Speechless

I have found myself for the past two days unable to summarize the events of the day or select a particular story to tell that I would like recorded for my great grand children to hear. Perhaps it is because there are too many to choose from, perhaps it is the mandate I made long ago to write short and concise entries which at this moment seems impossible or perhaps it is that I am exhausted. I want to write a post about the dozens and dozens of people I know from around my stake who have come day after day after day to help bring the Festival of Nativities out of its storage boxes and into the world of majestic. I would like to write a post about my dedicated friends and family members who have taken, watched, fed, practiced, and played with my children for the past two weeks when I have not been able to. I would like to write a post of what it is like to hear music you have gently molded in your head for continuous months finally be performed in front of an audience of people who have come to hear it. I would like to write a post of what it is like to have your daughter's violin teacher accept the invitation to come to the production and hear and see the reason her little student, my daughter, has arrived somewhat unpracticed for the past two weeks. Finally I would like to write a post about the moments of discouragement, utter exhaustion and crises that have accompanied some of the hours dedicated to putting on such an event as this, that have been tempered by prayer and the answers that have followed. One sentence for each of these personal and historical moments does not seem adequate but it is all I am able to muster at the moment.

A Little Lesson:
Writing your personal history as you are living it has at times required the energy of heart and mind in a way that I never really imagined. I am knew to this world of record keeping and I continue to marvel at the powerful influence it has on my life.