MOXIE

Moxie: noun force of character, determination, or nerve.

Yup, I got a blue streak to go with my blue streak.

Yeah, this has been missing in my life. I have been letting life run me over and I've had a hard time getting traction again. I need my moxie. I'm getting it back. Oh, it has been a process. Every time I get going on it, I falter and fall down, but I'm getting to the point that each time I get up, I do it with a little more strength and a lot more determination.

I have always said I have an ability to rally quickly-and believe me I still have it. But I have had to really work for it. I have had to reach into the furthest depths of my soul to scrounge for and cling to every bit of spunk and boldness and tenacity I can muster just to make it through a day. Mind you, I have gone through stuff- big stuff...through my whole life. Just like everyone! I've had to pull out the big guns before. I've had to bear burdens.  I've suffered loss and rejection. I've been through physical infirmities and life-altering diagnoses.  And I have always made it through...quite usually stronger and better, and hopefully smarter and more empathetic. But strength is harder for me to muster right now. I know, I know. People tell me I need to cut myself a little slack. But I want to be strong and share  strength with others. I realize I've been through alot...just in the last 8 months alone. I've been through a major gutting, the loss of my father, personal tragedies, changes in my job and the loss of a great boss, upheavals and adjustments, and the normal grievances that life throws at you. I know my body alone is trying to heal and rally after all it has been through. The rest of me is trying to catch up. That takes a lot of fortitude- and I've been exhausted clamoring for it. Maybe that's the trouble.

BUT-I believe in angels. I believe they are everywhere-all the time. Heavenly ones, earthly ones, some that we see, and some that we don't. Though I have felt weak for quite some time, I really have felt the strength of angels. So many of them from so many places. When I had my hysterectomy in the Fall, I had angels come out of the woodwork. Ones that attended me and sustained me, fed me and visited me, brought me books, prayed for me, and helped me cling to sanity while being in convalescence for 6 weeks. Then when my dad died shortly after that, angels appeared from his life and mine to lift and love my family through the grief. I felt forces from Heaven gather around me to lift me up and encourage me to keep going. There have been heavenly beings in my home, silently busying themselves in the work of bolstering me and my family, helping us to carry on. As problems and instances that drag me down present themselves in my life, there is always someone there to make it better. Whether from Heaven or from my own neighborhood, whether from my own home or family, whether from long lost daughters or friends from work, whether from my angel dad or Chad's angel brother, someone is always there to make sure I get up and keep going. So I guess I am realizing that maybe, just maybe if I stop expending all my energy on clamoring and fighting for peace and stability...I can just notice and accept the miracles of those things showing up. I can watch for angels instead of begging Heaven for them. God knows what I need and has never faltered in His love for me. I am so grateful for the love He has sent to me to strengthen me and keep me moving forward. Thanks to all the angels in my life-both from Heaven and the ones here on earth that I am blessed to know and love.  Thank you for the prayers, the texts, the call, notes, gifts, love and encouragement. I can do this, and I hope to pay it forward with my hope and light. You have saved me, you've helped me get my moxie back on track, and I am grateful.

A handful of the angels in my life-there

are so many more...





Alone #Daddy Issues

I have needed to blog for a long while now. Not just wanted to...needed to. There's so much swimming around in my head that it makes me dizzy. But I'm not good with words right now. I can't even speak properly. My sentences are garbled and confusing-pretty much like my texts. If you have ever texted with me you know I am terrible. But I'm going to pop if I don't process a little so here goes...

I'm a happy person. I love finding joy. I love experiencing life even when it scares me. I'm good at finding silver linings. I rally quickly. I forgive easily. I see the good. I love spreading kindness. I can experience all of these things to some degree every single day. But there are days when despair follows me around and nips at my heels. There are days I just want to go "home" and be with my dad. No, I don't want to die or anything. I just want some lasting peace. But I know my girls need me, and that keeps me hopping forward.

THE one and only Mike Summers

I miss my dad. That is certainly not all of the emotion I am contending with right now, but I miss him desperately. The day he died, my life kind of blew up. Not just because he died. That only added to the chaos-the kind of chaos that knocks you down and leaves you bleeding without a bandage. The kind every one experiences, but no less horrible because it is shared by others. When he died, it actually brought a peace to my soul that was much needed. He had been suffering valiantly for so long. He was in pain all the time and smiled through it all while my saint of a mother tended to his every need. It was precious to watch. But he was tired. He was ready. And though I miss him terribly I am so happy for him to be free of his earthly body that was falling apart. I feel joy that he is no longer in pain. I am happy for his release. But I also had no idea that on the very day I lost him my life would fall into a kind of turmoil I never saw coming.

I will spare you the details. Everyone deals with stuff. Every one I know is at their own personal boiling point. Even the little things seem big right now. Admittedly we make a lot of our own problems all by ourselves. But life seems just a little bit out of control, and I know I'm not the only one who feels it. And right now, I need my dad more than ever. I need his wit, his wisdom, his blunt ways of telling it like it is. I need his compassion, his perspective, his hands on my head in comfort. I miss him. I feel alone sometimes, even though I know his angel self is watching over me every minute. I'm a little desperate for his reassurances, and yearn for his perspective of eternity he must now have sure knowledge of. One of the things I fear most in this life is feeling alone. I cannot be alone in my empty, quiet house and feel peace. I have to have the tv or radio on to blast those feelings of desolation away. Loneliness plagues me right now, and I don't like it. But I don't feel terribly adept at being social either. So I'm a little stuck and frightened. But it passes. And it's okay.

If there is one thing I know without a doubt, it is that I have a wonderful Father in Heaven who loves me as much as Mike Summers. So I'm never quite alone. My prayer is that my Heavenly Father and Mike Summers are working in tandem to ease my fears and send the things of Heaven this way. I hope that their influence from above will be felt with immense depth in my home and my soul. I have endless faith, and it has never failed to get me through. SO I'm really not alone, but I'm really, really hoping that today, and during this special weekend of Father's Day, I can feel Mike Summers channeled through every thing I do. And I hope that I can feel God's love through Mike Summers and know it will all be okay. Because it will. And I am grateful. Happy Father's Day Dad(s)!

Blue Streak

It's time to address the elephant in the room. I did it at my daddy's funeral; I need to do it now. I have a blue streak. I 'm not talking about my language-I'm talking about my hair.

I always wanted a blue streak. I don't know if it's because someone had one in a super hero cartoon I watched when I was little, or because I can talk a blue streak. I just wanted one my whole life. Last Fall, I started experimenting with color in my hair to see how it would be received by the people in my life. I have to say I have been impressed with the acceptance of the changes people see in my hair. Most people have been amazing about it. I started first with a pastel pink streak-then a red streak-then burgundy-then purple. But all along I gave a heads-up that what I really wanted was a blue streak, and someday when I got the guts, it would be there.

Well, the guts arrived. During one of the last hospital visits towards the end of my dad's life, he told me he needed to see the blue streak before he died. He made me promise I would do it. The next day, the blue streak was in. It was scary. That dye is dark, and it gets everywhere in seconds. Rinsing it out makes it look like there was an alien murder in the bathroom. But I did it. I have never regretted it. I love it. It completes me. It's me. My favorite color is blue. Dad loved it..."it's so you,  Heather. I love it. It makes me happy." It made me feel good to make him happy. It made me happy to do that for him. I'm so grateful I took the jump. I'm so grateful he got to see it. The blue streak has changed my life.

The first thing the blue streak did was give me confidence. Taking that step showed me I am brave. It's hard for me to do things that will draw attention. But I'm so glad I did this. I feel brave. I am brave.

The blue streak brings me calm. I love blue. It's peaceful and calming and just speaks to my soul. The ocean, the sky...blue calls my name. So my blue hair grounds and centers me. It gives me peace.

The blue streak has shown me that there are people in this world who accept me no matter what. It shows me there is acceptance galore in this world. I am so very grateful for the love and support that has been shown to me and my blue streak! People that I would have never dreamed would like the blue come up to me and positively gush over it. Not that I am after gushing. It is just nice that people like it. My friends like it. My family loves it. My husband is crazy for it. My kindergarteners call me the "Reading Fairy" because I "come in and bring all kinds of wonderful books and games and even have blue hair!" So Reading Fairy is definitely a title I can live with.

The blue streak has made me feel pretty. I have a hard time with feeling pretty. I love the way the blue brings my eyes out. For the first time in my life, I actually liked my school picture!

And of course, my blue streak makes me think of my dad. He is always with me. He influences my thoughts and decisions, and makes me want to be a better person. I look in the mirror and remember all the goodness he brought to my life and the complete, absolute love and acceptance he gave to imperfect me. I look in the mirror, and I am grateful.

A little comfort at dad's graveside.
I LOVE YOU DADDY!

Family Matters

Mom. My favorite title aside from "wife". I LOVE being a mom. I understand that I am blessed to be one, and that I get a somewhat heightened experience in being one. I have given birth to beautiful daughters and have been extremely blessed in the literal sense to be a mother. But I have also been given the gift of loving and seeing potential in everyone. Because of this, I have been able to be "mom" to many, many more people than my own precious daughters. I am mom to around 600 students at my sweet little elementary school at any given time. I am mom to many young women who I have had the distinct privilege of serving and learning from in my church. I have been blessed to foster relationships with beautiful people much younger than myself who ask to call me mom because of the love we share. I relish being mom to all of them. And I gain important perspective because of it.

Me and my beautiful girls that I have given birth to.

Whether I am mom to someone through bloodlines or spirit, I recognize that in reality, we are ALL God's children. No matter who gives birth to each child, each one of us is on loan from God. Delivering and raising children is a privilege-a beautiful and exceptionally rewarding experience God gives to show us He loves us and trusts us to love each other and help each other through this life. Getting to raise God's children is icing on the cake of life. I love it. Every joy I find in motherhood is by the grace of God himself, and I am grateful for it.

I have a strong belief that God gave this earth mothers to give the love that he isn't physically here to give. He could have just placed us on the earth at will. But He gave us a way to get here and a way to grow and be nurtured. He gives us blessings to show He loves us constantly. I know there are hundreds of blessings that occur daily for our benefit that we don't ever see or know about, but He gives them to us because He is our Father and He loves us. Mothers carry that love from Him to His children. Some women are not able to be physical mothers. Some mothers neglect their own children. Some children are orphaned. All of us here are able to give love to God's children and serve His purposes in giving respite, comfort, love, selflessness and encouragement to all who need it. I feel blessed to play a tiny part in this.

Another aspect of this is the joy I accrue in finding people to love and care for. I have been blessed with so many wonderful, gentle, happy, amazing spirits in my life that I wouldn't have otherwise known if it hadn't been for my aptitude in mothering. I am not the best mother, or the most perfect mother, but I know how to love and see goodness. I know how to encourage and empathize. I LOVE being  mom. I love being mom to my girls. They are my joys. I love being "school mom" to all the children at school. I love being mom in Young Womens. I love being mom to my friends' children. I love being mom to people who enter my life and touch my heart, opening doors to Heaven when they ask me if they can please call me mom. I love you. I love being mom. Thank you for being a part of my life. I treasure this title. And I am grateful.

The Tale of Two Heathers

I consider myself to be a pretty even-keeled person. I'm reasonable and happy, I'm functional and efficient, I'm calm most of the time, and I feel pretty good about my life. And I love. Oh boy, do I love. All the time. I can't turn it off. But I know there are places in my heart and my soul that are a little bit less settled and even a little bit grey. I keep those grey spaces tamped down a good part of the time, but they exist. There's the BEST Heather, and then there's the other Heather. My goal is to keep the BEST Heather accessible and seen the most often, but other Heather surfaces every now and again.

The two sides of me don't fight often. I'm pretty quick to rally. I've been blessed with eternal perspective and a pretty bright spirit. Yet grey tries to plague me now and again, and the bright side of me has to work hard to surface. For the times I feel defeated, there's the flip side that wants to give the good fight. For times I feel stupid, I latch on to learning quickly. For sadness that is in me, there is also a bubbly, happy self. For exhaustion that plagues me, there is a reserve of boundless energy. Where I make judgments too quickly, I also find good easily. For the times I act rashly, I have fostered the art of patience.  Where my feelings get hurt, there are buckets of forgiveness. Where I lack sympathy, tenderness resides as well. When I am a coward and want to run away from life and its problems, the Super cape in my closet waits readily. For the rebel in me, there's a girl who just wants to do the right thing. I see my weaknesses. I have many. The cool thing is that for every weakness, there's an opposite strength. That's my true fight. To find the opposing strength within me. It's a battle to be sure, but one I want to win more often than not.


Some of my rebel accessories.

My husband-my cheerleader, my strength, my self-esteem champion.

Strength of family.

Gaining strength.

Settled, peaceful me.

 You know the old Indian story about the two wolves...the one that you feed is the one that wins. I know that is how every person is. I know there's opposition in all things. I know there's always going to be a little fight going on in someone. I'm not the only one with grey inside. What I want to bring forth is my thanks to the people in my life that help my good wolf win. I want to acknowledge the people that bring out my BEST Heather. BEST Heather exists because of the wonderful influences that surround me every day. BEST Heather is accessible through the grace of God, and YOU...my peeps. I'm grateful!

FIGHT SONG

I was able to take part in a conversation with a couple of people, both of whom I dearly love, last night. It was a painful, yet healing conversation. Hard things were talked about, realizations were made, trials were dissected. I sat for most of this conversation and listened to the itemization of hardship, loss, and suffering my family has been experiencing for the past several months. As an onlooker it sounded quite grim. It was actually hard to hear bit for bit what our challenges have been and what we are facing at this time.

Amy Marie and me at dad's funeral

The amazing thing was that the longer I sat there, the stronger I felt. With each tick of the box that was made in the things that were against us, I felt a heightened need to fight. For each strike mentioned, I thought, "Yeah, I made it through that!" or "And we're still alive." or "We are going to fight through this and win!" I came out of our conversation feeling good. I came out feeling strong. I came out feeling able. My faith is heightened, my outlook is good.

I'm not saying the road from here will be easy, or that having an evening of aha moments and strength is going to make my world suddenly come into balance. I'm just saying that this specific conversation didn't show me how horrible things are, it showed me how much I have dealt with and survived it...so my track record shows I can keep doing it. It was a blessing I hadn't gone looking for, but was given to me in such a timely manner.

I am not a person that enjoys a good fight. I avoid one at all costs-at least most of the time. But the fight I will fight is the fight against giving up. I will rail against depression. I will stand up to falling down. I'm standing a bit taller today. I didn't make it this far to quit. I will rely on the tender mercies of Heaven, the people that I love, and the miracle of being alive, and I will FIGHT. For me, for you, for all who are facing things-and everyone is. So I will fight. Carry on.

 

Missing MY Santa

*****My father passed away on December 30, 2016. He requested that I, the most emotional of his daughters, give a talk about Christmas at his funeral. This is the talk that I gave. ******

My dad. The real Santa.

I grew up with the real Santa Claus. I grew up with Christmas in my heart every day. My dad, Mike Summers, is Santa. Though my father many times donned a red suit and beard and shared treasures of all kinds, this is not what made him Santa. The complete understanding and deep love of what Christmas means is what made him Santa... though he wore the red suit well!

I grew up with a man who believes in the kindness and giving nature of Santa, and the saving grace of our Savior, and that those attributes together are what make the world livable, lovable and survivable.

Anyone who knows the Summers family knows that we love Christmas! We love the lights, we love the feelings, we love the joy, and the magic. We love giving and serving and watching the delight and surprise on the faces of a needy family that we just delivered Christmas to. We love the change of hearts, we love the common good. We love light, and candles, Christmas stories and Christmas music. Johnny Mathis, Bing Crosby, and Frank Sinatra were our childhood friends, singing of Santa and White Christmases, but also crooning words of love, goodwill, and a tiny baby that would save the world with nothing but His love.

The essence of Christmas is love-the love that the birth of the Savior brought to the world, and the love our Heavenly Father gave in sending Him. Christmas is the love and generosity that Santa delivers to all the world. Christmas is love, and my father shared his in abundance. Many of you in the audience have probably been gifted with something that was his- many of them being model cars! Just days before his death, he gave a young man who was leaving on a mission one of his precious cars. This cute young man couldn't bear to leave that car home. We're hoping the other missionaries at the MTC are enjoying it with him!

One of the first stories I remember being told about my dad was the time my parents lived in El Paso, TX. My dad had his eye on a new plaid coat, and set aside money until he could afford it. He bought the coat and loved it. On the way home from making this purchase, he saw a man walking down the road, shivering with no coat. My dad knew he had just spent hard-earned and well saved money on something he had wanted, but he couldn't stand the thought of someone shivering in the cold with no coat at all. My dad pulled over, took off his brand new coat, and handed it to this stranger. He never batted an eye over it. He knew he'd done the right thing. The spirit of Christmas shone brightly through my dad that day, as it did his whole life. Now dad would tell you that marrying my mom brought out the best of Christmas in him. Together, no matter whether we were in the middle of a feast or famine, Christmas was planned, loved and given with great gusto every year of my life. It was prepared for and looked forward to the entire year. The sense of giddiness that built up in our home rivaled that of the movie "A Christmas Story." This is not to say that Christmas was always perfect. Our family would always inevitably pick the biggest, most majestic and full Christmas tree with the largest base of any other. Upon getting home, we always found the base was too big for the stand. This set off a series of events that our entire neighborhood witnessed each year. The saw came out, the tree trunk was shaved down, there was pushing and screaming, weeping, and wailing and gnashing of teeth, before the tree stand was ultimately hurled down the driveway with disgust and a swear word or two. And that, we knew, was part of Christmas too!

My family knew of Christmas magic and wonder from a young age. Because my dad was Santa, we knew every story from the North Pole. Every Sunday night of our entire lives we heard Christmas stories, told by my dad. In the summer we had popcorn and coolaid, in the winter we had popcorn and cocoa, but we knew when the popcorn started popping that story time was arriving. This magical hour each Sunday night taught us the names of each elf, the reason Santa's sleigh is red, the origination of candy canes and ribbon candy. And the way new toys were created.

But we also knew the wonder of the Christ child, sent to bring love, forgiveness and peace to our world.

I should point out that our family loves the entire Chrisman season,  and believes that Thanksgiving and Christmas go together as perfectly as my parents did. Giving thanks, and giving to others go together as well as peanut butter and jelly, so we love the whole entire holiday season that brings out the good in the world. But the best day of the calendar year is Christmas Eve. That's when The Summers go all out. For our family,  the year revolves around  Christmas Eve. As a child,  after gazing at the magical trimmed tree,  we'd  had the Christmas Eve feast,  eaten my mother's delectable assortment of homemade treats,  and we were all ready for bed,  we'd  read the story of the birth of Jesus. Although my dad had 4 daughters , who through the years would torment him with hormones,  screaming matches, crazy boyfriends,  car wrecks,  and an enormous fear of spiders,  Christmas Eve rewarded my father,  as well as us girls,  for having daughters.  After the true story of Christmas was told,  each of us girls donned a veil as Mary would have,  and my dad,  on all fours would be the donkey,  taking us to Bethlehem.  That is how we arrived in our beds.  My dad would deliver us there on his back,  showing us the wonder and reverence the mother of Jesus must have felt.  It's something I'll never forget.

As the years have gone on,  we've added more to this night.  A Mexican feast,  gift giving,  floating sky lanterns,  luminaries,  musical numbers,  treats,  memories,  and Papa's magical stories of the North Pole for the grandkids.  This year,  by my Meghan's inspiration,  we recorded one of Papa's stories, which he told to all of us,  huddled by the fireplace.  The magic was palpable,  and my dad,  Santa gave it to us. We treasure it. Our family knows that to honor my father,  all we have to do is keep Christmas  in our hearts every day of the year. And we will.

The spirit of Christmas if we have it in our hearts and live it every day is what helps us survive all the things in this world. People have asked if I will still love Christmas as much with my daddy gone, and so soon after Christmas. To this I say YES! CHRISTMAS IS LOVE.  My dad was love. So I will keep it all the year.

#bestfamilyever
#mikesummersliveson