Happy Mother's Day

Quite often I look at my babies,

And notice the features we share.

Could I choose just what they'd inherit

This would be my sincerest prayer:

To witness creation's magic

And the pain a brother hides

To shed the tears of compassion

Give them my mother's eyes.

To offer the lonely friendship

To patiently fill life's demands

To gracefully carry their burdens

Give them my mother's hands

That they may always speak kindly

Sing praises to Him and rejoice

Share truth and hope with all nations

Give them my mother's voice

Let them accept, love and welcome

Let them learn the great Master's art

Give them charity, courage and passion

Give them my mother's heart.

Once An Addict

We're not sayin' you can change him,

'Cause people don't really change.

Eight years ago this moment I had a craving. I did what I always did, and found someone willing to share my drug of choice that night. I snuck out of my parents house and did what I always did, and got high. When I got back to my neighbourhood, I had my ride drop me off at a path I used to bike as a child so that I could finish my pack of cigarettes before I went back home. I walked down that path, cut through the trees to cross the stream and go to a clearing where I used to play, and for whatever reason, that moment, my heart broke inside me. I sat there for at least two hours and smoked my cigarettes and cried. I don't know why that day, that moment, that place, was The Day, The Moment, The Place, but for whatever reason truth got through to me and I saw what I was doing to myself and to my life, and knew I needed to change. I didn't know how to do it, I didn't have the income or the resources to get professional help, and I didn't have the confidence that I even could do it, but Oh, how I wanted to. To make a long story short, I did it. I quit. And it was really, really hard. And there was a concept, popular in addiction recovery literature and discussion, that almost became my downfall:

Once an addict, always an addict.

I understand how, in the context of long-term healing from a crippling addiction of whatever kind, this is an important and useful idea. Having once been addicted to a substance from which withdrawal felt like trying to walk away from my skin, I understand the importance of a lifetime of vigilance to avoid situations that might make me vulnerable. I get it. But considering my path TO drug addiction began with a staggering lack of self-worth, this was a concept that dug at me. Would I always be defined by my poor choices? Was I even worth the effort to repair, or had I broken myself into too many pieces to hide the cracks? Would I ever be myself again? Would I always be an addict?

As I turned my eyes back in Heaven's direction during my recovery, I agonized over the idea that "people don't really change." I underwent a grueling repentance process and learned how to use the power of Christ's Atonement to free me from sin, to free me from addiction, to free me from the guilt of my past. And I convinced myself that people DO change. The Atoning Sacrifice of Jesus Christ has the power to right what's wrong. It has the power to transform a heart, a body, a soul. It has the power to correct a course that was so misdirected there seemed no chance for recovery. That people don't really change, I thought, was a lie that Satan concocted to make human beings lose hope.

It was a valuable revelation. But it didn't quite satisfy me. Eventually, I learned that Jesus could pick up the pieces and reassemble the vessel that was my being, yes. But not only can and does He put it back together, He mends it so completely that it isn't "like new," it is new. In time I learned that the concept I had to reject to get to that point was actually true, but in a different way than I had applied it previously.

People don't really change.

It wasn't that I was once an addict, therefore always an addict. It wasn't that I would be forever affected and defined by my mistakes. It wasn't that I would be forever in a state of recovery. I learned that I had to look back further. I had to look back to my origins.

I am a daughter of my Heavenly Father.

He loves me.

I am of infinite worth.

I am a child of God.

It. Never. Changes. Nothing I have ever done or could ever do could change who I really am. Not addiction, not sin, not failure, not guilt... There is no force or condition on this Earth that has the power to change the eternal definition of who I am.

As I celebrate eight drug-free years tomorrow, that's the message I would share. I held the same worth in the eyes of the Father of my spirit the day I was born as I did the day I picked up the pipe, and the day I put it down, and today, and for all tomorrows. That will not- cannot- change. I will ALWAYS be worth the effort of positive changes and repentance in my life, but when I fall short, my value is not diminished. 

"Remember, the worth of souls is great in the sight of God." -No qualifiers. No conditions. 

Doctor Grandma

I have the coolest grandma in the world. She raises buffalo (ok, ok, Great Danes, but try convincing the five-year-old version of my baby brother they weren't buffalo), she once owned an arcade where patrons were required to kiss a ceramic duck if they cursed, you'll never beat her at air hockey (or bowling, for that matter) unless she lets you, and she's still awesome even when you're stranded in Laramie, Wyoming... which is an impressive feat. I can't see, smell or taste Diet Pepsi, root beer popsicles or peanut M&Ms without being magically transported to her dining room table to play a round of Rook and somewhere in the boxes in the garage (we just finished moving a few days ago- gimme a break!) is carefully packed a grandma-hand-painted ceramic statue of a little girl reading a book to her little sibling that has accompanied me throughout at least the last 20 years of my life. I remember when she would come for Easter and bring us baskets, and how guilty I would feel when she would stay home from church or leave early to make us delicious food... I remember a particular cake batter she mixed up and then accidentally dropped on the floor. "I didn't even swear!" she proudly proclaimed. Years later I was in a car accident and giggled when my first thought in the aftermath was "I didn't even swear!"

I have the coolest grandma in the world.

One of my grandma's secret magic talents is playing Doctor Mario. I remember watching her play, as a child, and being utterly baffled by her. She would deliberately not break the most obvious lines. Sometimes she would just drop a block in the most random place. She would build up these impossible-to-come-back-from piles of bizarre piece placements and I would sit there inwardly puzzling to myself, "Why in the world would you do that? Why didn't you use that block to break that line? Oh, here's a double red, she'll break it now... WHAT THE HECK WHY DIDN'T SHE DO IT???" It made no sense. And the blocks would fall faster and the stage would get more cluttered and things would spiral quickly out of control, and I knew she was about to lose... At least that's how I saw it.

Until.........

Until she would get the perfect sequence of pieces and BAM BAM BAM BAM one by one she would calmly set them into place and the giant mess of seemingly random insanity would simplify, condense, disappear... all in seconds. She always knew. She knew that if she just waited, the necessary colors would fall. If she just set up the situation in a way that made sense to her, though perhaps not to her watching grand-daughter, she could make it right when the time came. Eventually I learned to trust that she would fix it all when she was ready. That she was just setting up the perfect circumstances to win the stage in the coolest possible way. Grandma knew what she was doing, and I knew it, even though I still couldn't always see it.

Welcome to my recent history.

Heavenly Father knows what He's doing with me. I can't see it and I can't always understand why things happen the way they do. Lately it's felt a bit like one of my grandma's Doctor Mario setups: a strange, inexplicable set of difficult circumstances where I've had no choice but to sit and watch the pieces fall, and sometimes wonder, "Why in the world would you do that? Why didn't you use that block to break that line? Oh, here's a double red, it'll break now... WHAT THE HECK WHY DIDN'T YOU DO IT???"

But I've learned -am still learning- to put my trust in One who knows better, and sees the end before the process. He knows the setup. He knows where to place the pieces. He knows just how crazy it can get before it's time to complete the stage and move on to the next. And I'm learning to let Him take the controller, because Heaven knows what a mess I've made when I've tried to play on my own. Every piece of my life, even tree limbs through my roof, has had a strategic placement in its stage, and lucky (blessed) me: when I let Him drop the blocks, I get to win in the coolest possible way.

I Am Thankful For the Doctrine of Gratitude

So, not only am I writing this blog, but I was asked on Sunday to speak next Sunday on developing an attitude of gratitude. Can I just say, first off, that I really wish those words didn't rhyme? I worked on my talk today and had to make sure I didn't put them anywhere near each other- I HATE rhyming, unless I'm reciting poetry. Which I AM doing in my talk, so that's plenty. Anyhow. Having a thankful heart is one of my soapbox issues... and since, from my soapbox, I usually only reach... well... me... I'm excited to get to speak about this topic. It means a lot to me.

One thing I realized, while I was formulating my thoughts earlier, is that I am incredibly grateful that I've been taught all my life that gratitude is a commandment. I really think "commandment," with its modern connotations, is a terrible word for the expectations Heavenly Father set out for us. I much prefer guidelines... blueprints... advice. Or maybe just... "Plan of Happiness." Diligently following the commandment to be grateful has turned out to be single most instrumental piece of the puzzle of happiness in my life. Gratitude has successfully filled every hole that ever needed filling. And maybe it's turned me into an insufferable Pollyanna-type, but I can live with that. In fact, I can't live without that.

I found this verse in my research today, and I love it: "And he who receiveth all things with thankfulness shall be made glorious; and the things of this earth shall be added unto him, even an hundred fold, yea, more." (Doctrine and Covenants 78:19) 

I can definitely live with that.

I Am Thankful For Prayer

One of the first songs I ever learned in voice lessons when I was young was "Christopher Robin is Saying His Prayers." There was a line I didn't quite understand, back then: "Hush! hush! whisper who dares! Christopher Robin is saying his prayers." Teaching my children how to pray has given that silly little song new meaning. Christopher Robin is a representation of all children, and I imagine that when my children say their prayers at night, not even the angels would dare whisper over them. I imagine that Damien's earnest pleas that our new cat will be less scared tomorrow are taken as seriously as they are offered. I imagine that every night when Lyric gets to "in the name of Jesus Christ" and giggles with glee over the name, its owner laughs with her. I imagine that every time one of God's tiniest children speaks to Him, a hush falls in the Heavens, that their voices won't be drowned out.

Most importantly, I believe that every one of us is a child of that same Great Listener. And I believe that He leans as intently to hear me as He does my children. I am so thankful to be heard.

I Am Thankful For November... and sharing

Last year Thanksgiving came too early. I decided to write a gratitude post every day of the month leading up to it, and there weren't enough days! This year is one of those awesome years that only happens every so often, when Thanksgiving is as late as it can possibly be: November 28.

Growing up, I really disliked those years. In my family, it's a tradition to kick off Christmas the day after Thanksgiving. We put up the Christmas tree, we watched Christmas movies, we ate Christmas candy (and Thanksgiving leftovers), and settled in with the lights and sparkles to enjoy the Christmas season. The problem here? My birthday is November 29. Those years, I still enjoyed our family tradition, but always with a selfish little sense of being pushed to the side on a day to which I felt personally entitled.

How silly of me!

I wish that I had learned to share that day with the Christ-child. Knowing Him as I know Him now, I would have realized that He- the Giver of all- would have been perfectly happy to share it with me. This year, I'm thankful that I get to celebrate my birthday on the day after Thanksgiving. I can't wait that long to put up my Christmas tree- fortunately, I'm the mistress of my own household now so it'll probably go up tomorrow (muahahaha). But the day after Thanksgiving will still be filled with Christmas movies and candy and lights and sparkles, and maybe a birthday cake. And definitely the Spirit of Christ, the baby who gave all.

So that's it, folks: today I am thankful that I get to share my birthday with Christmas. And also, that I get to write so many gratitude posts this year. If ever you seek happiness, seek gratitude. Happiness always hides behind a thankful heart.

I'll Treasure the Things You Are

I've read a lot of wonderful blog entries lately- specifically, letters and counsel from loving parents to children who can't read yet, children who aren't here yet, children in general. As a result, I've spent a lot of time thinking about what words of wisdom I'd like to leave for my children- what I want them to remember. And I haven't been able to figure it out, until recently I was reminiscing and the answer came in a memory. Let's go back.

Once upon a time, I was in a play. This may shock those of you who know me best- I am a terrible, terrible actress. I just don't do it. I am a behind-the-scenes-or-the-piano kind of girl. Fortunately, I was a cute little six or seven-year-old child at the time, and I played a cute little six or seven-year-old pioneer girl, so it wasn't too much of a stretch. Even so... despite how awesome I thought I was in the moment... I've seen videos. I was cute, but I wasn't good. It's ok- my character, as did many young pioneers, died on the trek. Probably a blessing to Act II. I just am not and was not a thespian. What I WAS good at, however, was memorizing my lines. I totally rocked that business. So much so, in fact, that I still remember the vast majority of them. I especially remember my one solo lyric. It was part of a trio with my stage-sister and stage-stepmom. Honestly, it was mostly a duet between them, but I had one little winning, childlike interjection of my very own:

"I may not remember a thing you say, but I'll treasure the things you are.*" 

What a brilliant and accurate bit of wisdom. I know that my own mother sometimes agonizes over certain moments, certain choices in her childrearing career. Occasionally, she'll recollect things that happened that she felt may have been particularly regretful moments... and the thing is- 98% of the time, I don't have a clue what she's talking about. As I've grown up a little and gotten over angsty teenage resentment and unjust grudges against my parents, and learned to forgive the Moments and dwell instead on the character of Mom, this little solo lyric of mine took on real meaning. My mom is one of the most committed givers I have ever known. She is a woman of great faith. She is a brilliant speaker, who teaches with the Spirit. She is intelligent and wise- qualities that don't always go hand-in-hand. I could go on. 

What I've realized is that I need to focus less on saying all the right things, and more on doing the right things. I can tell my kids how to behave and who they should strive to be until I'm blue in the face, but what they'll remember is who I am. And they'll learn who I am by watching what I do... even, and maybe especially, when I don't realize they're doing it. So here are some things I commit to showing, not just telling, my children:

1. I will be a wise steward over our family's finances. Needs come first. Wants come when we can afford them, and "affording" will never involve "I'll pay for it later."

2. I will respect my body. I will beautify it modestly, as I would a Temple, and maintain it as I would my home (ok, better, hopefully).

3. I will continually increase my education throughout my life, for the rest of my life. Spiritual education, academic education, social education. I firmly trust that "whatever principle of intelligence we attain unto in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection.**" Personally, I'd like to be well-armed with this life's arsenal of information in the next life so I can start learning the even cooler stuff ASAP.

4. I will be kind to those around me and seek out the good in my fellow man. Life is so much happier when I look for reasons to love, and recognize that as my weaknesses are consistently forgiven, so should I forgive the weaknesses of others. I will audibly build up my fellow man. Heaven knows my strengths could use some extra encouragement so I have something to lean on in moments of weakness.

5. I will treat my marriage as a precious and beloved gift. I will speak to my spouse with kindness, compassion and respect. I will show my children that an equal and eternal partnership is not only a reasonable possibility, but a joy to be sought and worked for. 

6. I will fail. The only thing I've ever done perfectly was standardized testing in elementary school, and judging from the large chunk of my resume consumed by low-paid menial labor, that didn't get me far. When I fail, I will admit it. When I fail with my children, I will apologize and make amends, despite my pride. 

7. I will allow my children to see the healing power of the Atonement in my life. I will never ever allow my children to believe that I believe that I am perfect. I need Jesus to cover my sins and weaknesses, and I won't try to hide that undeniable fact.

My kids are watching, whether I like it or not. It's time I step up and accept that my responsibility is far heavier than simply telling them how to behave. Hypocrisy has got to be one of the greatest enemies of leadership, so it's time I re-evaluate to make sure I'm living as I want them to live. "The prophet Brigham Young said: 'We should never permit ourselves to do anything that we are not willing to see our children do. We should set them an example that we wish them to imitate.'***" 

I would give my children everything, if it were within my means to do so. Security, wealth, education, love, happiness. I hope to say someday that I helped set them on the path to those things, though they will ultimately have to earn them on their own. There are so many things I can't do for them. What I can do is give them a Me they will treasure, because someday they may not remember a thing I say. They'll always remember who I am.

*"The Lesson That I Love Best," by Sally DeFord

**Doctrine and Covenants 130:18

***"Be An Example of the Believers," Mary N Cook, LDS General Conference Oct. 2010