Fantasyland

 

RE left at 6 this morning for a 3-day reenactment of a pioneer trek. She gets to experience what a teenager migrating west in the 1850s experienced right down to pushing a handcart twenty miles through Wyoming sagebrush and rivers. I've said little prayers for her in my heart all day; I hope she is loving the wide open space and tight knit people. I hope three days of 90-degree weather in a skirt and bonnet make her appreciate the people that founded our state and the ease of her current life.

Greg and I got to go on this same trek four years ago as a "Ma" and "Pa" of eight kids and it was one of the highlights of our life. Initially I was worried about going since I had significant back pain but quickly learned the Lord would help me do whatever I was asked to do. Anyone from our trek will remember how summer thunderstorm raindrops felt like cold bullets without shelter to hide under. I was counting on Greg to carry me across the river as it would have been an utterly romantic gesture but when it came down to it he didn't want to risk slipping and even shoved me in first. So much for that memory.

I'll never forget the menthol scent of sagebrush, the comfort of "Taps" trumpeting above the tent tops as night fell, waking up to the bleating of 500 sheep, how heavy mud is, and how thankful I was for the bag of beef jerky I snuck in my bedroll. The last night we set our tent up on no less than 18 dried cow pies. I was too tired to move them and too tired to smell them. We just threw the tarp down and slept on a bunch of cow poop.

One evening the Pony Express came to deliver letters from home to all the kids. When we got back to our tent Greg pulled out a letter he had my parents write for me. It made up for not carrying me across the river. I will never outgrow needing my parents' love and encouragement.

Many of the Mormon pioneers that came west in the 1850s were immigrants from England, Wales, Scotland, and Denmark. They often left security and pretty things because they wanted something better. The very definition of sacrifice is to give up something good for something better. The sea voyages and train tracks could only get people so far. From Iowa City and Winter Quarters the saints whittled their bedding and belongings down to 17 pounds each discarding books, extra clothing, and mementos to begin the thousand-mile (3 month) journey on foot pushing a handcart to what is now Salt Lake City, Utah.

Mid-journey, when the food was nearly gone and a portion of breakfast meant 8 ounces of flour mush, there was very little strength remaining. The pioneers were asked to again reduce their lot to ten pounds a person. Reassess, cling, let go, carry on. This made an impact on me and I scribbled some things in my trek journal.

I pulled my journal out this week to relive my sweet trek memories while RE is on her own trek and found the bit about lightening one's load by letting go. It's just what I needed. I've been at such an impasse since Archer was born; fighting my old self and what my old self got done, feeling anemic in this wild, new country. I'm stuck and tired a lot. The past few weeks I've been doing some sage self-evaluation and came to the conclusion I must be realistic with the free time I have and choose what is most important to me. Reassess, cling, cling some more...let go. I let go of several recreational hobbies I love and only kept three things: getting healthy, writing, and sewing Archer's Christmas stocking. Temporary goodbyes were said to non-scripture reading, scrapbooking, Pinterest desserts, etc. When I get to a place where I'm still, where I'm not pushing all day and using my energies to stay moving, I will add more weight and enjoy treasured skills of yesteryear. Babies require sacrifice.

Greg and I call it FANTASYLAND, meaning "where the babies are". We took RE to Disneyland and Disneyworld when she was big; we dropped down Towers of Terror and Screamed and Soared while mommies wearing Moby wraps waited 90 minutes to ride Dumbo. We literally couldn't cut through Fantasyland because it was wall-to-wall cargo strollers, fussing babies, toddlers on teddy bear backpack leashes, and poopy diaper clouds hovering above. Ick. The poor mommies in Fantasyland were living no kind of fantasy.

Surprise! I found the happiest place on earth a year ago when my son was born and now I'm the schmuck with the stroller and diaper bag waiting for the proverbial Dumbo ride. Yes, it smells like poop here. Yes, I can hear people screaming with delight elsewhere. It's okay. I had plenty of years of churros, dipped bananas, Dole Whip, and Fast Pass rides. I'm hanging out in Fantasyland until they kick me out.

I can let go of most of the things I used to do/have/be because I have a new carry on I want to hold forever.

Photo of the brick hearth of the Joseph Smith Frame Home in Palmyra, New York. I chose bricks for the photo because bricks are heavy and I carry too much heaviness in my brain. And because of this awesome true story about a Mormon missionary who mailed a brick back to Texas 30 years after he stole it. It's never too late to let go of heavy stuff! PDF version here if you are like me and print stories for the family binder.

Archer is an 18-lb carry on. He ain't heavy.