Dream Shard Blog: The Scintillating Adventures of Our Household

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Mon
9
Mar '15

Wesley

A while ago I took my three kids to BYU campus. I was taking their pictures on some steps inside the Wilkinson Center when a couple of BYU students went by and exited through the doors by us. My eyes were drawn to them because they were tall, handsome, athletic young men who were moving with purpose. Their t-shirts said “Y Serve.” I guess they were on their way to a service project. In a moment of short-sightedness that I’m sometimes prone to, my mom-heart hurt a little because when I saw those tall good-looking boys, I looked at my son Wes and realized he will never be exactly like them. They were on their way to give service; my Wes will often be the one receiving service.

This past weekend I spent an hour watching Wes play basketball with two buddies who cheered for him, gave him pats on the back, told him “good job!” and stayed with him when he ran from the court. Wes was happy because he got help to do something he loves. I was happy because I got one hour of needed respite. And the buddies were happy because they were helping. The buddies come from a residential school that helps troubled teens with emotional and behavioral issues. I talked to one of the staff members after Saturday’s game who said, “I NEVER see them like this. They are like different boys here, helping these kids.”

For a moment at BYU I felt sad that my son would have to be the one receiving lots of help. I think it’s because I felt it was better to be the one giving service than receiving. But now I see that it’s really a weighted balance: The joy of giving can equal the joy of receiving. And the weight of importance is equal on both sides. Who got more from the basketball game, Wes or the buddies? It’s hard to say…

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Wed
4
Mar '15

Dinnertime Candids

During dinner tonight Elizabeth had a pouty moment. She has the best glowering, sullen looks where she tucks her chin under and sticks out her lower lip. I missed the lower lip but caught the rest. I can’t help but laugh when she glowers.

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So then Carissa wanted me to take a picture of her, too.

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And we couldn’t leave Wes out.

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