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.

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

Feel Free To Call Them Beautiful

If there is anything virtuous, lovely,

or of good report or praiseworthy, 

we seek after these things.

The home in which I grew up has a lovely neighbourhood view of Pike's Peak. I remember looking at that mountain and loving its beauty: in the winter (and fall, and spring, and sometimes summer) with its peak capped with snow; in the fall, laden with the orange and yellow and red of native leaves; during a thunderstorm- backlit by huge streaks of lightning. I remember the awe it inspired, and I remember wondering why it needed to be there. Sometime in my young adult life I came to the conclusion that it didn't "need" to be there. The words of the verse ring true to me: 

"When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur and hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze: Then sings my soul, My Savior, God, to Thee; How great Thou art!" 

The beauty of the Lord's natural creations is a testament to me of His love. He didn't NEED mountains in order to save me. He didn't NEED the forests and flowers and fields and beaches to save me. He didn't NEED the world to be a beautiful one in order for the power of His atoning sacrifice to be sufficient. But He created Beauty, perhaps, because He knew that I would need it. There was a time, up in a different, secluded house, in a national forest in the mountains in which I lived, when the stars in a clear sky were the only reminder I had that maybe He was still near me. Beauty has given me hope when there was no other hope and hints of joy in situations of misery.  

I value beauty. And yes, I value beauty in people. I believe that human beings are God's greatest creations, and I believe that He intended us to find each other beautiful. I find beauty in freckles, and muscles, and hair colors and styles, and eyes that smile, and symmetry and asymmetry. I find beauty in graceful movement and athletic prowess and tasteful, flattering clothing, and charming clumsiness, and the human form and figure. And I find value in the recognition of beautiful people. I love to watch people and find the outward things that make them beautiful to me.

What I don't love are societally-imposed definitions and boundaries on what physical qualities we're "supposed" to find beautiful. I don't love that we're so encouraged to be "more beautiful than" or "beautiful like." I strive to show those around me (especially my children) that beauty doesn't need to be comparative. A comparison of two people should register as apples to walruses. An apple will never be a beautiful walrus, and people should be beautiful because they ARE, not because they have smaller feet than Jennifer Aniston. I teach these ideas to my children, and I will continue to do so because I think it is important.

I've read a lot of highly popular blog posts recently about the need to recognize qualities other than physical beauty in children, especially in little girls. While I agree that it's vitally important to seek out and build up those invisible traits, I also feel the extent to which compliments on a child's appearance are sometimes demonized ignores an important gift that we are given as human beings. Physical attraction (not even in a romantic or sexual sense) is an important aspect of human interaction. I want every child to feel confident in his or her appearance, and empowered to recognize the beauty of others- in every different way in which it may manifest. There's no need to reduce the value of beauty, only a need to broaden its definition. So if you look at my children and you happen to think they are beautiful, please feel free to tell them. And trust me to teach them what that really means.

The Thing About Poison

Here is an up-front disclaimer: This post is about pornography. It is directed specifically at women whose spouses have used or are currently involved with pornographic material, and it is written from an LDS-specific perspective that all pornography is detrimental to homes and societies, and morally unacceptable. There are other situations I could write about (people currently addicted to porn, men whose wives use porn, people who aren't married, etc) and there are many people, including some of my readers, who vehemently disagree with my fundamental beliefs regarding porn. I understand that we may not agree; all I ask is that comments remain respectful and considerate, or blank. On with the show.

I want to address some of what I consider to be current culture's greatest logical fallacies and outright lies, told to women who seek advice, devastated by their husbands' pornography use. The reason I feel the need to express my thoughts on this subject is that I hear the constant and deafening cry for celebration of diversity, and yet on this subject I see women who are struggling, tragically and brutally beaten into submission (most often by other women) and servitude to social norms with many of the following statements:

*"All men look at porn. If you find one who says he doesn't, he's a liar."

*"If you accommodate him more, he'll only do it when you're not around."

*"Maybe you should try watching it with him! You could learn a lot!"

*"It doesn't matter where he gets his appetite, as long as he comes home for dinner!"

*"I would never presume to tell my husband what he can and can't do- I'm not his mother."

*"I think you should question, deep down, why you're so uncomfortable with it. It probably means you're just insecure."

Have you heard them? I have. Far too many times. Aimed sometimes at people I love, sometimes at strangers, sometimes at people of whom I am less than fond. We are not allowed to be Not-Ok with porn. Each and every time these statements tear down a human being, I watch them crumble and I cringe. I want to catch their broken souls up as they fall to the ground and shake them and look them in the eye and SCREAM, "Don't believe this! Don't take it in! You don't have to accept this! Listen to me!!

And since I can't force anyone to listen, here are some rebuttals I'd like to make, if I could:

*Every man does not use pornography. Period. Whether a person who would say this to you believes porn is good or bad, it is a dismissive and subjugating view of mankind. There are men who believe, of their own accord, that pornography has no place in their lives and stick to that conviction wholeheartedly. This position also implies that because "they all do it," it's something we just have to accept. Well, doesn't that just take us back 100 years.

*Never let anyone tell you that if you were more available, he wouldn't have to turn to pornography to fill his needs. Not only is this psychologically unsound (pornography addiction has been found to be less about sex and more about filling some other emotional void), it places responsibility for his actions on your shoulders. Pornography use is a choice. He has the power to choose another alternative to express the emotions that lead him to it.

*Watching pornography with your husband as an attempt to reduce his pornography use is like taking up smoking in an effort to help him quit. Nobody wins. One of the most incredible promises a partnership can make is to give 100% of their sexual experiences to each other. To learn together, with no outside input.

*Don't excuse treatment that hurts you. Just don't do it. You have a right to be treated like a daughter of God. Like a person of infinite worth. He has the power to control his appetite, and you can empower him to do so.

*You're not his mother, you are his wife. He is your husband. You are the person to whom he committed himself and his fidelity. No other woman or man need be involved in your sexual relationship, and you are not unreasonable to expect that. You are not telling him what he can and cannot do by inviting him to reconsider his use of pornography: you are reminding him of his divine potential, his power over the natural man inside him, and his strength to overcome temptation. And you make an equal commitment in return.

*If you knew there was poison in your food, would you be comfortable eating it? If you knew there was a serial killer in your home, would you feel secure? There are things in this world about which it is rational to be uncomfortable and insecure. So go ahead, question deep down why you're not comfortable with porn. Is it insecurity? GOOD. Pornography is the most insidious poison. Don't ever let feelings of deep discomfort, a desire to protect yourself and your home, make you believe there is something wrong with you. Don't let anyone tell you you are wrong not to go invite the serial killer in your basement up to share a bowl of poisoned stew.

Finally, if you are struggling with this monster in your life, please know that your Heavenly Father loves you. He sees your pain. He counts your tears. You are not alone. Don't believe those lies of the adversary. Don't take them in. It is ok to not be ok with pornography. And it can get better. 

If you are in need of inspiration or support because of a loved one's pornography use, please visit  http://overcomingpornography.org. It is full of truly enlightened information and help.