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

Where Is the Love

We are in the middle of a season of love. One of peace and charity, well-wishing and goodwill toward men. I have always reveled in this time of year...it brings me joy. It gives me hope. It makes me happy and restores my belief in goodness. This time of year makes me believe in love-as if I didn't already...but also that everyone is capable of giving it and receiving it. You can love-whether you've lost, been hurt, been unappreciated, been afraid-even if you're broken. You can be loved, even if you don't feel worthy, even if you're alone, even if you have lost, even when life is hard. And you're darn tootin you can love at Christmas. That's what it's all about. That's why some of us love to carry Christmas in our hearts every single day. Every season.

I remember the lonely and alone right now. I actually remember them all the time. Not just at Christmas. There's a lot of hard stuff in this world. For everyone. Love cures a lot of those hard things. I'm grateful for the reminders to be sensitive. But there are sensitive situations our whole entire lives, every single day. How amazing that we can think of others and be kind all the time, not just right now!

I know life hurts. People come and people go. Bad things happen. Hearts get broken. People are lonely. Trials come upon us. Loved ones die. People make decisions that aren't the ones we expect. Everyone has something they are dealing with. I get it. This time of year that is all about love and joy and togetherness can be a little lacking for someone who is dealing with matters of the heart. But EVERYONE deals with matters of the heart. Watching Guardians of the Galaxy put it in perspective  for me when Rocket says, "Everybody's got dead people." At first I thought it was so harsh, but it's true. I think if we all remembered that EVERYONE has dead people (or trials or loss or loneliness etc.) that maybe we'd be a little bit kinder-and love a little bit better.

It's okay to be joyful ANY time of year. It's okay to give love and hope to others. ALWAYS. Even to people who are sad or lonely or not enjoying this time of year. There's a good chance that showing a little kindness and Christmas spirit might be the very thing that helps someone through. The little teeny acts of good will go a lot further than the moment. SO love. It is always okay to love. It's what we're here to learn. It's what we're here to do.  I'm almost embarrassed how easily I love. It pours out of me-literally (I cry a lot) and figuratively. Oh, I get hurt too. I get grumpy at selfishness. I get stung at misunderstanding. I get tired of feeling used. I get frustrated when I feel my love isn't being returned. But at the end of it all I find myself loving anyway. I can close my heart right up and wrap duct tape around it, but somehow the love finds any unblocked crack and oozes out regardless. It finds a way over the wall. It seeps under the foundation and out where it is supposed to be-with all the imperfect people and all the unfair situations. So I love you da*mit! Receive my love because it's comin' at you anyway! That's just how it's going to be. Right now at Christmas, and all the year through.

Reconcile

All  my demons have ganged up on me in the last few weeks. I have been healing from surgery, mostly house-bound with a lot of time on my hands and a mind that already overthinks EVERYTHING. I can't lift, bend, stretch (I miss you Pilates!!) clean, push a grocery cart, carry laundry down the stairs or vacuum (my therapy.) I have to watch others do the work I should be doing and stew in my own crazy brain. I miss my job-all my little kiddos and the phenomenal people I work with. I'm awaiting with eager trepidation all the little hugs I will receive when I return to work. Eager for the hugs, trepidatious because my midsection is still vulnerable. The days have gone by fast; I can't believe it's already December, but each hour is an eternity. I understand needing to heal-the days I try to do too much send me backwards, but I can't take much more. Though I know my convalescence is necessary, I feel trapped in my own life, and I'm drowning in anxiety.

This time of year is what I live for. It is what my entire year revolves around-feelings of peace, goodwill, happiness and joy. Christmas is in my heart always. Though my tree is up, and my house is decorated to the hilt, I feel like I am missing out a little this year. The whole experience of being out in the thrill of all things Christmas is a little lacking. A lot of my anxiety is the feeling that I am not living this season to its fullest. I'm not sharing love and good will- I'm taking it from others, which is all part of the cycle but I feel guilt just the same. So I am desperately searching out every bit of magic I can find.

It needs to be said that I have been treated beautifully. I have been visited and sent gifts. I have been brought food and books and movies. I have had wonderful conversations with people. I have had a wonderful team of health care specialists do exceptional work concerning my well being. My family has been patient and helpful. On the days that I am about to pop, someone steps in to ease my craziness with a drive to see Christmas lights, a walk in the cold, a quick trip to the store. I am beyond grateful for the love and care I have received.

I have to interject here that God has been so good to me. My surgery went better than I could have imagined, although my doctor ran into complications and extra work. My healing has been steady. I know that  Heaven has a hand in that. When my body and soul are heavy with anxiety and fear, God has heard me and tried to gear my thought processes in different directions than the ones that are eating me alive. And I know this has been a big job for Him. I am truly, utterly amazed at His grace and love for me. I am so unworthy, and so very human. I revel at His patience with me.

While sitting here for weeks on end with my brain in over-drive is making me insane, I have had to face reconciliation with a lot of my demons. The demons that tell me I'm not good enough (especially while I feel worthless, sitting around all day), that I should have tried harder, that I'm not making the kind of difference that counts, that I should have said something different, that I should have made different choices. I am having to face those thoughts head on and decide what to do with them. I am trying to accept the fact that "what-ifs" are of no use whatsoever. The reconciliation has come through copious amounts of thought, reassurance from others, blessings from Heaven, and a lot of work on my part. Though I am still smack-dab in the middle of this process, I will say the silver lining in staying too still is that you have to work through things...there's really no other choice. I have been advised to search for opportunities to experience the joys I crave, even if they are not the ones that I am used to participating in at this time of year. I am assured that opportunities will be there, and I'm praying I can keep my head above anxious waters while finding joy and sharing it with others. And I will be grateful.

Me and my girls on Meghan's 18th Birthday

Gutted

Weird title, right? But this is me. My life is in a bit of a tailspin right now. I have known I would end up in some version of this state someday, but the when, the why and the how of it kind of changed everything, leaving me unprepared and a little bit off-kilter.

16 days ago I had a full hysterectomy. This came after years of battling my family genetics, an ovarian cancer scare, endometriosis,  and doctor visits too many to count. I will spare you the details, but honestly I thought I had a good 10-15 years before I had to bite this bullet. The hardest part to swallow was the "6 weeks down" part of this ordeal. (oh, and the staying in the hospital part). That is so scary to me!! 6 weeks! I can't sit still for an hour. I am one of those people that if I start getting restless, I start pumping my legs and my daughter has to tell me to stop because I am shaking the whole couch. I worked in our school office one year and having to stay at my desk for hours on end just about sent me over the edge. I had to use any excuse to run errands around the school that year. 6 weeks is an eternity! No lifting, no twisting or using core muscles, no CLEANING!! Cleaning is my therapy. Sitting on the couch while Chad vacuums my house consumes me with guilt and longing. At any rate, I was not prepared for this. I am not someone who enjoys having to lay down after getting dressed or fixing my hair. I am determined to do those things-every day, But I am exhausted.!! Even though I had a few weeks to pull myself together, I wasn't ready. It doesn't matter how many meals I put in the freezer, or how clean my house was, or how many errands I had checked off my list. I wasn't ready. My house is not ready for the holidays and you know how I am about Thanksgiving and Christmas. But guess what? It has been okay. Life has gone on. We are adjusting.

Ha ha!! As far as I know, the only embarrassing thing
I did  was try to drink my ice chips out of the spoon they gave me.
"Heather, that is a straw, not a spoon, honey." Good thing
I was intubated during surgery. Who knows what I might have said?

One of the things that has happened during this (and though I am not surprised, I am humbly taken aback) is that people have literally come out of the woodwork to help my family. I didn't tell many people about this. I didn't want people to worry. I did not ask for help. I felt so guilty just asking for 6 weeks off from work that I thought I would die of shame. But my boss was stoic and comforting and kind. The teachers that I work with were generous and encouraging, and even brought me dinner. People at church are taking over and teaching my little kiddos. My neighbors have dropped off meals and movies and books and treats and flowers. Our families have brought meals and checked on me everyday . My friends have called (sorry that my phone is for the most part turned off) and I have felt love beyond compare.

Another thing I have noticed more of in our house is humor. It is how we are getting through this. It is how we laugh at mom having to tiptoe crouched over to go up and down the stairs, and how we tease Chad about looking so good with a vacuum. It is how we tell Meghan that she is getting all the skills needed to be a mom by emptying the dishwasher, cleaning the bathroom and folding the laundry-all in the same day. We laugh at everything on tv, especially episodes of The Middle-a show about a family that tries, but never quite gets it all together-in essence-us!

So though I have truly been gutted in a very real sense, I am grateful. I've got a good life going on here. I am grateful for the people in it. And I am learning that the way to get through anything is by loving and laughing through it! As my friend Jay always says...LIFE-BRING IT!!!

VALIDATE(d)

We don't do sports at our house. Don't stop reading...Hear me out. SOMEBODY STILL WINS IN THIS. I realize that sports have their place in society, and I was a cross-country/track runner in high school, so I'm not bashing them. Heck, I even got a petition signed into place at my junior high so that I (and other girls) could play football! We just don't do them now. I think I saw one too many coaches yelling at small children or too many freezing kids out on soccer fields on Saturday mornings for me to even consider putting my girls in organized sports.

I agree that there are valuable things to be learned in sports-teamwork, losing graciously, physical exercise as a great outlet, that kind of thing. Sadly, many times all I see is the need to WIN, to conquer, to be better than everyone else. As someone who gets to spend time on the playground at an elementary school, I see the entire spectrum. It goes from the kid who just wants to have fun all the way up to the child who sees him/herself on television playing for the big names. Kids who want to share the ball they just got, and kids who are going to take that ball at any cost. Kids who want a turn to just kick the ball and kids who are going to be THE ONE who has the ball for the entire game, and everything in between. Sometimes the arguments that constantly break out over games on the playground get to me. I really do just want everyone to get along and have fun. I really do not EVER care who wins, because there is good in every person, good on every team. And I'm okay with people rooting for teams. I just am not a person that thinks that sports define who you are. When the kids ask me if I'm a BYU or Ute fan, I tell them I'm a BYUTE. It throws them off a little, but I tell them there's good on every team.

But back to the playground, sometimes my favorite view is of the sky-not the soccer field. Yesterday I watched a little brawl begin. Someone fell. I headed down the field to work things out and watched one of the little ones rolling around, clutching himself into a ball, looking like he had sustained the worst injury ever recorded at the school. Kids gathered around him. I picked up my pace and ran to kneel beside him- patting his back, asking what had happened and if he was alright. Then BOOM-he was up and running, grabbing the ball, screaming "I'll be fine!", and getting back in the game. At first I was bewildered and slightly bothered that I had been so worried and he was just fine. I was thinking to myself that these little kids watch these big athletes on TV-rolling around and looking like they are in the worst agony of their lives, then hop up and start playing the game like nothing ever happened. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. In elementary school it should still be about having fun and being part of the game. At any rate, I thought about this for a minute, and then the next "injury" occurred. Same scenario, different kid. He jumped up, said he was fine, and got back in the game. All of a sudden it hit me that what these kids needed was VALIDATION. "I fell down, can you give me a pat on the back and I'll be okay?" kind of validation. "I played the game" kind of validation. "I might not be the star, but I was there" kind of validation.  The kind every human needs at some time or another. So, today-I saw things on the playground a little bit different. There are still going to be days that the bickering gets to me, and I will want to ban sports for that day, but today I tried to give a little more thought to what was really needed. And thanks. Thanks to my peeps who validate me. I hope I return the favor. I have a great team-and I'm grateful!

Leaf Bouquets-a Non-Competitive Playground Activity  ;)

Charmed, I'm Sure

I love those moments of life that point out all the charming things that can come to a person, just by being alive. For all the poopy, sad, scary, unfair things that can happen in a life, there are a zillion things that can charm a person. Maybe I'm easily charmed, but I notice the simple  things.

Life comes at you fast. No matter how prepared I think I am, there is always something that catches me off guard. While I like to enjoy moments and just let them happen, I also like to be ready for as much as I can. I make lists, I stock up, I have information on hand...and then something will come along to make me feel like I haven't prepared for anything. I have a few of those things right in front of me at this moment-some blow you out of the water, "wait-I wasn't ready for that", life-changing, body altering, emotion evoking, big deal things. And while I am gaining ground from all the reeling I have been doing, I have been blessed with an acute sense of "the little things".  I notice them, they tug at my heart, and I am charmed.

Of course the number one thing that charms me is the love I receive from others-from my peeps that I treasure so much. Ones who will text me, or sub for me, or message me, or just be in my life- even on the outskirts. This includes my family peeps too. I love you. Thank you. You make life more than just bearable. You make it worth living.

Meeting up with my dear, beautiful friend Amy at a ward reunion.

Another thing that charms me is my job. I work with some amazing people who truly care about the future generations to come. Then there's the 600 little darling personalities I get to acquaint myself with every day. I love my job. I see fun things. I am charmed by the variety of things I get to experience at our little school.

 

 

*Miss Heather I'm feeling kinda sick.
~What kind of sick are you feeling?
*Motion sick.
~Oh. Do you need to go to the office?
*No. I'm just talking too much and it's making me motion sick.

You tell me-does this say 9:00 or POO?

Then there's the playground....

Solace...until the next boo-boo occurs!

Fall holds a lot of charm for me as well. The colors, the smells, sweater weather and cloudier skies, the hint of cold that is on it's way, the promise of fun things to come and warm holidays in the future. I just love it!

One of my new, FAVORITE, cold weather scents from Bath and Body Works.

Right down the side of our property-so beautiful!

Love this new Fall scent!

God makes some beautiful things
in nature. The contrast is unreal!

And music.....dare I even get started on that one?

All in all, the charm is always there. It comes from the smallest of things, and I am so grateful to locate charm in an ever growing sea of not-so-nice things in our world.

Finally! A good school picture at age 46!