God is Good to the Johnsons

“We have nothing in common” is a phrase that perplexes me, And leaves me to wonder In a confuzzled reverie How two humans, with paths On earth’s teaching trails Can’t find one commonality That connects their life tale.

We may or may not have just finished tonight the extended version of the third Lord of the Rings movie, It was probably my eighth time. I love horses and stories well told So it shouldn’t come as a surprise, really, how much I love the films... But sometimes I feel sheepish when I share such With unsuspecting conversations Because I sometimes get this look of—No way, you? And how am I to respond? How can I point out to them the awesome?! Character development with depth and breadth and history (they’re not boring stretches of talking, I promise), A perfect blend of love stories and actions (what woman can’t swoon over Aragorn and Arwen’s loyalty to one another, and what man can’t appreciate  the battles?) And a portrayal of a nation so intertwined with equine life that the flag of their people  bears a horse. It’s beautiful. So, there you have it, I’ve confessed. I’m a LOTR fan.

Sometimes a good day is getting the competitive job, finding a deluxe living arrangement for a killer price, or taking a sweet vacation. But most of my good days include the simple joys of life. A good day is waking up without worrying where my next meal will come from, Or the meal after that. A good day is bathing in a warm shower in a home that doesn’t drop below 67 degrees Fahrenheit. A good day includes an attentive phone call from my husband And a string of slobbery open-mouth kisses from my toddler. A good day is a text conversation and/or video chat with my parents. A good day includes quilting or brunching or walking or Marco-polo-ing with dear friends. A good day is energy and health enough to care for myself and my little one, And legs that can walk, And lungs that breathe, And eyes that see the glorious world around me. So really, although there’s disappointment and drain and pain and humdrum Of course I can’t deny That most days Are good ones. Thank you, G

Guys, I have a problem.  Sometimes I text people back really, really late. And sometimes I forget to text people back at all. I don't intentionally slough off my duty to respond, and I certainly don't intend the person I'm communicating with to feel forgotten or intentionally ignored. I simply, well, lose myself in the moments of day-to-day life (feeding my son breakfast, taking a much needed nap in the afternoon, piecing together a quilt, enjoying a conversation with my husband, taking a long walk) and texting falls by the wayside.  If a voice message is left after a missed phonecall, I always call them back. But texting is harder. So for more than anyone, if you're someone who has texted me and repeatedly gotten a delayed response or none at all, please know that it's not personal. I care about you. I'm just in the middle of living!  But next time, don't be afraid to call me instead.  <3

What’s  truly amazing about language is that two people who have spoken English all their life can have a conversation... and completely misunderstand one another. There are many reasons for this, but I’m going to explore just one aspect I’ve observed in recent years: little words from subcultures. While living in Gig Harbor, Washington in the summer of 2013, I had occasion to interact with a lot of Washingtonian families. One term of endearment I heard in many households was “sweets.” I’d never heard it used as a loving pet name previously, but now I’ve adopted it into my own vernacular. I grew up calling a religious building a “church.” My husband’s family calls it a “ward.” My friend Kelsey and her family call teeny tiny things “smallish bear.” And the true kings of making up words and adopting them into their own subculture, my brothers say to each other, “Shummanatinka—oh—ah—chi.” I’ll be honest, I’ve yet to learn what that word means in its entirety. They use it in many,

“You married the guy you married because you liked him. Don’t try to change who he is.” -Rebecca Stay I heard these words today, babe And they’re truer than true. I don’t want you to love pride and prejudice, not really, that’s my job. One of us has to be the hilarious one in the relationship to help break the ice when we meet new people, and that’s your job. Nothing in this house would get repaired so neatly without you. Who else would eat my food, all of it, experiment recipe after experiment recipe, with unfailingly brave taste buds and a gumption to go back for more, even when it’s subpar? That’s only a pinch of the smattering of all the things that are you, But don’t change (except in the self-improvement ways that YOU choose... but that sounds far less poetic and side-note-y so I had to put it in parentheses for it to belong in this poem) Don’t change Don’t change DONT CHANGE Be you Cuz that’s who I like in the first place.

Grandma, I never met you, because you’re four greats away, But someday I hope to, in the hereafter. You delivered dozens of babies After finding Christ’s church, crossing the Atlantic, and then crossing the plains And then Brigham Young asked you to be a midwife. I think of all the impossible you made possible through faith and grit, And I pray I can become a fraction Of the woman you are When the tasks ahead of me seem to grand to undertake.

Exhaustion has a funny way Of stealing my ideas away And nights like these I wonder how My undergrad was completed, now? When I ran on 6 hours or less Of sleep during all my schoolwork’s press I wrote the words and earned the grades Even midst friendships’ escapades But not a moment in regret stands For what I gained—some lifelong friends.

Dear Blogosphere (Specifically my faithful readers who come back time and time again), I haven't been totally honest with you, and you probably know that. I'm guessing you noticed that I'm 13 blog posts behind my once-a-day goal. I'm just three months shy to my one year mark of blogging once a day, and I've been slacking. My writing muscles have been getting flabby the past two weeks. I don't expect you to excuse or dismiss my behavior, because I was wrong. I haven't been keeping up the bargain I made when I started this challenge. But I do hope you'll forgive me, especially as I recommit and start anew. And I promise to write daily, as well as make up 13 posts for those 13 lost days. I also want to explain a little bit. I would never have guessed the explosive response of my blog when I first started publishing daily. I started this little writing gig for myself, and I didn't anticipate I'd have too many followers. However, each blog post for

How do you politely say To someone who can gab away That you have loads of work to do And cannot talk, until you're through?

So many, many people have told me how excited they are to peace-out of P-town And after Eight years here I still can't understand them. Here, people paint their rendition of StarryNight above their doorways, they leave you carved cucumbers on your doorstep, and sidewalks range from two feet wide to six feet wide and back again in a matter of paces... ...and you might just find an inspirational quote, or a mural of Harry potter, chalked on one of those sidewalk spots. Here, there's cookies-and-cream milk, mint fudge brownies, and caramel praline fudge tastier than anywhere else. Here, there's always, always,  always young love and it makes me warm and mushy inside in a way that makes me starry-eyed for my husband all over again. Here, you can work four jobs in four years of your undergrad and come out wiser and happier and more of a good human because of the people you worked with and the thing

I realize the pettiness of this post ahead of time, and I hope you'll forgive me. But these peeves have been cluttering up in my mind, and the best way to spring clean my brainpan is to write. So here. That said, read on. Why my dictionary app can recognize and define "deus ex machina" but not "synechdoche." When San Pellegrinos Lemon Soda doesn't show up on the Walmart grocery pickup website, even though I know they have it, I've purchased it from that location in person. When people hate on Utah for any reason, and especially when they expect me to sympathize with them. I know many people can't help it, and I'm not sure of a more fitting alternative phrase to ask them to use, but that awkward moment when I update someone that I am no longer teaching full time, and they respond "Oh, so you're just staying home." Ok, they're off my chest. That is all :)

They called the vase resplendent With it's beauty independent Of the jewels, gold, and pendants that surrounded, on display. They saw the colors blooming Paint so vibrant, yet unassuming But a sadness was entombing That delightful little vase. And who could truly beguile? That soul, who ran the aisle and 'midst laughter and a smile knocked the vase upon the floor. The connoisseurs, they mourned All the curators forlorn Could the hall, it still adorn? That shattered, broken vessel. But none of them could know That the vase, who'd caught the blow Was always shards that didn't show Staying upright, yet broken still. And all they'd need to do Was place the pieces back anew And the shape would still hold true That vase, with perfect shards. The other spectacles might stand Without viewers knowing their brand Of misfortune, hurt, or strand Each has blemishes and bruises. Yet, like the vase they show their brushstrokes, all aglow. Their

Today I was searching on Family Search for a story to share as my little family studies Come Follow Me . I found a little poem as I searched through the stories of my ancestors, written by my Great Grandma T. I was six years old when she passed away, but I still have vivid memories of the Andes Chocolate Mints she had stacked on her dining room table. I always got to have more than my fair share when we visited Grandma, not to mention the other delightful goodies she's stash away to share with me. I've been told she was a small woman, but my memories of her are from 6-year-old eyes, and to me she will always be a tall, lovely, soft, white-haired woman. My eyes became teary as I read this little ode to her wedding ring (and, in turn, a love poem to her late husband). As a result I feel all the more grateful and close to my husband, for my parents and grandparents, and of course for Grandma T.  I hope you'll love it too: MY WEDDING RING by Vera Tippetts

This little gold necklace is one that a student gave me when I was about 8 months pregnant. My students knew I was going to name my baby boy Charlie, I mentioned him often (it's difficult not to mention when you're teaching 3rd grade and a little wiggly human lovingly squishes around inside you all the while). This student saw the necklace at a boutique she shopped at with her mom, and she bought it for me with her own money. I was so touched, unlatched the clasp on the little gold chain and fastened it around my neck immediately. I still wear that necklace often. The spelling reads "Charley" but the difference in graphemes doesn't matter. This necklace reminds me #1 of my precious baby boy, #2 of my darling student who gifted it, and #3 that I want to be as thoughtful, generous, and unreservedly kind as my student was as I interact with other people. The necklace serves as a frequent and welcome reminder of all three.

I have a dear and affectionate relationship with Pinterest. I often feel inspired and intrigued as I investigate new recipes and quilt patterns. And, admittedly, I have pinned and re-pinned oodles of gorgeous horses (#imstilltenyearsoldatheart). However, while I have pinned thousands of recipes, I'm afraid I've only had the time and resources to make a hundred of them. For reals, I've truly made 100 recipe pins on Pinterest. So, in light of this centennial accomplishment of sorts, I'd like to share some delightful recipe pins that are on my kitchen bucket list for most-likely-to-be-actually-cooked-in-2019. 100 down, and at least five more to go 😉  #1  CILANTRO LIME LETTUCE WRAPS This recipe calls to me because it looks to be a healthy dinner choice AND packed full of zesty flavor. #2 TUSCAN GARLIC CHICKEN The most delicious Italian-esque dish I've ever eaten is the Portobello Mushroom Raviolis at Olive Garden. The Sun dried Tomato sauc

Here you are, children, here here here on the wall, in the city. Your clothes would say you're old, too old to be children really dressed that way because children don't dress that way anymore unless they're on a stage or performing a history report. The window behind you shows blue sky, though all around me is cloudy and the other windows have bars on them... And you're black and white black and white black and white and gray so I know you mustn't really be there. But your faces are so real to me, and it makes me sort of weepy for wanting you to be real but knowing you're just paint.

Who said the only time you can be whisked away with your sweetheart is once a year? We stayed at the Anniversary Inn. We saw monster trucks for the first time.  We ate pretzels and drank cider and watched the Spider-Verse movie. A few people asked us, "what are you celebrating?" Welp, we didn't have a specific date marked on the calendar but there doesn't need to be one when you're happy and married. So we celebrated our Unniversary, and I'm now a firm believer that every spouse-ship out there ought to celebrate theirs, too ;)

One of the reasons I fell so madly in love with your dad is that he thought I was funny! He got my jokes, when other people gave polite, uncomfortable giggles he guffawed with sincerity, and I love him for it. And Baby, my heavens, I was smitten with you from the start but like your dad, you laugh with me (at me?) and I love you for it.

How can it be, my little one with thirteen months behind you you've rung in two new years with us before you're even two? Your birthday placed so perfectly just before November's through, That when we ring for new year's, It also brings me more of you I can't wait to see what this year brings as you talk and grow and learn And my love for you, it swells so as the hands of time's clock turn.

It wasn't till yesterday, sitting by my friend I've known since youth in the Temple of our God spending some time in religious observance that I noticed the light, the light that glanced off the panes of glass in front of us 'neath the railing. And she leaned over and told me, in a hushed but thoughtful whisper, how the light changes color in a magnificent rainbow if you raise your eyes a little at a time. And so I glanced, and the yellow light became orange and red and blue and green and purple each in a concentrated, brilliant orb as I lifted and lowered my head, gazing at the glass' edge, a glass I've certainly seen dozens of times before but without this enlightenment. All of the sudden I was filled with that burning love of discovery I'd felt when I was a child, the season when I'd first become her friend That time when all the world was a puzzle to be opened and discovered. In that moment, I swelled with gratitude and thanked God

It was noon, and still I was in pajamas My little one looked lovely, in his Dr. Seuss sweater and pants, and I was feeding him lunch But my hair a mess, glasses on trying to tidy the house and  trying to grab a bite for myself in between helping him, because it had been a long night and a long day because he's teething and he needs me. And my husband, my husband was ill and I laid awake a long, long time thinking of him  and how to help. It's simple, so simple at least that's what I told myself before. Simple to clean, cook, and care for my loved ones but how would I have known? That late night feedings with a child that needs me, and looking after my sweetheart, and all the other other items that demand my attention doing them all doing them all well is difficult. But how else could I have known that I would love my work so much?  That the giggles, the smiles, the words he forms and the food we eat as we gather at the t

Sometimes, trips afar to Key West and California and Bear Lake fill our breaks with adventure and sweet memories But other times, my love we stay here at home. Days off filled with sleeping in eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner together for days on end  without interruption. Days where it's too cold to go for a walk, so we jive to "just-dance for kids" YouTube videos for exercise Or that day after Christmas, when we felt a surge of crazy and went to the rec center swimming pool with our little boy and had the time of our lives floating round the lazy river again and again and again and thoroughly drying off before we braved the icy cold to get home. Days when we organize and clean, but aren't bothered by it because we're together. Days of popcorn and brownies and quiche and daily games of Ticket to Ride. Days when we dance in the kitchen, read stories at dusk, snuggle our way through a movie til bedtime. Sometimes, days at home