I Think I Can

While shoveling snow a couple of Saturdays ago, I told Heavenly Father, "I can do Saturday snow.  Saturday snow is fine.  Every week, even.  Bring it on.  But let's not do weekdays." 

Last Monday wasn't a Saturday, but it was a holiday (close enough!  I was grateful!).  I wasn't planning to go anywhere so the snow didn't bother me.    I was feeling stay-at-home-ish and had been sad since after church the day before.  Because Wes's parents left after a wonderful visit?  Because I'd just taught a RS lesson and couldn't decide how I felt about it?  Because instead of sitting shoulder to shoulder with Wes on the couch to watch a Sunday afternoon movie, it was just me and the kids?  Probably.  

So I figured we'd just chalk Monday up to snow and smeared mascara (why do I wear make-up?!) and call it good.

But after several hours, I was sick of sad.  Sadness is an occasional indulgence, and it is often helpful to have a good cry.  But when the gloom overstays it's welcome, I have to fight it. 
Slowly.
With small defenses, like a sink full of hot soapy water and Paul Simon playing on the ipod. 

And prayers.

Those things work (I'm so grateful!  Not all kinds of sadness can be cured - or at least kept at bay - so simply, I know).  When the dishes were done and Graceland was repeating and I'd regained a feeling of stability, I rounded up my stray children and showed them pictures of last year's MLK day, knowing exactly what they'd ask for and feeling that I was finally ready to comply.   

It was a beautiful day. 

Full of thumbs ups and high-fives and "woo-hoo!"s.

But my favorite (besides the sight of Lucy rolling down those snowy hills),

was the small sound of Spencer's voice as we hiked the sledding hill again, and again, and again,

"I think I can, I think I can, I think I can." 

 

(It sounded kind of familiar.)