Bikes, Offices, and Big Pictures

I feel like a child again when I ride my bike. Sure, I'm pulling a trailer with two kids in it. Yes, I'm 35 pounds overweight and I'm not exactly lithe and free (nor fast), but it feels amazing --the wind in my hair, speeding down a small hill... I'm sincerely brought back to my childhood. We all used to zip around the neighborhood as fast as we possibly could, zooming around corners, jumping curbs, and heading towards the park down the "big street." I was blessed, you know, because I lived in a small city, in a safe neighborhood, with very few cars, and a lot of kids.

My father told me once that although he was much older, he still felt like he was 22 years old. He felt like he was still that same young man, but he said he would look in the mirror and the face looking back at him was not 22, and sometimes it would surprise him. I feel this way a lot. I'll look in the mirror and be reminded how much life I've already lived. I wonder if I'll ever get used to seeing an aging Cheryl looking back at me. But when I ride my bike? I'm a kid again. I'm not even 22 --I'm 8 years old.

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The office is coming along swimmingly! Who came up with that cliche, anyway? Swimmingly? I mean, if it's swimming, does that mean it's automatically awesome? I guess if you enjoy swimming it would be awesome, but what if you hate swimming? What if you think swimming is so evil and awful and scary and wrong? Then would you would say "it is coming along walkingly" or "runningly" or "watchingTVingly?"

But I digress.

I have gotten through about half of what needs to be shredded, and as I shred each pile of papers we don't actually need to have in our possession (and I had no idea how little we actually need to have in our possession!), it's like weight is being lifted from my shoulders. I feel like it's being taken off of me and put down in the shredder and shredded and... Yeah, that was a dumb analogy. Moving on.

I have only a pile of taxes to file. Not file with the IRS, file in my filing cabinet. All organized and file-like. I have all of the "to be scrapbooked" stuff to still sort through (I have a bin for each kid), and hopefully that will be finished this week as well.

All I need now is a desktop computer that actually works (blerg), a printer that is connected to a computer that works (more blerg), and a system for the crafty stuff for the kiddos. But it'll come.

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I think I have a gift that is good for me, but annoying to others. Well, I have a lot of those gifts (I mean, I annoy people a lot. Meh.), but what I am referring to is something called "The Big Picture." I have a tendency to see what the big picture is, what it looks like, and then I think about how to get there.

Small example: I want my kid to be able to play all the hymns in the hymnbook and one day woo his future wife with his rad piano skillz. In order for him to get there, I won't let him quit piano, even when he whines about practicing.

Big example: Life. The entire point of our existence is to become Gods and Goddesses and to have Eternal Increase (i.e. children -Spirit children, but children, nonetheless). To get there? The Gospel of Jesus Christ. Sunday School answers. Temple ordinances. But to me, I see it simply, as one would read a manual.

Is that weird? I'm wondering if I'm strange because it just makes sense to me. It's logical and simple and it works. "This is the goal, now how do I get there?" But I've been told by so many people that "it's not that simple" and "life is much more complicated" and "you have no idea what you are talking about" and "if my life was as easy as yours..."

But I don't know. I honestly think I would still feel this way even if I had to face repentance and disease and death and despair, because, well, I have, you know. Faced all of them. And I still see the Big Picture.