Nothing profound to report today.  Had my new awning installed yesterday.  That was my quiet place this morning- sitting on the patio, listening to the fountain, and watching the birds drink from the new bird bath.  It was so peaceful.  I am really enjoying my backyard this year more than I ever have before.

God knows your potential better you do.  Be quiet and listen to Him.

I don’t think I am out of the ordinary when it comes to being hard on myself.  As ordinary people, I don’t know where and how we learn it, but somehow we confuse inadequacy for humility.  In so doing, we are content to make little huts of our lives when, I am convinced, the Savior is prepared to create of our lives a temple.  I believe it is difficult to love another person as the Savior would have you love them if you doubt your ability to love yourself.

I also think that when it comes to divine potential, it is not my responsibility to change anyone else.  Not long after I was married, I overheard my husband on the phone talking to a old friend.  Apparently the friend had asked him if I “fixed” him yet.  His reply warmed my heart: he said, “Silly girl seems to love me just the way I am.”  When you love someone, you need to be prepared to love him (or her) as he (or she) is.

Sometimes the best way to love someone as he is is to get out of his way and allow him to become everything he has within him to be.  Someone once asked President Gordon B. Hinckley (the tenth president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) how Mormon men treat their women.  He said something to the effect that if they are wise, they get out of the way and let the woman become all that she has the potential to become and then marvel at what she can accomplish!  I thought you had to be married to a prophet or an apostle to be loved and supported in that way, but because of my late husband, I know that regular people can experience that kind of transforming love.

Loving this way doesn't apply to marriage alone, but to all of our human relationships; family, friends, even strangers.  It is not my job to fix other people.  In fact, I am powerless to do so.  It hurts my heart when someone I love tries to "fix" me in the name of love.  It is meant well, but it often impedes my progress rather than encourages it.  We all need models more than we need critics.

So early tomorrow, while the dew is still on the leaf, I am going to find a quiet spot to be still and listen to Him whose opinion of me is the only one that really matters. "Be still, and know that I am God." Psalms 46:10.



Is it sunrise or sunset?

Sunrise, sunset; Sunrise, sunset.

Swiftly flow the years;                   

One season following another;     

Laden with happiness and tears.

(from Fiddler on the Roof)

My son's father-in-law died early this morning.  When my son called me at 6:00 a.m., he told me he had been with his dad when he quietly and peacefully slipped through the veil.  In the hour between his last breath and the arrival of hospice, my son had one of the most spiritual and peaceful moments of his life.  He was still in awe several hours later.

I am often asked by those who are grieving, why such partings hurt.  Why can't someone just go to sleep and wake up when all of it is over?  Isn't there a pill to take to make all the pain go away?  The answer to both questions is, of course, no.  When we love, there are ties of closeness much stronger than we sometimes realize.  When those ties are severed, even temporarily, we feel that loss, that empty corner of our hearts where our loved one once resided.  We have to experience our grief; allow ourselves time; allow ourselves tears.  Even when we know that our loved one is in a better place; even when we know that we will see him again, we have to allow for those human emotions of grief. We have to allow the heart to learn what the head already knows.

Why do such partings hurt?  Because to take grief out of death, one would have to take love out of life.  That is an unacceptable exchange.  So to my son, and to the family, hold on to those peaceful moments.  God understands.  Even though He knows partings hurt in this life, He is most gracious and sends His Comforter to speak peace to our minds as He did for my son this morning.  He has complete empathy because He felt all that we feel and more.

Sunrise, sunset.  But is the sun really setting?  Or is it rising on new life for us all through Jesus Christ?



The monsoons have arrived.  It has rained three nights out of the last four. Today, it has been raining, off and on, for more than six hours.  There have been times in my life when rainy days got me down.  Today was not one of those times.  I have enjoyed the cooler air and have opened doors and windows to bring it in.  I have loved that my garden has been watered and my birdbaths and fountain filled.  I have found joy in the rumble of the thunder and the smell of the air as lightning splits the ozone.  Life is sometimes like that.  We say we want only sunny days, but if we have only sunny days, then we miss the joys of a summer thunderstorm or the first snowfall of winter.  Life is about contrasts.  When we do feel down (and we all will periodically) we must hang on to the hope that things are changing all the time;  we hope for sunshine after rain and we hope for rain after sunshine.   "If you do not hope, you will not find what is beyond your hopes."  Clement of Alexandria

A good friend and therapist once described depression as having two manifestations: "Big D" and "little d."  Little d is what we all experience on occasion.  Being down-in-the-dumps; feeling blue; discouraged; disheartened.  When others talk to little d they say things like, "Cheer up," or "Pull yourself together."  They encourage you to get out of yourself and do something for someone else.  They take you out to do something fun.  Often it works, but when it doesn't, little d eventually runs its course in a few days, the sun comes up, and life looks a little brighter.  Big D is to little d like double pnuemonia is to the sniffles.  It is clinical depression.  It is as if the dementors of Harry Potter fame have sucked everything good thing out of you and you cover your mouth so they can't suck out your very soul.  Big D has lots of symptoms.  The most common in an overwhelming sense of drowning in sorrow.  Big D's victims feel helpless and hopeless.  They cast their minds around looking for the tiniest glimpse of light and find none.  Life itself becomes a burden.  No one can completely understand how unspeakably awful Big D is unless they've experienced it.  There is nothing I can recall to compare.  Today, I'm feeling little d.  I'm sad, but I know it will pass and I can do some proactive things, like serving others, to expedite its passing.  But I have also experienced Big D.  It is a condition I hope to never experience again in this lifetime.  For those of you who haven't had Big D, here is a word of caution:  Do not talk to Big D the same way you would talk to little d.  It will only make things worse.  Big D is a medical condition.  It requires professional intervention in most cases.  If you encounter Big D in a friend: listen; reflect; love.  Don't minimize.  Don't discount.  Don't give platitudinous advice.  Do encourage seeking help.  I am strong and wise when I seek help.  I am kind when I encourage others in need to do so.

One of my grandsons said recently that revenge is a hot coal you pick up to throw at someone else: you are the one who gets burned. I don't know where he heard that, but I believe it to be true. I have, over many years as a counselor, worked with too many people whose lives are driven by the cankering desire for revenge. It may hurt the person to whom it is directed, but the damage it does to the heart and soul of the one driven by it is incalculable.   .   .   .   To forgive, a wise person said, is to free a prisoner and to know the prisoner is you.   .   .   .   I think Mark Twain said it most poetically: "Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it."   .   .   .   We each can decide.  For me, I prefer to be a violet and not a bearer of hot coals. 

"Hopes, what are they? – Beads of morning Strung on slender blades of grass; Or a spider’s web adorning In a straight and treacherous pass." Wordsworth. . . . I was widowed the first time at 37 years of age. To say that it rocked my world would be an understatement. I breathed only because I had no choice. . . . The following summer, I began a graduate program at a university in another state. It happened to be located in the town where I was born and where I often visited my grandparents when I was a child. Each Sunday morning, I would arise early and walk the familiar streets of the town. No grandparents were living now, but I walked past their houses; the church where I attended with Grandma; the spot where Uncle Jack's little market was; the old academy building where my dad went to school. For hours I explored the little town as if searching for something I couldn't identify. One morning as I was returning to the dorms, I saw a spider's web beaded with dew. It sparkled like a diamond tiara no royal craftsman could ever create. I sat on a large stone and looked into it's depths. The question came, unbidden: "What am I looking for," and the answer came just as quickly: "I am looking for me." Somewhere in two decades of marriage and months of grieving, I had lost myself. In that moment of self-revelation came hope for a future I didn't know I sought. From that moment forward, I began to heal.

"While it takes courage to achieve greatness, it takes more courage to find fulfillment in being ordinary. What is the adventure in being ordinary? It is daring to love just for the pleasure of giving it away. It is venturing to give new life and to nurture it to maturity. It is working hard for the pure joy of being tired at the end of the day. It is caring and sharing and giving and loving, because we trust our ordinary lives to the hands of an extraordinary God. There are no Oscars or medals awarded for any of these pursuits. But then, no piece of gold or bronze statuette can sum up their worth." M. Thomsen . . . . The Hollyhocks have covered the fence. An ordinary flower. An ordinary thing. But there is great hope in the flowers that fight their way back (in this case, from that late May freeze.) Think of the ordinary things in our lives. A mother sings to her child to soothe him when he is ill and when he is older and ill, he remembers that song and is comforted. A father who talks to his son as they load hay bales into the truck. Long after the father is gone, the son remembers the advice he received and still heeds. The teacher who does a small favor for a child in her class. After much time, the girl, now a woman, throws away the pills with which she has planned to take her own life when she remembers that her fifth grade teacher loved her. Never underestimate the power of the ordinary.

I lost a good friend this week. He was well into the winter of his life and was ready, I think, to be released from a body that had become a prison for a bright and young spirit. Nevertheless, those who love him will miss him, as will I. But blessings come in the saddest of times. When my husband first became ill, we both wanted him to live at any cost. We prayed for a big miracle. It soon became apparent that a big miracle was not in God’s plan for us. Rather than becoming bitter or angry with God, we started counting the small miracles. There have been so many that I can’t begin to remember them all, but we received of these tender mercies every single day of his illness. It helped us to trust that things were in the hands of the Lord. Somehow, that made it easier to bear them. This is my wish for this family; tender mercies every single day.

My Nancy rose this morning. This is the symbol of a survivor - fewer than 4 weeks after a late May freeze that took out my roses, grapes, peaches, and tomatoes. But Nancy blooms - very much like the person for whom I named her.

There may be nothing wrong with you, The way you live, the work you do, But I can very plainly see Exactly what is wrong with me. It isn't that I'm indolent Or dodging duty by intent; I work as hard as anyone, And yet I get so little done, The morning goes, the noon is here, Before I know the night is near, And all around me, I regret, Are things I haven't finished yet. If I could just get organized! I ofentimes have realized Not all that matters is the man; The man must also have a plan. (Douglas Malloch) As the Cheshire Cat said to Alice, if you don't know where you are going, it doesn't much matter what road you are on. But don't be surprised where you end up at the close of the day. If you want to look for excuses for why things are a mess (literally and figuratively) you will surely find them. But where will that get you at the end of the day? Daryl Hoole once wrote, "Work will win when wishing won't! . . . It's better to plan too much and get half of it done than to plan nothing and get all of it done!" (The Art of Homemaking, pp. 67, 86)

"Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect." (Matthew 5:48). . . . I am a recovering perfectionist. I spent most of my life trying to be perfect tomorrow, then making excuses to myself and others as to why I'm not - all the while feeling guilty and inadequate. How freeing it was the day that I realized that even Jesus did not call Himself perfect until after His mission on earth was completed. (See The Sermon at the Temple in 3 Nephi 12:48.) Once I knew I would never be perfect like Christ, it freed up all the emotional energy I was using to feel guilty for use in striving to be perfect in Christ. It has made me a better person, a better friend, and a better disciple. To me, perfection became the North Star. I will never reach the star, but I can use it to chart my life's course until I arrive safely home.

"Our highest assurance of the goodness of providence rests in the flowers. All other things – our powers, our desires, our food – are necessary for our existence, but the rose is an extra. Its smell and its color are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, so we have much to hope from the flowers." Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. . . . I am a Sherlock Holmes affectionado. His most famous quotes are "Elementary, my dear Watson" and "The game is afoot!" But my personal favorite Holmsian saying is this one. I causes me to reflect on those blessings God has given me that are just for my joy, not for any utilitarian purpose - sunrises and sunsets (the sun must come up and go down, but does it have to be so beautiful?)- a baby's laugh - the smell of onion and garlic becoming transparent in a small bath of olive oil. God provides for our survival, but He also provides for our pleasure. "Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy." (2 Nephi 2: 25).

From my garden: The Hazel rose (top left) and the Nancy rose (bottom left)

I had a hands-on dad. He was always there when I needed him. He never talked down to me. He treated me with respect. I never doubted his love for me. Paul Harvey once said, speaking of my dad's singing of the National Anthem, "He approached that high f with the splendid assurance of a big man's gentle caress." That's how he approached everything that involved his children - with splendid assurance and a gentle caress. As a hands-on dad, he never laid his hands on me in anger or punishment. He didn't need to. Knowing that I would hurt or disappoint him was enough to keep me out of a lot of mischief as a kid. His hands-on parenting included a hand up whenever I needed it; a hand-pat on my back whenever I deserved it (and a lot of times when I didn't); and a hand around my shoulders as a token of the friendship and regard he had for me. Dad gave hugs freely, to his son as well as his daughters. Nothing felt safer than Daddy's embrace. The greatest gifts he gave me came when he placed his hands on my head in a priesthood blessing of healing, comfort, and guidance. . . . James E Faust once said, "Noble fatherhood gives us a glimpse of the divine attributes of our Father in Heaven." I think that is why I have never had trouble seeing God as a kind and loving parent. I had such a great role model here on earth. Happy Father's Day, Daddy.

"No pessimist ever discovered the secrets of the stars or sailed to an uncharted land or opened a new heaven to the human spirit." Helen Keller. . . . My dad was an optimist. He told me that I could do anything I set my mind to do. He was an immediate dad; always there; always ready to listen. He opened new heavens to me and taught me to reach for the stars. I went to college because he told me I could. I went to grad school because he had faith in me. He cheered me on to my first book, to my doctorate, to every accomplishment of my career. My mother gave me my roots, but my dad gave me my wings.

"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage." Seneca. The Emperor Penguin father is one of the most courageous of animals in my book. He mates in the middle of the Antarctic winter, when the temperatures hover around −40 °F with winds gusting as much as 89 miles per hour. As soon as his mate lays their egg, she must leave to go feed, as the production of the egg has depleted all of her bodily reserves. She transfers the egg to the feet of the father and leaves for the long march to the sea. The father penguin settles the egg in a thick nest of warm feathers on his lower belly, all the while holding it off the ice. He cannot feed until after the egg has hatched. By then, he will have gone hungry for two months. If the mother has not returned by the time the egg hatches, the father will continue to protect his chick (which has only a light coat of down and would freeze in a very short while.) He feeds the chick on a regurgitated curd that is high in protein and fat. By the time the mother returns so that the father can march to the sea to feed, he will have fasted for 115 days and lost half his body weight. Those of you who saw the 2005 movie, "March of the Penguins" will have seen how the males huddle together in order to survive the Antarctic winter. . . . . Human fathers don't have to survive sub-zero termperatures in a hostile environment, but they make sacrifices every day for the protection and nurturance of their children. I want to pay tribute to them this Father's Day weekend, beginning with my own father. I also want to honor the father of my children. He once asked, when he was feeling low, if I thought the children appreciated what he did for them. I told him I wasn't sure they could appreciate it until they had children of their own. Now those sons do have children of their own and appreciate their dad more than they did when he was alive. Even some of my grandsons are now fathers. To them and to all who have joined the "march of the courageous fathers," I honor you.

Today is Flag Day in the United States. As I hung my flag this morning, I thought of my dad. Dad was a true patriot. He was born in 1922. His father was a veteran of WWI. My dad told me once that his generation grew up knowing they would have to finish their fathers' war. When he was a child, he loved dressing up in uniforms - little sailor suits or army uniforms. When he was 8, he enjoyed putting on his dad's old uniform and pretending he was General Billy Mitchell. Dad piloted a flying fortress during WWII, flying 35 missions over enemy-held territory when the average survivability rate was 18 missions. I am grateful to God that Dad beat those odds. He had completed 25 of those missions when I was born. Dad stayed very active in the Air Force Reserve and eventually achieved his childhood dream when he got his first star and became a general. He earned his second star before he died. He flew his flag every day of his life. So fly your colors today, Americans. And happy Flag Day, Dad. I'll be thinking of you.

The honeysuckle on the fence is slowly coming back after our late May freeze and, with it, the butterflies. They are drawn to the flowers and to the water in the small fountain next to the fence. To me, butterflies are very hopeful little souls. They begin life as caterpillars; they shut themselves in cocoons for a short season; and when they emerge, they are some of the most beautful of God's creatures. I feel a kinship to butterflies as I, too, have days when I feel like a caterpillar. On other days (like today, for example) I feel drawn into myself as if I were hiding in a cocoon, away from the bitter-sweet memories and the loneliness. On such days, I have to remind myself that the butterfly isn't in her cocoon to hide from the world, but to undergo metamorphosis in order to become all that God intended for her to be. Tonight, I must connect with God and allow Him to change me. Tomorrow I will exit my cocoon and be all that God intends me to be.

"Now, as I said concerning faith—that it was not a perfect knowledge—even so it is with my words. Ye cannot know of their surety at first, unto perfection, any more than faith is a perfect knowledge. But behold, if ye will awake and arouse your faculties, even to an experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of my words. Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me." Alma 32:26-28. It doesn't matter the size of your seed. The genetic material to germinate and grow into a beautiful and productive plant is existent in the tiniest carrot seed or the largest bean. What matters is that you plant it and nourish it and do not dig it up and cast it out. The "word" Alma is talking about is the Word of John, chapter one, i.e., Jesus Christ. If we have no more than a desire to believe in His healing power and plant the word in our hearts, He can help each of us grow into someone beautiful and able to fill the full measure of our individual creation. The genetic coding of His Image is within us all. It can swell and become delicious to us.

I posted the bottom picture a few weeks ago of my backyard ignored. The top picture was taken this morning in the same spot after 3 weeks of TLC. I will continue to post as summer progresses. With a little care, love,and work we can all become better than we were. “God does not begin by asking us about our ability, but only about our availability, and if we then prove our dependability, he will increase our capability.” ― Neal A. Maxwell

The spinach is up! Also peeking through the soil are green onions and bush beans. All of this from a few tiny seeds! It is amazing that all of the life force and genetic coding for that specific plant is contained in such small seeds, some of which (like lettuce, carrots, and greens) are so tiny it is difficult to pick up one seed with your fingers. The creations of God never fail to overwhelm me.

Yesterday, while concluding a session with a client, a song quietly slipped into my memory. I haven't thought of it in perhaps 25 years. It was written by a therpist who worked with young people who were going through a lot of emotional pain. It's from her album, Passing Thru Pain: Songs for the Journey and it's called "Let the River Run." It talks about our tendency to want to push things; to control that which is out of our control; our impatience to be patient. The reprise says, "So when I get impatient, I tell myself 'Let go! Let go!' Don't try to rush the river, it simply can't be done. The river knows it's own place, so let the river run. The river knows it own pace, so let the river run." (Sammi Whytecap) In 12-Step programs like AA, they have a saying, "Let go. Let God." I don't have to fix everything. I don't have to control everything. I don't have to do everything. In truth, I can't. I can only do what I can do and I must learn to leave the rest to Him who created both the river and me. "Believe in Christ . . . for we know that it is by grace we are saved after all we can do." 2 Nephi 25: 23.

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; . . . I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." From "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost. The past few days, I have been traveling on the well-worn path, the one marred by self-pity, anger, and discouragement. In my scripture study this morning, something clicked. I cannot even give you chapter and verse, but as I closed my scriptures, I thought of this picture and this poem. I am usually a traveler on the less-trodden road. Today, I will be cutting through the forest of doubt and getting back on the path.

Kale and beets have germinated. Soon, I should have plants big enough to photograph and post! After a winter of carb-loading, I am ready to eat something healthy that I didn't buy at the supermarket.

I am having a bit of a blue day. They don't happen very often, but I'm flooded with bitter-sweet memories. This is a picture of one of those memories - beautiful but tender. That usually just means I need to get busy and do something for someone else and quit trying to keep my recliner from floating to the ceiling. Does anyone else have days like that?

The watermelon has come up just since this morning! Life is good! And, yes, it is a yellow variety.

My cantaloupe plant has germinated! It is a little, 2-leaf sprout in a huge red tub. But I have faith that one day it will look like this. When I think of the 3 tiny seeds I planted in the soil, I marvel at this miniscule miracle that from a tiny seed can grow a living thing that will produce fruit with more seeds, each after its own kind. Gardens bring not only humility and faith, but also gratitude. "And I, God, said: Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, the fruit tree yielding fruit, after his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed should be in itself upon the earth, and it was so even as I spake. And the earth brought forth grass, every herb yielding seed after his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed should be in itself, after his kind; and I, God, saw that all things which I had made were good; And the evening and the morning were the third day." Moses 2: 11 - 13

This is the Petrified Forest - less than an hour's drive from my home. In the early 20th Century, the ground was covered with petrified wood. Visitors in the 1930s said that it glittered in the sunlight like a bowl full of jewels. That part of the park was called the Rainbow Forest. Over the years, people have stolen rocks from the park measured by the tons. Every year the park receives a few of those stones back with letters of apologies from people of all ages suffering from guilty consciences. But that is a drop in the bucket to what is taken. I visit the park at least twice a year and I can tell you, there is not a bowl full of jewels in sight. It's a wonderful place to visit for the palentology and the archeology alone. But it's a shadow of what it was. I feel sad that people are so selfish. Didn't they know they were stealing from themselves? "The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein." Pslams 24:1

"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help." Psalms 121:1. As I was going through some things a few days ago, I ran across a journal entry from 1989. It is titled "Touchstones of My Childhood." I'd like to share just a portion of it with you. This is a longer post than my usual musings, so please stay with me. One hot August night, my young husband suddenly died. My life's heart skipped a beat then slipped out of sync. The day his life ended, I thought that my life, too, was over. The past was lost; the future was terrifying; the present too painful, even to breathe within it. But breathe I did, for my four children and for myself. As I reached out in my mind for a secure place, I found my mountains were there. In sorrow and with trepidation, I returned to the valley of my childhood for a year, taking my own children to the place of my birth. . . . I walked the paths of my childhood that year, looking - always looking - as if for something I couldn't name - something I had somehow lost. On one such day, I stopped to watch the early summer dew sparking on the delicate face of a spider's web. As I did so, I recognized that I was the object of my own search: I had been looking for myself. The place of my birth had become the place of my rebirth. How easy it is to lose ourselves the the harried pace of life. Neil Maxwell called it getting caught up in the "thick of thin things." I have since realized that I don't have to physically go to a different place for a mountain top experience. I need only lift up mine eyes to the Great Creator of my mountains. It is He who brings help. It is He who brings peace.It is He Who can help each of us find ourselves. We don't have to be lost again.

Meeting God in a garden. I can't remember the poet who said it, but I believe gardens can draw us closer to God. They can certainly humble us and teach us about catching weeds early and about the law of the harvest. But I think the two lessons I learn best are patience and letting God handle His part. I planted my square foot garden yesterday. I studied the book and the internet. I ordered good quality seeds. I bought the lumber. My son helped me build the box. I bought the peat moss, compost, and vermiculite. I mixed the soil, 1/3 each, and filled the grow box. I tacked the grids on the top. I made plant markers on popsickle sticks. I planted the plants according to direction. I sprinkled them with water and will do so every day to keep the soil damp. Now comes the difficult part: I wait. I marked on the calendar when each seed is supposed to sprout and when each plant will be ready to harvest. But in so doing, I cannot make them sprout sooner, nor can I harvest early. That is God's part. So I continue to do my part with water and weeding and as for the rest, I let go and let God. "Those that wait upon the Lord, they shall inherit the earth." Psalm 37:9. Hopefully, I can inherit my garden.

If you read a post that you like, please take a moment to say hello. Nothing profound about it; I'd just like to know if anyone is reading them besides me. Thank you.

The woman was making bread when her daughter came to visit. It was a grey, rainy day and the daughter was feeling grey and rainy in her heart. The woman listened with compassion as her daughter spoke of her fears and sorrows. As her daughter began to relax in the warmth of the kitchen, the woman covered her bread dough with a clean kitchen towel and set it on the counter to rise. She washed the dough from her hands and said to her daughter, "I think my friend needs me. Will you come to the hospital with me?" The daughter agreed. The woman went out into the rain and cut a bouquet of yellow roses from the bush that grew by the front door. When the woman walked into her friend's hospital room, her friend began to cry. "I was just praying that you would come," she said. While the daughter watched, the woman put the roses into the vase she had brought. As the friend shared her fears and sorrows, the woman listened with compassion. She rubbed lotion onto her friend's hands and feet and brushed her hair. Although it was still grey and rainy outside the hospital window, the grey and the rain were gone from the room and from the hearts of all within. The room was filled with light and love and grace and yellow roses.