On Human Kindness

I like to think of myself as a kind person. One of my absolute favorite quotes is by Henry James, “Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind.” In my dream world of hearts and rainbows (and chocolate), kindness would be the most esteemed achievement in life. Unfortunately, this week has witnessed a series of events that have challenged my views as well as my perception about my own personal kindness towards others.

Last Friday, Henry’s piano teacher, who also happens to teach music out at his school, pulled me aside after his lesson and asked if Henry’s teacher or the school counselor had gotten in touch with me concerning Henry. Completely baffled, I replied that they hadn’t and she proceeded to tell me that for the past several weeks, none of the girls in his class were willing to pair up with Henry when they practiced an Irish Jig that they are performing at the school’s St. Patrick’s Day party in a few weeks. She said she always downplayed it and just used him as her partner but she found it curious. I made a note to contact his teacher on Monday.

After conferencing with both his teacher and the school counselor, I learned that Henry has essentially been the class “cheese touch” since January (if you don’t know what a cheese touch is it’s from Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Basically, it means he is the person nobody wants to partner with, play with or sit next to at school). His teacher was obviously concerned about how this social isolation (which she says the kids are really good hiding when teachers are around) was affecting Henry...if he was acting out at home or not wanting to come to school and I could honestly say that it didn’t seem to be affecting him at all. He had confided in me a couple of weeks earlier that he had gotten in trouble with his teacher because he kept touching some girls’ hands and asking them to the valentine’s day dance (what dance???) after being dared by some of his classmates who said they wouldn’t be his friend if he didn’t do it. It’s quite a bit more complicated than I feel like sharing right now but, in short, Henry’s lack of social self awareness is both partly responsible for him being targeted and also the protective bubble that keeps him oblivious to the ridicule. I’ve always admired Henry’s unique personality but also worried if and when his charm and quirk would be labeled weird instead.  Turns out...third grade.  It made me so sad.

Then, the very next day, I got a call from Seth’s spanish teacher. Like all teachers, I feel like they try to lessen the blow by saying how much potential they see in your child but after buttering me up with assurances that he doesn’t think my son is a delinquent, he went on to say that he felt Seth was really underperforming in class and possibly bullying another student. I listened, acknowledged the likelihood of him not using class time wisely, but my heart hurt at the thought of him making someone feel stupid or small in class. It was extra surprising because the other boy mentioned by the teacher is a friend of Seth’s from cross country. I know my son well enough to know that he is not intentionally mean. Well, that’s not entirely true. He can be really mean to his brothers....but, he is mostly a huge tease and if he’s really comfortable with someone and thinks someone can handle it, he can say obnoxious things to them thinking he’s being funny. I’ve seen him do it with his cousins, coaches, church leaders, friends - and 90% of them actually think he’s funny.  I can’t tell you how many adult leaders have come up to me saying how much they love harassing Seth because he “can take it and dishes it right back at me!” And he can take it. He loves it. It’s like teasing is his love language or something. I told his teacher I’d be sure to have a talk with him about it.

It felt so weird to be simultaneously straddling both ends of the kindness spectrum. How was it that my boys were not recognizing the importance of kindness? After this Friday’s experience, I worry I may not be setting the best example.

The deacons and teachers had a fun, overnight trip planned for Friday night at one of the leader’s cabin. In the winter, the remote road gets snowed in and so the only way to access it is by snowmobile. All boys were told to meet at the church at 4:00 with their snow clothes on and all of their other belongings contained within a backpack. Because they were riding in and would need to use their hands to hold onto something, sleeping bags, pillows, snacks all had to fit inside a backpack. Jay and I made sure Seth and Sam were ready to go so I could take them straight to the church after I picked them up after school.  Jay even threw in an extra sleeping bag in the off chance that one of his deacons, who is on the autism spectrum, showed up. I couldn’t imagine that this boy would come. When he was in primary, he was always a challenge because he never wanted to be there and part of his personality is to loudly complain about what is making him uncomfortable. So...we and what we were doing in primary was often “stupid and boring.” It was hard to keep him in a seat because all he wanted to do was leave and wander. Mostly, he just wanted to play on his tablet. It was extremely difficult to get him to participate so we tolerated and accommodated him. His mom is a single mother who has her own mental health issues so it has never been something anyone could really take to the family for help. Tangent over, when I got to the parking lot, this boy’s mother was quickly driving away and her son was sitting on the sidewalk, with a stuffed pillowcase as his only luggage, ranting about how his, “big, fat, stupid mother” had left him and he wasn’t ever going to move and he wasn’t going anywhere until his mom came back to pick him up.

Jay was working and there was no way he was going to be available by 4, so he had already planned on driving up on his own later and either walking in (the guy’s in shape. He could do it) or, hopefully, having someone come and pick him up on a snowmobile. Because he is the deacon’s quorum advisor and the leader who has handled this young man on Sundays (he doesn’t come to activities on Wednesday night), none of the other leaders had any experience with his social tantrums. Once they saw me, they asked me what to do. Irritation at the entire situation pulsed through me. I am not a mental health or behavior expert. Jay isn’t either. I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t want to have to know what to do. I told several of the leaders that it was unfair and possibly harmful to have this young man go on this trip. I used the comparison of someone dropping off their handicapped son, who needs a wheelchair, without his wheelchair. He had no snow clothes other than his coat. He was mad but I might have felt just as mad. I was mad at his mother for just leaving him there (and not picking up her phone now when we tried to reach her). The other counselor in the YM presidency said they would do the best they could and if the situation turned impossible, someone would leave the activity and drive him home. That didn’t really help calm my unkind feelings. If anything, it just inflamed them more. I asked Seth and Sam that since their dad wasn’t there yet, could they be this poor, frustrating young man’s emotional ambassadors and help encourage him, or even just quietly ignore him while he ranted? They sort of glared at me but I watched Seth go and sit next to him on the curb and when they led him to get into one of the trucks, I watched Sam go and sit with him. When I got back into my car to leave, I called Jay to complain. He sighed and hoped for the best.

The rest of the story is both heartwarming and embarrassing. I was certain that this boy would be miserable and, in turn, make the entire activity miserable. I was wrong. By the time Jay got up there, ever other adult leader approached him independently and told him that Seth and Sam had saved the trip. By the time the group got to the cabin, this boy had calmed down, was laughing, and saying it was so much fun. He never snowmobiled and didn’t participate in any of the conversations or games but Jay said they eventually talked him into turning down the volume of his tablet and he helped the other boys make breakfast the next morning. Sure enough, when I picked up the boys the next morning and took this young man to his mother (who was at McDonald’s using the wifi and unable/unwilling to drive to the church to pick him up), he was happy. Not easy or socially adept or any less rigid in his conversation, but not angry and he kept saying, “I had fun.” I felt shame. Because I had been very unkind in both thought and deed.

I know I am not an unkind person. Perhaps, what I have realized is that all of us, to some extent, have unkind moments. The kids we don’t like have them. Our own kids have them. I think the goal is to try harder to show kindness to all.  I tthought of the words in a primary song, “Love one another as Jesus loves you. TRY to show kindness in all that you do. Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought for these are the things Jesus taught.” I think I am most kind when I feel secure in that love that Jesus has for me - when  I feel His spirit with me. I think of the sacrament prayer and the promise that it will be with me if I keep His commandments and always remember him. I need to do better at doing both. I didn’t realize how distant and distracted I’ve been lately and how infrequently I choose to “remember Him." It’s such a cycle. I think what I realized yesterday is that if I help my children feel Christ’s love, they will also be more likely to love others and themselves in the same accepting way Christ loves us. It’s easy to be kind to some people. It’s not as easy to be kind to others. I want to be better at being kinder to all.

The Problem With Depending On My Brain

Perhaps it’s only surface righteousness, but, on Sundays, when driving to church, I tend to try to listen to more uplifting programming than the normally tuned in pop music. Today, it was Henry who suggested I find BYU radio on Sirius XM (a recent addition to my car) and when we found it, they were rebroadcasting a talk Elaine Dalton had given sometime in the past. We didn’t get to listen to much, but as I turned onto 15th Street, she quoted her favorite scripture found in Proverbs.  It’s a very well known scripture and certainly not the first time I had heard it but when my ears got the signal, “Trust in the Lord with all thy heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways, acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy path,” my heart received its truth. I didn’t even know how much I had been thinking about the Lord’s truth and how mankind usually bungles handling His truth until I was sitting in Testimony Meeting. Sam had just been sustained in Sacrament meeting to being worthy to hold the office of a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood and almost like Jason Bourne, my brain kept flashing to all these thoughts I’ve been having over the past two weeks that all had to do with the priesthood and that scripture.



Two weeks ago, I had the amazing and blessed opportunity to travel to Mexico with my parents and sisters.  We had a marvelous time and the majority of memories will be attached to the sand, sun and nightly order of fajitas, but we spent one day touring some Mayan Ruins at Chichen Itza and Tulum. I’m sure any tour guide would have provided an interesting interpretation and explanation of Mayan history and archaeologic discovery but we chose to have an LDS tour guide who added his own thoughts and interpretations from his understanding of scripture. Most of what he had to say focused on how the symbolism they used in building and their traditions in sacred worship could be recognized as perversions, lost truths and misunderstandings of the gospel of Jesus Christ, which I believe had been brought to this land by different peoples and from Jesus Christ himself after his resurrection. For instance, there is an idol placed atop the place where human sacrifices were offered inside their temples. They called him Chaac Mol and this idol sat in a reposed position with a box of a sort onto of his torso (I hope I am getting this right. If I take the time to research this, I doubt I will ever get back to writing. I just need to get this post out!). In the box, they would place a human heart. Our tour guide theorizes that they had been taught at one time that God wanted “broken hearts and contrite spirits” and after many generations without any priesthood authority to keep truth in check, this perverted human sacrifice came as a result. It’s an interesting thought.

In a similarly gruesome comparison, my dad sent me a link to a story exposing the relationship between a Utah husband and wife who killed themselves and all but one of their children this past year and Dan Lafferty, a man who murdered my cousin and her daughter because of religious perversion. They had become infatuated with his teachings and person and had visited him many times in prison. The article reminds the reader about the horrific Lafferty murders and I just felt so sad that such evil could stem from someone who had once been taught the gospel.

While that depressing train of thought was swirling on one side of my brain, I simultaneously recalled a funny conversation I had with the two women who help me clean my house once a week. They have been helping me with my poor housekeeping skills for years and we have become pretty good friends. They will frequently ask me questions about my religion and we always have honest conversations about what we believe. Last week, I could tell they thought their question was weird based on how they asked each other if they should even ask me, but I laughed when they asked, “Is it like a rule of your church that you have to own a piano if you are Mormon?” I laughed and said that I was positive all non-musical and non-piano owners could also be Mormons should they so choose and even though it was a silly question, it made me start to think about how easily something can seem like a tradition or even become a tradition.

The church has done a valiant job during the past year of acknowledging past mistakes and admitting uncertainty about how some past church policies came into existence. I think it is both commendable and concerning. Why are we doing things wrong...ever...when we have the restored gospel, priesthood authority and a prophet? You know? Oh, I know, I know, I know. The church is true but its people aren’t perfect. Past prophets’ policies and ideas have been implemented when they weren’t necessarily revelations but merely opinions of men. I get it. I hear it. I just wish it hadn’t happened.

It’s so, so, so tempting to rely on my own understanding. I think I come up with some pretty good stuff. Still, I believe that priesthood authority matters and that that authority exists on the earth today.  I believe Sam received that power today, through an ordination of power given to him by his father who was given the power by another worthy priesthood holder. Not only do I believe that Sam now holds the priesthood but I believe that this power is what allows Heavenly Father to bless His children and direct His church through revelation. Without it....if it didn’t matter....if we’re just left to our own understanding....if it gets perverted....all hell breaks loose.  That’s what history teaches me. Really. Being forced to own pianos would be the most benign.

I’m proud of Sam. I’m grateful he has great examples of worthy, humble, dedicated priesthood holders to teach him how to best bless the lives of those around him. I will continue to trust in the Lord and let Him direct my path.

Model Sam

Still modeling

Sam is the same size Seth was when he turned 12.

It kind of amazes me what changes are in store over the next few years.

Daily Gratitude - Day 16

Ward Conference was today and the talks all focused on the importance missionary work. I listened obligingly but it didn’t pierce my heart until the counselor in the stake presidency started talking about how he’s noticed throughout the years that when he makes a concerted effort to improve a quantifiable statistic, like missionary work or home teaching, by emphasizing its importance and our responsibilities to perform it, the numbers usually go down. That caught my interest. I admit I was tuning out before because...well...I’ve heard it all before. And I still have never been a great missionary or visiting teacher. This guy was going to to explain to me why he thought that was.

What he went on to say was not new. I’ve heard it all before as well. But I had a the-wicked-taketh-the-truth-to-be-hard moment when he suggested that true conversion needs to take place before we can expect the motivation to share the gospel and help others as Christ did. Am I not converted?

I thought I was. I think I am. So, why don’t I devote my life to sharing the gospel - both with the members of my ward I have stewardship to serve and with my friends and community? I’ve been trying to come up with a satisfying answer the entire day. I don’t know. I know I’ve said before that I lack the activist gene and while that is definitely true, I never feel compelled to convince someone else that what I think is right is what they should think is right, it is a weak defense. I’ve never invited anyone to church with me. I think I’ve given a copy of the Book of Mormon to one friend in my entire life. Anytime the missionaries ask me for the name of a friend, I say no names come to mind.  And it’s true.

And yet, anyone who knows me knows what religion I am. I go to bookclub and I don’t drink the wine and I don’t swear and I answer the inevitable questions about mormons that come so I think I’m being a good member of the church and setting a good example. If only that were enough. I am definitely one of those that hopes that someone will know me....respect me and my lifestyle...and want to take the missionary discussions. I swear I hear these conversion stories all of the time and I wonder, “Why doesn’t this happen to any of my friends? Is it me?”

After that talk, I’m thinking it’s me. So, I’ve got some work to do. On my own conversion. Or something.

Tonight, we fed the sister missionaries dinner. They are awkward and I admit I dread the appointment a bit but after they left my home tonight, I had an about face. These two young women (I think they are both only 20) are spending 75 percent of their work day knocking on doors in an attempt to find the people whose souls yearn to hear the gospel of Jesus Christ. Most people don’t yearn or aren’t ready to yearn yet.  I know that’s part of the reason I’m hesitant to share what I believe.  I’m so certain that everyone I know is fine and happy with their own beliefs. After all, I am. But these missionaries have committed 18 months of their young lives to share the gospel.  I envy them their singular focus.

I want to be converted. I want the Lord to know that I am. I want to be an instrument in blessing the lives of others. In the meantime, I’m grateful for the missionaries who work and serve and take up the slack in my own effort.

Daily Gratitude - Day 2

About a year ago, I first noticed the pain. I remember my arm hurting after leading the primary program and using my left arm for ward choir when we were learning Christmas music. I also stopped working out with my personal trainer because I felt like it was a waste of money to pay someone to “go easy” on me because of the pain. I figured it would go the way of other random body aches - away eventually.

It hasn’t.  I am not in constant pain but I would say I have periods of intense pain or discomfort several times a week. In May, I had an expensive MRI that revealed a small lap tear in my labrum (shoulder) and that was relevant to some of my shoulder pain and limited mobility. But, the most debilitating pain was often more localized to an area right underneath my collar bone and neck which would cause tingling and numbness down my arm and into my pinkie finger.  The physical therapist quickly diagnosed the source of that pain as a bulging disc in my neck. I don’t have the imaging to prove it but from what I’ve read, it seems like an accurate diagnosis. I never know what will set it off but after unsuccessfully trying to treat it with ice, heat, stretching and physical therapy, I have figured out the quickest way to stop the pain is to lie down flat on my back.  It only takes 10-30 minutes of just lying still until I find relief.

It stinks because it really does affect my daily life.  I can no longer lift weights or do weight bearing exercises like pushups or planks (darn). Sometimes, blowdrying my hair or taking off a shirt is a lot more difficult than it used to be. I always use my left arm to put anything away that goes into an upper cupboard and I usually have to fall asleep on my stomach, with my right arm down along my side. My formerly preferred side sleeping makes my shoulder throb and I’ve never been able to fall asleep on my back.

I don’t keep a detailed log about when it hurts and when it doesn’t but there are times when I think it’s getting better.  This morning was one of those times. I was blow drying my hair with absolutely no pain or stiffness and thinking, “I think I’m getting over it.” Then, a slow throb started on the side of my neck during sacrament meeting. By the end of the meeting, I knew I needed to go home.

My darling sister-in-law, Patty, was sitting behind me and quickly offered to do primary music for me. I left feeling so grateful for her help.

And, then I felt so grateful for Seth and Sam, and their capable care of Daniel (Henry stayed for primary with Patty).  As I was resting, my good friend, Kayla, called because she was concerned that I looked so uncomfortable when we spoke briefly in the hallway. She offered to bring me over dinner but I assured her I was feeling so much better.  While I was fixing dinner, my bishop called to see if I was o.k. Really, these obnoxious and random flare-ups have been going one for so long but I guess this was the first time that it happened early enough during our church block that other people noticed. Members of my ward really are so good and kind. I don’t really feel comfortable being on the receiving end of service and worry, but I’m so grateful for people who truly practice what we preach.

Lessons from a Jaredite

**I was asked to speak at Young Women In Excellence.  I didn’t read this but prepared notes and spoke from my heart.  I wrote this out afterward using my notes.  Not sure I said it all but it’s what I meant to say, at least: The theme of the evening was “Let the “Son” in.”)**

Lord Byron, a famous poet, once wrote, “History, with all her volumes vast, hath but one page.”  Another, less fancy way of saying this is history repeats itself.  We know this is true and often repeating cycles of doomed civilizations, wars and failed economies makes this statement seem like a depressing one.

But, is repeating something always so bad? I am the primary chorister in my ward and we just had our primary program on Sunday and let me tell you…we practiced those songs a lot! When teaching music, repetition is actually the key to learning a song so for the past several months, the majority of my teaching has involved coming up with different games and ways to sing the same program songs over and over.  And the children, even the three and four year olds, did learn them.  You know this from your own experiences, I’m sure.  How did you learn your times tables? That dance routine? How did you memorize the articles of faith?

My point is, is that, yes, history repeats itself, and sometimes, I think that our human tendency of repetition allows Heavenly Father to teach us important truths.  Most of us are probably familiar with the term “Nephite Pride Cycle” and we know what the warning is from this recurring pattern of action. There is another history in the scriptures that sort of cycles through both the bible and Book of Mormon.  Here is the story: there are people living in a place where they cannot stay, either because there is no chance for progress or their destruction is guaranteed by staying. The Lord, through revelation, tells these people to leave their home, where to go and how to get there, motivating them with wonderful divine promises BUT… the journey to a promised land is never easy.  This is found in the history of Adam and Eve, Noah, Abraham, Moses, Lehi, and the pioneers during the early days of the church.  I think it’s fairly easy to see the symbolism of The Plan of Salvation in each history.  We lived in a place where we could not progress.  To get to the promised land of eternal life with our father in heaven, we have this earth life journey and the travel will not be easy. The fact that we have earthly experiences that mirror this all important truth is no coincidence, in my opinion.  I think our Heavenly Father is a majestic and eternal primary chorister, teaching us how to successfully learn how to navigate this earth journey by having us learn over and over again how others have done it.  The famous World War II general of the Allied forces, George Patton, said, “Prepare for the unknown by studying how others in the past have coped with the unforeseeable and unpredictable.”  Like Patton, I want to study one such story in this historical pattern, that of the Jaredites found in the Book of Ether in the Book of Mormon, to see what valuable insights we can learn from them.

You are probably familiar with the Jaredite history but in case you are not, I will give a brief reminder.  Jared lived during the time when The Tower of Babel was being built.  God, in his anger at the audacity and pride of man, confounded the language of those building the tower. Jared asked his brother, a righteous man named Moriancumur, to plead with the Lord to preserve his language as well that of his friends and family.  The brother of Jared did so and his desire was granted. Jared’s friends and family were led by the Lord through the wilderness to a sea shore where they built unique barges as a way to cross the water.  These barges, or boats, were windowless and airtight so that they would not sink but they also did not have a way to get air or light into them. The Lord instructed the Brother of Jared to cut a hole in the top and the bottom of each barge that they could open for fresh air and close, when necessary, to keep the water out. The Lord, however, did not instruct the brother of Jared on what to do about the lack of light. Instead, the Lord asked him what he thought a good solution might be. The brother of Jared went to a mountain and molted 16 clear stones from a rock.  He took these stones to the Lord in prayer and asked the Lord to touch the stones so that they would be filled with light. Once lit, he would places these stones inside the barges and everyone inside each barge would be blessed by the light.

Now…I want to liken this scripture story to all of us. All of us here are in the throes of our earthly journey.  We lived in a pre-earth home with our Heavenly Father but we had to leave, come to earth to gain a body and participate in sacred ordinances necessary for the blessing of eternal life. So, we can all glean some vital information from the Jaredites and their experiences. You 12 to 18 year-olds, however, are on a journey within the journey. You are transitioning from child to adult.  Growing up is not only inevitable, it is required to progress.  Just as in the many repeated histories, you are being asked to leave the more comfortable known of childhood and journey to womanhood; a place full of wonderful promises. But, in order to get there, you have to get through middle school and high school first. Yay.

The Lord wants you to be prepared for this tough journey. Just like those expertly designed air-tight barges, the Lord has created your body to be a protection to you while on this earth as well as the vessel that will bring your spirit once again to His presence and to safety.

But, expert design notwithstanding, you can’t successfully make it to the promised land. Not yet. Not on your own.  The brother of Jared knew that none of them traveling could survive in the barges without air. He told the Lord, “We shall perish, for in them we cannot breath, save it is the air which is in them…therefore we shall perish.”

Do you remember what the Lord told them to do? He answered, “Behold, thou shalt make a hole in the top and also in the bottom and WHEN THOU SHALT SUFFER for air thou shalt unstop the hole and receive air.

Our spirits will also perish inside our earthly vessels without a way to let air in.  That air, the very thing we need for survival, is the atonement of Jesus Christ. Without the atonement of Jesus Christ we all will perish. Like the air we breath, it is absolutely critical for our salvation. For your journey, it is essential that you understand the beautiful design of repentance.  The Lord said, “And when thou shalt suffer…” which could mean sin (we all sin) but it also includes the loneliness you feel when your friendships change, the uncertainty of how well you fit in or if you even have a testimony, the frustration from fighting with your parents and siblings, stress from school and all its work, temptation to do the things we have been commanded to wait until marriage to do…all things common throughout life but particularly isolating in adolescence, to unstop the hole and receive air.  Receive the atonement.  Let the Lord in.  Let the son of God in. He does not want you to suffer.

He also doesn’t want us to be miserable.  The scriptures promise that all men( and young women) are that they might have joy. I love the next part of this story.  The Brother of Jared, relieved to have his first problem solved, sort of hedges now in his second request of the Lord. He already got the big problem solved…air….life…salvation….and it seems like he knows he should be satisfied. But he dares to ask for more. He said, “Lord, behold I have done even as thou hast commanded me and I have prepared the vessels for my people and, behold, there is no light in them. O Lord, wilt thou suffer that we shall cross this great water in darkness?”

I imagine the Lord with a gentle, understanding smile on His face when he responds, “What will ye that I should do that ye may have light in your vessels?”

The Lord doesn’t rebuke him here for his second request.  In fact, he reassures him that he’s asking for the right thing.  He pretty much says, “Yeah…you’re going to need some light because it’s going to be a pretty difficult journey.  Lots of wind and rain and floods.  I'm glad that you asked.  Now...what do you have in mind?"

He does not reply, “I don’t know.” He had an idea...to create 16 small clear stones by "moltening" then out of a rock. THEN...he went to The Lord and basically said, “This might seem like a really insignificant thing to you because of how awesome and knowledgeable you are but…this is what I came up with using my skills and I know, because you can do anything, that if you touched these rocks that I have made, they would light up and we could use them in the boats!”


Now...I'm pretty sure if The Lord asked me to come up with a source of light, my first inclination would not be to molten down a rock and create clear stones.  That is just not in my bag of tricks. But, it was in the brother of Jared's.  He clearly possessed the handy gene and using the earth's resources to make things was a talent of his. I like to think that he took more than rocks to the Lord but, instead, he took one of his talents to The Lord and asked him to make it a source of light.

I believe that we all have the opportunity to approach The Lord, in humility, with our talents and say, "Lord...touch this that I might have light for my comfort and to bless the lives of my family and friends." If you think about it, the rocks that the brother of Jared created were beautiful and "neat" to look at and enjoy and certainly would have garnered him the attention of his peers for being cool but it wasn't until they were touched by The Lord that they became powerful. Useful. Comforting. What talents do you have that can be made powerful? What do you have in your "bag of tricks" that can become more than just something to enjoy or something fun or beautiful and actually become a source of light and comfort for all who surround you to enjoy? I see so many of your talents…dance, photography, athletics, theater, writing, music, language…and I wonder: whose lives can be blessed by them? Whose dark journey can be made light?

The Lord loves you.  He wants to bless you.  He wants you to successfully cross these violent waters and not just survive but thrive.  I testify that the source of all light is the Son of God. I know he has the power to bless us with his light and through us, many others who might not yet know of his goodness and mercy. I hope you understand by the repeating history lesson throughout the scriptures that he wants us to bring us to his promised land.  And, by this story in particular, I hope you know that we can do it with his love and his light....and all we have to do is ask.  

Monday Musings

I can't think of a single thing in my life/house/calling that doesn't need attention. Everything needs to be done. The whole house could use a big ol' decluttering and spring cleaning. My church bag overwhelms me and is so disorganized with visual aids for various songs stuffed in and my newly acquired laminator sits on the counter, unopened, because I haven't found the time or energy to figure out how to use it. My children have yearbook orderforms and buy-one-get-one-free bookfairs slips to fill out and the yard...oh my goodness. I thought this was my year with Daniel loving being outside and all, to finally get outside and have flowers and less weeds. I might get some of this stuff done if I had any free time but I have convinced myself that I do not so it all remains in the pressure cooker of my brain....ready to explode at any minute.

Except, I do have moments of free time. They are just so random and in such small chunks that I waste them playing some dumb game like bejeweled blitz on my phone instead of spending those 20 minutes on my closet or pantry or dirt encrusted windows. While I sat for the first time of the day thinking, "my kids will be home in 30 minutes" while mindlessly arranging orange and blue and yellow "gems" into groups of 3, I thought, "This is when you should blog." I played for a few more minutes because how can I organize all of....this....into something that is readable and then decided that was setting the bar too high. This is going to be pure stream of consciousness.

One thing that has kept me busier than usual is that I am co-head of the elementary school talent show. It isn't really a big deal except for the time it takes to get it organized. Friday, the other mom in charge and I spent 3 hours at the school listening to auditions and talking about what the show will be like this year. We only had 16 acts and all of them prepared enough to accept so we decided to make it fun for the kids and post a list rather than simply announcing on afternoon announcements that all who auditioned made it. The principle thought it was a little bit cruel to send the kids home for the weekend without knowing but we thought it'd be fun for them to come to school Monday morning, see their name on a big, glittery list, and proudly walk around the halls all day as a reward for their courage and talent.

Well...that was the ideal. The less than ideal is leaving a 3rd grader off the list! It was completely my fault although I will place part of the blame on my co-chair as her notes were jumbled and hard to read and his name was easy to miss.  But, his name was on there and I made final list and so when the teacher emailed us and said, "What the heck?!" as the poor boy was distraught at not making the talent show, I had to bust a move to fix the list, drive out there, repost and send a personal note of apology to the boy (who had a GREAT talent, by the way) that I was sorry. Little things like that can send my day into a tailspin. Thankfully, Jay is home today so I was able to fix it without having to wake Daniel up from his nap and deal with a grouchy, under rested toddler for the rest of the day.

Mother's Day is also floating around in my head. My cleaners came this morning and asked the expected, "How was your mother's day?" question to which I replied, "It was ok." Because it was. But, it wasn't the day that apparently gets posted about on Instagram and Facebook.

I don't know how I feel about Mother's Day. I think the naysayers who say it is a purely Hallmark creation and has no place at church are wrong. As a church who believes families are essential to the plan of salvation and motherhood a divine institution, I think it not only belongs in sacrament meeting but should probably not be limited to a once-a-year event. I understand their grievances, even if I feel like they have become trite and overused. Yes, speakers can sometimes wax nostalgic and emotional about their own specific mothers or wives and I agree that those kinds of talks might not be especially suited for Sacrament Meeting. But, they do have their place. Perhaps the speakers aren't fantastic at intellectualizing their thoughts and experiences and extending their memories or stories to serve as a teaching tool or warning. Like talks every week, I believe it is mostly our experience to take something away from the prepared messages. The bitter I'm-not-going-to-church-on-mother's-day excuse is pride in disguise. You're infertile? You have a horrible relationship with your mother? Your child no longer comes to church? Your husband left you? You resent motherhood? You didn't get breakfast in bed? The common denominator in every one of those phrases is "you" and therein is both the problem and the solution. Just take back the day. Be grateful to be a mother or for your mother or for the beautiful babies that depend on mothers risking their health and bodies to exist, whether that is a child of a friend or a niece or some gorgeous brown eyed creation you flirted with in Guatemala years ago.

As for all of the hoopla and brag fests, I admit it is hard not to be jealous. Past experience has taught me the simple rule to keep expectations low and to truly concentrate on being a mother and not thinking the day means I don't have to mother. My husband is great but he went and fed cows in the morning while I made cinnamon rolls and eggs and bacon for the bread intolerant. I had to leave the house early to fulfill some volunteer duties for the dumb local soccer tournament held in town over the weekend which required my purchasing some ice at Walmart. Then, I had to set up my singing time and get my visual aids in order (see note above about their state in my bag) for the mother's day medley in sacrament meeting. When we got home, the boys came out of the bedroom with gifts including some hideous crocs (they are orange and blue and white so in addition to being ugly because they are crocs, they are particularly nasty.  But, it was a funny joke gift from Jay because I always steel his black crocs to wear in the mornings), two books (The Great Gatsby and Catcher in the Rye) for my personal library and a really cool leather bracelet.  Henry made me a sweet homemade card at school and a beautiful hand painted picture with a poem in art.  Thank goodness for elementary schools helping mothers everywhere receive priceless gifts!  After that was all done, we went to Vaughn and Patty's house for dinner and even though it was great not to cook, we stayed a lot longer than I imagined we would waiting for their missionary son's phone call. I had that brief moment of, "I'm not going to get to take a nap/blog/go for a walk" mental whine and then got over it. I played with Daniel outside, let him cover himself with dirt in their garden, and then, once home, got him bathed and in bed. By this time, it was close to 8 pm and Seth asked me if I had any desire to rekindle my scrapbook hobby. This weird request meant he had an enormous Language Arts project due that involved making a scrapbook about a historical figure and I spent the next 3 hours helping him with that, trying my very best not to be resentful.

So, when the cleaners asked me how my mother's day went, I responded, "It was o.k" which it was. Then I got a lecture about how I need to train them all to cook for me and clean up and how to shop for what I wanted and blah-de-blah-blah-blah-blah and so...yeah, I don't quite know what to think about Mother's Day.  I know I love being a Mother, even though it is hard and not really what I'm best at, and i know that I love my mother and I know that God loves mothers and I know that we have been commanded to honor mothers so...I guess I'm a fan of Mother's Day. I just want everyone else to stop being so gloaty or depressed about it. That's all. :)

Well...time's up. I hope this time was better spent than seeing if I can beat my score of 688,700 (I play WAY too much). Maybe some pictures next time!

The Law of Moses

Having my sister-in-law here for a month has more perks than just having a workout buddy.  With her quick wit, love of games and educator know-how, I asked Stephanie to teach the Young Women lesson today hoping the girls would enjoy a different voice and perspective than the ones they hear every week.  As I knew she would, she turned a not-this-again lesson about our attitudes towards our divine roles as wife and mother (mine obviously needed an adjustment) and made it fresh, interesting and completely true.  I'm inspired to be a better wife and mother not to mention a better teacher of YW lessons.

In fact, I was so uplifted I had planned on summarizing her lesson as my blog post today.  I got as far as the parking lot of the church before my mood shifted.

While I was buckling Daniel into his car seat, Seth and Henry were fighting over a bag of frosted animal cookies.  Seth was begging Henry to let him have one and Henry was refusing to share.  Seth asked me to step in as mediator and impose the redistribution of cookie wealth but instead, I reminded both about The Golden Rule and that while sharing is nice, because we'll all be in the position of wanting at some point in our lives, it shouldn't be forced .  Even though I silently curse teachers who bring treats to primary because of the inevitable bickering it causes on the ride home, I'm still pretty sure the old saying "Life Isn't Fair" holds true. You cannot dictate generosity or harmony.  It's a lesson my children and, apparently, President Obama need to learn.

Before I could enjoy my majestic mothering moment, I beheld a gooey mess in the cupholder next to Henry's seat.  Beside the gooey mess was my tube of Burt's Bees lip balm - sans balm.

"Henry!  Did you steal my chapstick?!?  Did you ruin my chapstick?!?  What did you do to my chapstick?!?  Why do you always have to make such a mess and ruin things!!?!?!"

The tears immediately started because he is emotionally fine tuned to respond with tears when he knows he got caught making mischief and pleaded innocence. It was an accident.  His lips were chapped.  He didn't mean to.  Wah, wah, wah.

"Hand me those cookies!"

Sniff, gasp, sob, "My cookies?"

"Your cookies!  Give them to me!"

He reached forward and handed me the bag and I proceeded to smash them with my thumbs.

Shriek, wail, scream, "THOSE ARE MY COOKIES!!"

"That was MY chapstick!  It doesn't feel good when someone ruins your things, does it?!"

"But, I'm sorry!  It was an accident!" he cried.

"I'm sorry, too.  And our things are still ruined.  Sorry doesn't undo it."

I think he was shocked that I did it.  I am actually quite shocked that I did it.  At that moment, I was so tired of him ruining my things or his dad's things or his brothers' things and things in the house that I just wanted him to feel a bit of what it's like to have something you don't want ruined....ruined!  I wanted to get even.  In other words, I wanted what's fair.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.  A smashed bag of cookies for a ruined tube of chapstick. I can't decide if we're both blind now or if Henry needed this lesser law moment to help prepare him to one day live a higher law.  A day that includes sharing and generosity and respect and benevolence.  A day where he keeps his hands off of my things.

I've learned a lot today.  Like most Sundays, I've realized there is quite a gap between who I want to be and who I am - how I want to parent and how I actually deal with things. I can't help but wonder if Heavenly Father is holding our bags of frosted cookies and thinking about smashing them because we deserve it.  I doubt it.  I've been told He lives a much, much higher law.

Does it make me meaner that I took a picture of his ruined cookies?

Daniel Update:  He is still super stuffy and has a cough but he was worse yesterday which means, hopefully, that he is already getting better.  Still eating well and still sleeping a lot.  Now that I'm not freaking out, I'm trying to enjoy the quiet.  

Sixteen on Sunday

Heh, heh. Maybe not sixteen but...maybe! A lot of things have happened during the week and there were lots of moments when I thought, "I'd like to write about this." Of course, it didn't happen. Apparently, I can only handle bullet-list sized thoughts. And that's o.k...for now.

1. I'm sick. I haven't been sick all winter and was getting quite puffed up about it. But, now, I've been hit with a doozy of a cough that has become progressively worse since Tuesday. I missed my Thursday workout thinking that was the apex of my illness only to wake up feeling worse on Saturday (missed another workout) and again missing church today. I'm ready to be healed!

2. On Tuesday, I received a Valentine's card from an older woman in my last ward. She's been sending me cards for about a year, mostly during a holiday season, but other times as well. At first I thought it was really sweet. I mean, it's still sweet. Cards in the mail are the best. But, once we moved, I wondered why they kept coming because I thought her sending cards was more linked to using her Relief Society directory than knowing me personally. I still think that because A) I saw her once at the grocery store, made eye contact, and before I could say "hello" she turned and walked away. Translation: She doesn't actually know who I am. And B) I sent her a Christmas card (only fitting, right?) making sure she had our change of address and the Valentine's card was still sent to the old address. What makes it even stranger was the personal message she wrote in the card. She wrote, "Love is worth celebrating when I've been blessed with great friends." I felt horrible reading it. I think she must think I am someone else. Someone she really likes, but must think has my name, is not getting her cards!

3. I also received not one, but TWO Christmas cards this week. Each included lovely photos and fantastic letters joking about why their cards came late. I'm telling you, both just made my day. I highly recommend sending out cards late if you never got around to it during the busy Christmas season. I agree with one sender in that the notes get a lot more personal attention in February than in December.

4. I've read four books in the last ten days. I finished an entire book today while in bed.

5. Sam drew a disturbing picture in his journal at school that got the attention of the school counselor. He had told both Jay and me about a girl in his class who regularly pinches him and kicks him and we sort of laughed it off, telling him that she probably liked him and was just trying to get his attention. I honestly hadn't thought of it much more, although I did tell him he had to give her a Valentine card too when he declared that he really didn't want to. Everything came to a head on Thursday when one of the girls (because of course they act in a pack) saw the drawing. I haven't seen it but both the counselor and Sam described it to me as Sam lying on the ground, dead, with the four girls standing nearby laughing, one of them holding a gun. I know! Both the counselor and I asked Sam if he genuinely felt threatened by these girls and he says he doesn't but he really dislikes them and I think what really distresses him is that he doesn't know why they all dislike him so much. He was in tears when he explained to me about how they constantly laugh at him and make an "L" with their hands and stick it to their foreheads (he had to ask what that meant. He also wanted to know what sticking up only your middle finger meant. Sigh). What really bugged me is I don't feel like the counselor really had Sam's back. I think if he were a shy, quiet kid, or someone without friends, she'd be running to his defense but she thinks Sam must be somehow egging them on or getting his friends to. Why can't kids just be nice to each other?

6. There was a youth stake dance on Friday night which I attended both as a chaperon and because I got put in charge of a bowling activity. It brought back such great memories. Having never served in Young Womens before, I haven't been to a youth dance since...well...since I was a youth. I'm not counting the square dancing during Trek this past summer because square dancing in no way makes me feel young again. It was weird to be the middle aged observer in the chair along the wall. If I were a free spirit, I might have just jumped up and joined them but something held me back. Instead, I watched with a smile on my face as every kind of dancer was represented that evening. The girls who dance in a pack with synchronized moves, the not-very-cool-but-couldn't-care-less boy whose dance was moving his arms as if he was using ninja nunchucks. Always sure to impress the ladies. There were line dances I've never seen but loved how they pulled everyone on the dance floor because it felt safe. There really is something enviable about being young. Except for the all the bullying, of course.

7. I thought I had more to write about but it all disappears the moment I start typing. Ah well. Seven is much more palatable than sixteen.

Sunday Thoughts - Called To Serve

I am the new Young Women's President.

Crazy, right?  I've never served in Young Women's.  I don't have daughters.  I don't have teenagers.  I have only been in the ward for four months and don't know the young women, or many other women in the ward, so even thinking about counselors was hard.  I didn't earn my Young Women's recognition award.  I struggle with the notion that homemaking is the highest, most noble profession to which a woman might aspire.  Teenagers scare me.

When the bishop extended this call to me two weeks ago, this resume of mine lodged in my brain and I had a hard time focusing.  All I felt was overwhelmed.  How am I supposed to know who to call as counselors?   Who am I, who slept in the guest room for three nights in a row because I don't know how to handle conflict with my spouse more effectively than giving him the silent treatment, to teach about the virtues of marriage (we have since patched things up and I'm feeling much more confident).   Where am I going to find the time and energy to do everything that needs to be done to magnify this calling when I already need down days if I have too much going on?

That was last week.

This week, I have felt a divinely given calm.  Names came.  Ideas came.  Priorities stood in a clear order.  As I've thought about the girls, I've realized that they are each unique and amazingly talented.  I'm looking forward to getting to know them better.  Mostly, I realized that while I may not be able to teach them how to make a cute skirt or handmade jewelry and I have absolutely zero vinyl lettering experience, those things, while lovely, are not essential.   What is essential is that these girls understand that they are daughters of God, important as individuals and as women, endowed with spiritual gifts that need to be developed and shared, beneficiaries of an infinite and eternal atonement that will allow them to return home to their Heavenly Father and entitled to receive continuing revelation, both personal and through restored priesthood keys.  And I can help them because I have a testimony of each of those things.

I have an excellent, excellent presidency that I'm excited to work with, a supportive husband and in-laws close by willing to help when Jay can't be around and even though I'm still nervous about all of my original doubts and worries, I trust that this is what I have been called to do at this time.   First up:  Priest/Laurel dinner on Wednesday night.  Wish me luck!

Sunday Thoughts - What Every Person Yearns To Know

I consider it an honor and privilege to know Jane Payne.  After previously becoming acquainted via our blogs, I met her briefly two summers ago when she threw together a pot-luck dinner when the boys and I were passing through her part of the world and have continued to admire her anywhere I may be through my trusty internet connection.   Her wisdom, good humor, and virtue are an example to me and to the world.

Last week, her granddaughter was born and lived for less than an hour.  When I read the news, I was heartbroken for her, her son and her daughter-in-law.

I am including a link to her blog today, not for the sake of voyeurism, but because there is power in her message.  There is truth and beauty and Good News.  News that needs to be shared.  News that not everyone knows about.

This is The Great Plan of Happiness.

Sunday Thoughts - Murmur No More

I confess that I am a murmurer.  I don't know if it makes it better or worse that I am not a public murmurer, as some people seem proud of their I'll-say-exactly-what's-on-my-mind-no-matter-whose-feelings-I-hurt attitude, but I usually reserve my opinions of discontent for my husband's, family's or friend's ears only.  Oh, and for my blog.  Yes, I realize that is probably enough people to be considered public but I'm a lot more comfortable with my original statement.

What this means is that even though I am a supportive-go-with-the-flow-I-can-help-with-that-yes-girl, I don't always have the kind of attitude I should have when performing service.  I can be especially murmurific when it comes to my husband performing service.

Because he is in a bishopric, he has been ordained a High Priest.  For my handful of non-LDS friends out there, this means that he gets to hang with the old guys.  O.K...so they are not all old, but, generally speaking, a man becomes a high priest later in life.  Both the young guys and the old guys have their different assignments and responsibilities, but one of the duties of the High Priests is to take care of the widows in the ward.  In the wintertime, that includes snow removal for those that still live in their own homes.

I'm a little embarrassed that I am complaining on my blog about shoveling snow again.  I don't know what it is about this pesky task that annoys me so much, but every time I see those white balls of snow coming down, I feel picked on.  Jay thinks it's because I have control issues.  I can't control the when or how much so I get mad.  Maybe.  I think it's because I know it means hours of extra work for a guy that doesn't have very many extra hours.  In other words, it cuts directly into my Jay time.

The last two days have been snow filled and yesterday was a disappointing day for me in terms of getting things done and spending time together as a family.  Both boys had basketball games at different hours of the day, Seth had another long Destination Imagination meeting with his team and Jay spent a good three hours at a widow's home, shoveling her oversized driveway and picking away at the sheets of ice that cover her walkway after falling from her roof.  This afternoon, after finally coming home after his many hours of meetings, taking care of tithing and shoveling the walks around the church, he announced he needed to head back over to the widow's home to clear off the three or four inches of snow that accumulated overnight and this morning.  Feeling compassionate because he was clearly tired, but also selfishly wanting his task to take much less time than it did the day before, I quickly bullied him into letting me go with him to help.  As much as I hate shoveling, I'd rather shovel then spend another Jay-less day at home.

Prepared for manual labor, we arrived at the widow's home and divided up the job.  Jay handled the wide garage area and I started on the long narrow driveway.   We worked quickly and efficiently while Henry watched a movie in the van and Seth and Sam pretended they were Shaun White on one of the huge piles of snow.  I've previously helped Jay with this shoveling service twice before, and even discussed this widow and her needs both with him and during our Relief Society Presidency meetings, but I had yet to actually meet her.  Although she's housebound, she still serves as Visiting Teaching Supervisor and makes all the monthly calls to get the visiting teaching statistics.  The last time we spoke on the phone, she thanked me for my husband's service and invited me to stop in and introduce myself the next time I came by.

As I shoveled, I had her invitation in the back of my mind.  I wasn't really in the mood for any sort of chit-chatting, but knew it would be rude to simply shovel and leave.  I decided to make the boys come with me for a quick "hi" and after I finished the driveway, we knocked on her door.

As soon I saw her I thought of my dear grandmother.  Then, I thought of Jay's grandmother.  Bright, wonderful women who were eventually confined to spending the day in a recliner.  I thought of women I know who might not be elderly but are lonely and seeing this woman, and her smile and her obvious delight to receive visitors melted away my earlier frustration and indifference.  We chatted about my family, her family, how she misses coming to church, how grateful she is to Jay for his faithful service and about the gospel.  She wanted to know all about who spoke in Sacrament Meeting and what their topic was and I felt impressed with President Monson's great love and care of the widow's of the church.   In the Bible, James talks about pure religion and equates it to visiting the widows in their affliction.  Today, that made perfect sense.

I have looked at this responsibility of Jay's every way but the right way.  At my best, I have thought about it in terms of fulfilling a calling, of setting a good example for our sons and for providing service for a member of our ward.  At my worst, I have considered it a major inconvenience and burden on our family.  None of those viewpoints had any effect other than placing myself, or really Jay, higher than this widow.  We were helping her.

I can't quite explain how I felt walking out of her home after our visit.  All I can say is it was significantly different than how I felt walking in.  Better.  Sweeter.  Affected.  Instead of spending an hour shoveling a widow's driveway, we had spent an hour shoveling her driveway.  And even thought I had just met her, something about her and my memories of my grandmother helped me love her.  Jay and I both felt full of love on the drive home and the feeling has carried its way into the rest of the evening.

 I hope today's experience will help me remember Christ's words when He said, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the these of these . . .ye have done it unto me."  Knowing that should be enough to keep me from complaining but feeling the effects of serving her AND Him today will hopefully keep my murmuring habit contained for awhile.

Sunday Thoughts - I Love To Laugh

My sister, Sarah, came to spend her Christmas vacation with us.  With a closet full of four different kinds of scented body wash I had recently purchased at a Bath and Body Works sale, I sent her to our guest suite ( I prefer the term over a family-room-with-a-bed-in-the-middle-of-it) with a towel and a bottle of Warm Vanilla Sugar for her shower.

The next morning, she told me I had given her lotion instead of soap, to which I firmly replied, "No.  It's just a creamy body wash."  Because I have older sister authority, she simply shrugged and said, "Oh."

Her accusation struck a nerve, however, because while I was using my own Midnight Pomegranate body wash the next morning, I re-read the directions on the back of the bottle.

"Massage into skin, especially dry spots and indulge in the luxury of..."  yada, yada, yada.

I read it again, looking for the verbs I thought should be there, like, "Lather.  Cleanse.   Rinse."

They weren't there.

Suddenly, my mystifying acne outbreak and overall less squeaky clean feeling the past two weeks had an explanation.

I was washing myself, including my face, with...lotion.

Sarah had a great laugh from my greasy mistake and after a day, I was finished feeling embarrassed and thought it was funny too.

It was perplexing to have lather-less soap.

I meant to blog about it but never found the time, which felt disappointing because I love having a good laugh at myself.

Actually, I just love to laugh.  I have three funny children who keep my laughter gauge pointing towards full.  I have a funny husband who frequently performs my favorite dance moves of his because he loves to hear me laugh.  And, blessedly, I have friends and family who supply me with the kinds of stories, shared memories and knowing glances that get me my necessary daily dose of guffaw.

Like I explained with the above story involving lotion disguised as soap (O.K.  They are perfectly labeled and just misused by someone who never bothered to look at the fine print), I am totally comfortable using myself as the butt of the joke.  It's safe.  I know I can't hurt my own feelings and it's like using a triple coupon if I can get others to join in the mirth.

Today in Relief Society, because it seemed to fit and, more likely, because I can't help myself, I made fun of my recent attempts to learn the art of knitting.  There were several women in the room who have been attending the weekly class alongside me who could appreciate my joke as they've seen me struggle week after week to grasp the motions of knit and purl.   I made the comment as I referenced a past message given by President Uchtdorf about our divine desire to create.  It was my way of acknowledging that, while I struggle with some of the more characteristically feminine talents (knitting, sewing, quilting, decorating, baking, canning, recognizing lotion as lotion right away), I also recognize my own spark of divinity when I write, or sing or enjoy the three boys I helped develop in utero and continue to help develop in the high altitude Colorado air.

My comment produced the chuckle I was hoping it would, but, later during the meeting, another sister followed with a comment about how we shouldn't tear ourselves down and while, perhaps I wasn't a natural knitter, what was more important than actually knitting was that I was persevering in trying to learn to knit.  That that act was the quality that mattered to God and to my own spirit, instead of the actual skill or craft.

I appreciated her rah-rah Lucy speech, but felt a little bad that she might think that I felt a little bad about not being a good knitter.  O.K...I admit that it would be awesome to have the long, flowy orange mohair scarf produced by my own hands I originally intended to make instead of the not-even-halfway-finished brown potholder that my teacher suggested I try instead, because I had an untapped natural knitting talent that this class had unleashed.  But, that didn't happen.  The next best thing, for me, is to find the humor in my extremely unsightly but hopefully useful potholder.

This woman made me wonder, however.  When are we tearing ourselves and others down, and when are we finding joy in the journey?  Are my poking-fun-of-myself comments harmful to my soul?  I felt self-conscious afterwards wondering if she might think I was fishing for compliments, like the, "I'm so fat" declaration made by the perfectly proportioned girl.    Was I?

I don't think so.   I will admit that there is some wisdom in the saying to "laugh at yourself first, before anyone else can", but I also believe, unless I am completely deluding myself, that to be comfortable laughing at myself also means that I am comfortable with who I am.  I have confidence.  I like myself.  Those aren't bad things, right?

I ask because, while I love to laugh, maybe what I'm laughing at isn't very funny to anyone else.  Maybe I'm like that clueless uncle or guest that thinks he's funny/interesting/entertaining and all anyone else really wants is for him to stop talking.   Although, even wondering aloud makes me worry about appearing to fish for compliments again.

I can't imagine I'll stop laughing at myself.  The pool of available subjects to safely poke fun of is just too sparsely populated.   But, maybe if it makes people uncomfortable, I might stop airing my goofs and bloopers.

You'll just have to wonder how my skin magically cleared up.

Now...for the uplifting part.  Watch this!

My Bucket Overfloweth

I should have written this last week, when I felt the words in my fingers. The feelings behind the post hasn't changed, but, let's just say if I had written last week, when I should have, there would have been a lot more exclamation points. Like this!

Instead, what you will read is a sincere, honest and heartfelt testimony that was re-gifted to me after Women's Conference last week and General Conference this week. Still worthwhile, right?

I'm not going to lie, I've been going through a mid-life transition of late and it hasn't been one I'm super excited about. I feel like whining almost all the time. It isn't pretty! (there's one! Oh..there's two...) If you're familiar with the phrase "the bucket and the dipper" it will make perfect sense when I say my bucket has been perilously close to empty. Habit, dedication and memories of former spiritual experiences kept me crawling forward, but my knees were getting weary (It's getting crowded with analogies. I'll just keep it to the bucket).

Already in a good mood from the preceding pot-luck and mingling with friends, I was all smiles as Women's Conference got underway. What the choir's music lacked in beauty, it made up for in feeling. They sang with zest! Then the talks started. Sister Beck's was administrative by necessity and there was no chance at my pride getting in the way like it did for her much discussed "Women Who Know" talk a few years ago. Sister Allred's talk was sweet but when Sister Thompson spoke, my whole being responded. Her talk was called, "Mind the Gap" and it described my situation exactly.

Her talk aside, what really happened is that I felt the spirit. And I mean, I felt it. Sitting there, in the darkened room, I started to cry because I knew I was where I was supposed to be listening to what I needed to hear. I felt like shouting, "Ladies, the church is true!" This church which teaches us Christ's restored gospel, is hard, inconvenient and often times comes attached to annoying people and things, but it's true! Sitting there, I was so grateful for the powerful way the Spirit was supplementing my testimony. Sister Thompson was followed by President Erying and at one point, while talking about Relief Society's legacy, he said, "They gave when they had nothing to give." It was what a woman with an empty bucket needed to hear. Reminders that others have done it and done it when it was a lot harder to do. Imagine more tears. But happy ones. Happy, happy ones.

That night, my spiritual bucket was refilled to brimming. It's made this mid-life busy-ness, that I was so resenting, feel different...better. It made my whole week better.

General Conference was equally great today. All the talks were packed full of encouragement and instruction, but there is no denying the power of Elder Holland's testimony and defense of the Book of Mormon. Once again, my body and spirit responded to truth and I knew that he spoke with authority and was testifying of things as they really are.

It's true! There is so much beauty on the earth, and so much good in so many people and I just want to hug them all and say, "I love you!" And I want to say, "Here is truth." It is here for the taking and learning. I can't deny it nor do I want to.

I know I whine on this forum plenty, and spend enough energy highlighting the ridiculous and less than great. But, I rarely shout from the rooftops. It's sad that I'm more comfortable with sarcasm and venting, but I didn't want any record of mine to be lopsided towards a side I don't want to be on. This is my side. This is the side I want to be on.

From my bucket to yours:)

It Could Have Been Worse...

but not by much.

Church was bad today.

(stopping to see if any lightning is nearby).

Not all bad. Just some pretty big moments. Like....

me playing prelude until the sole bishopric member in town (which may or may not be someone I live with) stood up to begin the meeting, then switching out with our actual organist who is still figuring things out with her newborn.

me realizing there was no chorister so just staying on the stand to lead the music.

me making eye contact with a woman who started lipping, "Are you leading the music?" coupled with some helpful arm-waving actions in case I didn't understand, with me lipping back, "I guess." With her, "Do you want me to?" My reply, "Were you supposed to?" Then she, "I was asked." With me thinking "then why aren't you up here?" but lipping, "I'll just do it." All very incognito, of course (or not). Luckily my mother-in-law had offered to sit with my boys, even though she is not in my ward. Angel woman.

the sweet, older blind man who bore his testimony, covering such topics as never going to our local hospital because they will try to kill you,the risks of smoking, being like Job, having Heavenly Father strike his friends dumb to prove his faith, and prayer.

the blind man, who was still going strong twenty minutes later when the meeting was due to end, so that a member of the bishopric, who may or may not be someone I live with, had to stand up and whisper in his ear that his time was up.

me looking like a Japanese tourist through the next hour trying to find and pull women out of meetings so that I can get their pictures taken and printed for Wednesday night's enrichment. I'm such a procrastinator!

our relief society lesson which included role playing. Young women played the mothers and women played the daughters and our very own member of our ward who is an actual policeman came in as...a policeman (not in uniform though). The situations included daughters who said they were going to a movie with friends missing hours later, daughters who said they were going to hang out at a friends house being busted for underage alcohol consumption and a daughter who jumped off a bridge into the river, and, was injured. Throw in a few comments about being legally liable for someone who passes out from being drunk and never waking up to needing cell phones in case your child calls you somewhere from a forest, drunk and only in his/her underwear and you've got all the ingredients for being spiritually fed.

It was just one of those weeks. You know?

So, I'll just restate what a member of our bishopric said at the end of fast and testimony meeting, who may or may not be someone I live with.

The church is true.

Heavenly Father loves us.

We are all His children.

To lift my spirits, I tried to take pictures of my boys after church. They weren't very cooperative, but they sure are cute!

What Happens When I Ramble and Post Anyways

I've got no business blogging right now. I'm tired. I'm a leeetle bit grumpy (mainly due to the headache from fasting that hopefully will go away now that I'm fed). But, mostly, I've got no business blogging because I taught Elder Bednar's CES Fireside message today in Relief Society about Things As They Really Are, and the dangers of all things cyber related. (By the way, it's a good talk. Read it.)

Truthfully, his message struck a nerve. I'll make no bones about it, I spend too much time on the computer. No defenses. I know I do.

But, I also think that some really great things have happened because of blogging (I'm not so sure about Facebook. I'm still pondering the merits of that). Elder Bednar is very frank that using computers, or any technology for that fact, is not inherently bad. In fact, a lot of good things are accomplished by its rapid development. While I haven't taught any surgeons how to perform a delicate surgery with my virtual software, nor have I learned any aeronautical skills with flight simulators, I have shared my testimony. I have made real relationships. I have grown closer to certain friends and family members with this medium of sharing. Not to mention, there are some really, really good blogs out there. Don't believe me? Read her, and you'll get a daily dose of home grown inspiration.

Those are the good things. But, like I said earlier, I haven't solely used it for good. I have wasted countless hours surfing blogs of people that don't matter to me. Not that they don't matter. That would be mean. They just don't matter to me. I don't know them well enough to care about what they are making for dinner or how they found the time with four young children to reupholster their furniture. There isn't any validation, besides being a voyeur, for that time spent.

(Hours later)

Man. I just cannot finish a blog post anymore. And, you know what? I'm tired of it! I know that there are better things to do with my time. I know that my body NEEDS me to have better hobbies. But, it stinks to have something I enjoy singled out as a time waster. Where are the talks that warn about the hours and hours and hours that quilting takes away from better endeavors. Or candle making? Or, please, could someone high up condemn running? Just so that I can feel less guilty for hating it so?

Wow. That kind of came out of nowhere. I mean, you wouldn't suspect that I just gave a lesson about getting off the computer. And I meant everything I said. I loved his message. But, now I feel bad about wanting to blog, and that's not what he meant. I think I've had this guilt spinning around in the back of my mind for sometime. Guilt and boredom. My blog has just become so....sanitized...lately.

I've become sanitized. I'm afraid of saying anything interesting. Or maybe I just don't have anything interesting to say. I'm not going to knock blogging because, truthfully, one of the most annoying things ever is to read a blog knocking blogging. Seriously, talk about a conflict of interests. I've read them before and been just as irritated as you probably are now. So...now what?

I know the answer is moderation. That makes sense. It usually does.

Struggling to finish....no wonder I have so many posts stuck in draft mode. Publishing anyways.

Sunday Thoughts

It's that time of day when our pot roast dinner is finished and put away, the dishwasher is busily purring and remnants of the meal (my boys are the messiest eaters ever) are swept off the floor. Jay is at a meeting and I just set a book down after reading several chapters. The boys put their shoes on after dinner and charged outside and have delighted me by staying out there for over two hours now. I truly feel calm and restful.

As the daylight dimmed, I stepped onto the back deck to call the boys inside. Oblivious to my witness, I watched Seth, Sam and Henry gleefully running back and forth in our shared backyard wilderness with eight other neighbor children. My next door neighbor's four tots were all present and my across the yard neighbor's two also played. Three girls from down the street could be heard squealing and a new boy from across the street had only just arrived. They were all playing Capture The Flag and I swear it was a scene straight from a Norman Rockwell painting.

Then the internal argument began.

On one side of my argument(which will no longer be internal once I click on the publish button), I loved the spontaneity of their play. When does this kind of pick-up game happen anymore? I remember (and I don't think this is a walked-uphill-in-the-snow-both-ways kind of memory) playing outside with my neighborhood friends ALL THE TIME. We played Hide-and-Seek and Capture the Flag, and No Bears Are Out Tonight. We played in the street, until a car came, and then we returned to the street. We came inside when it was time for a meal or too dark to see anymore. I don't ever remember my mother setting up a play date for me. Ever. I just played.

My boys play all the time, but with each other, not friends. Oh, they've played with these neighborhood kids before, but none really match up in age or gender and it doesn't happen very often. To see them enjoying, so innocently, their community of peers made me smile. I couldn't call them inside. There is another half hour of light left, at least.

But, on the other side of the argument and the one that matches my generic title, it's Sunday. The Sabbath day. Is neighborhood play on the approved list?

I could come up with all kinds of defenses. We have no fence, so it's not like they can just keep to themselves. And isn't that a weird defense? I know I'm not really keeping the day holy merely by preventing them from playing with other kids. But, I do remember in our heyday of fence ownership, telling the next door neighbor, who wanted my boys to come play with her, "Sorry, not today." I watched her watch my boys from the top of her play set and didn't feel one bit badly about my little Seth and littler Sammy outside in the sandbox or going down their slide (plus, she was pretty obnoxious and it was a guilty pleasure to have a reason to keep her out of my yard for once!)

Would it be better if they were inside watching a church video? Or reading the Friend? Or writing letters to their grandmothers asking them for copies of their personal histories? I wasn't engaging them because I wanted to get the five pots I had used for cooking cleaned and put away, and the table cover wiped off, and then I wanted to use the fabulous Method spray from Target to polish the Granite counter tops. They were left to their own devices while I did my thing and their father did his. Having my kitchen cleaned up makes me feel...better than when it is messy. But, maybe cleaning up my kitchen isn't keeping the Sabbath day holy either?

I'm not usually so conflicted about this. It was just that scene. A simple game of capture the flag. I saw it and I smiled. And then I stopped. And then I wondered if I was wrong to stop smiling or wrong to think I should stop smiling or just wrong to smile in the first place.

Time to go get the boys.

Sunday Thoughts

In junior high, the three wards that existed in my Montana town were split into four. Unlike the booming wards of LDS suburban strongholds, I'm not sure there was much necessity for the split other than the hope that by doing so, the church would grow.

I think it has but I never felt it during my remaining time at home. While our ward did have some large families to depend upon for stability, it also had what felt like more than its fair share of misfits. Before branding me as judgmental, please realize that I'm basing my perceptions upon teenage memories. Fitting in and being normal were way more important to me then than they are now.

Still, those less conventional members didn't have the cover more fully functioning wards tend to give. Their oddness was more exposed. And nothing showed it off more than testimony meeting.

I remember an uncomfortable moment when a transient looking man talked about seeing his dead sister walk through a wall. That felt uncomfortable. I remember another woman who faithfully stood each fast Sunday and talked about her nervous breakdown. Each time she stood up, I felt nervous. Nothing made me giggle as much as the pre-missionary who started singing Alabama's Angel's Among Us at the pulpit only to be joined by his parents (from the stand) and his siblings (from the congregation). But that was a missionary farewell and they've done away with those kinds of things. For obvious reasons.

Quirky church members aren't exclusive to Montana, however. It was a Provo ward where I saw an interpretive dance performed while someone sang His Hands in sacrament meeting (o.k...so it was enthusiastic sign language. But, boy, was she was moving!). And it was a Denver ward where a gentleman felt his testimony was best expressed by playing a song he composed on the piano.

Nothing like that happened in my ward today but the first few testimonies born were, well...odd. And rambling. And frustrating. I felt like shouting, "Don't we get how this meeting is supposed to work yet? It's not fill-in-the-blank anonymous where you get your few minutes to talk about how you've been feeling and struggling. It's testimony meeting! Bear a testimony!" But, I knew that kind of attitude wasn't contributing much to the meeting either.

I am ashamed to admit that my negative attitude affected each of my subsequent meetings. Sunday school was about the second coming and one member dominated the discussion with his own speculations. Things perked up in Relief Society but because I wasted a couple of hours being puffed up, I wasn't in tune with the spirit and missed out on most of the well-prepared lesson.

Elder Russel M. Nelson said, "Each member of the Church bears responsibility for the spiritual enrichment that can come from a sacrament meeting." That means, that I have a responsibility to gain spiritual enrichment in my meetings. Kind of hard to do when I'm too busy being critical of what's being said.

We had a lot of visitors present today and I think I was hyper-sensitive to my small-town ward's image. Pride fostered my embarrassment when humility should have been in its place. We are a church made up of lay-men - preaching, teaching, sharing and serving each other. Sure, some days it would be nice to have an eloquent professional up front sermonizing. And, yes, there are days, like today, when I think I would prefer if everyone bore a testimony of Jesus Christ. But, I'm also grateful to belong to a church that employs its members so well and trusts each one to share the gospel with others in the best way they know how.

I know testimonies are strengthened when they are shared - not just our own but those who hear them as well. I think of Alma the Younger and his great conversion and how many lives have changed because he shared and bore his testimony. What if Mormon, when abridging the plates, thought that Alma's testimony rambled too much and decided to leave it out? Millions of lives wouldn't be the same. My life wouldn't be the same. Our testimonies are meant to be shared - eloquent, polished or...not.

With humility, I testify that while none of us is perfect, we are sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father. Because we aren't perfect, Heavenly Father sent his son, Jesus Christ, to atone for our sins and make it possibile for us to repent and become perfect, so that we can return and live with Him. I believe this knowledge, as well as the keys and powers of the priesthood that open the gate to His kingdom were restored by Joseph Smith. I believe that Heavenly Father loves all His children, and is no respecter of persons.

While I will stick to my guns about Alabama singles being inappropriate for sacrament meeting, I do hope that I will have a better attitude next month.