Another healing Sunday fight

I don’t know what it is about Sundays but three of our biggest fights of our marriage have occurred on this holy day.  I think because we’re not distracted by the daily grind, and real issues have time to raise their heads.  This isn’t what we started fighting about (it was about chicken juice and dishes if you must know), but as we were hugging and crying, I admitted I felt sort of defeated.  I feel like I’ve been rejected by loved ones over the past few years, which is fine; I totally get that kids and friends move on.  I don’t pretend to understand or even really accept it, yet I know it’s inevitable.  But when I’ve invested my heart into my friendships and especially my family, I feel sad when it doesn’t seem to matter, hurt that they can just choose to reject me and move on with no explanation.  I don’t get it, and it doesn’t seem fair.  I know, so cliche, so jr. high.  But like I care what it sounds like, I was just telling him how it feels.

I’ve been sad that my son just left for college and has never really looked back, until we come knocking at the rear window every Sunday, curious about his life and how he’s doing.  I explained to my husband through my tears that I feel disposable, that my life’s work doesn’t seem to have meant much.  As I said that out loud, I realized I’d been holding it in for a long, long time.  

As we talked, I basked in his wisdom and soothing advice.  Even though it’s terribly difficult to admit he’s right.  I feel hurt and justified, whereas he’s trying to encourage me to be a little softer.  He’s told me before, you just need to love him, don’t try to fix him.  Love the people who have hurt you.  Obviously solid advice.  But if you know me, you’d know that’s inefficient and not being entirely honest from where I stand.  Why can’t I just say what I really think, why can’t we be real and talk instead?  But I know he’s right.  I think love is a softer way.  Listening is a better way.  Trying to understand rather than be understood is a higher way.  Loving like Christ is a far superior way.

So instead of quizzing our son about his upcoming summer plans as we talked late last night, we skirted around the elephant in the room and kept the conversation light and airy.  Instead of coming across as anxious and concerned and impatient, we asked about rockets, ceramics and girls.  We talked about religion, but only from an academic vantage point as he explained the interesting insights he’s been learning in his most recent class.  We talked about future classes he’ll be taking.  As to a timeline regarding when that might be, we never asked.

Instead of ignoring the ones I feel hurt by, I’m trying to tentatively reach out again.  Because I know, as Todd opened the curtains to show me, sometimes the people who seem to have pulled away are going through difficult times themselves.  Maybe it’s not so much a personal rejection, more of a need to refocus their energies on themselves for awhile.  Maybe they need a soft friend.  Not one who withholds because the friendship isn’t on level ground at the moment.  I feel left out because they haven’t shared their pains with me. Why, I don’t know.  This puzzles me and so my heart yearns to be protected, to let others go before they leave me. I remember being completely honest with a friend about this, asking her if it even mattered that I kept trying to be a friend and she told me straight up, Don’t give up on me.  So many times I’ve wanted to even since.  She doesn’t seem to need me as a friend.  And yet, I hear that sentiment echoing in my mind and I hang on to it as a reminder that maybe others are feeling the same way but just aren’t able to vocalize it.  My mantra has always been, Once a friend, always a friend.  And so it’s confused me and created a tender heart as I sense not everyone feels the same.

I also couldn't help but ask myself when have I let someone go who has tried to be my friend?  How good am I at staying in touch with people I love, and how can I be better? We all have good intentions, I think most of us long for strong and meaningful connections and we love our friends, but I know it's not easy to keep it up with them all.  I know my son and I have a deep love, I know our relationship is solid; when we talk and when we're together, it is loving and warm and we're right back to where we've always been.  I think what's painful is that I miss him.  I miss how it used to be.  And I miss my friends who have other commitments right now, who have moved away, who need to focus on something else for awhile.  Like my son.

As I start a new week with all this in mind, I long to be more Christlike.  I’m recommitted to asking Heavenly Father what He knows instead of relying on only what I see.  I know I profess to be a Christian, and I acknowledge we’ve had a lot on our minds lately with our kitchen and farm and house and kids, like everyone. I’ve been more than a little distracted and self-centered, oblivious to the pains and burdens my friends are bearing. But I’m humbled by my talk with my best friend and confidant, who cried with me and who sees clearly into my heart.  He knows I want to be loving and kind.  But that I’ve been so hurt that it’s hard, that I’m just being cautious. I’m glad for a companion who helps me see what I’ve been missing, what I haven’t been able to give, the one person who can call me out on my misbehavior and show me a better way to love.  I’m thankful for repentance.  So grateful  for a chance to try again.  I’m pleading for a heart like His.  For His love to seep into the crevices of my cracked heart so I can open it again. 

Observed

It was about a year ago that it finally occurred to me why I became so grumpy and unlike my carefree Caren-self whenever our parents came to visit.  We have company all the time, and I feel like I’m running a bed and breakfast some weeks during the summer.  But it’s mostly been when the parents would come that I’d become irritable.  It wasn’t the extra people around or the work load, it had to be something else.  The longer I live, the more I want to get to the bottom of things and to figure out why I behave the way I do so I can change and do better.  Maybe you’re totally past this, I’m still working on it.  But I made huge strides this summer just from pinpointing what was going on.  What I realized is pretty obvious now but helpful as I go forward.

Basically I hate being observed.  I hate people watching my reaction—to anything.  I want to blend in, be in the background, be the helper.  I don’t want people to anticipate how I’ll react, I don’t want to be a performer of any kind.  I like real, I hate fake, and I can’t act to save my life.  And so it’s always bothered me, even as a young teenager, when people have watched my reactions. I hated those gatherings on Christmas with my extended family.  We would save all my birthday gifts and open them in front of everyone once the whole family had gathered in our tiny living room in the afternoon.  What could be worse than already feeling awkward as a teenager and then having uncles aunts and grandparents watching you like you’re on stage?  I hate bridal showers and baby showers where I’m the guest of honor.  Thankfully I’m past that stage.  But that’s why I hate the idea of surprise birthday parties or any gathering where I’m expected to act in a prescribed way.  That’s just it, I can’t act or pretend.  I’m hard-core honest and authentic, so it’s completely out of my comfort zone to act giddy or thrilled or to have to keep smiling… it taxes and exhausts me.

I’ve felt this way throughout my life.  Which is also why I hate charades and other acting games that people like to play at parties.  I don’t mind singing with a (huge) group, and for some reason I don’t mind teaching classes or giving talks, even in front of hundreds of people.  I’ve concluded that they aren’t stressful because I’m prepared and have notes.  But to just wing it, even when giving a comment in Sunday School, I get flustered.  I want to share what I’m thinking and feeling (which is why I write), but I like to get it out quickly so we don’t have to focus on me for long.  I don’t want people to make assessments about me.

So all of this sort of came to me as I was trying to figure out my grumpiness with my loved ones.  I’ve always, always been embarrassed and so remorseful when they’ve left, regretting my poor behavior.  But it’s sort of like when you’re tired and overwhelmed and maybe even hormonal, you can see what you’re doing and yet you’re helpless to change.  And that’s exactly why I decided to get to the bottom of things; it had been going on for too many years and I wanted to be a sweeter daughter and daughter-in-law to these parents I love so much.

But it’s sort of ironic that I would even feel like this because most of the time I simply don’t care what people think any more.  I’m too old and too forgetful to have to keep all that straight or to waste energy trying to remember who I’m supposed to be with who.  Good grief, who does that?  I’m pretty sure about who I am and what I’m hoping to become.  I figure no one knows my heart like God and I do, and that’s all that matters.  If I look like a mess on the outside, so be it.  But with my parents and in-laws… that has always been a bit different.  Partly because we all revert back to how we were when we were growing up when we reunite with our parents and siblings, at least somewhat.  And I think all kids want to make their parents proud of them.  I’ve come to see it’s because I respect them so much.  They’ve been such good parents themselves, that I want them to be proud of me and the family we’ve devoted ourselves to.  I want so much for Todd’s parents to feel ok about who he married, I don’t want them to wish he had chosen a different wife.  I want them all to know their grandkids are in good hands, that their parents are invested in teaching and raising them.  It probably doesn’t look like how they did it, so maybe I think it’s not as good? Do they think I’m being too lenient? Would they have handled the situation differently? Do they feel they have to correct my kids because they don’t think I’m doing it right? Do I push too hard? Require too much? Does it seem like I’m being disrespectful when I talk with my husband openly?  I have no idea!

But how often do you ever get feedback?  About anything?  Maybe if you have a job.  Or if you have kids.  (Both usually only when it’s negative.) But not normally; we may think something, but we rarely ever vocalize what we appreciate.  As a words person, it’s huge to me to receive a compliment.  I can live for weeks—years even—thinking back on a nice thing someone has said to me because it reminds me and encourages me to live up to whatever potential that person saw in me.  But in the one area of my life I care the very, very most about—my marriage and my family—I get the least.  I think that’s true for all of us. And so maybe subconsciously I’ve been afraid they didn’t like or approve of how I was raising their grandkids or treating their son; I never heard otherwise and I think my anxieties got me all worked up.  So sorting this out in my mind was revelatory!  In realizing the why, I could settle and move forward.  By that, I mean I finally admitted it and told them how sorry I was for acting the way I always had.  And told them I finally understood why.  Just that simple realization has relieved my fretfulness.

I know this doesn’t apply to many of you, but maybe someone out there can relate.  I guess I just figure if I’m feeling something, maybe someone else has felt it too.  I can’t believe that in a world with this many people, I’m that unusual.  And so that’s why I write so personally and frankly, in hopes that we can feel more connected and less isolated in what we’re going through.

But as I thought of writing this, I wondered what the point was. I guess I just learned some things that might help someone else.  One is that by taking a step back and asking a few questions, we can usually figure out why we do what we do and then make course corrections if we need to.  If I had continued to go on auto-pilot whenever our parents came, I would continue to have regrets and be embarrassed by my behavior once they left and our relationships wouldn’t be as loving and close as they could be; maybe they would stay away because it wasn’t very comfortable to visit.  But now that I’ve come to understand the situation better, I can change.  Another thing I need to remember is to go to Heavenly Father when I need to know how I’m doing, I know He will always have loving suggestions for me. It takes the pressure off me, wondering how I seem as a parent to even our parents who we look up to so much.  I’ve also learned to share my concerns with the people I love, to be more honest with my feelings.  It’s super hard for me, but almost always it works out and we end up feeling closer.  And finally, I’ve learned that the people I love to spend time with are true friends.  Hopefully they aren’t judging me and holding my weaknesses against me.  I don’t need to worry that they’re observing me with a critical eye; if anything, our parents and the people we love are observing us so they can know how to love and serve us better, isn’t that what we’re doing when we’re observing them?  It’s as simple as that.

The lesson

I had an assignment to teach a lesson in church a few weeks back.  I wondered how Heavenly Father wanted me to handle it, and so I prayed and prayed for some ideas, some direction.  I’ve learned from so many lessons and talks that have flopped that I need His help.  But what I discovered this time was interesting.

My friend and I had to cover the exact same material; we were teaching different groups, one right after the other.  She did such an exceptional job, it was just amazing.  But it made me question what I had prepared.  My notes were nothing like hers.  I had planned to go in a completely different direction.  I hesitated and wondered if I had been inspired after all.  And so I sought out a quiet unoccupied classroom during the following hour and prayed again.  I felt confirmation that the ideas I’d come up with were fine.  The lesson in all of this was that God doesn’t insist we play some version of “Guess What I’m Thinking.”  He allows and encourages and expects us to use our abilities and even—maybe even especially—our personalities to perform the tasks He gives us.  In so many instances I can think of, He simply doesn’t care about the how.

That validation comforted me.  Of course I’m not able to produce the same lesson outline as my friend who has a completely different paradigm, personality, and set of life experiences.  But that’s just it.  That’s the beauty of it all.  What mattered that Sunday is that we talked about Christ.  We talked about loving each other, what we can do to help each other.  The details and how we approached the topic wasn’t nearly as important as what we all felt during our hours together.  This experience led me to think of others like it.  

I was lucky and had an excellent chemistry teacher in high school.  I still remember a couple assignments she gave us.  One was to make a poster to convey any lab rule we wanted.  We could draw something, write something, anything we wanted using our own creativity.  I loved the freedom, the different productions, the variety of talents and angles.  Another one was to create anything we wanted based on the periodic table, the only rule was we had to somehow incorporate the elements.  The really smart kids in our class rearranged the elements into new categories; they were out of my league, completely brilliant, I had no idea what they were talking about.  I took a completely non-academic approach and made up band names and song titles loosely using words that sounded like the elements and made construction paper 45 rpm records.  I listened to music from the 50s all the time, and it was a natural expression for me.  Odd, but completely me.  Again, I loved the freedom she gave us.  I loved that we were exposed to the periodic table, we learned, but we were able to do so in ways that resonated with us personally.  Her friend, the oceanography teacher, was very similar.  I remember making an enormous (several feet long) Loch Ness Monster out of chicken wire and paper mache with my best friend.  What great teachers!!

Our 11 year-old daughter was putting away our Costco stuff and wanted to organize the pantry.  Hallelujah!  I didn’t care one bit how she did it, I was totally happy to abdicate that task to her.  She was brilliant and it turned out better than if I had orchestrated it.  I was thrilled that she wanted to, and I think it could’ve gone badly if I’d infringed on her vision and told her exactly where I wanted things.  (Who cares where the chili or the pasta goes??)

I thought about the kids’ chores. I’m not sure how things work in your house, but our chores seem to change with the seasons and as new needs arise (i.e., animals), so every so often we need to re-visit what needs to be done.  My first thought was to kind of stick with basically what everyone had been doing and tack on a couple to each kid’s (invisible) list.  But a) I couldn’t be bothered and b) I realized that this was up to them to figure out.  So I just typed up a list of everything we expected to get done during the week and let the three of them sort it out.  I love that a) I’m out of the picture and that b) they have self-regulated (they have a vested interest in making sure it is precisely equal and evenly distributed).

As I thought about those teaching and parenting experiences, it made me wonder how often we get in the way and try to control things instead of following God’s example of letting people handle things their own way.  Granted, teachers and parents and God have some parameters, a few expectations; but really, how much of the detail should we oversee or obsess about?  I know what you might be thinking.  I know God cares about the details of our lives.  But He doesn’t impose His will on us; He leaves many things up to us to decide and execute.  I love this admonition, “Verily, I say, men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness.  For the power is in them, wherein they are agents unto themselves.  And inasmuch as men do good they shall in nowise lose their reward.  But he that doeth not anything until he is commanded, and receiveth a commandment with a doubtful heart, and keepeth it with slothfulness, the same is damned” (DC 58:27-29).  I’ve always liked knowing He trusts me enough to make a large portion of my life’s choices on my own and that He expects me to do good according to the dictates of my heart, in ways that resonate with my personality.

I believe He expects us to use our talents and strengths and desires to be the kind of parents, for instance, that we are naturally inclined to be.  I could never be one of those moms who makes fancy cupcakes with matching decorations (I’ll admit I’ve tried, I have no idea why). I’ve tried posters and stars, beans and the jar. (I’m too no-nonsense and simply not a rewards kind of mom; I threw them all out within a week.) I hate sledding and the cold and avoid it all as much as I can.  I don’t see us ever embracing sports.  That’s just not us.  But messes, bring ‘em on.  Animals, definitely.  Camping, love it!  Books, as many as you can carry; stay up as late as you want as long as you’re reading.  Bedtime? Not really, we figure you’ll get there when you’re tired.  It’s just the way we roll.  I know God cares that I’m invested as a mom, I know that.  But I love that He lets me be the kind of mom I want to be.  We still cover the basics.  They eat, we read scriptures, we spend lots of time together, we pray, we play.  It may not look like what the rest of you do, but we’re at peace, I feel like we’re close.  To each other and to God.  And I think that’s all God wants and expects from me.

As I think about all this, it’s freeing.  Because it takes all the judgment out of the picture.  I don’t have to worry about how anyone else is doing anything. And I don’t feel pressure to be like someone else. I already know we have different strengths and likes and lenses we see life through.  It’s awesome to just sit back and watch everyone do their thing, to see how beautifully it comes together when we don’t interfere and keep arbitrary lists of what’s acceptable and what “should” happen.  Thankfully, that’s just not God’s way.  I love that He gives us some guidelines and then lets us run with it.  I can’t help but think back on the variety of teaching and parenting and leadership styles I’ve seen in action.  The bold and loud, the fancy and flamboyant, the calm and quiet.  All have had a huge impact on the people they’ve been asked to lead, and I know they were successful in influencing others specifically because they employed their own personalities and styles.

Like I said, I loved Erin’s lesson so much.  So much.  She is wise and soft-spoken, humble and gentle, strong and full of conviction.  She has a way of connecting with women, she teaches easily of God’s love because she radiates it so convincingly.  But I also loved that after praying and teaching, I felt peaceful knowing that even though our lessons didn’t look the same, each of our offerings were perfectly acceptable.

Consequences of lazy

You’d think I would know better by now, but I’ll give you just a couple examples of how my decisions have affected my family; lame in that they’re real, ridiculous in that they’re recent.  So Friday I left for an 8:30 appointment; I had three that morning.  And was headed to book group at noon.  Afterward I had two choices: go Costco and to the little market to get our produce or head home and deal with groceries later.  I’m a stay-at-home mom (theoretically) with all sorts of discretionary time, not a big deal to switch up my schedule.  But I’m constantly taking the easy way out and just wanted to get home for a bit before getting the kids at 3.  Which is what I chose.  Which meant that I had to take my 13 year-old son with me to the next town over to WalMart (cleaner than the nasty one close to us) for what I thought would be a consolidation of both the little market and Costco, it would give us a little time together, it’d be cheaper, and it wouldn’t take long.  Just for the record, I was wrong on all accounts.  He crabbed the entire way there, the whole 15 minute drive. It took us more than an hour and a half to go to one store.  And I spent a ton.  Plus, I refused to buy most of the produce I needed because it was so much more expensive than our little market sale prices and not as good.  Which meant I had to go to the market and Costco on Monday anyway and I doubled what I would’ve spent on groceries for the week with that one choice.

Over Christmas that same 13 year-old son wanted to buy a computer game, he had his own money, so I acquiesced. Within a few minutes he was distraught because it wasn’t working.  Our home-from-college other son quickly assessed the situation and reported that it wasn’t compatible with our computer.  I hadn’t even thought to check, I just assumed the boys knew what they were doing.  I’d asked our older son to check to see if it was from a reputable site, if it was an ok game.  Which he did.  But I was upset because it was a simple thing to check to see if it was going to be compatible or not, something they didn’t even pay attention to.  I was mad because of their laziness, but mostly my own laziness to step away from what I was cooking to walk over and just look through a few screens.  So we basically just ate the $15.  (But not really, because I just slide that kind of thing over to our “continuing ed” column of our make-believe budget.)  So maybe it wasn’t so much about the money, but it unnecessarily created a tense scene for my sons and me, and it made my 13 year-old feel embarrassed and like I was blaming him, something that I could’ve avoided if I’d taken 30 seconds to check things out.

Just a couple weeks ago I pulled another dumb one.  We replaced our college son’s broken (flip) phone with a used one, which we wanted to get in the mail as soon as we could.  They gave us a charging cord at the store, which I didn’t think to look at till I got home. Of course it didn’t fit in the phone I’d just bought, which was so irritating.  I hate errands.  HATE them.  So I mailed the phone anyway and figured my son most likely had one laying around he could use.  Come to find out he had to order one.  But for some reason the cord he ordered came to our home address and not his college dorm.  Not only that, but it came with an envelope for Postage Due.  So then we had to make another trip to the post office and pay again for a cord that was just delivered and mail it to my son. How hard would it have been for me to have simply gone back to the store where I bought the phone on the way to mail the package and just exchange the cord?  During the three weeks he was without his phone he missed calls and reminders from teachers, club members, and jobs.  Can you begin to see how my lazy ways actually complicate things?  It’s so annoying… to me, my husband, and the rest of my family.

You might remember your days with babies and toddlers.  Do you recall how applesauce, Raisin Bran and oatmeal became solid compounds on their high chair trays? In my early mom days I just ignored their business and figured I’d deal with it later, I always seemed to have so many other fires to put out.  As a busy young mom with littles running around, when I had to finally address the glued-on applesauce or baby cereal hours later, it took considerably longer to  scrape off the tray than it would have if I would’ve simply taken a wash cloth and cleaned it off when I was wiping down my baby.  I surrendered precious time with my baby and toddler by putting it off, time I could’ve been reading to them or just sitting out on the grass with them.  Obviously, I was annoyed and irritated when I had to focus on the clean-up hours later, I was more tired, less fresh, and I wasn’t in a relaxed state of mind, which obviously affects the entire household.

Even this morning, 28 degrees out.  It would’ve easily taken12 seconds for me to run out and start the van a few minutes before we had to leave, but I didn’t ever really feel like it.  Which is no big deal really, just made for a pretty cold ride to school for all of us, something I could’ve easily avoided.  It wasn’t just that I was chilled, it’s that my choice made it cold for the kids as well.  Not a biggie.  And yet, that’s exactly it.  It wasn’t a big deal, so why didn’t I just take the time so that we’d all be a little more comfortable?

I’ve thought about this a lot over the years, and I’m chagrined to notice how lazy I still am.  Truly lazy.  In some ways, when it’s something I like to do, I’m a go-getter.  I’ll organize a closet or drawer any day.  I’ll write a love note or work on a blog any hour of the day. But I’d put off painting for weeks, even though we needed to get all the trim done in four rooms by the time the carpet came.  I constantly put off cooking the food for get-togethers till the very last minute, sometimes up until 15 minutes before guests are due. I’ve made nuts for a friend that didn’t work but I was running out the door, so I had to go with it.  So embarrassing.  I was cooking bread the other day as guests were coming in the door, and it wasn’t working (our oven’s mostly dead, I discovered).  I’d rather set the table and clean than cook any day, so I just put it off.  Now is also the perfect example.  I have to leave in 20 minutes.  Still haven’t done the breakfast dishes, gotten ready, loaded up the recycling, made my lunch, or packed up the van with my errands for the day.  Instead I’m just writing like I have all the time in the world.  Good grief.

There’s not really an analogy, a metaphor, or even a hidden message in all this.  Just an acknowledgment that I still have a ways to go (as you’ll continue to see) and maybe a lesson for all of us as we indulge in our laziness and as we raise our families.  The thing is, it’s not just us our lazy choices affect.  That’s the part I don’t think we (I/our kids) get.  We mistakenly think it’s our business if we want to be lazy or not, it shouldn’t matter to anyone else what we do with our time or other resources.  But that’s where we’re so wrong.

“All are free to choose, of course, and we would not have it otherwise. Unfortunately, however, when some choose slackness, they are choosing not only for themselves, but for the next generation and the next. Small equivocations in parents can produce large deviations in their children! Earlier generations in a family may have reflected dedication, while some in the current generation evidence equivocation. Sadly, in the next, some may choose dissension as erosion takes its toll.” (Elder Maxwell, Oct 1992 General Conference)

Granted, he’s talking about the religiosity and faith of a family, but apply it broadly.  How many generations have been affected by the work ethic (or lack thereof) parents have exhibited and taught?  How many people do we see taking the easy way out in our society these days?

I have friends who were in school for more than a decade longer than we were, way longer than me and many years longer than my husband who became a veterinarian.  No way did they take the easy way out, I’m completely impressed and inspired by them.  They make me wish I could have a do-over. They leave me wondering what I was thinking, why I wasted so much time when I could’ve worked harder to make more of the opportunities I had in college.  This is a regret many adults have I think.  Maybe most of us were inherently lazy as kids and teenagers.  But I’m impressed by those who managed to catch the vision at a younger age. Obviously some still have no idea, and some are playing catch-up (like me).  Granted, everyone has different opportunities and backgrounds, but for those of us who just didn’t quite live up to our potential or work as well as we could’ve, it’s disappointing to realize what could’ve materialized if only we’d tried a little harder.  This principle of delayed-gratification—working hard now for greater rewards down the road—is one we’re in large measure failing to teach our younger set.

I think back to my own schooling and how I slowly let my grades slide over the years I was in college, especially frustrating to note because I’d worked so hard to get in to college. I didn’t even know what my grades in college were until we were moving a few weeks back and I found an old transcript. I just remember worrying more about who I was going out with, where we’d be playing tennis that night, writing my missionary, and working (and working out).  I don’t know where my head was, but I was extremely lazy about what I was really there to do: get an education.  It just seemed like something else was always more interesting or pertinent at the moment.  To this day, my college experience is my biggest regret.  I wish I’d used that time to figure out what I wanted to become—what kind of employment I could use my natural abilities in—instead of just taking classes to finish a major I didn’t even love.  I just try to squelch the memory every time it surfaces (like when we’re getting to know a new couple and we talk about our college years).  As a stay-at-home-mom, maybe you’d think it doesn’t really affect anyone but me.  But what if I actually need to fall back on a useful major?  What if I had used that time to develop some real skills that I could use for a future job?  Even now, I’d love to have something to contribute in some kind of part-time work, I’d like to help with the increasing expenses of an older family, and yet I feel like my education is useless and that I'd have to start over anyway. I continue to feel dumb and uneducated even about what I was supposed to be learning in my major and other general issues I know we covered in school but I lazily ignored. I feel like I wasted my education and it affects how I feel about myself.  Major life regret.

I’m embarrassed to admit I’m still figuring things out—even the small things, and yet maybe you can relate.  I don’t know how many times I’ve left dinner to the last minute simply because I’m too lazy to think about it earlier in the day or even the afternoon (something to do with not really loving to cook), but I’m learning that dinner is a million times easier if I take 15 minutes before I go shopping and plan out the week. Totally easy, but it makes all the difference in the days ahead.  Are you like I’ve been when it comes to laundry?  I hate it when I’ve washed the sheets but they aren’t quite dry before we have to go out on a Friday night, which means we’re making the bed at 11 that night when all I want to do is go to sleep.  Lately I’ve made the sheets a priority and am getting them done first, a simple—and obvious—concept. But you all know what it’s like to finally make it to your room at night and then be hit by the pile of underwear all over the bed.  We’ve had nasty subfloor with a plastic covering and tons of dog hair, I certainly wasn’t putting my clean clothes on the floor, and we don’t have any other ledges or benches, so there’s only one solution.  I’m so embarrassed on nights like that.  My procrastination prevents us from getting to bed like we wanted, and instead we’re spending our time matching socks, good grief.

Likewise, I actually wonder if I parent out of laziness or am I really parenting with love and logic? Do I truly believe a lassiez-faire approach is best or am I the mom who just can’t be bothered making her kids’ lunches or doing their laundry or filling out their missionary/college applications or micro-managing their social lives because I’m too lazy? I’m not sure.  But yesterday at the dentist, my hygienist mentioned reading to her grand babies and reminded me that I read to my kids all the time (we’ve been going there for 17 years, she’s watched us raise up our babies).  I told her that was the only thing I was absolutely certain I did right as a mom.  And I’m happy that at least in that one regard I took the high road.  I remember gathering them for stories before naps and again before bed on the “reading chair” and sometimes just randomly throughout the day, under a tree, just cuddled on a couch.  I was completely hands-off with what they wore and how they did their hair (and maybe that was lazy, maybe it was just self-preservation); but I’m so grateful for the time we invested in reading, that I was not lazy at least in that one regard.  I hope that my kids will remember those times and that they will want those same memories with their own kids.  

I hope they will be truly mindful as they sort out their own parenting styles, that they will act with intention and not make choices based on the path of least resistance.  Even if we are decidedly lazy in most ways, parenting is (along with marriage and relationships in general) the one arena in which we need to pull up our boot straps and pay attention.  Lazy parenting might buy us some free time when we feel the most desperate, like consistently using electronics to keep messes at bay and to keep kids quiet and entertained.  But looking ahead, our longing for ease may have undesired consequences, perhaps kids who need to always be engaged with a machine, who don’t know how to think creatively, who don’t feel comfortable interacting with people, who don’t want to engage in the world, who think life is a game, who resent parents who try to set limits later on.  I just tend to think as laziness as spending our resources frivolously now rather than investing in the future.  Working hard is looking down the road, visualizing what we really want out of life.  It’s putting aside our selfishness and instant gratification, whereas laziness is spending our paycheck on candy or shoes and telling our families we have none for the rent.  Our decisions aren't ours alone; they affect the people we love and interact with.

Our kids need to learn this principle. Which works best when they rely on us to model it.  We can teach them to notice what the consequences of their decisions and choices will likely be—on both themselves and others.  It’s obviously preferable to teach this when they’re young, but it’s tough for really little ones to grasp. Even our teenagers are still figuring this out.  Our 13 year-old son has exactly one white shirt and one pair of church pants.  So I’ve reminded him, if he has a band concert or other dress-up occasion during the week, that he will run into problems if he doesn’t wash his shirt.  He’s had enough instances over the years that he knows what will happen.  I think our 15 year-old is getting this because she’s run into troubles when she’s sort of had a lazy weekend and then has tons of studying and notes and reading to make up in the week following.  But they're learning their decisions affect the rest of the family too. It takes her away from a family activity if she hasn’t finished her work, and his lack of foresight could definitely affect our morning or my day with a shirt to wash and take to him (he knows that will never happen; he’d just have to iron it and wear it dirty).  It seems to work best when we let natural consequences give the pep talks instead of us. But think of the application, how much more meaningful our kids’ lives could be if they could just wrap their heads around the principle of industry, of purposeful living, of looking ahead.  Instead of consistently relegating themselves to the easiest track, they could learn to put in the effort for what they really want in life.  We can help them shoot higher than the moment, to realize what they do today potentially affects their future families and their own kids. I know I was a weird kid, but that always motivated me.

I guess my point in all of this is to remind us (myself mostly) to think ahead just a bit.  And ask what the ramifications of my split-second decisions will be, and not just on me.  How will my decision affect others?  Arguably, we don’t need to create a flow chart about every choice we’re up against; but it doesn’t hurt to take just a second and note that laziness in the moment usually means we’re putting off something that requires a little effort.  And in my experience, the most valuable things in life require effort.  I’m not saying a night off with cereal for everyone will lead to poor eating habits, nor am I saying a nap isn’t sometimes the very best investment for you and everyone in your family.  I’m just pointing out that sometimes we mistakenly believe our choices only affect us, and I just don’t believe it.  We’re way more interconnected than that.

Finding it

Just this afternoon I was looking for the microwave cover that we put over our plates to prevent splatters (please don’t barrage me with why that’s bad for our food and us, I’ve read the same stuff) but it wasn’t in the usual places, namely in our microwave, on top of our microwave, or in the sink.  But why on earth would I spend good time fretting about it, validating myself with, “I know it’s here.  Where else would it be?  It’s got to be around here somewhere.”  I already knew that.  I knew it’d show up.  It’s big and visible.  Who knows why items are in weird places in our house sometimes?  Like the Dawn dish soap on the edge of the jetted tub?  Regular-sized, orange-handled scissors in my make-up drawer in the bathroom?  Old nylons with the bee equipment?  (If you must know, a) they were washing our puppy and that was the least smelly soap we could think of; we didn’t want it trying to rub the smell of flowers or Axe off in the muddy grass. b) I like to have scissors nearby to cut my tubes of cream and foundation in half so I can get to the rest of the stuff inside—you know how I hate to waste, and I hate those loops of fabric or ribbon inside all my clothes, so it’s nice to have a way to get rid of them, plus I like to have scissors close so I can wrap gifts in my room.  c) The nylons are for straining the wax and impurities from the honey Todd collects.) 

Anyway, point being, I knew there was a logical reason our cover wasn’t nearby.  It’d show up.  I knew if I would just go about my regular tidying up, it would present itself in an obvious manner.  Which it did.  Later on I was emptying the dishwasher and it was right there, all clean, ready to go.  I’d almost forgotten I was even looking for it but was glad to have it back.

And our kids all know the drill.  When they come looking for something, they seem to stop and almost chant along with me, rolling their eyes (of course), “Clean up to find it.”  I guess it’s the efficient side of me, but I can’t stand spending time looking for items I know are here but that I just can’t seem to find.  The quickest and easiest way I know to find something I’ve misplaced is to simply go about my regular cleaning up, putting things in their places, just continuing on with life, not stressing about it.  It’s bound to show up eventually, I just can’t see why I’d let something like that get under my skin.

As I was continuing with my cleaning and tidying and emptying the dishwasher this afternoon, I thought how true this is with the questions we have in life.  Even with something as valuable as a tax document (still waiting to see where I put the vehicle registrations) or a foundational concern like “Why did He let that happen?”, we can essentially move on and quit stressing.  We do this by “cleaning up” (and by asking for a little help).

Just as I need to file my papers in order to find lost documents (done, I know I put them somewhere safe) or unload the van to find my lipstick tubes I’ve lost (on my list), we need to continue to do our part to find what we’ve lost in other realms of life.  “Cleaning up” is simply putting ourselves in order, doing what we have control over, and giving up the stress of not knowing.

To me, that means keeping up with the basics:  dishes, laundry, filing, so that things don’t pile up until we don’t have a chance in the world of finding anything.  Likewise, it means keeping up with the spiritual basics:  talking to God, reading and learning about Christ, living like Him.  If we’re far from Him, how can we expect to recognize an answer from Him even when it’s right in front of us? That’s all stuff we can control.  Maybe someone moved the flat iron or the drill without telling you, maybe you just haven’t heard much about what happens after this life.  Let it go.  It will all surface in due time.  Even when it’s important, leave it for now.  Is it really that urgent?  Worth the negative energy?  Getting upset over?  If your ring is in the little cap of your crockery on the counter and you just don’t remember that, it will still be there days from now.  Don’t go ruining everyone’s today making them all late simply because you have got to find it before you leave.  Settle. It will still be there, it will all work out.  Likewise, don’t pummel God because you didn’t get an answer the first time you asked and you’ve absolutely got to know today or else you’re done.  That’s dumb.  You should know by now He doesn’t work like that.  His ways are perfect, in their manner and in their timing.  Settle.  You’ll find your answers, they aren’t going anywhere.  Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.  They haven’t moved.

The interesting thing, the thing I can’t get over, is how often He helps me find whatever I’m looking for.  I hesitate to ask, especially with the little things.  I figure He’s got a universe to run, helping me find a book I know I own to loan my friend or my running shoe insert the dogs had been chewing on or just the quote I’d been thinking of should be pretty low on His To-Do List for the day. But I’m amazed, blown away, by how He comes through for me.  I’m in awe of how often my questions are answered (eventually), but it’s more noticeable when I’ve asked for help with something.  Even in a tiny, only-if-you-have-time-and-don’t-have-anything-else-going-on sort of way.  I try to write them down, which is how I know how often this happens.  Just this week I was getting frustrated trying to find an audio book to listen to while I painted, I’d spent a good fifteen minutes wasting my time on figuring this out, and then I thought to test Him, maybe He could help.  A quick, almost non-question, I was so embarrassed by how lame and unimportant it was.  Immediately—I mean immediately—an idea came to my mind.  Not just a random book idea, but the perfect book idea.

Maybe trite to think of all the items I can’t quite put my finger on as being on par with life’s questions that I just can’t make sense of or that I still don’t answers to still.  And yet, I know it’s a technique that’s always worked for me.  I keep my eyes open for the items that I’ve lost, and I keep a list of questions about life and death in the backs of my journals.  Every now and then I’ll find an item or an answer and immediately smile. I nearly chuckle as I thank God, because it was all so obviously there the whole time.  A million confirmations that He’s there. Just interesting how, as we put our worries aside for a time and refuse to get all worked up about them, as we go about our regular life, doing our small part to carry on with life, “cleaning” as we go, eventually we find what we were looking for.

Settle

The question posed to us most frequently—and obviously—these days is if we’re “all moved in,” are we “settled.”  I know it’s not meant to be a thought-provoking conversation starter, just more of a warm-up, a benign pleasantry.  But you know me, I’ve got to be honest.  And so I’m sort of at a loss as to what to say.

I mean, of course all our boxes have been shuttled from our newish old house to our new oldish house.  There are none in our friend’s trailer that’s still parked (lodged in snow is more apt) out front weeks later. Todd finally brought in the final bits from the car now that the trunk is no longer frozen shut.  We’ve been functioning, we’re getting into a routine.  But “moved in”?  “Settled”?  I might say something like,  “Pretty much.” Or maybe, “Mostly.”  But then sheepishly admit, “Not exactly.”

Because as we were setting up rooms beginning on December 15th, our sons were also tearing down trim.  And painting even through Christmas Eve.  Just as we finish up one room or project, we’re starting on another, necessitating shuffling boxes around, putting the unpacking of several on hold; they’ve become permanent fixtures in the middle of the hallway.

We’ve shared our bedrooms with our red air compressor, orange shop vac, and an assortment of hand and power tools for weeks now.  Decorations, puzzles, sleeping bags, and a million books are still packed in boxes we’ve peeked into but haven’t committed to unloading.

We’ve entertained a constant stream of traffic ever since we moved during that blessed blizzard. Around 40 people came that first night to help us move in on one of the snowiest weekends of our lives.  Our college son flew in the next night and more family flew in throughout the following week.  Where everyone should sleep, what beds they’d use, finding all the sheets and blankets, buying mattress covers and new pillows, freshening it all up, making it look like we didn’t just move in four days ago kept me from unpacking like I needed to.  Christmas dinners to orchestrate.  New Year’s Eve gathering to host.  Various groups just for fun.  All the fix-it people: cabinet guy, chimney sweep, plumber, internet guy, two different flooring people, the interior decorator friend.  The phone calls.  All sorts of package guys.  (Most amusing one yet was the package I found in between one of our six exterior doors and its screen just the other day, delivered way back at Christmastime.  I might not have found it till spring if I hadn’t been painting that door.)  Beyond that, every friend who’s come to play has a family who wants to see our fixer upper.  It’s rarely clean.  And why is my bed never made on those days?  And why is it always laundry day? We usually run into dog puddles.  I tell them to keep their shoes on; they’ll need protection.  But don’t worry, I console them; you can’t hurt this plastic laminate floor from 1984.

We switched all our insurance policies the day we closed; good grief.  Well shares, ditch rights, septic to call on.  Learning about reverse osmosis.  How much salt?  What light switches go to which lights?  Do the blinds even work?  Why is there so much wind coming through our windows?  Motion lights? What’s with this thermostat that looks like it came connected to the house back in 1984?  Why are there so many outlets up and down the walls?  And just two in the entire shop?  Old cable boxes and phone jacks.  Just so many nuances to a new old house.  A new discovery almost daily.

And I don’t know why, but I’m not motivated to clean it the way I was with our old house.  I think because there are so many on-going projects and materials in the way, so many daily dog accidents, dirt that was already here, windows that are broken, I just feel like it won’t look really clean no matter how much elbow grease I apply.  The showers are old and sort of corroded, layered with rust and permanent soap scum. I’m afraid to go too far into the cabinetry or to really dislodge the grime along the edges of the kitchen floor.  And I can’t keep up with the hair from three dogs or the mud from everyone who traipses through.

We added a new puppy January 2nd to the other two dogs and a cat.  We just set up 5 dozen chicken eggs on our kitchen table that will hatch in exactly 21 days.  Cows this Spring.

So are we “moved in”?  “Settled?”  Yes and no.  Yes, we’ve made the transition, just like when you have a baby or the kids go back to school or come home for the summer.   You let out the breath you were unconsciously holding, relieved that part’s over.  But now what?  And what does it really mean to feel settled?  Is it possible?

Again, I have to say yes and no.

It depends on whether we’re relying on circumstances to determine our state of mind or if we’re wiling to look beyond what’s happening to center ourselves.  If we’re basing our definition on life without change, we’ll never arrive at that settled state.  We’ll always feel like we’re in commotion.  But thankfully we can feel calm inside when everything around us dictates otherwise.

I was thinking of this as the snows finally gave way to warmer temps.  I think I heard the whole state exhale; finally, we all said in unison.  Our thoughts turned to hopes of an early spring, we disregarded the whole groundhog nonsense, we knew we were in the midst of a warming trend and felt comfortable that we’d made it through another long winter.  But really, we’re in the first week of February.  In Montana.  There’s no way we were home free yet.  And that’s just how it unfolded.  Just the other day I got into my car at -8 degrees; my friend’s said -12, little matter, just frigid.  I nearly crashed head-on with a truck driving through iced-up windshield down the middle of a snow-filled narrow road with ambiguous boundaries.  I knew then to keep my gloves handy, it wasn’t time to wash the winter gear and store it all in the totes.  I knew better than to get comfy.

And yet, I felt somewhat peaceful.  I’d been down this road before.  About 100 times since we moved.  I know the slippery parts; I know how far to start slowing before our driveway and the intersection.  I hate that I can’t just coast, but I know I can do this.  For as long as winter decides to hang around.  I can’t hibernate and wait till the chill passes.  I can’t curse the snow and let the icy storms determine my cheerfulness.  No, I just pack on the layers and lace up my boots.  And let the van warm for a good twenty minutes before heading out.

I guess the lesson is this. Life can be a mess.  One after another.  And if we’re waiting for the dust to settle before we deem ourselves finally there, I’m afraid we’re going to be in a constant state of upset.  Because you all know how it goes.  The minute you think you’ve got a handle on a particular phase, whether it’s the newborn stage or the teenage stage, something comes along to sort of shake things up:  she starts teething or gets an ear infection that changes the sleeping arrangements.  He gets his license or a new job, and that gives everyone a little freedom but a little more to worry about.  Or you move or get a new assignment or you find out some bad news about a family member that brings on tears whenever you think about it.  In fact, I can almost predict tomorrow’s storm by the sunshine I’m feeling today.  I’ve even started preparing myself for the next shake-up by noticing when I’m feeling a little too comfy.  That’s one reason that buying this house felt right.  I’d been feeling too easy about things. But then I was hit not only with a move in the middle of Christmas, but other personal issues that blindsided me at the same time.  If I was counting on the season to tick away like a normal joyous Christmas with my family, I was unquestionably robbed.  Thankfully, it’s up to us to determine what each season of our life will be.  Not that we get to pick the variables, but we do get to choose how we respond to them.  

Looking back, it’s obvious the times I’ve felt peace and the times I’ve felt out of control have had little to do with circumstances and everything to do with what I’m doing in my personal life that sort of buffers the sting of whatever I’m facing.  I know this was huge as we were moving and dealing with so many things at once.  I knew we couldn’t have the traditional Christmas season like we all look forward to because so much of our normal Christmas stuff was packed. So we made it a high priority to regularly talk of Christ and gather as a family and read about Him even if it was short or late at night.  We also continued reading about Him on our own and I inched my way through a book about the atonement most days, just a short chapter that left me something to ponder in the middle of packing and cleaning and painting.  I realized how powerful and valuable those small acts became. “As you dedicate time every day, personally and with your family, to the study of God’s word, peace will prevail in your life.  That peace won’t come from the outside world.  It will come from within your home, from within your family, from within your own heart.  It will be a gift of the Spirit.  It will radiate out from you to influence others in the world around you.  You will be doing something very significant to add to the cumulative peace in the world” (Elder Scott).

I realize the blessing those words have been for me in my life.  Sometimes I feel upset inside even when the details of my life should point to tranquility.  I’ve found that strange, and I remember a woman confiding in me years ago that she had everything she ever wanted and still felt unsettled.  I just don’t believe we can count on outside factors to bring us peace.  In our case, the chaos of moving and having company didn’t settle down for quite awhile; we’re still in the middle of ripping out trim, painting, pulling out floors, puppy training, and hosting all sorts of groups of friends. In fact, the personal issues we worried about over Christmas are still with us, without resolution.  

And yet, I feel immense peace.  I felt teary recently when someone at church quoted President Hinckley, who reminded us, “It isn’t as bad as you sometimes think it is.  It all works out.  Don’t worry.  I say that to myself every morning.  It will all work out.  Put your trust in God and move forward with faith and confidence in the future.  The Lord will not forsake us.  He will not forsake us.”  Likewise I lean on these wise words, “Strength comes not from frantic activity but from being settled on a firm foundation of truth and light. It comes from placing our attention and efforts on…Jesus Christ. It comes from paying attention to the divine things that matter most" (President Uchdorf).

I guess that’s how I choose to look at and handle the unsolicited—yet anticipated—vicissitudes in life. I expect I’ll simply have to be more honest the next time someone asks me if I’m feeling settled.  Yes, I’ll say, I suppose I am.

Decisions and Hearts

Indecisive?  Hard to say.  But I’m leaning toward a definite yes.  With potential for change.

My mind chatter goes something like this, Should we have another family over or just spend a quiet evening on our own?  We’re constantly tripping over this one.  We do a lot of both.  And maybe sometimes we really could’ve used a night at home alone as a family but instead we’ve invited a family over.  It was already a full week and we sort of pushed our limits, not giving ourselves much down-time over the weekend.  Or we decide we’re just going to cocoon ourselves with some quiet family time and then find out later the details of a family that really could’ve used a friend that night; maybe they’re new and feeling lonely, they’re in the middle of a move, they just got home from vacation and didn’t really have that much to work with. It’s hard to decide which is best; I don’t know if we ever really get it right.  But we try to be in touch with what our family needs; and if we feel like we’re in a good place (and even sometimes when we’re not but we’re going through less than another family) we’ll have people over.  But sometimes we’re just happy to be.  Like I said, we go back and forth; I want to get it right, but I wonder if we ever do.

I catch myself waffling over other smallest of decisions.  Should I send her a birthday card?  A gift?  Are we that good of friends?  What if I did this for everyone??  Can we afford this? Will it be awkward?  Am I just making work for myself?  Will it even matter?

Decisions!  We can’t get away from them obviously.  Some of you seem to be direct, matter of fact folk.  I guess I hesitate because I want to be right, I want to make the best decisions I can.  And so to weigh the options and assimilate all the information at hand takes time and energy and can sometimes be paralyzing.  I know it drives Todd crazy.  But, like I said, I’m working on it.

We’re rarely allowed to see the impact of some of our decisions.  So how are we to even know if we’re getting them right?  Or if we were mistaken and messed up?  Don’t you feel this pressure as parents?  Of course we’re doing our best.  Even if it’s honestly not our best.  We’re trying.  Yet we upset ourselves by worrying about everything we’re not doing or getting right.  We know better than anyone that it’s not picture-perfect.  And yet, our intent—our heart—ought to count for something.  And I believe it does.

Something I’ve been learning over the years is it’s more important for me to check my intent than to receive confirmation that it's absolutely the right decision.  Sometimes there's simply not time for that and we need to move forward using our best judgment.  When I can't seem to determine what's best, I go with my heart.  This simple idea has effectively uncomplicated my decision making, freeing me to go ahead with all sorts of ideas I would’ve vacillated on for too long in the past.

When our hearts have good intents, we can confidently move forward using them as our guides.  We still gather pertinent information, but we don’t have to simply rely on our chart of pros and cons. We allow our hearts to have a voice.  So even when something doesn’t make sense or seems risky, I’m learning to trust my heart. Because I believe even if I sent a love note or a text that was quickly dismissed or never replied to, I would rather err on the side of acting on an idea and getting it wrong than waiting for confirmation that it was a right but missed opportunity.  So if I feel like hugging my sons, even though they’re bigger than me and they might think I’m weird, I do it anyway because the potential good outweighs the temporary awkwardness.  Likewise, we keep trying to read scriptures as a family even though it doesn’t seem to make a lick of difference, because in our hearts we know there’s potential, it feels right.  Most of the time we can’t see the results of interactions like these.  But my heart is the best barometer I know of as I’m faced with a multitude of choices every day.

I remember one of the first times I went with my heart.  I was 21 and was finally told I wouldn’t be able to go on my mission after all.  I could hold out till I got my braces off and try submitting my application again, or I could wait a few months for Todd to get home from Norway and marry him.  I was elated with the option of getting married and putting a mission on hold indefinitely!! I didn’t analyze it for any length of time; when I found that door closed, I paid attention to my heart.  I immediately worked out my next semester’s classes that very night, I was happier than I’d been the whole five weeks my application was being reviewed and took that as a sign that it was right.

A couple years back I made a resolution to be more generous, to act on the feelings of my heart unabashedly.  And I’m surprised by the difference it’s made.  So many decisions are now automatically made for me, where before they would be issues for debate.  Should I put a dollar in the tip jar at lunch? I never used to; but now, absolutely.  A birthday card for a friend I haven’t talked to in forever but whose name just came to mind?  Of course!  Set up a group of ladies for lunch that I don’t know very well? Let’s try it!

Like I said, most of the time we have no idea what the outcomes of our decisions are. Occasionally we see what's going on, like when our son and daughter have been beneficiaries of the tip jar from work; those small contributions compiled bumped up their hourly wages, and it makes me happy to be able to do that for someone else.  I love, more than anything else, notes and letters from my kids about memories they have from earlier years.  Nothing makes me cry with gratitude more than realizing all the messes were worth it, that they have good memories, that some of the choices we made—maybe against the norm but that felt good to us and our family—seemed to have worked out ok.  It’s validating to hear back from people as we followed our hearts when we couldn’t decide what the right decision was.

For instance, I was super surprised to hear from a friend the other day after I brought her a little birthday gift.  I mean, a really little gift; just a pair of earrings that looked like her and a card. I’d vacillated, wondering if we were good enough friends for me to share a gift with her.  I decided I didn’t care, my heart wanted to show her in a tangible way that I care about her. She said it made her cry, but maybe it was more for me because it warmed my heart to know such a small thing made her happy.  And it boosted my confidence that I can continue to act on impressions and feelings I get.

But most of the time we have no idea what sort of impact we’ve had. Though I believe we will after this life. I sense we’ll be able to review our lives and know how our actions—and inactions, opportunities that could’ve really made a difference to someone that we ignored or were too afraid to take—affected people. Which motivates me to act on any good idea that comes to me.  Especially the random ones.  I’ve learned those are the ones most likely to be inspired.  

Basically, I’m learning to not over-think. If I feel inclined, if it makes me feel excited (not in a hedonistic way; a sweet way), if I think it will add something to someone’s day or life, that’s good enough. I try to ask God about it all; but to be honest I don’t get a lot of direction. I think He’s given us the formula and expects us to act accordingly, independently.  I love this guideline, I’ve relied on it heavily over the years as I’ve tried to combat my indecisiveness, “But behold, that which is of God inviteth and enticeth to do good continually; wherefore, every thing which inviteth and enticeth to do good, and to love God, and to serve him, is inspired of God” (Moroni 7:13).

And so, as decisions come at me, I want to know what He wants me to do.  And I want to follow my heart.  Interestingly, I’m learning that they’re usually the same.