God is Good to the Johnsons

To those awesome readers that still look at my blog even on the days it's not posted to facebook, don't fret this week. I'm off to somewhere natural where WiFi will be nil. I'm still going to write, but it'll be the old fashioned way, the paper ink way. The way that smells like transcending time and space, and reaching between pages to give a warm hug and share some cocoa while recounting adventures in a rocky old voice with campfire crackles in the background. Not that the clickety-clack typeface bright-screen way can't do that, but... there's something special about the handwritten stuff. And that's summat I'm off ter do.

he came home to the grouch. normally silly and sass, she was snippy and sour in lieu of laughter, sarcasm instead of sweetness... a lemon-tart  BONAFIDE GRUMP . He kissed her anyways. He held her anyways. He did the dishes anyways, and cheered up the screamy baby and cheered up the house. He melted the iceblock that had molded over her heart over the frustrations of the day because she allowed the demons of disaster to chill her joy. He melted her, all over again, he melted that grouch. That...that is true love. And that's just one reason I love 'im.

Communication? Yeah. The struggle is real. Today, at the Costa Vida drive through, I was ordering the Thursday special, a Small Pork Salad. I don't normally get a beverage, but since it was free with the special... um OF COURSE. So I ask for horchata. The gal helping me sounds really confused, and then says, "Wait, did you say HORE--CHOTTA?" Linguistic face palm. It's depressing that I say the name the way the Mexicans say it in the very origin country of this drink... and they don't understand me and I don't understand them for not understanding me and it's a vicious cycle. Another drive-through faux pas. I'm seventeen years old and at Del Taco (with my little brother Jordan on the passenger side). After the employee finishes repeating the order back to me, I lean closer to the microphone and say "THANK...." And that's it. My throat decided that was an opportune time to clog up with spit and choke my vocal chords. I couldn't even

All growing up, my husband's father told him (along with his siblings), "I love you, but I love your mom more." It confused my husband at times as a kid. But he has watched for more than two and a half decades as his father has doted on his wife and prioritized her. What a precedent that has set for my husband and the loving, respectful way he treats me. He prioritizes date night. He writes me notes. He buys me Sprite and soda crackers to help me keep something down after I've had food poisoning. Now, let me explain EMPHATICALLY that parenthood is absolutely and totally divine and absolutely must be intentional. And I must also express my love for those who are single, divorced, separated, or enduring less-than-ideal marital situations. I cannot pretend to imagine the weight on your shoulders and the heaviness of your hearts. I have to tell you that some of my very favorite people who are my greatest teachers and friends in life include MANY individuals who are

Today is a special holiday in Utah, it marks the day that Brigham Young and his company rode into the Salt Lake Valley in 1847, where he famously declared "This is the right place, drive on." From the settlements of that company and the thousands of pioneers that traversed the United States wilderness to make their home here, our great state of Utah was born. This holiday has special meaning for me because my heritage is one of good pioneer stock. Today I highlight just one of those individuals, a strong, courageous woman named Ellen Walmsly Clegg. She is my fourth-great-grandmother. Ellen was born in Parish Salisburg, England, in January 1816. She later married Johnathan Clegg, and in 1838 she joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day saints. With her husband and children, she traveled across the waters of the Atlantic on the good ship Horison in the company of 856 saints under captain Edward Martin. They further followed Brother Martin after arriving in the Ameri

little boy, i never thought it would be so exciting to see someone learn to wiggle their legs, get up on their hands and feet, and start their first scoots forward in tremendous effort to crawl. little boy, i never thought i would giggle in tremendous delight as your little hands reach grasp to turn the pages of a book searching for the next words and pictures. little boy, i never knew what delight it would bring me watching you learn.

Today, my handsome little brother, Jordan, spoke in church. That's something I love about our church, the members of each congregation are the ones that deliver messages about Christ. I've had my turn a few times in my life, and it's been a neat experience to grow and share what I know to be true and right. My brother's message was that of his growth in reading the scriptures, the word of God. It was difficult for him as he grew up to find motivation to read, or to find focus while reading (instead of just trying to get to the next chapter). He shared a few things that really helped him, and I want to share them here: 1. Setting a certain amount of minutes to read helped him enjoy his studies far more than setting a certain amount of pages or chapters to read. That way he wasn't distracted by how long each verse was, etc. He knew that those fifteen minutes were for scripture study and enabled him to be less distracted. 2. Read in the morning or during the day,

I was raised on the excellent cooking of my mother (a self-taught cook), grandmothers, aunts, and a few talented uncles (and Dad made a pretty mean french toast, not gonna lie). Cheesy bread, pot roasts, pecan pie, berry blintzes, breakfast casserole, hand-crafted buttery syrup... there's even an heirloom method for spreading the whipped topping on the jello. Borens, I hope you're smiling! With so much culinary talent in my mother, and pair that with penny pinching, we didn't eat out much (if ever) when I was little. I have some faint memories of the China Light restaurant and McDonald's drive-thru on road trips. Mom treated me to Chili's for my sweet 16, and Dad took me on a special daddy-daughter date to Winger's once. But other than that--even on vacations--Mom found a way to prepare our food. Well, I grew up and moved off to college. I remember my roommates inviting me to go to Denny's with them at 10pm on a weeknight. I was on a rigid budget but I h

I was going through one of my high school writer's notebooks the other day and found this lovely and embarrassing gem. I've always loved Dr. Seuss's book "The Sneetches and Other Stories," and my dad in particular read us the short tale of "What Was I Scared Of" (more affectionately called The Pale Green Pants ) often. I'm pretty sure I was going for a modern adaptation. Whether this was an assignment for my creative writing class or my own leisure writing I can't say, but it was enjoyable to reread nonetheless. "The only thing worse than pale green pants with nobody inside them, is pale green pants WITH SOMEBODY INSIDE THEM. Dr. Seuss was oh too merciful when he wrote his short story concerning the former, but spared us the horror of the latter. I'd thought I'd seen it all attending my high school--yellow spandex, gray woolen turtle necks, bright purple skinny jeans, barred sunglasses... but it was a truly tragic day when he--

Let's be real, I'm still afraid of the dark... but not the dark itself, I'm afraid of what's in the dark that I cannot see (Rhett and Link have a fantabulous  song about that). Nowadays, I have a strong husband, and whenever I'm nervous at night I'm calmed just by hearing his breathing and knowing he's there. But when I was single, I listened to music to help calm my irrational fears, and often woke up the next morning with earphones tangled up in my hair and an elbow smashing my iPod nano. If you need some good music to fall asleep to, here's a little mixtape to help you out with that. 1.  THE CALL by Regina Spektor 2. THE WAY I AM by Ingrid Michaelson 3. HOURGLASS by Mindy Gledhill 4. BE THOU MY VISION by The Lower Lights 5. O MY FATHER by Paul Cardall

I asked myself if it was worth the time Worth the drive worth the gas. Miles away there were people who invited me, people who are kin to me, people who love me (and my husband, and my little man) and there was a chance to play with them to talk with them to laugh with them. I doubted... but there's things to be cleaned there's food to be prepared errands to run. I counseled myself... but Charlie's growing up he has cousins to play with  there's memories he needs to have THERE'S MEMORIES YOU NEED TO HAVE with him, with them. So I went. It was worth the time, time is love. It was worth the drive, driving gives me time to talk with God. It was worth the gas, and we had enough to buy more. It was worth.

bare feet twirling in and out darting from water to pavement to water again little bodies dancing in and out of spouts and jets and streams toothy grins displaying delight as an unexpected splash hits searching eyes looking to see if their mom saw how they slipped, but got back up again.

My little   (I need to stop saying little... he's 18 years old and like six foot three) brother made me a compilation of some of his favorite songs for my birthday on a CD. He titled it, "LE MIXTAPE." I have listened to it over... and over... and over again over the past month, and I've found some new favorite jams to dance to. And sing to, of course! I love music and I love to be introduced to new tunes. There's songs for celebrations, songs for dancing, songs for somber walks in the rain, songs before bedtime, etc. etc. etc. MUSIC BE MY THERAPY (along with writing!). So today, I'm leaving you a list of mixtape songs you oughta listen to if you're having a bad day. Because they just might help you cope with the blues (or even shake them off). Track 1: HARD TIMES by Paramore Track 2: THE OUTSIDE by Taylor Swift Track 3: HARD by Mindy Gledhill Track 4: POMPEII by Bastille Track 5: O MY ROAD by Grizzly Goat Track 6: THINGS ARE GONNA GET BETTER by Da

Unos meses después de nuestra boda, vi un cartel que un esposo había dejado para su esposa, y leía, "¿QUIERES CASARTE CONMIGO OTRA VEZ?" Me imagino que el corazón de aquella mujer se derritió de felicidad cuando lo vió. ¿Pero sabes que? Siento lo mismo... ¡quisiera casarme contigo otra vez! Aunque tenemos desafíos... a pesar de que roncas... a pesar de que lloro demasiado... No importa. TE AMO KEVIN y ME QUITAS EL RESPIRO. Agradezco a Dios cada día que él te puso en mi camino. Así que...  ¿que tal si me visto en el vestido blanco y si tu vistes en el esmoquin negro y vayamos a casarnos? ¡Vámonos pues!

Perrito mío, ¿Como es que llegaste a ser viejo? Porque me siento que fuera el año pasado, no mas  cuando traje toda la plata que había guardada  para comprarte Un orgullo me llenó de tener un perro mío Con pelo blanco y negro y unas pecas que decoraban la nariz Tuviste una energía explosiva Suficiente para destruir todo en tu camino Energía suficiente para escapar el patio cada día Y correr por todo el barrio mientras te seguía y esperaba poder atraparte... Pero aún te quiero tanto. Y ahora, perro, llegas a los viejos y dorados años A colores de sal y pimiento Y de caminar en lugar de correr Pero perrito mío, aún te quiero tanto y celebro cada momento de los once años que hemos tenido y agradezco los años que nos quedan.

it's the most painful thing to be doing the right thing-- the thing God asks me to do-- and to be despised for it.

There's a supremely sappy series of pioneer-age historical fiction movies that I indulge in watching every so often. They're total chick flicks and totally wonderful. And one of my favorite lines from them is "Never Despise Humble Beginnings." The advice is given from a father to a daughter who is deciding between suitors, but the advice extends beyond that context. Today I was thinking about that line while doing a little research about a favorite author of mine, Jerry Spinelli. I love so many of his books ( Stargirl , Maniac Magee , Loser , and Eggs to name the best of the best), but I didn't know anything about the man behind all the masterpieces til today. This short autobiographical video brought that line back to me: I was struck by how Spinelli had to choose between two necessary items--milk and cough medicine!--for his children at one point in time since his finances were so tight. His circumstances were very humble. Caring for one child and  provid

As of this morning, Kevin and I had pretty much absolutely zero plans for the evening.  Yet, somehow, at 9:30 at night we were surrounded by friends on our living room floor after having a thrown-together meal of Shepherd's Pie and Salad and Chocolate Zucchini bread, playing a new (to us!) game of 7 Wonders. I came in seventh place, but I didn't mind, because I had a SWEET military setup. One friend had come over to help me babysit. One friend was the infant I babysat, and the other his mother who (unfortunately for her, fortunately for us) was locked out of her home and graced us with her company after her long day at work. And the rest we invited because WHY NOT and we love them. Our living room company grew and grew as the hours passed by, and it was delightful. I'm a planner--I plan what we're going to eat for lunch, how much to spend on groceries, what I'm going to buy so-and-so for their baby shower the moment they tell me they're pregnant. I plan what

My cute husband has provided all the captions necessary for this post. What can I say... I'm a lucky girl, and I love him (and I love the little man too)!

Some days                   I wonder where the words will come from for the blog because                  some days are just pictures                    pictures paired with a loop of melodies that play over and over and over again in my                             mind                    and out loud, too, spouting from my lips and lungs                    melodies that I didn't write                    but are written in me now                    because their words speak to my words, words to heart, words to soul                    cuz the author's stretching the bars on the treble staff                       to reach through them and give me a hug, and tell me that "all is well, all is well"                             (or a slap on the shoulder, and tell me that our roads aren't hallelujah, but hallelujah                              anyways)                                    **Or a squeeze of the hand while singing about the castle on a cloud

Son, when I was little, my mother and dad taught me to work. Dad taught me to wash the car, we scrubbed that red "Rudolph" Corolla together when I was two. Mom taught me how to tidy my room, we gathered up my toys and stashed them away where they belonged when I was three years old. I complained about it once and asked to live at Grandma's house instead. A phonecall later found out that if I lived at Grandma Reesa's, I was required to clean up there too...  Dad and Mom taught me the value of money, and after each allowance from weekly chores, they helped me give 10% to the Lord, put 50% in the bank for savings, and left 40% in an empty peanut butter jar as spending money. When I was four, I remember Dad sitting with me at the kitchen table and explaining that two nickels equaled a dime, and ten dimes equaled a dollar, and so on. When I was five, mom handed me a spray water bottle and a rag and taught me to scour the baseboards. Squirt, scrub the d

Hand in hand we walk and walk at a leisurely pace, you and I, husband and wife. We notice leaf imprints on cement, where nature decided to leave it's signature on man's walkway. At times we stop to peek into windows of local shops to notice leatherbound books and yarn-wrapped trees. We stop to snag a snack at the Mexican place, fresas con crema and elote, losing track of whose spoon is whose. Up and down the streets we pause to remember when from earlier dates during our now four years as an item. While "adulting"concerns crease our foreheads now Added responsibilities weigh on our backs And a little one calls to our hearts and to our worries, We're still here, hand in hand and we walk and walk at a leiurely pace you and I, husband and wife.

How is it, Summer That your days are at once One long day And one long night At once... Of heat, sun, stars, and evening breeze Of gardens—of bugs—of rain on hot cement? How is it, Summer That you are at once the hardest sweat I’ve ever worn after days of work And the smiliest I’ve ever been after hours and hours and hours of play The whitest I have ever been as my skin, well aquainted with the insides of jeans, breach swimsuit weather And the tannest I have ever been as your blazing skies remind me of my Native American heritage? How is it, Summer That you’re long and lazy Yet over far, far too soon?

No words will ever, ever do To measure how I care for you I wake up anxious in the night I rush to check that you’re alright Your cries, mine echo yours within My smiles reflect your gummy grins Son, I’m ever always here To worry ‘bout you through grief and cheer

There’s nothing like the nighttime sky Each summer on the 4th of July Honoring the Stars and Stripes The declaration, constitution, bill of rights Each time this season comes around As floats and horses parade the town My heart is soft with memories dear Of soldiers far and soldiers near Without whom none of freedoms’ light Would shine upon our futures bright So tonight as I watch the colored sky I remember your sacrifices  in days gone by And thank you for our country strong Protected by armed forces all along.

Letters read Better When Sent SLOW On white, striped paper Covered in black scrawling words. It took sincere time that way I feel how they care Placed in an envelope Penned for me Licked carefully Sent.

For my birthday, Kevin took me to the new Hale Theater in Sandy. First off, the whole theater felt like an enormous grandiose palace--I felt underdressed in my blouse and jeans, I should have been attending in a ballgown! We watched the production Tuck Everlasting in the Jewelbox theater. The story was fresh for Kevin, but is an old friend to me. My mom read me the original novel by Natalie Babbitt when I was little, and we also read it in elementary school. I've seen both films based off the book. You could say the Tucks are old friends of mine. Yet with all this time ruminating on this story, the musical theater production struck my heart in a new way. All the musical numbers were spectacular, but "The Wheel"--a dialogue between Angus Tuck and Winnie Foster--was particularly special: "It's a wheel, Winnie. A ripple in water Girl to wife to mother, to daughter Like all your kinfolk Come and gone.... Can't stop rowing, growing, changing... and moving

Tonight, over late-night bowls of cereal (Cocoa Pebbles and Dippin' Dots Cereal to be exact), Kevin and I began to throw pickup lines at each other, because, well, it's 10:30 on a Sunday night and...why not? Kevin: Is your last name "Campbell's?" Because you're mmm-mmm-good! Mikayla: Do you have a band-aid? Because I scraped my knee when I fell for you! Kevin: Do you have a map? Because I think I just got lost in your eyes. Mikayla: Let's skip the line, I'd like to fast-pass and get to our relationship! Kevin: Are you a parking ticket? Because dang, you're FINE! ... ... ... You'd look good in a cowboy hat. Because you're the rootin-ist, tootin-ist cowgirl in the wild wild west! ... ... ... I would go to infinity and beyond for you! (And that's a wrap. Kevin has better pickup lines than I do ;) ).