Our Gifts Don't Have to Be Perfect

I've just spent a chunk of time reading some blog posts from 2011. 

My gosh, it makes me miss my own life!

 I've been walking down memory lane (as I lie in my bed) and realizing, again, how much I love what I do every day.

Today, though, my life feels 1000% times more busy than it did then.

I don't spend lazy mornings writing letters with the kids 

or admiring pirate ships in the neighborhood on morning walks in October. My boys aren't 5 anymore; they're turning 12 and will be ordained deacons next month. (Insert: What. Is. Happening?)

I'm sending my baby to kindergarten this year. She's ready and confident and happy.

I work now, for pay, something I didn't have on the plate years ago.

Life has gotten busier as the kids have gotten bigger, which seems ironic, right? I mean...they actually become more independent than they were in younger years. Shouldn't I have more time, not less?

I'm totally aware that these four hearts are growing up fast.

Just tonight, I was shutting down lights and checking locks and realizing that my boys probably have 7 more Christmases at home, including this year.

I've said it before, but I'll say it again:

I would do this thing again, in a heartbeat. Being a mother has been the greatest 

privilege of my life.

I was watching a friend's Instagram story yesterday afternoon and thinking what a beautiful childhood she and her husband are giving to their two small children (3 and 1). 

So I messaged her and told her.

I'm going to quote the conversation at this point, because I want to share something I've learned in my mothering journey. But it's actually really something I have learned over the last few years of my life--in the wake of losing my father to cancer, having my husband leave, going through a divorce, trying to pick up the pieces, accepting huge changes, beginning the journey of being a single mother, starting a job, and?

Just. trying. to. juggle. everything. 

These years have been exhausting--in basically every way. 

But honestly? 

They have also been the deepest and most beautiful years of my spiritual life to this point.

I have known intense sorrow and grief and self-criticism and pain, but I've also known shocking joy. I have felt incredible happiness and relief and hope and forgiveness and light and God's love in astounding measures. 

I love my life! And I wouldn't trade the experiences in to have my former self.

But, I digress.

So, I complimented my friend. 

And she responded: "Thank you so much for saying that, that's so kind. It's getting harder as they get older (in a different way)."

And I responded: "I think what matters is that they have your heart. And your attention. There was a time for me, a few years ago, when I had an important realization that brought a lot of peace, and it was this: My gifts were imperfect. I was imperfect. Mothering was staring me in the face and it was so much bigger than what I had anticipated. And I knew that what I had to give wouldn't always measure up. I knew I'd fall apart, become the worst version of myself sometimes, and that I wouldn't always be happy with my performance. Those days are hard. I still don't like those days. And honestly, as my kids have gotten bigger, so have the questions and challenges. But, here's the thing. I remember having this realization, though I don't remember how it happened. But one day I asked myself this question: "Do you love them with everything you have? Are they the most important thing? Do they have your whole heart?" And suddenly I felt such peace because there was no confusion there. It was an immediate, "YES! SO MUCH YES!" And it was like I realized that was enough. The spirit taught me something important

then. Despite the difficulty and challenges and questions and my obvious imperfections,

it was okay. They have my whole heart and they know that I love being their mother.

And you know what? I hope that, one day, they see Elizabeth, not just their mom. 

They see me as a person trying to figure it out, and maybe that will help them when 

they're trying to figure it out too. 

The other part is that I trust in the atonement so much more to make up the gaps where 

my trying falls short. So, I guess in the end, that's why I say I think it's all about love. 

Yours, and His. I truly trust that, and know that our gifts don't have to be perfect."

I'm sharing that because I hang my hat on those two thoughts. And because maybe it will help someone else who struggles when they feel they don't measure up, in any capacity; when they're staring down the barrel of their lives wishing they were better than they are, or that they'd done things differently, or made different choices, 

or been more (fill in the blank).

I think life becomes bigger than we anticipated, and the questions and challenges

and heartache do too. But, at least for me, that has been the price of learning and authenticity and growth and JOY.

Our lives are My life is messy and gloriously imperfect and I've come to love it that way.

I'm so glad I get to make mistakes and learn! 

And so thankful for beauty and grace and joy.

And I absolutely trust God's love for me and for you as we're figuring things out.

After School Dancing

You know how sometimes you have a moment that you think of and it just makes you happy?

This is one of mine.

Day 2 of school.

We're out on the back deck after school, eating these frozen juices from Costco (insert: so good!).

He was ebullient, and I was listening as he told me about everything that had happened that day. 

And I was playing one of his favorite songs (K'naan's Coca Cola Celebration's version of "Wavin' Flag") over and over.

This girl fell asleep on me,

and I watched him dance and dance in his happiness.

On Being Content

(Last night in the park. Sunday nights in June are perfect for listening to Utah Premier Brass and playing cards.)

I've been thinking lately about the tendency 

we sometimes have as humans to not be content.

I'm not sure why that is.

I've had Alma's stunning one-liner in my mind:

"For I ought to be content with the things 

which the Lord hath allotted unto me."

(from The Book of Mormon; Alma 29:3)

And it's funny because it's all relative, right?

I could have an exasperating, exhausting day with my kids, and vent about it. And someone who hardly sees their children---or the woman who isn't able to have any children---could wonder how I could possibly say that. Don't I know how lucky I am?

Someone who is complaining about their job could be overheard by someone who has been out of work for months---and that person would find themselves marveling at another person's ingratitude for such a great blessing.

I've listened to women complain about their husbands being late or the way they did or didn't do something, or general frustrations about how they navigate the world. And in those moments, I've found myself thinking---only in my head, of course---that they don't realize what they have, what a blessing it is to have a companion who loves you---even if they're imperfect. (Aren't we all?) (And frankly, I can convict myself here. Now, being single, I can remember times when I was married where I was unappreciative or thoughtless.) 

And it gives me pause.

It makes me ask myself how I'm missing out on gratitude today in any of my relationships or in any of my life's circumstances---without even seeing it (like the examples above).

And it's empowering to realize that all of us can take any situation in life that is frustrating or sad and look at it another way, opting to see it through a lens of gratitude.

I'm really inspired by that, and it's challenging me, 

right now, as I write this, to be more mindful.

Also, this.

A while back, I watched a TED talk by Ben Saunders. He's an arctic explorer, a guy who has trekked to both the north and south poles. As I listened to him, I was really moved by something he said as he reflected on achieving this long-time goal of his. I think his words speak to the idea of appreciating the journey as it's happening---whatever it is---and his words have stayed with me. 

"If I'm honest, Antartica challenged me and humbled me so deeply that I'm not sure I'll ever be able to put it into words. I'm still struggling to piece together my thoughts. That I'm standing here telling you this story is proof that we all can accomplish great things through ambition, through passion, through sheer stubbornness, by refusing to quit---that if you dream something hard enough...it does indeed come to pass. But I'm also standing here saying, 'You know what? That cliché about the journey being more important than the destination? There's something in that.' The closer I got to my finish line...the more I started to realize that the biggest lesson that this very long, very hard walk might be teaching me is that happiness is not a finish line---that for us humans, the perfection that so many of us seem to dream of might not ever be truly attainable, and that if we can't feel content here, today, now, on our journeys, amidst the mess and the striving that we all inhabit---the open loops, the half finished to-do lists, 
the could-do-better-next-times---then we might never feel it."

 (check out his TED talk here)

Shout Out To Happy

2014 was such a crazy crazy difficult year.

And when I put bold pink and purple (as opposed to more calming colors as is my usual trend) on my mantle for January 1, I kind of thought it was a symbolic SHOUT OUT to say, "This year is going to be GOOD.  

We got this!  We are gonna ROCK THIS."

Which brings me to this.  Another theme for the year.

Every time we play this song, we can't help but dance and move.

Every time.

Yesterday, I turned it on in the middle of the day, and ALL of us grooved as we listened to it, over and over.
Check out how Claire grooves in the beginning of this video.
SHE cracks me up and makes me happy.
The expression on her face is like she owns the place.
(Which, she kind of does.)

I found myself thinking, "YES."

This needs to be one of the goals of the year.

Rejoice in what is happy.

"Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof...

Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth...

Clap along if you know what happiness is to you...

Clap along if you feel like that's what you wanna do..."

Because here's the truth.

Even tho there are dark days and hours (and years, sometimes!), there are so many things that yell happy.

Light.

Love.

Laughter.

Friendship.

Beauty.

Dancing.

Good books.

Food.

Fresh air.

Music.

Faith.

Sunshine.

Or, a big bowl of beautiful fruit that reminds you of one word:

Abundance.

Gratitude makes one feel so very, very rich.

Oh What Do You Do In The Summertime?

I'm typically not a theme blogger -- meaning that I don't stay with something (the same something) for days.

But this week I'm breaking the rules and am gonna post about why I'm loving summer.

First up: The evenings and the children

One night in July at the dinner table, we watched in amazement out the front window as lots and lots of dragonflies gracefully arced around in the evening sunlight.

It was beautiful.

Mesmerizing.

Afterward, I watched them out there, with their nets, intent on catching one.

Just watching their eyes and focus was so endearing.

 (and notice the red geranium in the foreground...I have to have them every year)

A couple weeks later we'd had Papa down for dinner.

After dinner I'd planned to put the kids to bed right away.

As it turned out, I didn't call them in til it was dark and the patio lights were glowing bright.

Why?

Because of this.

While I had been talking with my dad before he left, they'd made for the backyard.

Started to play together, and were busy constructing "their kitchen" when I came to see what was happening.

There they were: pajama clad, lugging wood across the yard to make their stove (fire), and then their cutting boards.

I had to go inside and grab my camera because it was so awesome.

 (Using one of the garden tools as a knife to chop up their food (ie. clumps of dirt))

(Soup on their campfire)

And one other thing.

I just have to say that evening bikerides with my boys, just me and them, is like one lovely hug.

A hug that makes me both wistful and grateful.

I watch their little legs pedaling, knowing that moments like these are fleeting.

I think of that line in "Puff the Magic Dragon" where it says, "A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys."

And hearing Benji say to me, "Mom, this is so much fun, just us and you.  Can we do this again?"

I felt just as addicted as they did.

And then I got to go home and take the little Miss around the block on her two-wheeler and tell her how proud I am she can do it without training wheels.

I love my kids.

And on the second evening, coming home, the little Miss and I called everyone out on the deck to see the beautiful rainbow in the sky.

Awesome.

Seeing Behind the Glass

Sometimes I think it's possible to look without seeing.

One night recently I was in the bathroom before bed.

I was staring off -- and then realized that I was looking at one of my favorite pics from our engagement photos several years ago, a orange/brown sepia shot of our faces, close together, sitting on the window ledge.

I was looking, but I hadn't seen it until my eyes focused again.

Sometimes it can be easy to imagine what it might be like if things were different.

The journey of our lives on a chronological road, and we wonder about the possibilities of alternate turns.

If things had gone a different way or we'd gotten what we wanted or thought we needed in certain situations.

If it had happened how we had it mapped out.

Or, we remember things in the past and can live there for awhile.

Or we plan into the future, thinking contentedness will come when this or when that occurs and we feel we've finally arrived.

Sometimes I think we figuratively can look at the glass and not see the picture beneath it.

The beauty of living right now and embracing what is and finding the glorious beauty there.

I don't want to miss the moment of now.

We don't know what will happen in our future lives.

Death could change something in a moment.

An accident could forever shift the landscape.

Change is inevitable, always.

When I gazed at the glass that night, I felt really reminded of this, probably in the context of what I was reading at the time.  A fiction memoir, of sorts, with the main character reflecting on her life and looking back and saying things like, "if I had known then would what happen...".

I want to live now, because I don't know what's ahead.  And if we look back or look forward searching for something different, we miss the now.

The people who love you.

The individuals who make your life all worth it.

The relationships that have meant the most.

"This is our one and only chance at mortal life—here and now. The longer we live, the greater is our realization that it is brief. Opportunities come, and then they are gone. I believe that among the greatest lessons we are to learn in this short sojourn upon the earth are lessons that help us distinguish between what is important and what is not. I plead with you not to let those most important things pass you by as you plan for that illusive and nonexistent future when you will have time to do all that you want to do. Instead, find joy in the journey—now."

---President Thomas S. Monson