A Good Woman

The other night I had gotten the kids in bed and really just wanted to crash.

But.

I peeled myself off my bed after getting Claire to sleep, and returned to the kitchen to clean up all the dinner stuff.

Then I got dressed, put my running shoes on, and slipped out into the night to run laps in front of my house.

I listened to this talk that was given in 2013.

Elder Christofferson quoted something that Sister Nadauld said that I have loved for years.

I still remember exactly where I was when she spoke these words for the first time.

I was in the basement at my dad's, together with members of my family.

I was sitting on the couch that was on the west wall.

I remember sizing myself up in comparison to the quote, wanting to be a good woman.

As I listened to this the other night, I found myself grateful for the reminder.

I came home, showered, and wrote it down, and it has taken residence on my fridge for now.

I believe in the power of tenderness, kindness, refinement, faith, goodness, virtue and purity.

For both women and men.

These attributes, when applied, change the world.

Little Women

This morning, with Claire climbing on me and Mia in the bed next to me, I thought about how we do this every morning.

(a few weeks ago, in the morning)

Claire snuggled in and I pulled her body in close to mine to get warm (she had shed her footie pajamas), and she began to nurse.

I had a daughter on my left and a daughter on my right.

I thought about all the mornings that Mia and I had this same ritual, when it was just the two of us.

I remember thinking, then, that those moments were going to slip away.

That Mia would outgrow lying in my bed in the morning.

I wondered if she'd feel replaced by her sister.

I didn't know, then, that both of my girls would inhabit my bed. 

Every morning.

They lay there in the quiet.

They snuggle in.

They know what it means to just "be there."

They instinctively know how to do this.

I came upstairs thinking about time at the cabin when I was a little girl, remembering one specific trip.

It was before I had learned to play pinochle and so, at night time, when my older sisters and parents were playing cards, Christa and I amused ourselves by playing some game together, or I read.

This particular memory goes something like this.

There's a strong fire burning in the fireplace behind me, and the blower is keeping that small room tight and warm.

The old fashioned lamps hanging over the couches are on.

I can see dad, cross-stitching or reading on the couch across from me.

The kettle begins to whistle from the kitchen, signaling hot water, ready for chocolate.

My sisters are sitting at the table.

I can see Sue in a jean shirt and black spandex leggings and her hair pulled up in a bun.

I can hear them bidding and laughing.

Someone gets up and goes to the little mini fridge in the kitchen to get fun size Snickers bars that have been stashed in the freezer.

And me?

I'm lying down, curled up on the couch under a blanket, reading an old, red, well-worn copy of Little Women.

I loved the relationship of the sisters, the story of the girls growing up.

It made me think of my sisters and the bond that we shared, our growing up time together.

It's funny how quickly that growing up happens.

We're grown with children of our own.

They are all around us, spilling out and filling our lives.

It's like that paragraph towards the end of Willa Cather's My Antonia, referencing her children:

"We were standing outside talking, when they all came running up the steps together, big and little, tow heads and gold heads and brown, and flashing little naked legs; a veritable explosion of life out of the dark cave into the sunlight.  It made me dizzy for a moment."

Mmm hmm.

It is kind of dizzying.

It happened so quickly.

(Thanksgiving, last year)

And, what it really makes me feel?

Humbled and quietly grateful, full of praise, for the work of women.

Bearing children.

Raising them.

Nurturing.

Feeding.

Tending to needs.

It is a spiritual work that I love deep down into my bones.

It is, more than any other thing, what defines me.

I love it with my whole heart.

And so, when I look at my girls, I think of this quote by President Hinckley that I love.

"When you save a girl, you save generations.  She will grow in strength and righteousness.  She will marry in the house of the Lord.  She will teach her children the ways of truth. ...I see this as the one bright shining hope in a world that is marching toward self-destruction."

Yes.

When I look at my girls now, I see light.

Promise.

Beauty.

Strength.

And hope.

They inspire me.

They are small now, and follow me around.

They want their hair done.

They want lipgloss on and their nails painted.

I find them reading books, running around, playing make believe.

I watch them playing together.

There is something about them that is so darling.

But it's more than that. 

I sense something special within them.

A light, a sensitivity, the stunning sense of who they really are.

I think about the women they will become one day.

I hope they will know their beauty, their strengths, their gifts.

And I hope that they know, then, that the work of women is lovely, beautiful, crowning and needed.

It is a holy work.

I want my girls to know this -- and to rejoice in the magnificent and humbling endowment, given to them by God.

Investing Now

Yesterday afternoon the children and I took a drive up the canyon by our home.

It was as if the mountains were on fire with color. 

It took my breath away, and the boys kept complaining as I continued to stop and snap pictures.  

Every place I looked, each bend in the road, gave my eyes beautiful surprises.  

I wished, more than once, that it was evening and I was out walking in the quiet, taking in the colors when the sun wasn't so bright.

Then, last night, after dinner, they came into my room to listen to our chapter book read-aloud.  

I nursed Claire, Mia lay on the bed beside me, and the boys were on the floor.  We read the final three chapters of Caddie Woodlawn, a book I loved as a child, but had not read since.

(the most successful selfie we got of all of us, which isn't great)

When I read the last sentence, I was disappointed it was over.  It was beautiful and wholesome, laced with virtue and lessons about being people, living honorably, growing up, family, hard work, and living with simplicity.  

I remembered why I loved it, and we promptly got on Amazon and ordered the book that follows it, which I haven't read.

But.

(I really am only posting this one because I love it of Mia)

As I read this paragraph to them, I was reminded of our afternoon, of the beauty of autumn.  

"It seemed to Caddie Woodlawn that she had never known a more beautiful autumn than the one which followed.  Goldenrod and asters bloomed yellow and purple and lavender along the side of every road, and swept in bright waves across the fields to the woods.  In the woods the oaks put on their gayest colors.  Every shade of red they flung against the clear blue sky, from a soft pinkish lavender to deepest crimson, and the silver birches trembled and shivered in their thinning gold."

(watching them ahead of me on the road today)

Don't you want to curl up in a blanket and just read that again?

Now, as I'm sitting here writing about it, it has led me to thinking about this.

I know, like the colors, like the days rapidly becoming shorter, like the warm afternoons shifting to cooler temps, that things of eternal consequence are happening -- right now.  That, despite how it sometimes feels, everything is constantly in flux and time is slipping away and that moments and decisions and conversations and relationships matter.

Family matters.

My children matter.

What I do matters.

How I spend my time matters.

And the only way I can grasp some of that beauty to last, and really last,
is to invest now.

There's that saying that we plant June roses so we can enjoy them in the Decembers of our lives -- so I guess that's what I'm thinking about.

Sometimes I really just want to (and do) get angry and raise my voice and feel frustrated with my kids.  I struggle to see the longevity of a personal plan for me, for what lies ahead, for the hurdles that have to be negotiated and figured out.

I thought about this while reading from Caddie earlier in the book, when her father talks to her about becoming a woman.  He talks about women teaching "...gentleness and courtesy and love and kindness...a...task...harder than cutting trees or building mills or damming rivers.  It takes nerve and courage and patience, but good women have those things. ...A woman's work is something fine and noble to grow up to. ...I want you to be a woman with a wise and understanding heart, healthy in body and honest in mind."

I figure the best way I can do that is to pray and plead and be aware that if I invest now, it won't all slip away.  And sometimes I feel like a hypocrite because, despite that being the desire of my heart, I frequently fall so far short of what I would like to be.  I worry about what my actions and words are proclaiming, even as I try to aim high.  

But I guess there's this.

As a mother, I am always planting.  

And as an individual, I am always planting.  

I can choose to do a half-hearted job, or throw everything into it.  

It isn't always pretty, and a lot of the time I am not happy with my performance.  

But.

 It does have my heart.  

And my heart and their hearts are worth investing in.  

When I look back on my life as a woman, and as a mother (as two separate parts of my life, which inevitably become intertwined), and also on their lives, I don't want it to be awash in colors that I can't remember, that are indistinguishable from throwing it out with the bathwater.  

These thoughts push me onward, inspire me to keep trying.

I want to remember moments like tonight, where the crazy simmers down and I find something meaningful in it -- where the greater purpose comes clearly into view.

I want to remember the little feet among the colors -- the voices, the laughter, the tears, the frustrations, the successes and failures, and the conversations that made our life together -- that made up my life.

God has filled my life, and yours, with individuals and circumstances that I believe are personally tailored.  This gives me faith and hope and trust in God that we have what we need.  He has made the tools available to seek and gain a wise and understanding heart, and to find health in body and spirit and soul.  
This fills me with joy, confidence, and peace.

(This talk is a favorite.)

Letter Into the Future

The other day I pulled out the camera because I was admiring her outfit.

And loving the combinations of colors and patterns.

So cute.

And thinking about how lovely it is to be unconstrained by social norms or messages, how she can just be herself, how she wears stuff because she likes it.

Amen, sister.

Then, last night, I was tickling her while getting her in her jammies.

She was laughing so hard, and I was kneeling over her, snuggling my face into her neck.

Tickle, tickle, tickle under her chin.

We've had a bit of a breakthrough the past few days, beginning when Little Miss announced to me that she wanted to wear underwear to bed like the boys.

So, we tried it, and it's working.

(Insert: HALLELUJAH!!)

So -- amidst the tickling, and while thinking about her not wearing diapers at night now -- I asked, "Why are you such a big girl?"

(Prompting, of course, the response that she's not wearing diapers EVER now.)

(I should learn to stop prompting responses in my head. Remember the last time I did that?)

And she stopped my heart for just a second when she said,

"Because I'm growing up."

Yes, she is.

Dear Mimi:

I want to tell you about some of my wishes for you.

When you get big, please let yourself still be you.

Wear the bright colors if that is you.

Say what you know is right and let the chips fall.

Be okay with who you are, and appreciate the OTHERness of others.

There is great, deep beauty in all of us.

I believe this so strongly.

Disregard the loud messages that try to force and persuade you to believe that you need to be this or have that or look like this or reach that status to be worthwhile.

The irony is that none of those things bring happiness anyway.

I wish for you, a thousand times, the wisdom to perceive this, and to let it govern your heart.

One of the greatest blessings of motherhood is feeling deep down into your soul the worth of another.

I wish I could capture that for you, that truth,

and that you would never doubt it someday, down the road,

maybe when you're a teenager and start wondering

how you match up, how you compare.

(Blast that ugly word!)

Or when the dream that you want isn't what is popular or what will be viewed as socially acceptable or as something worthwhile.

The beauty inside of you is crazy strong, it's almost deafening when I'm with you.

And I love it so much.

And when you stopped my heart by saying you're growing up, it's only because I know it's true.

I love you.

Mom

Having a Girl

Having a girl is like remembering pieces of yourself from the past, or recognizing them again.

One or the other, or maybe both.

Like watching this girl the other day.

I was reading with Benji when she came into the room like this.

Makeup on, bow in her hair, dress on.

She was dancing around.

Beauty. 

Simplicity. 

Simple Joy. 

Innocence.

Feeling beautiful.

Having a girl lets you witness the tenderness in her heart.

It means watching emotion as it's raw and new.

It's watching her pretend she's 30, and knowing inside, that one day she'll get there.

Will she remember this?

Will she know the loveliness inside her?

I hope so. 

Being "Put Together"

This is probably exaggerated by the fact that I recently had a baby and thus have been feeling quite self conscious as of late. The other day, while running at the track, I probably looked much as I usually do -- on or off the track: hair pulled up, no makeup on, glasses, three (now) kids in tow, about 11:00ish. The track treks of late feel like a juggling act, anyway, as the last two times I have gone with kids I have had to nurse upon arriving (Mia unhappy to be moved around so much in her sleep) and haven't been able to finish my mileage goal for the day (Mia being generally unhappy). And I feel a bit self conscious when I get there and she is crying in the otherwise typical-quiet-morning there.

So, as I was making my way around the west end and heading back east in the loop, I found myself thinking something to the effect of, "One of these days maybe I'll actually be a real woman -- or a real mom -- and I'll actually be one those women who is always put together. You know -- makeup in place, cute, everything in full swing without a hitch."

And immediately I stopped myself with a barrage of questions like these:

Is that really what it means to be a woman?

Is that what it means to be "put together?"

I think of other women I know, and particularly, right now I guess, other mothers -- who always seem to have that. They are put together. They are cute. They look unfailingly charming. And sometimes I just wonder how they do it.

Part of it, I suppose, is that I have never really been the type of girl that always has makeup on every day, or can't go out the door without being "put together." I probably don't wear makeup more days than I do.

But really, since when did anything with physical appearance dominate my thoughts of being "put together?"

(Insert: ARGH.)

(Now, lest you think that is what I ultimately really think being put together means, read on.

But still, it bothers me how much the world revolves around physical appearance -- and really all things superficial -- weighting so much on that scale. I think, inadvertently, it affects how we feel about ourselves. And I don't think that's a good thing. Really, ask Scott how long I can talk about this stuff if you get me started. Really.)

This morning, with my baby sleeping on my chest, I finished reading 1776 by David McCullough. Fabulous read. It was one of those moments where, upon closing the book, I lay there thinking about miracles, gratitude, sacrifice, awe and faith. In great causes. In real issues.

I got in the shower afterwards, and couldn't help but think about my whole physical-woman-questioning of the other day. And, once again, felt a great desire to care about and focus on what really matters.

It has nothing to do with what you look like (or don't), what size you are (or aren't), what clothes you wear (or don't), how much money you make (or don't).

It made me more determined for the year to focus on caring about what really matters.

Last night, reading Brooke's blog (go here to read the whole post), I got emotional by reading these lines she'd written about life and single moments:

You do it because you have to.
You help because you can.
You laugh because you need to.
You love because it's all that matters.

Check.

All these thoughts made my questions that really matter revolve more around the quality of my love to others, the relationships I hold most dear, how much laughter is around me.

In short, I want to enjoy and care and worry more about what really matters, and less about stuff that really has nothing to do with being "put together." I want to cut stress, slow down, ENJOY.

2009: JOY. True JOY.

Joy like this afternoon as I was laying in bed, enjoying the sunshine streaming in my bedroom,

where it really didn't get much better than this:

The People That Make It Matter

I feel compelled to write.

There has been so much on my mind though, that sorting it all out seems a bit confusing. So, here's my attempt.

Ever since Nienie's crash (see here to follow updates), I have been quietly thinking and praying and evaluating. I have been surprised and blessed to see how much a woman that I have never physically "met" has influenced my life. I remember seeing her in high school but we never knew each other then.

I have thought essentially about three things: my belief in the power of prayer, the power of example, and the power of family.

I know I have been prayed for my entire life. I have been blessed with great parents and grandparents, to say nothing of joining yet another family and getting another set of parents who care when I got married. I know all of these people have prayed for me. They have prayed for my success and my happiness. I know, because I now know, personally, what it is like to love a child and to dream for them -- and to pray in their behalf because of that love. And I do this because I know my voice and influence are small, and that there is a greater Power beyond myself who has an infinite ability and reserve to bless and to heal and to lead. I feel connected in these prayers.

But I also was just thinking a week or so ago about specifically asking a friend of mine to pray for me about a year ago now when I felt pretty emotionally destitute. I think I have probably asked others in times past as well when I have needed added comfort and strength. But now, as I have added Stephanie and Christian to my prayers, along with other people in my life who mean a great deal to me, I have thought about the special privilege it is to raise your voice and exercise your faith for someone else. It is a sacred trust and privilege and it feels sweet. It feels like the world is a better place, like our hearts are coming together. It is wonderful to ask for blessings and wrestle with faith, knowing that prayers are heard, that we have a Heavenly Father who is in control.

These prayers are real.

This is something that brings a lot of comfort to me.

I've thought about example and about what a small, simple person like me can contribute to the world. In this case, though I've never met Stephanie, I have admired from afar and learned a great deal from her, and have felt inspired to try to send good out into the world, the way she does -- more positive, more love, more kindness. One person can make a difference. And it also makes me grateful for the people that have made a difference in my little life.

And then, I've thought about the people that make it matter for me.

I married my husband almost four and a half years ago. I am more committed to him now than I ever was then, and I love him more. He has made life dreams come true, been my best friend, and allowed me to not have to be any different than what I am. He doesn't expect more, and he encourages me in any thing that I may want to accomplish. I find myself wherever he is, and I am grateful, more and more, that I have someone who loves me. At the end of the day, flaws and weaknesses and imperfections and all, I have a companion, a friend, a lover, another perspective, and strength beyond my own. This blessing has a beautiful song of its own. And the amazing thing is, the melody keeps going and I catch a note here and a note there. With each of these glimpses, each faint lingering of song, comes understanding, depth, gratitude and commitment.

How does my voice even make a stab at giving resonance to that sound?

Last night, I was looking at one of my boys that had fallen asleep on our bed. As I watched him, I saw the same little face that is captured in some of his early baby pictures. I couldn't help but feel emotional as I lay down next to him and watched his face. When I moved him into his bed, I was noticing how quickly he has changed. When they were born, I could hold them up next to me, and their little bodies, head to food, weren't wider than my chest. Now, their legs hang over my arm if I hold them when they are asleep. They are heavy, talking, walking, busy boys. And not a week ago, with the other son, I had a similar experience. Before coming to bed I had been looking at photos of them since birth and felt that familiar pang of time and realizing how precious these moments are. I cried as he lay in bed, asleep, next to me.

In that darkness, I understood the way my parents loved me, the way grandparents loved them, this chain of parents-children-parents-children growing and strengthening into something I am just barely beginning to understand.

And just this past weeked, Scott and the boys and I went to Boise to see my grandparents again. We were up late into the evenings talking, and some of the stories that came up involved stories of my siblings and I when we were younger. The funny thing is that those memories seem like a long time ago, but also, like Jacob says -- almost "...like a dream" -- like they are floating in my past, almost simultaneous with now. And then I have the realization that although to spirit, time is all one and these things shall never pass, time in this existence is real. My grandparents are getting older, just like I am. We have measured time with each other, measured time to love and be impacted and learn what we have to learn from each other.

And I find myself thinking about how these moments are simply without value and the desire swells in me to make the most of everything I have, of each moment I can spend with whoever I am spending it with.

Last night, watching my son, I found myself thinking this thought:

When I look around or think about all the things I could do with my life right now, or when I wonder if I could be anything -- if I had my choice of influence, where would I be?

Right here.

Exactly where I am.

It doesn't get any better than this.

Fighting for a Cause

So, we watched this movie on Saturday night. I really liked it -- for multiple reasons.

Encouraging freedom. All men (and women) being created equal. Bridging understanding while closing the door on ignorance. Compassion and human frailty and greed vs. integrity. Soul, spirit, passion. Passion to change something, to lift one's voice, to make a difference -- to change the world.

The thing is, as I was watching it (and during the ensuing discussion afterward), I couldn't shake the question that kept coming to the forefront of my mind:

What cause am I fighting for?

In regard to all of the swirling issues that we face today, I kind of felt like I wasn't contributing in that sense (inside voice saying: "What difference am I making?"). My voice isn't heard on those issues (and, frankly, I don't make it a point to voice my opinions on many of them). But it's more than that: I am not in a political or public circle, working on that kind of a scale to do something. So I started to wonder...what am I fighting for? What do I see in the world that worries me, what do I feel passionate about? And, in the end, I came up with these three things. (And, incidentally, I think they are connected to many (if not most) of the other problems we have.)

I feel passionately about, and wish to raise my voice regarding the sanctity of womanhood.


I rejoice in the joy, crowning role and importance of motherhood in a culture where it seems most view mothering as a "secondary" position to your "real" job.


And lastly, I believe in the central importance of the family, under attack from all different forces.


Yes, these are causes I am fighting for.
(I might just have to do a follow-up post on each of them. Stay tuned.)


But in the meantime, I am curious to know:

What are you fighting for? And why?

Sorting out the questions

In keeping with my regular way of doing things, it has been another two months since my last post. I have been behind in my blog reading as well. This morning I took some time to read some blogs I haven't read for a while. After reading, my head was spinning and I ended up taking time to write in my journal, and have decided to post the journal entry. I have a little trepidation in doing so because of it being personal, but then, I guess, these blogs always are. I have to post this quote by Susan W. Tanner first before the journal entry, as I refer to it in my writing.

"I remember a simple sampler that I cross-stitched as a young Primary girl. It said, 'I will bring the light of the gospel into my home.' I wondered, 'What is that light?' Jesus Christ Himself explained it best when He was teaching the Nephites. He said, 'Therefore, hold up your light that it may shine unto the world.' Then he explained, 'I am the light which ye shall hold up---that which ye have seen me do' (3 Nephi 18:24).
What had the Nephites seen Him do, and could I possibly do those things in my home? When the people desired for Him to tarry with them a little longer, He had compassion upon them and lingered with them. Then He healed them, prayed with them, taught them, wept with them, blessed their little children one by one, fed them, and administered and shared the sacrament that they might covenant to always remember Him. His ministry among them was about teaching and caring for each individual, and about completing the work His Father had commanded Him to do. There was no thought for Himself. As I learned this, there began for me a lifelong quest to bring His light into my home through selfless, Christlike acts.
This is not an easy task. Good home life often goes unrecognized. It might be easier to 'arise and shine forth, that thy light may be a standard for the nations (D&C 115:5) rather than that your light may be a standard for your own families. Sometimes others don't see us doing good, sharing our light in our individual homes. It is basic human nature to desire and seek praise and attention. Helaman taught his sons Nephi and Lehi to do the good works of their forefathers for whom they were named, 'that ye may not do these things that ye may boast, but that ye may do these things to lay up for yourselves a treasure in heaven' (Helaman 5:8). Good works should not be done for the purpose of receiving recognition. ...
In these preparatory years, you young women spend much of your time in schools or jobs where you receive accolades, honors, awards, ribbons, or trophies. When you move from that stage to young motherhood, there is a dramatic drop-off in outside commendation. Yet in no other capacity is there more opportunity to serve selflessly as Christ would do by taking care of hundreds of daily physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. You will bring the light of the gospel into your homes---not to be seen of others, but to build others---men and women of strength and light."

---Sister Susan W. Tanner, "I Am the Light Which Ye Shall Hold Up," April 2006 General Conference

(This was given in the General YW Meeting from last conference, but I found it insightful nonetheless.)

Now for the journal entry of today.

Just imagine. You are running a river in a kayak and you can hear the approaching thunder of a waterfall. The sound gets louder and louder, the spray covers your face and body, your heart is pounding, matching the intensity, and then...plunge. I asked Scott the other day if he ever feels like we're right at that point where we are just about to plunge. A world of newness awaits us and so much of the unknown. He said that he feels that, too. I was just reading some blogs online, and suddenly have a prominent question floating around in my mind. I read something someone wrote where she was discussing feminism vs. femininity. I really appreciated what she had to say. She talked about how she she'd spent a weekend with family without her husband, and this gave her the opportunity to watch her siblings and their relationships with their spouses. She talks specifically about how she felt like she needed to change her viewpoint. She was watching her sister-in-law gladly making a sandwich for her brother, and then make him another when he wanted it, and then rubbing his back after that -- all just for his comfort. She essentially asked the question: What's so wrong with serving your husband, and discussed that femininity was what made women divine. One of the comments I read in response to her post also posed a good question/food for thought for me, though. Becca's best friend, Rachel, wrote something to the effect of how it was freaky to her, though, when she had those moments where she realized that everything she did was to fulfill others' needs (feeding, burping, sexing, diapering, etc.) -- and the realization of no nurturing going to self. I guess this really resonated with me because I've wondered what my contribution will be. At the same time, I read of other women (Rachel & her sister) who both have businesses they've started and are creating their own personal projects to be engaged in. I had this frightening realization that I don't even know what I would do for a project for me, for recognition, purpose, or sense of self worth/developing talents if I wanted to. That, combined with the fact that I'm just about to give birth to two babies that will require pure selflessness from me, kind of made me nervous and I'm feeling slightly conflicted. I don't know if everyone wonders what their contribution will be, how they will leave their footprint, so to speak, or how they will better the world, but I have, and I have a desire to make a difference. BUT -- I realize that I'm so used to associating accomplishment and achievement with recognized accolades and awards and schooling and "official applause," so to speak. I'm not sure that that's necessarily what it is --- although those are definitely accomplishments -- and noteworthy to be sure. I'm just conflicted because I absolutely believe - and always have - about womanhood and femininity being divine. I believe I have heard it said that motherhood comes closest to the calling of the Savior, but I can't remember where. I really resonate with what Susan Tanner said as she essentially makes that same connection in the quote I wrote in a few pages ago. I believe there is a reason why the First Presidency referred to motherhood as the highest, holiest calling to be assumed by mankind. I believe that motherhood - and I want to expand that to nurturing (whether that be to spouse, children, friends, etc.) - is the essence of who we are as women, and what could be more ennobling than the overarching principle of selflessness and love (charity, really) associated with that call? We just don't receive accolades and praise, necessarily, for that work - and it IS work, perhaps the hardest kind at times. Whether we have children or not, women are born mothers and nurturers. So, I'm not apologizing - AT ALL - for the role of women as nurturers and mothers by nature. I rejoice in that. But I have this lingering fear at times that seems contradictory of that where I wonder what my contribution will be to the world, how will I be significant, how could/can I possibly make a difference, and when? I have this fear that I don't really have antyhing that great to offer or be remembered by. I have a fear in not really knowing even what I'm doing now to nurture my own talents or personal worth - and that bothers me, and I guess I'm afraid that's just going to become even more buried when all I do every day is take care of my babies and make a home - which, by the way, are two things that I look forward to and enjoy. I enjoy the home-making types of things: cooking, gardening, cleaning, making things or rearranging or decorating to make things cozy. I enjoy trying to create a place that people want to come to - where it's warm and bright and smells good and where there is love. In the end, to me, it is the manifestation of love, and creating a peace and safe haven. But I wonder about this sense of personal worth and growth, and about nurturing everyone else, but doing nothing to encourage my own growth. Could nurturing others also bring a sense of self-nourishment? I think it could, because I've felt that a lot in my life. I feel joy when I take care of, and bring peace to, others. But, I'm not referring to the "What's in it for me?" attitude, just that I don't want my whole identity/worth to be based on everyone else - and do nothing to encourage my own development and sense of accomplishment. Does that make sense? ...I don't really know how to resolve this issue or find a balance. Even though I wonder what contribution I could make, I also really agree with this quote from Middlemarch, in reference to one of the characters:

"Her full nature...spent itself in channels which had no great name on the earth. But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs" (George Eliot, Middlemarch).

As I think on my life, the most influential experiences and people that I treasure most are those that I've spent the most time with, those I have served and been served by -- and not so much by those who have made a huge contribution to the whole world. My greatest sphere of influence for my life has been rather intimate in comparison, and the good that has come from those loving relationships and acts of service has been incalculable. So -- I guess you try to strike a balance between the two??? AND, in the meantime, enjoy the ride? It's a ride I'm ready and willing to take.