God is Good to the Johnsons

The people, the people, the good, good people saw it. Saw the sky, it filled with smoke at first ...naught but a trickle from this side... but beyond the cusp of the mountain top a blazing, burning, heaping beast of flame devouring all the woods and green, and threatening to eat all you see on the hillside, the beloved mountain scene. The people, the people, the good, good people left their homes in exodus, because The sirens blared across their city. The orange and the red, you see, they licked their way closer. And the people, the people, the good, good people, For weeks, removed, relocated, displaced. The people, the people, the good, good people are now, at last, after fire's retreat home again. But nay... the people, the people, the good good people and their neighbors fill up and wall up the sandbags, because the water from an ocean's storm beats west across the stateside sky flaunting floodgates of water over fires' trail, to turn ash an

WANTED! INDIVIDUAL WITH EXPERIENCE AS  A PROFESSIONAL ADULT WHOM CAN WRITE A WELL-BALANCED MANUAL WITH SPECIFIC INSTRUCTIONS FOR OTHER ADULTS-IN-TRAINING Requesting, specifically, a person whom has had training regarding all matters one might consider "grown-up," including but not limited to:  renting apartments purchasing groceries understanding any an all insurance policies of every variety attending and graduating college dating how to plan a wedding and handle all the fru-fru items expected therein marriage-ing home buying car buying car-repairing sprinkler-installing carpet cleaning adult-onset-allergies giving birth caring for child after birth making sure your toddler does not swallow foreign objects finding a suitable career how to manage paying for all of the above etc, etc, etc MANUSCRIPT APPLICATIONS WELCOME AT ANY TIME REWARD: A LIFETIME SUPPLY OF THANKS

Nearly every day I read to my little boy out of these illustrated scripture story books, based off of my religion's texts. We've been reading in "Doctrine & Covenants Stories" lately. This book relates the restoration of Christ's church on the earth in modern days. Many of these stories explain the life and service of God's prophet Joseph Smith Jr. If you don't know much about him, I recommend you watch this movie . It's TOTALLY worth the hour. So Charlie and I have been reading these stories every day, stories I've read and heard for years, and my love and admiration for Brother Joseph has swelled. He was a sincere boy with a question--which church should I join? He was a faith filled teen that stood by the answer Heavenly Father gave him in person, that Christ's church no longer existed on the earth, and that Joseph was to be the chosen messenger to preach the word and establish Christ's church once more. He grew to be a good man an

You know the phrase, "that's old... that's older than dirt!" My grandparents used that phrase last week when I mentioned a house we'd looked at buying was built in 1942. Grandma was teasing Grandpa because that's the year he was born... Well, I think I found a new saying that might replace "Older than dirt" in a couple decades.  You see, today is Google's 20th birthday. This internet website and encompassing search engine is a name known to billions. For the past several years, the term "just google it" has become a casual part of our colloquial language. Using Google to look up facts (or fallacies), checking our Gmail, saving files to our Google Drive, it's become part of everyday life for educators, business executives, students, reporters, parents... for everyone that touches a computer.  So today, It hit me in the oddest way that I'm twenty-six years old... and I'm pre-coining the phrase that people will u

Coming here,      It’s like coming home. Except the name they call me is Mrs. J, Instead of photos on the walls there are drawings. But there are hundreds of books, just like Home There’s loving children, just like Home, And there’s belonging & friendship & laughter, Just like home. So lucky am I, That as a substitute teacher, I can come back to the school family I’ve loved From when life = full time work And feel just as loved As I ever did.

I first made the acquaintance of Chicken & Waffles while at IHOP with my grandparents at 18 years old. I remember our waitress had a Tinkerbell tatoo. Eating out was such a rarity in that season of my life that the menu overwhelmed me. IHOP was featuring "southern dishes," and Chicken & Waffles was the main to-do. Quite frankly, it confused me. Who mingles breakfast foods with dinner foods? Certainly I didn't... I was far younger and less adventurous in culinary tastes than I am now, so I shied from the opportunity. Welp, now I'm braver, and one Provo restaurant has me totally enchanted with this classic plate from the south. Station 22 on center street features a thin, crispy waffle topped with a perfectly fried and battered chicken breast. Garnished with a slice of bacon and candied mint leaves, and served with  a thick cinnamon syrup on the side--this take on chicken & waffles is power-packed with complimentary flavors while satisfying a foodie's

Fresh start, Monday. I can't tell you how many times we try, try, try again to wake up before the sun so we can read God's word before the day begins. But time and again, the alarm sounds and snoozing and losing goes from enticement to entrapment and the more important goes from wanted to wayside til the evening, when my brain is too foggy to understand. Today, though. Today was Monday and he and I, we woke up before the sun and we read God's word and we were filled before breakfast. I'm grateful for fresh starts, new beginnings. I'm grateful to learn from the master teacher, the master healer, the master of tempests and earth and skies, who gives me the chance to try again on Mondays and every day.

It's September. Kevin & I's new year's resolutions were buried in a google doc that we had intended to print, but never did. Yesterday, ambition reminded us of those forgotten goals. So we searched, we clicked, we viewed, and were pleasantly surprised with our progress in certain areas (like creating our own puppets and losing weight) ... while bashfully disappointed in ourselves for our stagnancy in others (like practicing piano and speaking Spanish as much as we ought). We reread, reviewed, readjusted, recommitted, and restarted our quest for becoming. It doesn't matter that it's September. Our time to become better is ALWAYS right now. So we invite you to do the same :) dig up your resolutions, celebrate your progress on the goals you're achieving, and ACT on the rest of them--starting now!

I have only met two people in my life who call blenders "Smoothie Makers." One of them was my college roommate, Rachelle. The other is my husband. And before I met either of them, smoothies were not in my normal repertoire of meals. Nay, I had only had them on a handful of occasions at snack joints like Roxberry or Jamba Juice. Perhaps because we were poor freshmen, or because it was a greater sacrifice to go to the grocery store to purchase produce (we mostly walked places, you see), smoothies were a rare delicacy Rachelle made about once a month in college. Once we accidentally blended a wooden spoon into our precious puree, and, admittedly, called it a "wood-chip" smoothie, sorted out the wood pieces as best we could, drank it, AND EVEN SERVED IT TO OUR GENTLEMEN GUESTS (whom, at the time, we were quite fond of). Can you believe that?... the tact of our 18 year old selves... In my husband's family, smoothies seem to be a movie treat just as much as ice

They laid an old, gray, man to rest. Just few short autumns ago. He had not yet reached seventy. Less than three dozen people there. The sky may have been cold and dark... The sun maybe shined ... can't recall. Tears shed, fell, for more than one loss. They each took turns to say their words Some people from his family. No friends were present, not sure why. Remarks filled with empty regret. Each talk was brief until the last. The last of all the speakers, she, she who had been hurt worst of all from years spent trying at his side to start a life, raise kids, and dream but left with songs of sorrows past from all his self-centered ventures. We held our breaths to hear her words not sure what pain she might reveal. But she, the hero of the day no--she, the hero of our lives recited poetry to him a sonnet of the good times past a careful, composed, love letter. She did not excuse the abuse, she did not explain the heartache, she did not return to past

Two years ago I was working as a language tutor for senior missionaries (individuals who dedicate their time to humanitarian and other honorable work for years at a time). I aided men and women from the United States to learn Spanish, and helped people from many hispanic countries learn English. Most often I taught them via Skype video chat, however, on occasion a missionary would come in person. On one such occasion, a sprightly woman in her mid seventies came hustling up the stairs and whisked her way into our classroom. We spent a few minutes getting to know each other, and as we chatted, she confessed, "I LOVE BEING OLD!" I'd never heard someone say that before. She continued, "I love being old. I've had my whole life to learn things, I'm smarter now than I've ever been. My children are grown and have children of their own. I have retirement to enjoy time being with my husband and traveling the world. I love being old." Though I still hav

I never really knew about a cactus flower, Never really knew that they lived. I never really knew about cactus flowers, Til I got one from a student as a gift. I never really knew how cacti don't need much care Just sit 'em on your porch in the sun I never really knew how cacti don't need much care Only baby sips of water, not a ton I never really knew about a cactus flower, Til it beamed out one morning out of nowhere I never really knew about a cactus flower, Til it's beauty called my heart, I stopped and stared.

I had a version of this delectable snack at my friend Emry's home a few weeks ago. Here's my slightly adapted version... slightly healthy and wholly delicious. APPLE NACHOS 2 Granny Smith Apples 1/2 Cup Peanut Butter 3 Tbsp. Cinnamon Bun Pancake Syrup (or a different breakfast syrup of your choice) Desired toppings (chopped walnuts, chocolate chips, shredded coconut, etc.) Core and slice each Granny Smith Apple into 8+ pieces. Combine the peanut butter and pancake syrup in a microwaveable bowl, microwave on high for 30 seconds. Stir the concoction. Pour the peanut-syrup mixture over your sliced apples and add desired toppings. Makes 1 serving if you're feeling greedy or grouchy, 2 servings if you're feeling romantic and indulgent, and 4 servings if you're willing to share with good friends. Enjoy :)

I lead the congregation in singing hymns at my church. It's a simple job, but I love it. One of my absolute favorite parts of being a chorister is my sneak-peak at people's faces while they sing praises to God. There was a sister I noticed today who seemed to be studying the words, trying with her whole focus to understand the meaning of each stanza. My husband winks at me. My baby gurgles or shouts. One young lady was BEAMING with every word she sang. I love watching her because her energy and conviction is contagious, and it's as though she were performing a solo in a musical. Not because she's belting it or anything--she sings in a modest congregational way--but the smile on her face is so bright and so sincere and so joyous. And there are a handful of souls who truly worship as they sing. " In Humility Our Savior, grant they spirit here this day..." Their eyes glisten and their souls' conviction echo through their vocal chords. I know that this s

The LatinAmerican Festival swallowed up center street a few weekends ago. Siento que soy una hispana de corazón, así que sentía feliz y cómoda allí. I love food (that's no secret) but that weekend was the first time I RAN to a food truck because I was so excited to eat their concoction La comida que prepararon era EMPANADAS ARGENTINAS, y el sabor me voló atrás a Sudamerica con cada mordida. Now, I'm super familiar with Argentine dishes. But I'm still becoming acquainted with the tastes of other countries and peoples. Tuve mi primer mango con chile esa noche, y ¡ME ENCANTÓ! Tan rico, tan dulce, lleno de fuego y azúcar. The smile says it all guys. If you haven't tried hispanic food, you really ought to. Y sí ya han probado comida hispana, y no te gustó, proba otro tipo, porque hay varios y hay mucha rica comida para comer. So, needless to say, I have three more hispanic restaurants on my list to try PRONTO. ...COMIDA RICA COMIDA RICA COMIDA RICA COMIDA RICA

This week, at the farmer's market, I discovered a lovely fruit with whom I was not previously acquainted--the pluot. It's a plum-apricot mix. Yesterday night, after Charlie had long gone to sleep, Kevin and I made fruit preserves and dipped Oreos while we listened to Ted Talks. We watched a movie, devoured some dessert, laughed. Midnight came and went. And you know something? Amidst all the fun and sugar and pectin and jars and sprinkles, I didn't write my blog. I PLUOT FORGOT. I could guilt myself about it, but I won't. I'll just write two today. Because I'm human, and I'll forgive myself for it.

Corey, Kevin & Me Before we squeezed our guts out on the Lagoon tunes spinny ride. Summer 2015 The classroom I designed my Junior year of college, circa Fall 2014. Someday I hope it becomes a reality... because isn't it dreamy? The night before I got married. Partying it up with Austin & Kylie Mae. Love them. May 2015. Hidden Mickey I spotted in the sidewalk on the way to work, Summer 2015. Girl Band pic with the roomies, Spring 2015. SLC Train station at like 11:30pm. Kevin's Salad Pizza. Highly disappointing, the menu was misleading. Summer 2015.

I LOVE trying new recipes. Tonight's dinner was a smashing rendition of Fried Green Tomato BLT's... delectable. As I prepared the vamped up mayo dressing to slather on the sandwich, I reached for my staple savory spice: cayenne pepper. All of the sudden I had this crazy flashback to the first summer Kevin and I were married, when a recipe called for the very same. I remember quizzically searching the baking aisle, finding the shaker, and remarking to myself that it looked an awful lot like paprika. I couldn't tell you the first recipe I put it in, nor when the relationship became serious. But what I can tell you that at least half the dinners I make each week are jazzed up by cayenne pepper, and I can't imagine what life was like without it. However ever did my taste buds manage?

No words will ever be right to comment about today, today seventeen years ago. But to say nothing is a worse crime. I heard worried talk amongst the grownups at the bus stop. I saw billowing smoke gasping out of a skyscraper on a tiny television box in my fourth grade classroom. I felt the stars and stripes, and I wept, I wept, I wept. I wrote the following in my journal on September 11th, 2001 (forgive spelling and accuracy details, this is the event as perceived by my nine year old self): "Today terrorism has struck America. This very day, in New York and Washington D.C. It is the most terrify in news I have ever heard in my lifetime. Planes crashed into the Pentigon that crushed it to peices, Fires burnd in New York. 200 firefiters killed. Thousands of people, dead. Some sick, some living. this day all the lives of the United States were efected. The presidant, George W. Bush said that some of us were to go to war to fight, int eh Airforce, Army, Navy and Marine

Kevin and I got home yesterday at noon from a short getaway (shoutout to Abbey & Faith [& my mom for a few hours] for being his super nannies). The reason for the getaway: for no reason other than we're adults, we can, and we want to strengthen our marriage. I was SOOOO excited to hold my baby boy. It was only a few days... but I'd missed him! But...You know something? I wondered about him missing me back. You see, within the hour of us getting home, he had a significant puke down my left arm and peed through every layer of my clothes while I held him at church. I think we made it five minutes in the church building before we turned around, walked home in high heels (resulting in a nasty blister), realized I forgot my keys, scrambled around to find the spare key, wiped us both down, did us both an entire wardrobe change, and wandered back to church (this time in sandals. Less classy, but less painful). And on the way  he slapped my face with his palms, giggling

I've been here DOZENS of times. But kid, climbing around here with you--at this playground--your very first one... The way the swings make you silly and the climbing makes you curious and the play makes you perfectly peachy. Heck, it's like it's the first time for me, too. How many embroidered pillows have I made the acquaintance of in my lifetime? I don't remember many...but I know I've seen a hundred... But the way you trace the lines, your finger pads humming across the threads... It's like I never met needlework in my life and all of the sudden I'm curious. Now, I'm a fan of all things berry. But you put my enjoyment of smoothies to shame with that grin and I taste them again and again savoring the sweet like I've never tasted them before. Stories, I'm notorious for how much I love stories. But when you read with me and daddy little love, it fills me with giddy hunger to know wha

the further south south south we drive the rock changes brown to black to tan to red to red to red to red to red. And how could you know It’s my favorite color? Especially on you, Southern Utah.

I’ll forever have a personal vendetta against Starbucks for paving over Parker’s drive in. When did suburbs replace stables and castles trample corrals?  I remember driving at least half an hour to Walmart. But we could find what we needed at Kohler’s or Kountry Korner most of the time anyway. The best find was my kitten, Keiko, wrapped up in a small boy’s jacket on the front steps of the grocery store...he and his mama and sisters were trying to find their house cat’s babies  all good homes. My soul still shakes a fist at the city planners who destroyed a willow that was hundreds of years old, taking down Noelle’s tree-fort with it. They intended to “build a park,”  but left waste in their wake as nature’s playground rotted. And a Summer there in that great tree  was left singular. Two lanes tripled, nay, sextupled. Horse country to Honda country.  They took down the yogurt parlor. They tore up the creek beds. But I smile with fearful gratitude to see the sticky

As soon as my husband got home tonight, I kissed him, held him close a moment, and then took off. I took off to ride horses. Lacy, my dear friend, has been taking me riding for more than a decade now. Each time I'm atop a quarterhorse racing at a canter up a mountainside... it's on my top ten favorite feelings ever ever. I hadn't gone riding with her in at least 18 months, and OH IT WAS A JOYOUS TIME. But a twinge of guilt settled in my gut as I was racing on a bay-brown gelding across a hillside dotted with sagebrush... because I had left a monstrous mound of dishes, a sloppy slope of laundry, and a frenzied flurry of toys at home. After an evening of adventure, I drove home in the dark. I drove home to a spotless house, a sleeping baby, and a sleepy-eyed husband. That guilt came flooding back in. I apologized for the mess, I thanked him for cleaning it, I apologized again. To which he replied: "The dishes are from you feeding our family. The cloth

Exhaustion right now Procrastinated too long Hence the brief, short post.

First of all: There are at least three people, friends or acquaintances of mine, who--through conversations we've had or through some turn of events--have confessed that they read every single one of my blogs, after which they blush and look slightly bewildered about it. And I just have to tell you guys, don't be embarrassed. I'm flattered that you read what I write. Your consistent support is ROCK AWESOME. My high school literature teacher often told us, "we read to know that we are not alone." You read what I write and I read what you write because we have to know we're not alone, that our human experiences relate to one another. So yeah. For you three people, I love ya, and I'm grateful. And if you only read a half of a blog on a blue moon Tuesday, I love ya too. On to today's idea: Charlie and I went for a five mile walk today, our destination was Walmart. I find I make less frivolous trips to the store if I make myself walk there to get wha

More time spent with Kin Shared laughter with dear neighbors A break from our cares.

So Kevin got to my blog before I did today 😂 He wrote it from my perspective. This is what he wrote (all of it accurate, admittedly): "Today I lost a ponyta. My dear husband who is still 9 at heart owns the game Pokemon Monopoly. We play it with a few friends this evening and things started out very well. 30 minutes in and everyone but my husband had 5 or 6 properties and a good chunk of change, while Kevin only had Articuno (the equivalent of water works.) 3 and a half hours later I declared Kevin as the victor. The tables turned and we still don't understand how. I love horses. One of the properties has a picture of a horse that is on fire (Pokemon is weird), but it makes me happy when I get the chance to own it. I had to give that fire pony property to my husband because of game rules and poor dice rolls." He knows me well. Owning a fire pony (even in a game) is legit. And Pokemon Monopoly is the best kind of Monopoly there is.

Disappointment. I remember disappointment. There were people I wanted to trust, people I hadn't really known that long, with their jack-in-the-box personalities that broke out into unexpected abandonment followed with profession of devotion. The weight of placing people in the past cannot be compared. Sad. I remember sad. It's tendrils, it's tentacles, it's whispery black fingers stretched over my heart and into my muscles and tunneled through my veins til I felt hopelessly blue while trudging through gray. Survival. I remember survival. The hustle from activity to appointment to apprenticeship to appreciation luncheon. I could not tell day from day for all the blinding writing that blurred the lines between calendar dates. Canning feelings into jars, placing them on the shelf for when I had time to digest them. Taking the jars down, realizing the feelings had spoiled with time and were no longer mine to keep. Smiling. I remember smiling. S