The Two Great Commandments

Spring has arrived, and I’m gonna try and articulate a thought that has been marinating in my head for several weeks. 

As a preface, let me say this: I’m a very active Latter-day Saint: church goer, temple attender, tithe payer, the whole 9 yards. I visit teach, I fast, and I serve in my callings. I LOVE my faith. And I love the organization of the church, for so many reasons.

That being said, I had two conversations back in February that are still with me. 

One was at a wedding, and the other was in the living room of a friend in the middle of the night.

I said something in both interactions that I’ve continued to think about, and I want to more fully express the thought here.

It goes like this:

At the end of my life, I don’t want to be evaluated by how many times I was in church, or whether I attended stake conference, or if General Conference was a priority in my life.

I don’t want somebody to look at my "stat sheet" and, if they see “good marks,” conclude that I must have been a good person. 

I find that completely offensive.

The Savior taught that everything hangs on two things: whether I love God, and if I love my neighbor.

I’m not saying that covenants and commandments aren’t important; Christ taught those too, and covenants, commandments, and prophets have made all the difference in my life. But as I think about my own spirituality, the piercing questions I ask myself come from pondering those two great commandments. 

Today, for example, I’m much more concerned about if I’m an ass in my interactions with other people, and if I'm actually looking out for my neighbor. Do I genuinely mourn with someone who is mourning? Have I learned to apologize when I make mistakes or hurt someone else? Do I care about another person’s feelings and perspective as much as my own? Do I try to elevate myself or focus on the contributions of others? Is my life about me, or is it about service? Do I practice honesty and live with integrity? Am I genuine in my interactions with other people? What are my motivations? Do I freely extend love, forgiveness, and compassion to others, recognizing that I desperately need those same things? Do I feed my ego, or do I live with humility?

These are the things I think about.

Questions like these expose how much I lack, and increasingly fill me with deeper gratitude for the Savior.

Christ’s example gives me one towering, upward-climbing ideal after another, and I am eternally grateful for the staggering gift of His atonement. He always inspires me to examine myself, start over, choose love and kindness, apologize, serve, humble myself, forgive, prioritize, recognize my own faults, and keep trying. His virtues are astonishing, demanding, and beautiful. But here's the thing:

His central characteristic is love. 

And at the end of the day, that's what it comes down to for me. 

At the end, I hope my life story reveals a simple woman who tried to LIVE what she believed, even though she was sometimes (frequently) an ass and she constantly fell short.

But even in the falling short,

she trusted in God's grace and found joy.

The Whole Gamut

A few weeks ago the kids and I were sitting out on the deck around noon.

Isaiah asked me a really. good. question. 
It had to do with eternal purpose and growth---a deep thinking question. His query was something I've never thought about, 
and I didn't have an answer. 
I still find myself thinking about it.
We ended up in a discussion about difficulty, opposition, and growth. We were also talking about the possibility of upcoming changes and voicing how we are feeling about them. 
We were all on the fence, a mixture of emotions. 
Definitely some sadness, a little bit of anxiety, 
and a lot bit of uncertainty.

I began a sentence by saying, "We just have to accept..."--- and was going to continue by saying something about how living means experiencing the ups and the downs. But then Mia interjected one word and said it all.

So, replay.

I said,

"I guess we just have to accept..."

And she said, 

"Life?"

Yeah.

Her response was so simple and profound, 
and I've thought about it ever since.

That IS life, right?

It's the paradox of constant change, and it's full of things happy and sad, beautiful and hard, part sorrow and grief and part joy.

It's the whole gamut, the complete experience.

The scope of that---its depth and meaning, 
its sharp pain and fierce joy---takes my breath away.

Leading to Joy

Sometimes I wonder why I write about snippets of my life publicly.  

I've always been a writer---and have lots and lots of letters and journals and books full of notes and recipes and quotes and little things I've found meaningful to prove it.

I scribble things in margins.

I hear something that resonates and I have to write it down.

I compulsively listen to words in songs as opposed to absentminded background noise.

My feelings are constantly articulated into words and thoughts without me being able to help it.

I'm drawn to poetic wording, beauty and sadness and big questions.

And my life feels like one big blend of all of that, and I suppose I write because it helps me make sense of it.

In any case, I'm not sure of all the reasons why I choose to share these small pieces.

My life has places of both hope and pain, fear and doubt and discouragement.  But.  It is also filled with indescribable beauty and blessing---and the juxtaposition of those, side by side, or all mixed up?, continues to astound and educate me.  Educate me?  Humble me, for sure. Push me, absolutely.

I suppose writing here, not unlike other places I write, helps me sort it out.

And, because, let's be honest. 

I'm just as human as anyone else, with all my faults and things I'd like to change about myself.

I think, maybe because we live inside ourselves?, sometimes what we see is all the ways we are inadequate in bold relief, neon.  And, at least for me, it can be hard to quiet that voice.

And, when I look back on posts over the years and see what I've documented about my family, about my own journey of motherhood, about that one time when I was a wife, about food love and how deeply I feel about how food brings a lot more than just people together, about what it means to me to make connections with people and what home looks like in my heart (despite how messy it can be in real life), I see positive, bright spots.  Things that make me feel warm in my heart, because they live there.  And honestly, I suppose I write about these things because I'm passionate about them.

I can look back, in a series of clicks, and over an extended period of time, and remember lots of things that were beautiful.  Even if they were hard, or even if it was facing a truth about myself that I didn't like, it has become beautiful because of the journey.  And, in a small way, I get a wider view of the process, as opposed to that one time when I was a complete failure or that one time when my heart was so full of grief.  I can see that grief and weakness and heartache alongside growth and laughter and traditions and people and love and spirit and heart and joy.  Joy.  True joy.  I suppose that's the end all.  I see that the combined effort and experience of it all brings meaning and joy.  And, seeing this, even in my very human, very imperfect perspective, I find myself more amazed at the wisdom of God, more confident in His care.

Brave Choices

I’ve told you about this photograph before, the way it sits on my nightstand lending me strength in the blessing of reminder and legacy, offering a sort of benediction and admonition to my life. Last night as I was climbing into bed I found myself thinking about mothering and the constant choices that you make.

Mostly it started from a conversation earlier in the evening, where I walked away feeling blessed by friends who feel similarly, and who ground you. And I’ve been blessed by similar conversations with women I love the past couple weeks that made me feel empowered by some choices I am currently making. Choices where, at times, I have felt like I need to stick my neck out and stand, even in an array of different opinions and viewpoints. The gift of that experience is evaluation and introspection, digging inside and pulling the roots up to examine so that clarity comes within reach.

One friend talked with me about an insight while studying the "Proclamation on the Family" and what it says about a mother’s responsibility – that our primary role is the nurturing of our children. She said, essentially, that this responsibility encompasses making these choices for our children – their environments, what they will think about things – in addition to feeding and clothing them, loving and teaching. The thing I liked so much about what she said was that it almost seemed like an exclamation point on owning our job as mothers, not apologizing to others about how or why we do things the way we do. I believe in inspiration and in that channel of communication from heaven to guide us and to try to understand what we need to do. I think that parents are blessed with that channel, because I believe in loving Heavenly Parents who also want the very best for their children in the varying environments and circumstances that we live in. It’s an exciting AND daunting job. It fills me with wonder and analysis on a daily basis. It is a constant challenge – exhausting and exhilarating.

Last night in the quiet, and all morning today out working in my gardens, I have found myself thinking about mothers having to make brave choices. We all do it differently, and that’s okay. I don’t think there’s one right way. I DO think that we are prompted for our own households, and through revelation received in personal study and as revealed through prophets in venues such as this.

I think my mom made some brave choices. I remember my sister saying once as she had her own children that my mom had done a brave thing in letting us dress ourselves. I felt pride as I read that statement, thinking about how my mom let us be our own agents. (And, consequently, as I remember some of my awesome, mismatched, orphan-child-like outfits I donned as a kid, all without one word from my mother. She never seemed to be worried about us fitting some social expectation or, heaven forbid, what the neighbors would think!) I think that was perhaps one of her greatest gifts to me, at least, illustrated by even that small point. We were allowed to think for ourselves, without the expectation that we would have to conform to a set, prescribed way of thinking. My parents always cultivated openness, and not fear to differences --- whether that was differences of belief, viewpoints, cultures or lifestyles. They taught me to not be afraid, but to embrace and enjoy and learn and love. That was brave. I’m so grateful for it now.

I think about the freedom my mother gave me, another thing I find very brave. I learned responsibility while having the room to breathe. I find myself hoping I can do the same, guiding without infringing.

I think about the choice my mother made to read to me every night. I am far and away below being a stellar mother, but someone recently said to me that she admired how we read to our kids every night, that it took patience at the end of a long day to do that. She’s right – sometimes it’s exhausting, and sometimes we miss it because the ends, so to speak, are all unraveled. But generally, it is the routine. But I choose to do it not because there aren’t times that I’d rather do something else (ie. time by MYSELF!!), but because that simple thing cultivated a love of words and learning and thinking that I will forever be grateful for, and to me, that was brave. That is a gift I hope to give to my children. I am sure she had times where she felt how I do at the end of the day, probably very often. But she did it for me. She did it for us. And any time you offer a gift to someone else, even, and maybe especially, when your needs become secondary, that is brave. I think as a parent, you do that exact thing a lot.

My mother isn’t what one would call a hands-on mother. But she loves us fiercely, her devotion is palpable. I know she has had a lifetime of debating, weighing, and deciding. She has fought, trying to find that path and honor and be true to her beliefs. That is brave. I think this is something we are all trying to do, and it isn’t for the faint of heart.

I guess I realize how brave it really was then when I am trying to do the same thing now. It seems I appreciate these gifts of braveness more and more the older I get. My parents weren’t perfect. (I know you’re shocked!) My mother wasn’t perfect. There were things I would have wished different. But today I find that comforting, to some extent, because I feel very aware of my own inadequacies and the obvious bumps in my parenting. But I can say one thing for sure: Like my own mother with us, I love them fiercely, and my devotion is deep. And yes, they will find a very flawed mother, but I also hope they see a woman asking questions, not being afraid of the unlighted step in front. I hope they see a woman who tried in every way she knew how to instill belief – in God, in themselves, in a beautiful, promising world despite the trouble. Belief in their dreams, in the beauty to be found in others, in the power that is in trying to be open. I hope they embrace and learn, and try on the questions. I hope they have the courage to face things head on. I want them to be real, and to think about what they believe, not just passively follow suit.

In the last few years, this has to have been one of my all-time favorite talks. It is all about taking your job as a mother head on. There were a lot of folks that were buzzing after this talk was given, but for me – it was empowering. I felt like it was a great, celebratory, wake up shout to own your job as a mom. It is not secondary to having a profession. It is not anything less. It is demanding but delicious, devastating and decisive at times. It requires choice, and as Sister Beck says, you are required to “…choose carefully and do not try to choose it all.” It requires weighing priorities and acting, even when you’re unsure. And how scary that deciding can be sometimes. I find myself hoping, frequently, that I’m doing the right thing as I live and learn and try on faith. I’m grateful today for a mother who encouraged my being my own agent.

Mothering is a great act of faith I think, in part, because you cannot see the fruit yet. And maybe this is also because it is in a constant fluid state, ever changing, growing, and being added upon through the generations, while trying to put in concrete foundations. What a paradox. You see it only in small pieces, small teasing tastes. But in the midst of all the ordinary and mundane, there are occasional bright bursts that define why you do what you do, and how deeply you feel it inside. And for me, these moments reaffirm why I love it – even while tenaciously trying to figure it out.

Questions of the Day

This morning we kind of lazed around. I made the kids scrambled eggs and toast and drank a green smoothie. Isaiah had gotten himself dressed already (typical), Benj was in his underwear and nothing else (also typical), and Mimi was naked. (She loves to be naked. It's so cute.) The kids were eating popsicles and we were walking around the garden. It was so fun. I had Meems on my hip and her popsicle was getting all over my shirt. I was showing the boys the baby yellow squash and the zucchini. Then we walked all through the garden and I told them everything that was planted in it. After we'd gone through the whole garden, Isaiah said to me, "Mom, do we have ice cream plants in our garden?"

It was so cute. I told him that we didn't.

Then, when I was running in the middle of the day, in the 88 degree sun, I was thinking about that question. If it were possible and I had to choose five kinds of ice cream to grow, how would I possibly choose among so much goodness?? I settled on chocolate (Scott loves), vanilla (a basic and can have anything mixed into it), and then thought about chocolate chip cookie dough and mint chocolate chip and rocky road and peppermint and banana (have you tried coldstone's...YUM) and moose tracks and butter pecan and cookies and cream. You see what I mean and the dilemma I am in. Maybe I could have magic dust and switch flavors every week so I could have them all.

And then, could I have another mix of magic that could make caramel and chocolate and nuts and peanut butter cups and all the lovely kinds of fruit to mix in (bananas and berries and peaches and such) that would always be fresh with perfect flavor??

(You see what's happened as I've mused on this.)

So, my first fun question to you today is...what would your flavors be?

And nonsense question #2 that I've thought about for a while now is this:

If you had enough money that you could afford to just spend some each day on absolutely nothing super important, what would you spend yours on?

My answer: I would pay for someone to do my hair every day.

I love it when my hair is actually DONE, and for those of you who know me well, you know this is hardly ever. I mean done, done. I don't have the patience or the time (because I have so much else I'd rather be doing than standing in front of a mirror) or, more importantly, that talent. I would love to have gorgeous hair every day.

What would you spend money on?

Hope you have a swell week. And no, I didn't edit this so I quite possibly have a wide array of typos. I, however, am off to the pool. xoxoxo

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:

Just Thoughts

I am baking bread today. It may well be one of the last days cool enough to enjoy some hot soup with homemade bread and butter.

Yesterday was 75 degrees+, blue sky, popsicles, sprinklers, dirt -- a beautiful day.

Today we've had rain, some wind, not-too-much cooler temps and cloudy skies. These kinds of days often put me in the mood for soups and Christmas music.

It really is so cute. We have a DVD of Clare College at Cambridge singing Christmas carols, and they are lovely. I can put Benji on the couch, with his bear ("baby") and blanket and he will curl right into the crook of the arm of the couch, snuggle his baby and put his little thumb in his mouth. And he will just lie there. He loves watching and hearing the music.

It kind of amazes me, actually. Both because it is so sweet, and also because it surprises me that an almost-twenty-month-old will sit and soak it in like that. It is one of the many things that I love about him.

I get told, frequently, how cute these boys are. I completely agree, but I am a 100% biased party. But even I step back sometimes, when they glance up at me, laughing, or tease me somehow and I watch this little personality emerge and feel like I am with other people, not just my children. I am amazed at what they are, what they think is funny, how they come up with things out of nowhere and it seems complete confirmation to me of being born with a spirit all their own.

Maybe it's kind of like looking in the mirror every day, and not noticing the changes in yourself, necessarily. Once you start looking at old photos, you realize how you've changed.

Sometimes it is a bit like that for me with these boys; I see them every day, but sometimes, I look -- and it takes my breath away. They are beautiful. They are so funny. They are so clever, sweet, refreshingly pure. My flesh and blood.

I saw in the paper yesterday that someone who was very significant in my childhood is retiring at the end of this year. I dropped her a line last night, and was thinking about how important figures of your childhood -- people who made you feel loved and like one-in-a-million to them --seem to stay that way. It is a beautiful thing to watch folks get older and feel the gratitude swell inside yourself for knowing, for being blessed by others, for being able to have been loved by these people -- and we all have them.

It is actually a very inspiring thought for me, because it makes me think about/realize the type of individual that I hope to be to those around me. As frail and flawed as I am, I hope that I can leave a legacy of love and devotion. I think that may be my ultimate goal.

I read, once, in an office a saying that said something to this effect:

People will not remember what you did (or wore or something -- can't quite remember this phrase); they will not remember what you said; but they will always remember how you made them feel.

I think that's really true, and also a bit daunting.

And because this is a kind of random thoughts post, I thought I would post this quote from this book I am currently reading. I thought it so interesting and insightful:


"...the challenge I face with children is the redemption of adulthood. We must make it evident that maturity is the fulfillment of childhood and adolescence, not a diminishing; that it is an affirmation of life, not a denial; that it is entering fully into our essential selves.
I don't go along with the people who say they'd never want to live their childhoods again; I treasure every bit of mine, all the pains as well as the joy of discovery. But I also love being a grownup. To be half a century plus is wonderfully exciting, because I haven't lost any of my past, and am free to stand on the rock of all that the past has taught me as I look towards the future.
The youngsters' rejection of adults often shocks us so much that we in turn reject the rejection and are angered at the violent means by which they repudiate parents and teachers. They drop out of school and college because it just doesn't seem worthwhile. Or they want a college degree without having to work for it. Or they have trial marriages, or just share a pad, rather than entering into relationships which are intended to last for life...with the concomitant philosophy that if you try marriage and it doesn't work, you quit. They are rebelling not again our morality and our discipline but against our lack of morality and our lack of discipline. They are unwilling to commit themselves with promises of fidelity in relationships because they have known too many grownups make these promises and then break them as though they didn't matter. Somehow or other, promises, as well as adulthood, must be redeemed. My seminar students asked me, 'But isn't it better not to make the promises at all? Isn't it more honest?'
I shook my head. 'No. I don't think so. And I think I do have a right to talk to you about this, because I've been married to the same man for almost twenty-five years, and we love each other more now than we did twenty-five years ago. When we were married we made promises, and we took them seriously. No relationship between two people which is worth anything is static. If a man and wife tell me they've never had a quarrel, I suspect that something is festering under the skin. There've been a number of times in my marriage when--if I hadn't made promises--I'd have quit. I'm sure this is equally true of Hugh; I'm not an easy person to live with.'
I'm quite sure that Hugh and I would never have reached the relationship we have today if we hadn't made promises. Perhaps we made them youthfully, and blindly, not knowing all that was implied; but the very promises have been a saving grace."
(From Madeleine L'Engle's A Circle of Quiet -- I highlighted my favorite sentences)


Now, I am not making the argument that all marriages should stay together; I think it would be naive to say that all marriages are better if they don't dissolve. Some are unhealthy, abusive, or very damaging in one way or another. But I will never be the judge of that, thankfully. But I know I will be judged on how I treat/love others, and that's what is important. I think we each do the things we have to do, and that is sufficient.

But, I am a proponent of the importance and sanctity of marriage. And I loved this quote because after marrying -- amidst the truth that my husband is my best friend -- I also suddenly gained a whole lot of respect for folks who had been married for years and years and who are very happy together. I realized how much work a relationship like that takes. And there have been times when I have honestly questioned if I am "marriage material," if I can be the kind of spouse that I hope to be, if I have the kind of love to make a relationship like that. And, even in four short years of marriage, my promises have been questioned. It has been more than I bargained for at times. It has been full of brilliant moments of joy, as well as difficulty and pain, growth, understanding. And this quote really resonated with me because I loved that she said that the promises, in large part, have been a saving grace. I think I can say that has been true for me as well.

And one more note before I sign off. Today is my mother's birthday.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

I want to publicly tell her how much I love her and to thank her for all that she has taught me, for her sensitivity and goodness, for instilling in me a love affair with words and language, for giving me life. She is a remarkable person. I wish you all could know her.

Marvelous in My Eyes

Do you know that I only have 126 posts to date? And I believe I came to blogdom in 2004?

Oh, well.

I do deep breathing in between each post as I take in the world around me. I have this thing about not spending too much time on the computer, because when I'm here too much, I am not really "in" my surroundings. And that really bothers me.

I need to LIVE my life, not think about it as I sit here. Maybe some of you have figured out how to do both, but I haven't yet. (I still feel like I am trying to figure out how to really LIVE, let alone handle much of anything else!)

I've been busy with spring, folks. What does it mean to you?

Yesterday was a bit chilly in Utah. I felt a bit quiet all day, and sometimes gray days are a bit hard with these boys because we can't be outside. I think we all get stir-crazy.

After eating dinner, I decided I needed a run. Even though the night before's run was not super enjoyable, I donned my black pants with white stripes down the side that I've had since 2001, my blue striped shirt and my sporty green long-sleeved overshirt. Grabbed my cozy black gloves, my iPod, and a piece of gum.

Walking out the back door, the air was crisp.

I loved every minute last night. I saw pink blossoming in the evening light, sprouting green on trees, all the while backed by the still-covered-with-snow mountains in the background. I felt at one with my body, as if my thoughts and emotions could spill freely out of my head into the air, diffusing and finding peace with the beauty around me.

I thought about my children, the beauty and love and joy they have brought to my life. Beginnings. Endings. Fears and hopes.

The first two songs that came up on my shuffle were both progressive-family songs, and that seemed to perfectly fit my mood. Sometimes I feel like I always write about the same things -- namely, motherhood, wifehood, my family. But these are the day-to-day issues for me. How can I be a better mother? How do I translate my desires to be a better wife into action? What kind of an imprint am I leaving? I am constantly thinking about these things.

It's not that I never think of anything else. I think about all sorts of other things/issues in the books that I read. But the crucial questions for me are always revolving around what I find most important in my life.

The songs marched right into rhythm. One talked about watching a little girl grow up, realizing she was the best thing that had ever happened.

I'm always reveling in that continuous revelation in my relationships.

The boys and I went to the duck pond this week. Deliciously warm with beautiful sunshine. Fresh duck poop that Benj put his hand down into and then got it on his shorts. Biting off pieces of sour cherry jolly rancher for all of us to share. Watching the ducks and birds around the pond, making music with our hands at the base of a light pole. We went up by some amphitheater-style seating benches. The boys have fun climbing up and down the stairs and walking down the aisles. I sat, bathing in sunlight and watching them, feeling a bit wistful, loving each second. We have spent all our time together this week, and yes, we always do, but I haven't tried to do other things at the same time. It has just been us, together. I held Benji's hands as he walked across the top of the benches, and he thought that was really something. I found myself thinking... "And one day they walked."

When did this happen? As quickly, quietly, and invisibly as the day they started smiling. The day they came into this world, and the few days following, when already I could recognize their individual sounds. The way those zygotes grow, imperceptibly to the eye, until, one day, you can see evidence! As fast as they started saying their first word and verbally communicating. These are hardly my babies anymore; I look and look away and look back and they are walking together, giggling together, commenting on their surroundings.

Beginnings. Celebrations. Living. The balloons bobbed on the back porch next door, where I knew there was a family bridal shower going on for Michelle, and each time I made my loop around, I looked in the front window from the sidewalk as I ran by. Looking for people at the food table, people celebrating, laughing together. Loving and celebrating and creating ties afresh. This was also a happy, wistful thought. I felt sincere joy for her, excitement.

I feel like I am always watching. There is so much to celebrate, and everyone is at different crossroads. It is exciting.

Being with children makes me see the world anew. It is beautiful, hopeful, full of wonder.

Being with friends helps me find common ground in day-to-day issues, gives me a sisterhood with other women.

Being with my husband forces me into constant growth and evaluation, building something of this relationship that became so much more than a friendship, and fast, early on.

Being a daughter and granddaughter fills me with gratitude, giving me big shoes. I feel like I step into them the same way my boys' feet fit in mine.

Being a sister gives me my best friends, women who bless my life in ways I can't possibly express.

I am feeling grateful for this circle I call my life, albeit a small one. I'm grateful for this season of spring, where I find, like always, I've got plenty to weed out. There are new flowers, too, and many residual flowers that I love -- blooming, brilliant colors with the familiar comfort of years, but without the fading.

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?

Pillow Time Wondering

Do you ever wonder if sacred moments -- wonderful, beautiful moments -- will only be experienced once?

I do.

The other night as I lay in bed, I started to think about mortality and immortality and...I thought of the boys.

Maybe it's because my life has been 100% them since their birth and I cherish this.

Maybe it's because, although all of us are changing and aging and growing, I notice it more with my babies because it is happening so fast, right before my eyes.

Maybe it's because of the sacrifice inherent in mothering and knowing that it is different from any other relationship. You give your all and put so much into raising them, all the while knowing that they won't always be with you. You perform a selfless service that is the miracle and beauty of mothering -- and, I might add, it is oh so worth it.

And, at least for me, I feel acutely aware of the fact that I won't have them forever and that these moments are precious. And while I recognize that this is good, I'll be honest. It also kind of breaks my heart. I have to trust that, as every other period in my life, the expanding and changing that will come when my children are no longer in my home will be more glorious than I could have imagined.

There will be great loveliness in the on and on and on of it all.

Still, it kind of breaks my heart.


Maybe it's because they have literally broken my heart with joy and a love unlike anything else I have ever experienced.

I sometimes can't help but wish and wonder and hope that all of these sacred moments will be restored to us. I am not sure if I can quite articulate what I mean. Even though we can record our experiences with a pen, and store them in memory -- and those are powerful mediums, to be sure -- it still isn't like as if you were there again, in quite the same way as it would be if you could, figuratively, be there again, see it again, feel it again -- tangibly. But I do think it comes close.


Can something so wonderful just be enjoyed once?


Or, is part of being a resurrected being just like what Isaiah talks about in reference to the Lord with us saying that our walls are continually before Him. I wonder if we'll be able to look at the significant things we experienced and loved and learned and, in a way, feel and experience that moment all over again so that it never passes from us. I can think of a scripture of the top of my head that supports perfect remembering. (What is perfect remembering? -- I think that is an interesting concept to ponder.) Will this be one of the miracles of resurrection morning?


Maybe, like God, all time will be as one for us.

I hope so.

The Law of Opposition

I have no idea where this post is going to go. No idea.

That being said, I think I'll start here. Are you ever like me and have really hard days or weeks or months, but don't really talk about it to other people? Even when it might help if you did? Most of the time, you might feel like you look like you have it "all together" to other folks, but really, you don't? Does it ever seem like everyone else's life is more sunny, or easier, or happier?
And then, in the throes of feeling like that, do you have those moments where you feel like life can't get any better?

Confusing, I know.

Sometimes I am so struck by the beauty all around me. By the insignificance of my small life, and yet the glorious gifts I am afforded by a loving God. The magnificence of mountains and canyons, open to my view, open for my feet to climb, open for my fingers to let the dust run through, slipping, back to the earth. A beautiful, star strewn sky, open for my mind to wander. An open invitation to think about my life and where I'm going, to question what is really significant, for me. To think about my interactions with others. The beauty and wonder of being a mother, of loving two people (for now) more than I could ever have imagined, more than I can ever hope to describe to anyone else. The loveliness of a good book, or reading something thought provoking, witnessing someone's profound gift of words and language. Feeling free to be really dramatic and funny while playing a game with my 10 year old niece. Beautiful and lovely people who love me. Can I really believe that? Having people love you is perhaps one of the greatest gifts. But then I always wonder what they really know of me, if they could possibly love me in spite of my shortcomings. I am grateful for them just the same. For beautiful music, and especially for the chance to sing it. For running. There is something so wonderful about pushing yourself, hard. Working out and pushing, pushing, pushing. It is lovely. Makes you feel like you can do anything.

Sometimes I want to be more, to do more, to have everything right now. And I am not referring to the materialistic having everything right now, but the wisdom of years, the maturity and beauty of a time-tested marriage instead of growing pains, just want to see where we'll be. Sometimes I feel like I'll never be enough, never make it to where I want to be, never be the kind of person I want to become.

That is a disheartening thought.

I guess this is where I get to experience the opposition in all things -- good and bad -- in my own life. It's nice to read about, to understand a concept that we learn and grow through good and bad. But this is how it gets to apply in my life. Right now. Here.

I found out yesterday that one of my girlfriends is contemplating divorce, after a very long and difficult relationship of 13 years, and after finding out, just a short time ago, that her husband has been having an affair for over a year now. She said something inspiring to me when she said, "I'm glad I go through these things. It will only make me wiser and stronger in the end. God is with me through all of this." Wow. She was an inspiration to me from the time I met her. I knew she wasn't happy in her personal life, but she put so much energy into making others happy around her. I don't know how she did it. Her desire to befriend and be loving to those around her often left me feeling amazed and undeserving. But reading that comment last night made me think, "This is the opposition in all things. Being glad and being in so much pain." I think she is a remarkable person.

Just the other night, as Scott and I were singing a closing hymn after some gospel conversation, I was looking at the photograph on the wall of my sisters and I with our spouses and children, taken this past March for my Dad's 60th birthday present. I don't know if it was the black and white photo, or just the whole bit about a moment frozen in time, but suddenly I found myself wondering if someone was going to look at that photo someday, down the line, when we are the ancestors. Will someone wonder about us? The crazy part is that I will probably seem a far-off, disconnected person, someone who lived and has gone on. But this little speck of time, my life, is important to me. It has breath and color, sights, places, people, conversations, burning, bright and beautiful relationships, feeling.

It made me think about what I'm passing on.

I have been thinking a lot, off and on, about history lately. I'm fascinated with the concept of what has gone before, the story of humanity. So many, many people have lived, have had their own experiences and emotion, can maybe relate to something that I know -- even if that is just in loving someone or loving a place or bearing a child. It is thrilling to think about.

I want to know their stories. I want to hear about their lives. I am sure we can find mutual resonance. It is wonderful to think about what a tiny and insignificant person I am amidst billions, and the billions that have already gone on, and yet feel blessed to know so much, so personally.

By comparison, my circle is very small and I wonder a lot about self-change, self improvement, if that circle needs to be wider (it does), how I can be a "wider" person, allowing more in and letting myself give and love more fully to more people. I really liked this talk by Elder Wirthlin from the last conference where he said, "The greater the measure of our love, the greater is our joy. In the end, the development of such love is the true measure of success in life." I often feel like I am living beneath a pocket of pure joy that I could be enjoying fully if I chose to live with more love and less pettiness.

I need to let go of the little things, stop criticizing and celebrate what I love.