HOPE

Faith creates hope. Hope begets charity. And charity somehow convinces us that faith is worth having. That is a precious cycle. Lately hope has been a real struggle for me. I have prayed and asked for so many things. Things that, to me, have seemed like no-brainer-will-of-God sort of things. For my husband to pick up more clients so we could move back to Virginia. . . for me to get a teaching job so we could move back to Virginia. . . for my husband's headaches to stop. . . for my husband to get a job here so we could be together . . . for strength, patience, charity. . . and hope.
And nothing.
Well, the last one I feel like comes through once in awhile. But if I don't feel it, that is my fault, not His. So, my question is, why do we keep praying when we fully recognize that only the best thing is going to happen anyway and apparently we have zip idea of knowing what that best thing is? I think the reason we keep praying is because when we pray--we hope. We are saying to God "I'm telling you what I'd like not because I'm demanding it or even because I claim to know it is exactly what we need, but this is my little way of saying that I still believe." Sure I'm crying while I'm saying it, but I do, I do still believe. I'm not sure why, but I do. So, I don't know what to pray for or ask for, but I am realizing that I can hope even if I don't have a plan. Hope can give me a steady optimism to keep asking and keep trusting and keep trying to become someone who believes when life seems utterly unbelievable.
I've never been so strained. Being a new teacher, teaching a subject I've never taught and feel like I barely grasp, handling a sprained back, kids throwing up and coming up with plans for a substitute teacher when I barely know how to make them for myself has left me completely worn out and at times. . . hopeless.

Then I Step Back.

Then I count my teeth and move my body and realize that I am lucky to be alive. I look at my children and remember that even if someone else is reading them books, at the end of the day I am still their mother. And I think of a husband that is hopeful, supportive, and trying so hard to get us back together as a family again.

I don't know who all reads this blog, but might I ask for your prayers? Daman has a job interview next Wednesday. We feel great about his chances, but the many slammed doors of the last year has left me skittish and bruised, and I feel awfully nervous. This could mean being back together as a family. This could mean having our own place to live and a bed that isn't half empty anymore. This could mean alot. I am completely comfortable with the phrase "If it be thy will" and I do not pray to change God's will. But I don't see the harm in asking Him for something that perhaps He is completely okay with giving us. So, if you could keep us in your prayers, I'd be grateful. It could be a very good day. Come what may. I have hope, and I believe that is a gift that God will always give us.

Have a hopeful day.

Hidden Treasures

I've learned something important lately.

It isn't all about me.
It isn't even all about my kids, my family, or my body.

Really, it is all about God.

I've been straining and striving to get it all right, to pull it all together, to somehow valiantly rise above this dark time in our lives. I've been consumed by what I am becoming, doing, being. These are not bad focuses, but the motivation is a bit off. Maybe I've wanted to do good things so that on the other end of this I can look back with pride and say "Now look how awesomely I handled that." (I guess I can create my own adverbs when speaking with hindsight) But, that really isn't the point. The point is to say, look how beautifully the Lord carried me through this. Look how patient He was. And look what He created.

If I keep my eye single to HIS glory, and not mine, I am certain that I will be happy. I will be filled with light. That sounds so nice. I believe in God. I cherish His words in the scriptures. And while I have striven to be obedient amidst strains and struggles, I have not truly submitted. I have not sought to glorify Him. I have not consistently turned my life to Him. I have prayed when I haven't felt like it. I have read my scriptures, aching to believe the promises within. I have tried, succeeded, failed, and tried again. And still I rise again. . .

God lives. He loves. And He knows. He knows that if we live a life that glorifies Him, that will be a life filled with love, light, and hope. So, I am going to try to do that more, stripping my life of anything that blocks that view, and begin to live again. . . not just survive.*




*I learned that from WALL-E

What If Wednesday. . . .

What if I truly treated my body as a temple?

When Christ instituted the Sacrament before His suffering in Gethsemane and on Calvary, He said to His disciples, when passing them the bread, "Take, eat: this is my body." This strikes me as very profound. In a time when His soul was about to be torn with pain and then His body equally wounded, He was teaching His disciples to remember Him in a very tangible way, telling them that His body would be torn, His blood would be spilled, and they should remember that forever.

That tells me what an integral part our body plays in our ability to truly come unto Christ. His body was as critical in His role as the Savior of the World as His unblemished Spirit. The spirit and the body is the soul of man. (Doctrine and Covenants 88:15) Together they learn, together they worship, together they progress. And if our body progresses without our spirit, then our soul is not truly growing. Likewise, if our spirit is growing and straining while our body atrophies, then our soul is left stretching between them, without progression.

This is where I have been. I have been reading, praying, thinking. . . and eating. In the stress of these last few months I have felt hopeless, frustrated, angry, and alone. So, I have tried to do what I thought was best. I have read my scriptures. I have kept saying my prayers. I have written in my journal. But, in my moments of despair, I have also numbly eaten through the struggle. And it has dampened my soul. I have realized that if I neglect my body, I cannot truly learn what I need to learn or grow how I need to grow. Treating my body so poorly damages my soul and has left me feeling depressed and out of control.

So, what if it stopped? It is going to. Sometimes it feels really impossible to get back to where I used to be physically. But, I believe in the Atonement's miraculous power of change, and that applies to both body and spirit. I want it to be fast, immediate, and wonderful. But, all I really have in this life is time, right? So, I take a big breath and try to trust that though it will take time, the process will work.

What does feeding a temple as it deserves to be fed look like? Here's what I think and plan to do. I plan to focus on whole foods from four food groups: Grains, Fruits, Vegetables, and Legumes. I am cutting out some major trigger foods that do me simply no good at all: sugar, processed flour, dairy, and animal products. Science backs me up on this, but it is also something I feel really good about. I think if I truly cleanse my body, then there will be a shift in my cravings, not just in food, but in so many things. I think my body will crave more light, more learning, more love, and more joy. I think my soul will come together with a greater power to worship the Lord and fill my life with His light.

I realize everyone has different plans and approaches and just like everything in life, there are countless ways to do good things. For me, this is also a cleansing experiment. How different could I feel if I really only put wholesome things into my body? We shall see.

And, oh, thank goodness for chocolate soy milk and luna bars. . . just saying.

I Dreamed a Dream. . .

So, like every fifteen year old girl (right?) I had a dream list for my life. I also wrote a letter to my future husband to be opened on our wedding day. . . did anyone else do that? Okay, and yes I also wrote a letter to New Kids on the Block--adding a separate note to Joey individually telling him that he was my favorite but swearing him to secrecy not to tell that to the other boys because I wouldn't want to be all Ono and break up the band with fights for my affection. Deep breath. I feel so much better now. Glad that is out there.

I digress.

My dream list:
-go to BYU (check--but changed to SVC. . which changed my life)
-be an EFY counselor (check)
-get married (check)
-be a published author (kind of? I did win a recipe contest and got my hummus veggie pizza posted in the Lowe's circular)
-be on Broadway (okay, I'm kind of letting that dream go. It is for the better, but I do sing broadway tunes every day to my children. . check)
-be really happy (well, that one wasn't on my list, but that is kind of the point isn't it?)
Let's talk about that last one. Be really happy. Of all the dreams we map and plan, isn't that one at the top, even if it isn't written there? Maybe I should have put it first, so that I would realize that day to day, year to year, dreams shift. Other people enter our lives with needs and hopes that we never factored in when we were fifteen years old. We have kids. We have heartbreak. We have moments of realization that completely blindside us. But, what it all shakes down to is that we want to be happy. I've kind of forgotten that.

One of my favorite novels ever is Middlemarch by George Eliot. I think the whole beast of a novel is about one thing: Ideals and Their Dangers. There are three main love stories in this novel and two of them get pretty twisted and painful because the characters won't release what they belive they should want, should love, should strive for. They are intent upon what they think they should be instead of just being. We do that. I do anyway. I used to be alot of things. And I used to have alot of dreams. But, the day to day has sort of swallowed them. And my ideas? They sometimes take the shape of a 2X4 with which to beat myself for falling short. What a waste. I think that I need to get back in touch with that fifteen year old girl who made a list, wrote notes to boy bands, and went barefoot at school. It is time for a new dream list. And it is time to relinquish the ideal person/mother/wife that I think I should be and realize that the greatest gift I can give my family is a person/mother/wife that is sublimely happy in that moment, pursuing her dreams, supporting them in theirs, and in all ways living one moment at a time, determined to enjoy it.

Maybe I should write Joey Joe again. He is probably wondering why he hasn't heard from me. I hope he isn't too mad at me for getting married.

There is No Fear in Love

Perfect love casteth out all fear. Love of what? Our love of God gives us the courage to believe in Him when it seems completely hopeless. Our love of one very special person drives away the fear of hurt, failure, and the unknown enough to let us give ourselves to them for eternity. Our love for children overpower our fear of sleepless nights, pain, sorrow, and sickness. Love trumps all. If we let it.

In all this love, do we love ourselves? Do I love myself enough to do what I fear? Do I believe in myself enough to accept and love myself unconditionally? Why should I?

Because if I do not feel love for the person I know better than any other, what hope do I have of truly loving anyone else? I know my flaws more intimately than anyone ever could. I am fully aware of shortcomings, failures, flaws, and downfalls. And still, only I can rise above them. And somehow, I've stopped doing that. I've allowed myself to stay trapped underneath them, only seeing the flaws when I look up and try to climb out.

Many years ago I sat in my oldest sister's high school graduation. She was the Salutatorian, and did a wonderful job with her speech. And then the Valedictorian stood. I cannot say I remember who it was, what they said, even if it was a boy or a girl. All I remember is looking at them and deciding then and there that I was going to do that when I graduated. I was in 6th or 7th grade at the time. I determined that I would finish at the top of 8th grade and be number one when I finished high school. I tucked that dream away and went to work. I prayed about it. I did my homework. I took the right classes. I studied for the tests. I never relinquished that vision. And I got a standing ovation when I gave my Valedictorian speech. I think it was the Forrest Gump impression. Always a winner.

The point is not that I am brilliant. The point is that there was a time when I saw something I wanted and I went after it, completely convinced that I would do it. That piece of me has dimmed of late. Being a mother is a wonderful, priceless gift. But, it can swallow you. Suddenly, every achievement becomes wrapped up in how these little people talk, behave, listen, and perform. And really, I have zero control over that when it all shakes out. But, when they don't listen, I feel like a failure. When they hit each other, I feel like a failure. When they stomp and slam doors and whine, I know that it is all my fault and I wonder if anything I do is any good at all. But, what they do isn't who I am. What they do is not who I am.

I can set goals. I can achieve. I can tackle life again with adventure and hope. And I can be a better mother by doing it. Really, the most important mothering I can offer is giving my children a calm, consistent, happy example. I can show them how much I love the scriptures--because I do. I can show them how to tackle fears and discouragement with courage--because I will. And I can show them love, pure wonderful love for themselves, God, each other, and everyone else--because I will feel it.

Fear cripples us. It has crippled me. But this morning in my scripture study, I learned some wonderful things. The Spirit reminded me that God keeps His promises. God sets us free. He frees us from bondage. The bondage of debt, the bondage of sadness, the bondage of loneliness, and the bondage of fear. He has provided "some better thing for us." Today I am determined to seek that better thing. But not because I hate where I am. But because I love who I am. Who I am is pretty good. And I'm only getting better. . . .

Changing Lanes

Plans are funny things.

Trust me, I've had alot of them lately. . . . but I'm having a hard time laughing sometimes.

Remember this post? The Master Gardener has been doing some trimming around these parts. We are not perfect, but I feel like we try really hard to do our best. We obey. We fall short. We keep trying. And along the way we pray. We have fasted and prayed for some certain things to work out. But we also prayed that our faith would increase if they didn't.

They didn't.

So now we face some difficult lane changes. Our family has to be apart for a few months until we can get on our feet. The kids are excited for our awesome "vacation" and we plan on lots of skype. But, I don't know if I really understand yet how hard it is going to be. And still I feel peace. I feel good. I hug Daman more and am trying to make these next two weeks as happy and wonderful as I can, building up lots of good memories and energy to prepare for some scratchy transitions. Everything will be fine. We'll have wonderful adventures with Grandma and Daman will get all the chicken pot pies he can handle. The Lord will bless us with peace, energy, and success. I know it. He understands the long runs, we sometimes can only deal with the sprinting. But, a good set of sprints makes us stronger and faster, and I trust that the Lord will take this challenging turn and work it for our good, in ways that I cannot even imagine. Plans change, but He does not. He loves us. He loves my children. He hears my prayers, and He hears yours.

Gardening Thoughts. . . that aren't really about gardening.

I've been thinking a lot about bushes today.

Not sure if anyone else has realized this, but sometimes we just don't get what we want.

Sometimes jobs don't come through, teams don't win, children don't sleep, and plans don't work. And sometimes we can take that in stride with an uplifted chin and a resolute faith. But sometimes our chin trembles and our fists are uplifted instead, shaking angrily and asking, "WHY??"

I've heard of a currant bush who had that question. There is a story you can find here about a man who was doing some major landscaping and found a currant bush that had been left unattended and wild. It had become more of a tree than a bush, and produced no fruit at all. Out came the clippers. Soon, it was small and bare and as the gardener stepped back he seemed to hear it whimper and ask why--why would you cut me when everything was going so well? Here was his answer:

"Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn't intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and some day, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, 'Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down, for caring enough about me to hurt me. Thank you, Mr. Gardener."

(Hugh B. Brown, Council of the Twelve Apostles, LDS Church)

I think we have all been currant bushes from time to time. I've had painful cuts in the past, but I have come to say thank you for each one of them. I have come to know and trust the Lord in a very deep way. It is not easy to be trimmed. It is not easy to be changed. But, I am learning that if I want to become the woman and disciple the Lord knows I can become, I must hand over the gardening tools. I must trust. I must trust that every trim is made with love. Every upheaval is done with purpose. Every change is for the better. Paul tells us, "In every thing give thanks." When he says every thing, I think he means just that. It gives me great comfort to know that the Gardener doing the pruning is motivated absolutely by love. My chest might tighten, my will might wobble, but I love the Lord and I trust in His love for me. Thank you Mr. Gardener, thank you.

What If Wednesday. . . .

What if I could move on as quickly as my kids?

I've been making some real progress lately in patience, acceptance, and general unflappability. Today was a two-steps-back kind of day. Maybe spending too long happily observing turtles and copulating frogs did something to my brain. "Look Mom--there is a baby on her mommy's back!" Yep. You got it Isaac. Isn't that cute?

I digress.

Too much screaming in the van. Too much carrying Emma while pushing Lucy in the stroller. Too little food. And Isaac just would not let go of Lucy's bike ribbon. She screamed, I suggested she ask nicely. She screamed "Pleeeeeezzz!" He smiled. I stopped the car and hollered, "Isaac, LET GO OF HER BIKE! HOW MANY TIMES DOES SHE HAVE TO ASK YOU?" The ribbon was dropped and I could tell that my shot had landed. He sunk back in his seat, a little wounded. I apologized, and said I'd clean the toilet when I got home (that is our new immediate consequence for yelling or hurting. . . we have a very clean toilet)

Things were tense for awhile. Then, he made a funny face at Lucy. She laughed. He laughed. I laughed. And he moved on. Giggling ensued and we were shortly jamming out to High School Musical again (don't judge). I thought to myself, what if I could let go that quickly? If Daman impatiently barked at me like that, I would cower, sulk, and scoot away from him for at least two days. I would accept his apology with a shrug and fester for awhile before moving on. He's never yelled at me, but I have certainly done my fair share of festering. What if I just moved on? What if I accepted apologies, shrugged off sharpness, and moved on with love and laughter. Sometimes when my kids are stubborn and tell me they hate church, I wonder what Christ could have meant when He describes children as meek, humble, and submissive. But, then I get it. Then I screw up and when I apologize at bedtime, I get a loving dismissal, a shrug, and a "Don't worry about it Mom, just try harder tomorrow." That has happened.

I will Isaac. Thanks for your patience.

Boy, have I got a lot to learn.

Backyards and Front Porches

The other day at the gym I pulled a trainer aside for a quick check-in. I've never trained with her before, but she's always working with someone when I'm exercising so we've become friends that smile each other even though we don't know each other's name. I still don't know her name. I told her I wanted to lose about 20 pounds, and she gave me this shocked look and then a quick scan up and down. "Are you sure?" she said. "Where?" Then I hugged her and had her write down her name so I could name my next child after her. Well, I should have.

I get this reaction sometimes when I mention that I want to lose weight. Being tall covereth a multitude of sins. I could have stripped down and shown her my thighs in more detail, but I didn't think we were really that close yet. She may not see it, but I do, and I know where I want to go. Still, it is a nice reminder that though I am striving to be better, I'm not too shabby right now.

I have no idea who said it first, I just know it wasn't me, but it has been said by someone--that we often compare our backyards with everyone else's front porches. I feel the twenty pounds I'd like to shed, others see me as fit and tall. We look at everyone else in the room, certain that they have it all figured it out because that is what we see. We hear their answers in Sunday school, we see their children at their best, and we read their blogs about how much they love their children and all the wonderful food they cook/crafts they make/problems they solve.

But that is their front porch. And everyone has a backyard. I'll demonstrate:

My Front Porch:

-I have a gift for teaching

-I can come up with a fun story on the spot

-I am great at creating food from practically bare shelves and a sparse refrigerator

-I love my husband, my children, Jesus Christ, the Book of Mormon, and a good novel

My Backyard:

-I bite my nails and pick at my toenails

-I like People magazine and Project Runway

-I often don't want to come up with a fun story on the spot

-I am terrible at returning phone calls

-I yell at my kids sometimes

-I let them watch one movie a day

-I have found a way to go to the grocery store by myself just so I can buy a chocolate croissant and scarf it down before I get home

. . . . and I could go on.

My guess is, were we architects, our backyards would be bigger than our front porches--if we were the one designing it. There is so much good in each of us, but we often stare out the backyard and only see everything we can do better. Meanwhile, there is a front porch full of wonderful things that everyone else sees, loves, and appreciates. I am determined to spend more time on the front porch. Sure, I have bad habits, weaknesses, and flaws. And sure, it looks like everyone else has it all sorted out. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe they have backyards too. I don't let that diminish them, why should I let it diminish me. None of us have much of an idea what is really in anyone's lives and hearts. We just love and accept and hope for the best. If I can do that for others, I can certainly do it for myself. And I intend to try.

So, go have a seat on your front porch for awhile. I'll ignore your backyard if you'll ignore mine.

"He that hateth reproof shall die. . . "

Proverbs 15:10

What is reproof? What is death? Both of these words have a sense of ending or finality to them. Someone slaps us on the hand, or tells us we aren't good enough, so we shut down. Death ends it all. Does it? Death is certainly not the end, but it is an ending. Our bodies will lay down and our mortal turn at the bat to do all we can here on earth will come to an end.
But a reproof, a rebuke, a correction. . .surely that will stop us in our tracks. Maybe. Or maybe it will just put us on new tracks. If I balk every time I receive direction, my progression will stop. In that sense, I will die. I won't grow. I won't be better. And I certainly won't be happy. The Lord is not the only one doling out reproofs. Yesterday I was reproofed by the look on my daughter's face when I snapped at her for having an accident. . . again. I am reproofed by the sound of my own voice when I snapped at my husband for buying the wrong whipping cream. . when I was just looking at the wrong carton. I am reproofed by my son when he meekly apologizes and tells me he deserved to be yelled at. If I hate those reproofs, if I leave them where I found them and don't make them a part of me, I will die. I will lose the trust of those I love, and my progression will be stilted.
President Ezra Taft Benson's address on pride is a powerful one. A nugget:

"The proud depend upon the world to tell them whether they have value or not. Their self-esteem is determined by where they are judged to be on the ladders of worldly success. They feel worthwhile as individuals if the numbers beneath them in achievement, talent, beauty, or intellect are large enough. Pride is ugly. It says, “If you succeed, I am a failure.”

If we love God, do His will, and fear His judgment more than men’s, we will have self-esteem.

Pride is a damning sin in the true sense of that word. It limits or stops progression."

This makes me feel intensely prideful. I am constantly reaching outward for reasons to feel good about myself. I want enough compliments from my husband to convince me I am pretty. I want to organize enough cool activities to garner sufficient praise for my creative energies. I want smart children to reflect my intelligence, and good cooking to demonstrate my domesticity. Instead, I can serve God, do His will, and trust that self-esteem will follow. I will compliment my husband and trust in his love for me. I will play games with my children because I want to have fun and treasure these fleeting moments where they want to play with me at all. I will give good food to my family because I love them and encourage learning because I sincerely believe it will make them happier. And then will come peace. And still reproofs will come. Today I will be better. I will pray. I will learn. I will love. And even if noone notices a thing, I will end the day reproved, rejoicing, and alive.

And The Official Word For 2011 is. . . .

REJOICE!!!

Rejoice more. . . and fear less.

Rejoice in my body.

Rejoice in my family.

Rejoice in prayer.

Rejoice in lessons to learn.

Rejoice in toddler hugs, preschool crafts, and 1st grader imaginations.

Rejoice in a hot husband.

Rejoice in offering all I have and then turning the rest over to the Lord.

Rejoice more. . . and worry less.

"Rejoice, O My Heart."

2 Nephi 4:30

When I read this I realized that, for me, 2010 was not full of rejoicing, and not because there wasn't fodder for it. It was because I was too busy wondering about the next stage that I wouldn't look around and relish this one. I was so busy freaking out about my body and my weight, that everything went the exact opposite way I wanted it to. But this year, I am going to rejoice. I am going to write. I am going to play. I am going to live and love and take whatever comes with a deep breath and a smile. Or at least I am going to try.

I Choose To Believe

Last week I had the talk with my 6 ½ year old. No, not that talk. It went something like this:

Isaac (eyes full of trust and hope): “Mom, is Santa real?”

Before you hear what I answered, let us cut back to the time when I was a perfect mother. . . that time before I had children. At this all-knowing stage my husband and I heartily decided that we would play along with the Santa illusion, put out some cookies, orchestrate a mail delivery system, and give the jolly elf credit for a few presents. But, we asserted, should one of our impressionable children get down to brass tacks and ask the inevitable, we would simply tell them the truth. This was a very good plan.

But I just couldn’t do it. The question was too full of a sad fear that made me think he knew what was coming and needed me to prove him wrong, giving him permission to believe. He needed the lie. Well, I couldn’t do that either.

So, I made my therapist husband proud:

Me: “Well, what do you think?”

Isaac: “I think he is.”

Me: “Great!”

Phew. Tragedy averted. Or, maybe not:

Isaac: “Do you believe in Santa?”

Now my mind was really racing, carefully weighing honesty with magic.

Me: “I think. . . that it is fun to believe.” (Holding my breath)

Isaac: “Me too. I am going to believe.”

And that was it. No tears or crushed dreams. No healthy dose of reality. I’m not sure where we stand now. I think that Isaac has, against all odds, decided it is more fun to believe than to not. And I’ve decided the same. I remember a Christmas many years ago where somehow my parents orchestrated a flawless Santa drop-off that seemed downright magical. I was old enough where I had begun to doubt, and at that moment I remember being completely amazed, thinking, “It is real! He is real! How does he do that?” I was totally suckered, and I loved it.

Truth exists whether we like it or not. I can doubt, disdain, or dismiss, but it will not alter truth. I do not define truth by how I cast my vote. I define my life. I can choose to believe, choose to hope, choose to trust. I can choose, knowing that it is a whole lot more fun if I believe in magic, light, faith, hope, and love. Isaac, I think, has figured out that no one is really getting those letters he tears up and puts in the oven for Santa. But, he has decided that life will be more interesting if he believes. I’m with him. I choose to believe. I choose to believe in God. I choose to believe that these prayers I am sending up are received, acknowledged, and answered. I choose to believe that Jesus Christ was born in a stable, suffered in a Garden, died on a cross, and rose on the third day. My choice doesn’t make those things true. My choice makes me better. It makes me believe and it certainly makes me happy. So, Isaac, thanks for the talk. Let’s keep believing together.

The End. . . for now

Today was my last day of teaching Early Morning Seminary. Until September. I am exhausted and waffle between this overwhelming gratitude for the fact that I get to sleep in until 6:30 on Monday morning, and dread for how I'm going to make it through an entire year of exhaustion next go round. And then I'm wondering if God's blessings are prorated. Many blessings have been showered on my family as we've all placed something on the Seminary altar over the last six months. I can't pinpoint what blessing is attached to what leap of faith, but I do know that we are happier than we've been in awhile and I hope that doesn't expire over my 3 month sabbatical. I have learned so much about myself over these last six months. I've learned that when we are weary, the Lord is not. I've learned that when I am weak, He is strong. I've learned that saying no is okay and naps are sometimes necessary. I've been amazed by the support of a husband that handles breakfast every morning and deals with mediocre housework when Fridays roll around and it takes most of my energy to will my heart to keep beating. He is okay with sandwiches for dinner and that is quite the boon. I've prayed for these youth, ached for them to feel the love of God, the power of the Word, and the importance of this time in life. I've cried that I can't go on, fully aware that both God and I know that I will do just that. I will go on. "Let the weak say, I am strong." (Joel 3:10) Let the tired say, I'll get up anyway. Let the teenager say, God actually loves me. And let this mom say, I've never loved a Friday so much in my life.

The Wind Blows. . . Ether 1-6

The wind blows and the storms rage, but if we build our boats the right way, all that force pushes us to a happy, promised place. The Lord will not suffer us to stop until we reach that promised land (2:7) because He knows that there is a peace there that we can only enjoy after we've braved the storms. He promised the Jaredites that he would "prepare (them) against these things." (2:25)What are "these things"? Wind and rain, floods and waves, bumps and bruises, discouragement and despair. Our boats aren't in the ocean, but they are in life and that gets awfully bumpy sometimes. But "who knoweth but the Lord will carry us foth into a land which is choice above all the earth?" (1:38) I can't imagine the places where God will take me. The map I drew for myself 10 years ago was way off. . thank goodness. I know that God has blessings reserved for us we cannot imagine and every wind that He sends is aimed at getting us to a place where we can receive them. Blow winds blow.

Who Will I Be?

Today I watched this

It made me think alot of things. It made me get up and jump one more time on the trampoline with my daughter. . just because I could. It made me ponder how quickly life can change so completely. And it made me think alot about the woman I am, the woman I want to be, and if I am busy bridging that gap. I thought about talents I have and how I can use them to build up the Kingdom of God. First and foremost my stewardship is my children. My job, above all, I believe is to bring them to Jesus Christ. But I have to know the way before I can show the way. And along that path to bringing my children to Christ, I can reach out my hand and invite others to come and see. Come and see what makes me happy. Come and see and read and think.
So, out of all this pondering came an idea. This site has been used (sporadically) to post stories I am writing. And there will be those. But, I've decided that this will also be a place to share what I learn from the scriptures and the Spirit. Most will be brief. Some will be long. All, I hope, will be helpful. I know God lives and I know He speaks to us through His scriptures. And we can become more like Him as we read His words, then stop and think about what He wants us to do with them.
. . . so today. . . I read in Mormon 9. As a recap, this is Moroni speaking. Everyone he loves has been killed. It is near the end of The Book of Mormon. The Lamanites have destroyed every Nephite and now Moroni is left to wander for 20 years, writing, wondering, and observing. I can't imagine this is a happy time of life. And yet, he writes: "I will show unto you a God of miracles. . . Behold are not the things that God hath wrought marvelous in our eyes? Yea, and who can comprehend the marvelous works of God?" Does that sound like someone who has seen hundreds and thousands of his people hewn down? Does that sound like someone totally, utterly alone? It sounds to me like someone who looks around and sees the Hand of God when most people would look around and assume God was taking some time off. Miracles have not ceased. If they hadn't ceased for Mormon, they certainly haven't ceased for me. Maybe I can make it through Seminary after all. What miracles do you need??