Christmas Card: 2017

Y'all, I will never get one of these in the mail. That's just the truth of the matter. So here you are- Wilsons Christmas Card, 2017, a la My Favorite Things. You're welcome for the tune in your head. It's my gift to you.

In seventeen, with some mild trepidation

After a decade of serving the Nation

Wilsons decided—well, tentatively

To separate from the military

Since we were unsure of where life would take us,

We made some changes, and they tried to break us

Squeezed the whole family in like sardines

In an apartment, which burst at the seams

Summer rushed by us, and then in September

On day eleven (we’ll always remember)

Kyle took the leap, and peaced out from that scene

Asked the Air Force for a form 214

Got a new job

And a new house

And a second car

We’re now stuck in Georgia indefinitely

But everything’s good so far

Damien’s ten now, a homeschooled fourth-grader

Loves to do science; a great tennis player

Lyric is six, and she loves Monster High

There’s no rock-climbing wall she wouldn’t try

Malachi’s three and incessantly busy

Keeping him all in one piece has mom dizzy

Killian finally reached The Best Age

Ending the lovely no-Sunday-School stage

Kyle and I both began school; full-time classes

One of us loves it and one… well, he passes

This year makes ten since we kids tied the knot

We’re both still thrilled with the spouses we got

Well, that’s our year

In a nutshell

Simple as we are

‘Twas one full of changes, and waiting, and bills

But everything’s good so far!

Happy Holidays and much love,

The Wilsons

Thanks, God

Several years ago, on a visit to our parents in Colorado, Kyle found his giant childhood tub of Legos, and we decided to bring it home for Damien. When I gave it to him, he said,

"Thanks Mom!"

Damien has always loved receiving presents. (Have you ever seen the video of the thankful kid whose mom gave him an avocado? They could be brothers.) Since the plastic bin had an opaque lid on it, Damien had no idea what was inside, but he was just thankful to get something from us. When he lifted the lid, his eyes lit up a little more; he hadn't spent much time with Legos yet, but he knew, vaguely, that they were a cool toy- especially because Kyle had shared stories of having used them. With a little more conviction, he looked up at me and said,

"Thanks Mom!!"

He spent the next few hours building something. I'm sure it was totally magnificent and unrecognizable, as the majority of toddler sculptures are. It took him a while to get the hang of them and figure out what he could do with them, but eventually he came running to show me his creation with excitement overflowing from his entire being. He hugged me tight and said, with even greater understanding,

"Thanks, Mom."

I told him how awesome he was at building already, and mentioned that he could build all kinds of amazing things with his Legos. He built an entire battlefield of creations, and came back one more time to tell me, ever-so-seriously,

"Thank you, mom."

Having experienced the awesomeness of the gift he'd been given, he began to comprehend the potential in that box full of Legos. He made robot after building after monster after tower. Years later, I still find him often at his box of Legos after hours of intense building. He doesn't have to thank me anymore; I already know that he has developed the quality, rather than the act, of gratitude in his heart, because he continues to use his gift.

This experience with stages of thankfulness can be applied to any gift from God, but in my life no gift has planted more fruitful seeds of gratitude in my heart than the gift of Christ and His atoning sacrifice. 

When we first learn this gift has been given to us, it's like a beautifully wrapped box. We don't really understand what's inside it yet, but we are thankful to have received it. We casually say,

"Thanks, God."

At some point, we open it. We realize what's inside. We have heard about it from those who have used it in the past, and we think it sounds pretty cool. And with increased sincerity, we say,

"Oh, thanks, God."

And then we use it for the first time. We experience what we can do with it. We feel the joy of casting a burden on the Lord, Jesus Christ, and in awe we pray,

"Wow, thanks, God!"

And for a while, we think we have figured out the purpose of the gift. But eventually, something comes along that reminds us that we can use it again, in another way. Perhaps we fail. Perhaps we lose someone. Perhaps we wander from our course and can't find our way. Perhaps we feel pain. Perhaps we battle inner demons. Whatever it is, we realize that we can use the Atonement again in another way, to right another wrong. And we fall on our knees and say,

"Thank you, God."

Over time, having experienced the awesomeness of the gift we've been given, we may begin to comprehend its potential. We use it to heal sorrow after sin after pain after grief. Years pass, as we return to the feet of our Saviour. We don't always express our gratitude in words anymore, but we don't have to; our Father knows that we have developed thankful hearts, because we continue to use that greatest of gifts, year after year.

I believe that God never asks anything of us just "because He says so." There's always a reason. A blessing He wants us to have, and a behavior upon which that blessing is dependent. He, knowing our hearts, surely has no need for us to utter vocal gratitude when we feel it- He already knows! I'm sure He loves to hear it, but I believe He has a greater reason to counsel us to learn gratitude. We thank Him, not for Him, but for us. When we have grateful hearts, we remember the gifts we have been given, and we use them again and again. I believe that God asks us to be thankful because He knows the formula for Happiness. Our actions, then, are what truly speak to Him:

"Thanks, God." 

I can do anything for five more minutes

I have a personal slogan in my life: "I can do anything for five more minutes." I alter the length of time to match whatever I'm going through, but the sentiment is the same. I have four children, all of whom were delivered by C-Section. When I was being prepped for surgery to deliver our third child, the anesthesiologist struggled to get me completely numb. Nothing he tried was numbing the entire location of the necessary incision. After some time and effort, my doctor kindly but urgently told me, "We have to do this now. If we wait any longer, the baby could go into distress. So it's up to you. We can put you under, or we can start the operation as you are now." I looked at my wonderful husband, gripped his hand firmly, and told the doctor to go ahead. "I can do anything for five more minutes."

It wasn't a pretty five minutes. Actually, it was more than five minutes, but that's beside the point.

The point is that there is no stipulation in the commandment that we must endure to the end gracefully.

Imagine the people in the Brother of Jared's barges lit only by rocks touched by the finger of the Lord, with only a hole plugged with a stopper to give them clean air, and tossed about on the waves of the sea. I doubt their endurance was particularly graceful, but they made it across the water.

We don't have to endure pretty.

Imagine the Prophet Joseph Smith, physically torn from his home in the middle of the night by an angry mob, to be tarred and feathered for daring to bring to light missing truths in a society in religious upheaval. I doubt his endurance was particularly pretty, but he did not give in to their attempts to silence him, and successfully set the Restoration in motion.

We don't have to endure neatly.

Imagine Mary, the mother of Christ, traveling- perhaps while in labor- on a donkey, and giving birth to the Savior of the World in a cave fit for animals. I doubt her endurance was particularly neat, but she bravely bore the Son of God, the world's first and best Christmas gift.

We don't have to endure quietly.

Imagine the Son of God crying mightily to His Father to remove the heavy burden He was to bear, yet submitting to His Father's great plan of redemption. Imagine Him as He willingly suffered for every sin, weakness, ignorance and sorrow of every man, woman and child who ever lived and who ever would live- suffering so great that He bled from every pore- and His body trembled from the pain of it. Imagine Him as He carried His cross and was crucified. Imagine His battle with the power of mortality, as He broke the chains of death. Could His endurance have been neat? or quiet?

We aren't commanded to endure sweetly.

We just have to keep on going, one ugly step after another, and believe that there is, in fact, an end to the trials we face. And He can and will help us.

Last January, my Grandfather died after a decade of fighting, at times, up to three forms of cancer in various parts of his body. The first time he was diagnosed with cancer, he felt strongly that he could fight and beat his disease, and through a miraculous combination of medicine, faith and determination, he was successful. It was so taxing on his body and spirit, however, that he said he would not fight again, if he were to relapse. Soon after he went into remission, my grandmother began to show signs of Alzheimer's disease, and deteriorated quickly. My grandfather was her devoted caretaker, and although she did not always know who he was, or even who SHE was, she somehow knew she was safe with him, although she was highly confused and combative with other caretakers. His cancer returned, more aggressively. Despite his earlier resolution, my grandfather pledged to fight that cancer as long as his sweetheart of 59 years could be comforted by his presence- it was his final mission call.

Late in 2015, his condition deteriorated to an extent that he could not live in the same home as his dear wife, for risk of infection. He fought to recover the strength to have a late Christmas celebration at their home, where his adult children gathered, to be together one last time on this side of the veil. He told them at that time that he knew he could be of no further comfort to his wife, and he knew that he had honorably completed the final responsibility given him by Heavenly Father. He was at peace. Within the week, he passed away, to wait for his beloved wife on the other side of the veil.

My Grandfather knew that the trials we must endure to the end are always matched with a promise of things we may enjoy endlessly:
Healed and perfected bodies
Restored minds
Eternal marriage
Eternal families
Eternal progression
Eternal joy in the presence of our Savior and our Heavenly Parents

He knew that the result of enduring to the end is a collection of blessings that never end.

I flew to Washington with my then-youngest child, to attend my grandfather's funeral. Our return flight encountered severe turbulence- worse than I had ever experienced. As the plane bounced and jumped and veered and seemed ready to roll over, fellow passengers panicked and sobbed. A feeling of peace washed over me as I held my undisturbed, sleeping son close to my body, and the words to a hymn replaced my thoughts:

"Master, the tempest is raging! The billows are tossing high!

The sky is o'ershadowed with blackness. No shelter or help is nigh.

Carest thou not that we perish?

How canst thou lie asleep when each moment so madly is threat'ning a grave in the angry deep?

Master, with anguish of spirit I bow in my grief today.

The depths of my sad heart are troubled.

Oh, waken and save, I pray!

Torrents of sin and of anguish sweep o'er my sinking soul, and I perish! I perish! dear Master.

Oh, hasten and take control!

Master, the terror is over.

The elements sweetly rest.

Earth's sun in the calm lake is mirrored and heaven's within my breast.

Linger, O blessed Redeemer!

Leave me alone no more, and with joy I shall make the blest harbor, and rest on the blissful shore.

The winds and the waves shall obey thy will: Peace, be still.

Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea or demons or men or whatever it be, no waters can swallow the ship where lies the Master of ocean and earth and skies.

They all shall sweetly obey thy will: Peace, be still; peace, be still.

They all shall sweetly obey thy will: Peace, peace, be still."

The Atonement of Jesus Christ is stronger than whatever we're facing. Through the Atonement we can travel through the turbulence of mortality in peace.

It's stronger than depression.

It's stronger than loneliness.

It's stronger than that math class you're struggling in.

It's stronger than the terrible twos and disability and betrayal and infertility and unemployment and divorce.

It's stronger than sin.

It has us covered, no matter what we're facing.

As Jeffrey R. Holland so beautifully stated: "Don't you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead. Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don't come until heaven; but for those who embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, they come. It will be all right in the end. Trust God, and believe in good things to come."

I testify that when we build a relationship with Jesus Christ and study the Atonement and put it to use in our daily lives, He will share the weight of our burdens, and walk with us until we reach the end of our trials. We may have to drag ourselves through the mud and the mire to get there, but we will get there.

A Wilson Year, 2016

I know you must have missed it- our family Christmas news-
And so I whipped a letter up while baby took a snooze.
Now if you'd care to join me, I'll briefly summarize
our favorite pastimes of this year. It's over! How time flies!

Killian, who's zero, came to us in early Spring.
And now he loves to crawl around and stand on everything.
He has two teeth and thinks we all exist to give him food.
He laughs and sleeps and cries and poops, just like all babies do.

Malachi- Oh, Malachi- our impish two-year-old:
that tiny ball of energy is mischief uncontrolled.
And yet, for all the trouble he can make in boundary-phase,
he matches it with equal love and humor every day.

Lyric's now a five-year-old and started school this fall.
She's learning reading, writing, math, geography and all.
When she grows up she'd like to be a fairy gymnast or
a ballerina princess or a flying unicorn.

Damien thinks Cub Scouts should meet more than once a week.
This Spring he joined a soccer team- he's quite light on his feet.
Each Friday he plays football with his dad and Air Force guys.
At nine years old he holds his own despite his smaller size.

Kyle's a human jungle-gym for all four kids to climb.
When he gets home they all go crazy. Every single time.
At work he got promoted; at church he taught the youth.
He's pretty much the greatest. I'm not bragging- it's the truth.

My job is to facilitate the things I wrote above.
I homeschool, cook and grocery shop, drive taxi, clean and love.
This year was highly sleep-deprived thanks to one tiny bebe,
but as long as we're all happy that's quite good enough for me.

The Vote Has Been Noted

As my readers who are fellow members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints most likely know, a sparse, but audible opposing vote sounded during the sustaining of the First Presidency during the Saturday afternoon session of General Conference (a worldwide broadcast in which we listen to revelation and counsel from church leadership). This unusual phenomenon has been whirring around in my brain ever since, and I've felt that I should share what I've been thinking about it publicly. To my readers who are not members of the church, I apologize if none of this makes much sense. I'm happy to answer questions or clarify anything I've expressed here, if you make it through and have any confusion or curiosity.

What I've learned this weekend can be broken down into three ideas:

1. A diagnosis doesn't change a condition

This is a concept I learned second-hand from my very wise mother, when I was a child. A family member of a friend had received a diagnosis of a condition that had been affecting him for quite a while, and this friend was quite distressed by the news. My kind mama, being the mother-to-all that she is, sat down to have a talk with her. Among other sentiments, she asked the young woman something along these lines: "Is he any different today than he was yesterday?" And of course, he wasn't. This is a concept that has burrowed into my mind ever since.

I recall once being ill for quite a long time, without relief from rest or over-the-counter remedies. I wasn't much of a sick-complainer child, which occasionally led to my sickness going unrecognized and untreated for far too long. Finally, when I had missed enough school to make it apparent that I wasn't getting better on my own, I got carted off to the doctor's office, where an examination and tests verified that I was suffering from severe bronchitis. Naming the illness didn't change it, but it did give us the information we needed to seek out proper treatment. It took a very long time for me to fully recover- much longer than it would have if I had just spoken up and admitted the severity of what I was feeling- but I did, indeed, get better.

Is the Gospel any different today than it was Saturday morning? Of course not. It's no surprise that there are those within the church who don't sustain the Prophet. Sadly, this is inevitable, somewhere among our 15 million members. The only thing that has changed is that we are officially aware of a condition about which we always knew, though unable to name it. I believe that Christ, who healed the sick and brought sight to the blind, can heal His Church and give us the vision and understanding we need to be compassionate and work toward resolution, while standing for what we believe.

2. Thee lift me and I'll lift Thee, and we'll ascend together

I currently serve as the ward choir pianist and the Relief Society secretary in my ward. In both of these callings, I have the privilege and the burden of seeing what it means to sustain someone in a calling. Both of these callings are what I'd call "supporting roles." As an accompanist, my job is to do whatever the ward choir director asks me to do. As a secretary... well, they could probably just rename this position "Errand Girl." This makes it very easy for me to sustain my Choir Director and my Relief Society President, as I promised to do when I raised my hand for them in Sacrament meeting, simply by doing everything I can to magnify my own callings.

But what of my efforts to sustain others in the myriad callings that keep the church running and the Gospel spreading? Do I sustain my Visiting Teaching Coordinator by completing and reporting my visits? Do I sustain my Ward Mission Leader by giving of my time and substance to help the full-time and ward missionaries, and having the faith and courage to open my mouth and trust it will be filled with the right words? Do I sustain my children's Primary leaders by signing the substitute roster or helping the kids learn the Articles of Faith or Primary songs? Do I sustain my Bishop by lifting him up in prayer, paying my tithing, doing my best to be on time to church, or showing up on my designated week to clean the building?

Sustaining a member in his or her calling begins when we raise a hand as they are called, but that is, of course, purely symbolic. It represents (or should) something greater: a commitment we make to our brothers and sisters to shoulder the vast responsibility of running our organization together. To carry one another sometimes and to be carried other times. Often, I think I make the mistake of floating through the sustaining of church officers on auto-pilot. I raise my hand when I'm asked to vote, without much consideration of what it actually indicates. In light of this realization, I have to admit that the opposing vote in the Saturday session was probably more carefully-considered and sincere than my sustaining one. It's time for that to change. I am committing, this minute, to be more aware of the significance of the agreement I make with my raised hand. I am committing to find more ways to put concerted effort behind the symbol of my sustaining vote- to follow my Prophet.

(Please, tell me you've done this.)

3. It must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things

For a too-long period of time, I left the Church. During that time, I worked hard to convince myself that I didn't believe in any of it. I probably worked harder at NOT believing than I ever worked at believing. I did my best to dwell in unholy places, so the Holy Ghost would have no power to prod me to make wiser choices. When I met my husband, we both identified as Agnostic. I wanted nothing to do with God, or Christ, or the Gospel. And then something happened.

Kyle started hearing things about the LDS church- ridiculous things, you know, like the alien theory. That kind of lovely lore. Knowing I'd grown up in the Church and that my parents were still active members, he turned to me to confirm or deny what he'd been told. This led to many long discussions, in which I explained what "they" actually believe. At some point, after a particularly outrageous rumor and discussion, it hit me: Why was I so vehemently defending a religion I had no interest in? Why was it so important to me that my boyfriend understand the actual doctrines of a Gospel I'd renounced? And so it was that by creating opposition, my LDS-ignorant, non-member boyfriend started me on the path back to my Heavenly Father.

There are a few common situations in the Church that can sometimes create very awkward moments. A Sacrament prayer that must be repeated 16 times because of some missing preposition; a baptism that must be re-done because someone has an unfortunately floaty toe or two; the wrong woman, due to misread notes, mis-called as Relief Society President; an opposing vote during the sustaining of Church officers.

These are some of the events that help me feel the Spirit strongest. Hearing a 16-year-old Priest struggling to read the Sacrament Prayer properly fills me with compassion, and pride at the perseverance of a young man who understands the importance of this ordinance. Seeing a worthy man serve in the waters of Baptism, patiently repeating the process until it is properly carried out, bolsters my testimony of the Priesthood and baptism by immersion. Knowing that that Sister would accept a calling as Relief Society President this moment, if that's what was intended, reminds me that the Lord qualifies the called. These slightly uncomfortable events have always given me strength.

When I heard the opposing vote against President Monson, I immediately felt that same fire with which I'd defended the Gospel years ago flare up within my heart. I wanted to stand and raise my hand and raise my voice right here from my living room and tell that dear, wonderful old man that I sustain him! In that moment I would have had the courage to shout it from the mountaintops. And that burning of the Spirit cemented all the more firmly, because of the opposition, my conviction that President Thomas S. Monson is indeed a Prophet of God in the latter days. I believe that he speaks with God. I believe that he receives revelation pertaining to the entire world at this very time. I believe that he is the mouthpiece of the Lord. I also know that he is prone to the same weaknesses and failures that plague every human on this Earth, but I have faith that the Lord qualifies him and bears him up in his efforts to serve the Church and the world.

**********************

And so, opposing voters, I sincerely thank you for prompting these reflections. Your choice on Saturday has motivated me to search my soul for deeper understanding, and the Spirit has testified these principles to me as a result.

She was too lazy to mail out a Christmas letter, so instead she did THIS!

I don't mail out a Christmas card or letter. I never have, and I can pretty much promise I never will. There are just so many excellent things to do with my time, like making cupcakes... eating cupcakes... dreaming about cupcakes... that it just won't get done. Therefore, I shall use my lovely blog to do what I always do with my lovely blog: talk about myself! Well, my family. Same thing. In short, welcome to the Wilson Family Christmas Letter of 2014. I kind of feel like it should rhyme.

Merry Christmas, dear friends, and to family alike! 

(And the three random dudes who subscribe to this site.)

With plenty of patience, you're welcome to hear

all the things that our family lived through this year!

We've spent twelve whole months on the same coast, (the east),

Which is very confusing. The house that we leased

when we moved here last fall had a problem with heat.

Georgia's iciest winter in years was a treat.

We survived January with heaters and quilts. 

Then in February, the baby I built

finished up his gestation and came out to play.

Malachi got to scream peacefully for nine days,

and then the event to which I now refer

as "Treepocalypse" happened- as you've likely heard.

We had a bad ice storm, which sent half a tree

crashing icily, unceremoniously,

right down through the roof in our Damien's room

with a terrible, frightening, lease-ending boom.

We moved from that town to the next in a rush

to a beautiful home with no trees there to crush.

Our two bigger kids handled all this with grace.

They've got lots of practice at being displaced,

but given the circumstance, we could not be

more thrilled at their patience and maturity.

The next several months seemed to pass whirlwind-style

helped along not a little by night shifts for Kyle.

Our firstborn completed his first year of school;

he's brilliant at math and he thinks art is cool.

And during the summer, with thought and debate

we decided to home-school, and that has been great!

Our Lyric likes having her brother at home-

it gives her more people to rule from her throne.

As you may be aware, when someone turns three,

she suddenly turns into high royalty.

She's beautiful, funny, outspoken and smart

and she dances and plays with all of her heart.

Malachi's grown the most, which is to be expected

and we've yet to find one single food he's rejected.

He's learning to walk and refuses to say

anything but "DADA," to his mother's dismay.

Kyle and I are quite boring, as we like to be.

He teaches youth Sunday School, and somebody

thought it would be an excellent joke to call me

to serve as a women's group Secretary.

They claim that the Happiest Place on this Earth

is a few hours south of us. For what it's worth, 

we finished our year with a trip down to see

if Orlando could bring us some holiday glee.

And it did. But the fact is, the claim isn't true.

We had fun, we came home, and confirmed what we knew:

'14 was packed full of hard work, stress, some pain.

But as long as our faith and our family remain, 

The Happiest Place on the Earth is right here, 

and we'll love '15 just as much as this past year.

You Can't Do Anything If You Put Your Mind To It

This is a concept I'm attempting to teach my children in a positive way. Damien, of course, has gone to a year of school and been fed this lovely, empowering, and patently untrue (when taken literally) principle, and he is SUCH a literal child that I occasionally have to crush dreams of sprouting wings or running (on foot) to Colorado to visit his grandmas tomorrow through sheer willpower.

When I was pregnant with Malachi, I faced the lovely glucose tolerance test. Many women dislike this test because of the icky, syrupy test substance, but my specific circumstances make it more of an issue of actual inability. I considered refusing to even attempt it, but after much pressure from my doctor and nurses, I made the poor decision to push through it. Having undergone a gastric bypass and being the owner of a small pouch instead of a standard-sized stomach, I am unable to consume significant volumes of food or drink, and anything with a high concentration of sugar makes me temporarily quite ill. However, never having placed an actual quantifiable limit on either volume or sugar concentration, I decided to give the test a shot and try the limits. 

If you've ever done the glucose test, you know that you're given a fairly small bottle of an unnaturally-colored liquid of sickly-sweet, disgustingness; the intensity of the nasty is generally dependent on brand, flavor and temperature. You are told you must consume the entire bottle in five minutes or less, and then a timer is set and your blood is drawn at appropriate times depending on the method of testing. The nurse handed me the bottle and I realized I had made a grave mistake in proceeding with this test: it definitely exceeded my capacity. I had already had my preliminary blood drawn so I (stupid stupid stupid) decided to do it anyway. At 4 minutes I was *maybe* halfway through. The nurse came in and chastised me, saying that I would have to start over if I didn't hurry up. Then she left the room, failed to close the door all the way, and began loudly complaining to my doctor that I was dawdling. He reminded her that this was a particularly difficult procedure for me and she might need to give me some extra time. (Thank goodness SOMEONE understood how difficult it is to fit a half-cup of syrupy nastiness into a quarter-cup container.) She sighed irritably, and then she said it: "It's not that hard- it's just mind over matter."

You don't need to know the details of the rest of the story. A vague overview involves nearly passing out and falling off the exam table, vomiting in a trash can in the lobby, and spending the next three days in bed. It was a bad idea. I should have refused. I should have told them "I'm sorry, I can't do this test." I shouldn't have decided to just "put my mind to it." Sometimes, matter wins.

And now I'm realizing- do I set my children up for situations like this when I preach to them that they can do anything if they just put their minds to it? If I tell my kid he can do anything if he just wills it hard enough, or learns enough, or practices enough, what do I tell him when he proves, due to nature or circumstance, to be simply incapable of accomplishing something? I remember being asked to put something away, as a child, that was supposed to be put on a shelf that I simply could not reach, no matter what I climbed. My limitation (height) was not one I chose, nor one I had any power to change by a force of will. And I was devastated that I had failed. 

So I've decided to un-teach my children this idea. For a positive replacement, I will teach them the following:

In everything you do, do the best you can.

Sometimes you will try and fail. This does not diminish your worth.

Have the courage to sometimes say "No, I cannot do that." Have the humility to admit when a task is better-suited to someone else.

Be honest about your strengths. Draw on the strengths of those who love you to fill in where you are limited.

I believe that we can, someday, attain every righteous desire of our hearts. But sometimes, when every effort fails, it's not that day yet. And sometimes, it's not the right desire. We need to have faith in our abilities, but we also need to recognize our inabilities and know that we aren't meant to be completely capable, whatever our measure of determination. I don't entirely hate the concept of "you can do anything if you put your mind to it" because I understand that it isn't meant to be taken to the extreme of sprouting wings, but for my very denotative child, I think this will work much better.

And as a side note, I'll definitely be refusing all future glucose tolerance testing.