to myself, I didn’t know we would have tulips!

It’s funny, you know. While Greg was busy building this wealth of medical knowledge, I've been busy too, building my own wide variety of experiences, soaking up life, love, and laughter as I go. During that scary lecture at B.Y.U., I geared myself up for the worst, hoping to survive the difficult process. But life isn't about surviving, it's about thriving. There are definitely long winters to endure and difficult times to get through. But sometimes our most beautiful moments are growing beneath the surface of our most difficult experiences. It is the tulips of our life which help us forget about the cold. Looking back on the whole long process and the many wonderful experiences we had, I feel like I should say, “I didn’t know we would have tulips. I just didn’t know!”

And now I am in a new phase of life. My responsibilities are growing, and life wants to become very hectic. During all of those years of schooling, I always dreamed of getting to this point. It is wonderful, but there are many things and multiple people I miss quite a bit. I am thankful for those times when I can stop and take it all in, when I can feel the sunshine, hear the rustling of the palm trees and hold my little ones' hands and feel grateful for the seasons of my life.

-Rindi