Finding the good in the day

I was just starting to see a glimmer of light when I’ve been going out to start the kids’ vehicles at 6:15 every weekday morning.  Until the time change; now it’s dark again.  I hate this part of my day.  Especially when it was 13 below, when everything’s icy, and the air feels sharp and prickly.  I feel like I’m waking a teenaged boy on a Saturday morning as the vehicles cough and sputter, annoyed that I’m shaking them to life.  I wear Todd’s Carhart jacket, my knit hat with a pom pom that Andrew gave me for Christmas especially designated for my outdoor chores, an old neon-orange and black pair of perfectly good puffy kid ski gloves that Callum was discarding.  I also have on my cut-off sweat shorts because I’ve been exercising.  A funny outfit to be sure.  Goes without saying that my legs are always freezing.  So yeah, I hate this part of the day.  It shocks my system, it’s dark and frigid, and it interrupts my exercise time.  However, it is simply my job.  Or at least it’s the service I choose to give my kids.  They’re always scrambling trying to get ready, to remember their sports gear, work shirts, water bottles, lunches, breakfast.  If it were up to them, they simply would go out to frozen vehicles because there’s no way they would take time to go out to start them ahead of time.  And generally our parenting style would dictate that’s what should happen.  Except I love the idea of giving them a nice warm truck or van that’s been defrosted and wiped of snow, a little treat to help start their days off on a good foot.  So since I’m out every morning anyway, I decided it was up to me to decide how I wanted to look at it.  I choose to note how much it snowed.  How quiet and serene and dark it is.  I choose to pay attention to the stars, to see which animals have skittered across our yard in the crisp night.  I choose to enjoy the satisfaction of clearing piles of snow from their cars and from the sidewalk, carving a path for them so their short running shoes won’t fill in with snow, the accomplishment of getting these old weakened vehicles to start.  As quick as I can change my thoughts, I’ve changed my entire experience.  (Even though my legs are still always cold.)

I thought about other things I don’t really love about my day.  Getting up.  I resent my alarm going off at 5:30.  It’s harsh and disruptive.  And yet I’m usually awake anyway; years of habits just train our bodies.  I don’t ever have much exciting to wake up to.  Let the dog out, start the laundry, sometimes make bread, sometimes read, always exercise, help if the kids need lunches or breakfast before they scramble out the door.  Not like when Todd’s getting up to go hunting or fishing or we’re going to take a long road trip.  Everyday getting up is just not that motivating.  But since it’s just part of my day, I choose to find the good.  It’s fun to tiptoe downstairs in the quiet dark listening to the hum of the heater. To see the dark turn to light.  To hear the dryer.  I love having the house to myself and getting some things done before the day really even starts.  And so I focus on that as I will myself to make the big move from slumber to wakefulness.

Ironically, I also have a hard time going to bed.  Of course I’m tired by the end of a full day.  But I hate the ritual of brushing and flossing, of taking out my contacts and taking my pills and washing my face.  I’m usually too exhausted to want to deal with it all. I’d rather stay up and do our puzzle listening to our fun music.  I’d rather keep reading.  Or talking.  But responsibility dictates that we put ourselves to sleep instead of staying up too late.  We know it will impact the next day if we don’t.  And so I choose to be grateful for clean flannel sheets and our little bed lights.  I still love the smell of Ponds night cream.  I’m glad when I’ve taken out my contacts a couple hours earlier.  It feels nice to get into pajamas and to be comfortable.  I’m thankful I have a bed.  And a husband.  And that our kids are all home.  I’m grateful Todd wants to pray with me.  That we get to talk and relax together.  Going to bed should be the best part of the day and, truthfully, I really do love the feeling of finally being able to lie down and rest.  It’s just that I have so many other things I want to do instead of sleep, and the chore of getting ready kind of dampens my mood.

Since I’m putting it all out there, I also don’t really love cooking dinner.  My favorite days are when we’re a) having leftovers or b) I get something going in the crockpot early in the day.  I just don’t love spending an hour in the kitchen every night.  But, I have strong feelings about eating dinner together as a family, and so I choose to make the most of it.  It’s the perfect time to listen to my podcasts or talks I’ve been meaning to get to.  I like providing healthy food and a reason to gather every night, so I focus on making it full of fruits and vegetables and trying new recipes.  I like the security it provides our family, the reassurance that regardless of what else is going on, we will always, always have a meal to come home to.  That mind switch has helped turn a chore into a way to show my family I love them.

Last year the kids joined another county school for track, and this year we’re doing it again.  At first I was annoyed by how much time it took from my day: the kids got out of school at 3, by the time they changed, we drove out there and had practice, it was about 5:30 by the time we got home.  I know I could drive home for an hour, but that’s a lot of gas and time for what?  So I decided to make the best of it.  I packed snacks for everyone, including popcorn for me.  I made this my nap time and my reading time.  I caught up on my correspondence and planning.  I loved being out in the pretty day and having time to myself where I wasn’t distracted by my house work.  I actually look forward to track season this year; it forces me to sit and read, I get my nap in, I have to plan dinner earlier on in the day, and I get to be with my daughter and her friends as we drive there and back.  All good!

We’ve been trying to spend one weekend night as a family.  This past week was prom, so Todd thought it’d be fun to go to dinner and a movie with the youngest two.  Dinner was nothing fancy, just pitas, but still a treat.  And the movie… I tried to suggest he and another dad take all the kids, but I knew he wanted it be our little family.  Which is great.  I suggested it would be akin to me taking him to see The Nutcracker.  Live.  But he is a quality time kind of guy and this kind of stuff makes him happy.  The last movie I’d seen in a theater was The Greatest Showman.  And before that I think it was Frozen.  So I agreed to our family outing.  It was some kind of Marvel movie.  I had no idea what it’d be like, so I decided to just have an open mind and was sure it’d be fine.  Good grief.  I couldn’t believe we still had an hour and a half (or two? I had no idea).  Other planets.  Stars.  Space craft.  Creatures.  Fighting.  It was the last movie in the universe I’d choose to sit through.  And I’d already taken a nap earlier that afternoon, so I couldn’t even do that.  Although I tried.  But as I sighed and tried to not be a brat, I decided there were some good elements to it.  I liked remembering Blockbuster.  It was fun to go back in time and recall the 80s.  I loved the main girl’s hair, so cute.  So I paid attention to that in the different scenes.  I was amazed at the make up and masks and special effects and stunts, fascinating!  Because I had my eyes closed during the time I was trying to take a nap, I was able to really hear the music, incredible!  Film scores blow me away, and so it was fun to be able to listen to it without the distraction of the show’s action.  And my favorite part of all was just being able to sit uninterrupted next to Todd holding hands.  I just love that so much.  And it made me happy that he and Callum were entertained and enjoying themselves.  (Bronwyn was in the same state I was, I’m afraid.)

I’m sure all of us have parts of our days we’re not thrilled about.  Maybe it’s getting the kids out the door in the morning or the bedtime routine.  Maybe nap time with toddlers is almost not worth it.  Maybe you have a job you hate, a commute that’s long, a business week away from your family.  But since usually they’re pretty much a given, we may as well find the good.  I love that Todd uses his drive time to catch up with NPR.  Others use their weeks in new cities to see the sites.  I suggested to a friend who’s in a new and isolated work environment that she enjoy her alone time and listen to interesting talks while she works on the computer.  I just believe we still have a choice.  And by switching up our thoughts, our attitude, and the way we see opportunities, we can transform parts of our days from something we dread to something we actually look forward to.

What I believe

I still believe parents reading with kids on their laps trumps any screen play, no matter how “educational” the game or material appears.  

I believe family dinnertime should be a top priority in our lives regardless of what else we may have to forego.  

I don’t believe in medicating kids for every disruption they make in our lives.  

I believe in more recess and movement in school. I believe kids would do better if they were allowed to do their work outside or have more physical breaks. I don’t believe in making preschoolers do seat work.  I believe their play is their work.

I don’t believe sports are all that we make them.  I believe there’s a place for them of course; they teach valuable life skills about showing up, being committed, working together, and using our bodies in positive ways.  But I feel that they may not be worth what we’re giving up.  I believe that sometimes they are costing us too much in terms of family time, unstructured free time, and the opportunity to develop other interests, hobbies, and talents.

While I believe there may be a place for counseling, I’m not convinced rehashing the past in a dark quiet room for years on end is better for a person than learning new life skills and getting out there and serving.

I believe in being generous.  And in believing there is enough.

I believe in not worrying about how much food our kids and their friends eat.  I believe in letting them make and eat whatever they want when their friends are over.  I believe if there’s food, they will come.

I believe in ice cream on weekends.

I believe in letting our kids do as much as they possibly can on their own.  That they can take care of their hair cuts, money, plans, and paperwork.  And that all of it helps them grow up.

I believe family vacation is one of the best investments we can make.  I believe in camping.  That it does more good than some of the fancier destination packages.

I believe real food is inherently superior to anything in a package.  I don’t believe supplements are always necessary.  I don’t subscribe to diets and am dubious as to their long-term effectiveness.

I believe in dessert.  I believe in being choosy and thoughtful about what treats we indulge in, but by all means have ice cream on vacation with the family, have birthday cake, have a piece of pie at Thanksgiving, have a cookie.  Just go easy.

I believe in letting our kids solve their own problems.  And in doing their own homework, science fair projects, talks, lunches, and hair.  I don’t believe in checking their grades online.

I believe children thrive best in a household where parents love each other and are committed to the family.  I believe the marriage relationship is the foundation of a healthy family and kids feel most secure when they know and feel that relationship is solid.  I don’t believe kids should rule the household.  Although I do believe they should absolutely have a voice.

I believe in structure and routines.  To a degree.  I don’t believe in strict curfews, I believe in talking about their plans and agreeing on a reasonable end-time.  I believe in baths and songs and stories.  And that they will eventually learn to go to bed when they’re tired.

I don’t believe in micromanaging our kids.  I believe when we do that, we are telling them we don’t trust them.  It undermines their confidence and creates a need to hide.

I believe in spending time with friends, that it’s worth leaving the dishes to sit together on the couch to just be together for an afternoon.  I believe in the infinite value of friendships and in making the effort.  And that to have a friend we need to be a friend.

I believe a weekly date with our spouses is the best money we will ever spend.  Same with overnighters.

I believe in clean sheets every Friday.

I believe in quiet time with our thoughts. 

I don’t believe in mixing church with anything else.  I don’t believe in holding earning a church award over their heads before they can drive.  I believe in letting them choose.  In teaching them what we believe and encouraging them to figure out what they believe.

I believe in hard work.  And that this is what kids these days are missing out on.  I believe they should have jobs working for someone besides us.  I believe they should get paid a real wage and not some inflated pretend wage.  I believe it’s ok for them to sweat and hurt.  And to be bored.  And to complain.  And to miss out on some fun because they have to work.  I believe kids should contribute to the household simply because they’re part of the family.  I don’t believe they should be paid for chores.

I believe in good conversation.  And engaging our kids.  That we should talk across the generations.  That we have so much to learn from each other.  That we should listen more than talk. I believe kids, teenagers, and young adults can teach us so much when we pay attention to what they’re saying and when we take time to ask their opinions.  I believe in sharing our real thoughts.

I believe in music. That we should expose our kids to all sorts of genres.  That we should encourage them to play an instrument or to sing.  I believe beautiful music can nurture a warm feeling in our homes and can be a peaceful backdrop.

I believe in phone calls.  With a son in college, with a sister or mom, with a friend from years back.  I believe in talking to the insurance person on the other end as if she were a real person who knows that the roads are like, who has kids, who is just trying to do her job.

I believe in visiting people in their homes, especially those who live alone.  There is no better way to get to know someone than to see where and how they live.

I believe in being at the crossroads when the kids are coming and going.  Even when they’re teenagers.

I believe in the power of touch.  That we long for physical connection.  I believe teenagers especially need hugs.

I believe in going over to meet the neighbors.  And in having families over for dinner.

I believe in owning our feelings, in helping our kids identify them, in reminding them there’s not a feeling that’s bad—it’s what we do about and with them.

I believe in letting kids go.  And not hovering.  To camp, on band trips, to DC, to Scotland, to their cousins’ a couple states away, with their sports teams, to stay with their grandparents, to a concert, camping with their friends.  I believe it’s crucial to their development to be away from parents and to be with other adults and in having to navigate new situations on their own.

I believe in thank you notes.  That it does more for the gift recipient than the giver of the gift.

I believe in not worrying about mixed up meals at a restaurant too much.

I believe in not fussing over having everything look just right.  I believe people just want to spend time together and that most people couldn’t care less about the decorations or colors.

I don’t believe in buying school pictures.  Too staged and too expensive.  My sister does a way better job.  I believe in family pictures.  I just don’t like getting them taken.

I believe in potlucks and in sharing the responsibility.  I believe in using real dishes and silverware.  I believe we contribute enough as it is to the landfills.

I believe our bodies and minds are inextricably connected.  And that many physical issues are the result of our thoughts.

I believe our houses should feel homey.  Tidy but like real people live in them.  Welcoming and warm and real.

I believe God doesn’t want us to define ourselves by our mistakes.  I believe He cares about the state of our hearts.  And where we’re heading.  And that He wants us to get past our hiccups and get on with things.

I believe in reading nooks.  I believe books should never be out of sight.  That they should be tucked in back-seat pockets and on bed stands and by the kitchen table.  I believe we should always be in the middle of a book and have one waiting.  I believe in carrying a book everywhere I go.

I believe in keeping records of our lives through pictures and letters and memorabilia.  I believe everyone has a story.  I believe we might forget if we don’t write it all down.

I believe every character trait has a good and bad side.

I believe in being vulnerable.  I believe people are not that different.  I believe most people care about their families and just want to feel connected and loved.  I believe people want to feel noticed and cared about.  I believe in acknowledging our humanness.  And with those assumptions in mind, I believe nothing I’ve felt or gone through is that unusual and that most people can relate to each others’ experiences.

I believe in print media.  In magazine subscriptions.  For every family member.  I believe holding a book or newspaper or magazine is a superior experience to reading online.  And that we retain more information when we engage more of our senses.

I believe our family members who have died are extremely interested in what we are doing.  That part of their work is to help us.  That they are closer than we think.  That they have the power to strengthen us.  I believe in angels.  And that some of these angels are our ancestors.

I believe in the power of a handwritten, stamped letter in the mail.  I believe it can change someone’s day, strengthen a relationship, and help us feel closer to each other.

I believe we should get outside every chance we can.  I believe a walk can change our mood.  That kids thrive in nature.  That we need to carve out time and space for exploration and wonderment.  That whenever there’s an option, it always feels better to do it outside, whether it’s eating dinner on the porch, picnicking in a roadside pull-out, reading on the hammock, talking with friends on the tramp, playing cards in the treehouse, or sleeping in a tent.

I believe in having pets.  I believe they are God’s gift to us.  To teach us about unconditional love and how to care for something besides ourselves and to comfort us.

I believe, generally speaking, most people look best in whatever color hair God gave them.

I believe in letting kids use real tools instead of plastic fake ones.  I believe in teaching them how to cut safely with a knife or scissors and in letting them chop the vegetables and letting them try out the screwdriver.

I believe there is power in the morning. In getting up early.  And going to bed at the same time every day.  I believe in going to bed with my husband.

I believe in miracles.  I believe love changes things.  And is the catalyst for most miracles.

I believe there is a God who knows and loves us and who is intimately involved in our lives.  I believe in our Savior Jesus Christ.  And I believe He is the most perfect man and friend who ever lived.  I believe they are closer than we think.  And love us more than we can imagine. 

Missing out

I feel sort of antsy, maybe a little melancholy actually, that our house is torn up again. We have blankets on the floor to catch all the melted snow tracks.  Nail gun and air compressor are center-stage.  No railings for the stairs. All the furniture is in the adjoining rooms. It’s just that I was thinking about Valentine’s Day and now Easter and am reminded that I do have a few decorations I could’ve put out.  But didn’t really see the point since it’s hard to tell what’s supposed to be out and what’s just sort of here temporarily.  I also figured I may as well put away my winter snow decorations, less to get wood dust on, and fewer things to accidentally break.  I keep wanting to invite people over, but a big group would be hard. Maybe it’s just a season I’ll have to let go of and catch again next year.

Looking back, this is how our summer went too as we painted the exterior of our house.  I felt like we were out there any evening we didn’t have another commitment and every Saturday we were in town. The year before, our kitchen was torn up for five weeks during its remodel phase.  I haven’t loved feeling out of sorts and having these disruptions; I felt like we were missing out on our normal activities and fun.

I remember feeling this way when I had my cancer surgery almost five years ago during a most beautiful November.  I was so let down as I felt tethered to my house when I longed to be taking walks and spending time outside in the leaves.  And even being able to cook and mop. Yet I knew I had to give my body its time to heal, and so I simply viewed my favorite time of the year from my couch.

It was sort of the same thing when I had my fifth baby emergency c-section nearly 14 Mays ago.  Another friend had her baby at the same time and she and another friend came to visit me.  I felt fat and frumpy and so sore as we talked.  She was perky and seemingly completely back to normal.  But I knew I had to be a little selfish, I needed this time to heal.  As much as I longed to go to the park and play with all our little friends, I just needed to bow out for a few days. 

And now that I think about it, I remember feeling this for the first time when I had Andrew almost 23 years ago.  I’d been working full time up until I had him, and all of a sudden I was relegated to my little upstairs apartment all day without a car. My family came that first weekend, but I remember feeling sad that I couldn’t go shopping with them.  I had very little contact with the outside world and felt sort of forgotten and discouraged that this was my new normal. 

I was so disappointed when we decided to move a couple of falls back, that our closing date would be the middle of December.  I was sad to have to move in the first place.  And that it meant fall and Christmas would be very different and disrupted.  We couldn’t decorate the house we were moving from for Christmas; I patched and painted walls all those weeks instead.  We packed up as our house—normally cozy and festive—became more out of sorts and less homey.  We moved into our new house—as the previous owners were moving out—during one of the coldest, snowiest weekends I can remember. I knew we had just over a week till Christmas and then it would be over.  My holiday that I can stretch for weeks… I would only have a few short days with.  I know there are many harder things in life, but I was disappointed to not be able to celebrate the way we always had before. 

I’m reminded that Callum was sick last Christmas, relegated to the couch feeling miserable on a vacation day.  I felt so bad for him.  I remember throwing up myself one Christmas a couple years back.  I knew exactly how he felt to be missing out on my favorite day of the year.

I’ve known kids who have broken a limb at the beginning of summer—could there possibly be a more inconvenient time to be in a cast?  A summer without swimming?  Our little friend just tore up her ankle.  She’s an amazing high school soccer player and is out for the rest of the season.  At least.  Soccer has been her life for as long we can remember, and it’s devastating to be on crutches and to have to use a scooter at her age.  It reminds me of when Andrew wrecked in a bike accident as a senior just weeks before state track, his last chance to compete in high school.  Pretty devastating.

On and on.  We can all think of seasons—days, sometimes weeks—of our lives where we’ve been relegated to the side lines as time and people go on seemingly without us.  But it’s always helped to remind myself that these illnesses and recoveries won’t last forever, and by this time next year things will be more normal.  But what to do in the interim, for now?

I like how one girl on Bronwyn’s volleyball team is using this season while she’s out to help with coaching, tossing the balls in the warm ups and cheering on the girls in their games.  She’s still part of the team, wearing her uniform and showing up; she’s just involved in a different way this season.

Our Christmastime move helped us set up our decorations so quickly because of all the help we had, and when two friends moved this past Christmas, I totally knew what it felt like and how to help.  A sick day becomes a different sort of day with soft foods and junk tv.  A broken bone allows us to learn the coaching angle of our sport. The times alone with my babies were good for me and forced me to rest and heal and to spend those few days holding them close.  Our summer evenings painting the house were actually some of my favorite memories from last year, listening to our radio and talking while we worked together as a family.  Having to heal from a c-section that summer was actually helpful because it kept me and the five kids close to home for a time; our days were a little more relaxed than I would normally tend to make them.  And my days on my couch recovering from surgery were unusually slow, allowing me to visit with friends and to appreciate their generosity and kindness up close.

To be honest, sometimes it’s hard to see the good in an accident or distressing situation, and yet I still think it’s there.  If only to teach us to appreciate what we so often take for granted: our health, our associations, our everyday homes with furnishings in their proper places, a beautiful fall, holiday decorations that add to the season.

So as we’re in the middle of chaos once again, I choose not to be disgruntled. Of course I’d love our house to be back to normal (and admit I’m a tad jealous when I go to my friends’ perfectly organized houses) and to be able to dust and clean properly.  Obviously, our little friends would rather be playing their favorite sports than watching from the sidelines, most kids would rather not have to be stuck at home feeling sick, and I’d choose any other time of the year to move instead of Christmas; but most of the time we don’t get to choose this kind of thing.  And so I’ve found it helpful to just acknowledge that, while admittedly distressing, these disruptions are usually temporary.  And, looking back, I don’t know that we would actually change any of it.  Because there is nearly always something to learn or appreciate from life's interruptions.  

Teammates

I find it hard to believe that some people would actually choose to be leaders of their organizations.  I’m just so much more at ease being a dutiful follower and letting others carry the burden of thinking.  Just tell me what to do, I’m dependable, I’m on it.  But this being in charge stuff has been a little unsettling.  So I just remind myself (and others if they ask) that everyone takes a turn.  It won’t last forever.  I’m nearly to my half-way mark.  If I screw up too bad someone else will come in and clean it all up and get it right.

Half the time I get to church I forget my role.  That I’m supposed to be looking around for visitors and new people.  I have to move past my comfort zone and think more about them than myself. Which means I have to leave my warm bench and go introduce myself and talk to them.  It’s good, it’s always fine, it’s just not really where I live and so I always feel a little awkward.

I’ll tell you what I do like.  Placing food orders, entering the amounts and types of food in the computer for people who temporarily need a little help.  Nice tidy seat work.  I also like changing around the visiting assignments, printing them out, and organizing them for the other members of the presidency to hand out.  I do not like handing my stack out.

I’m ok with activities.  With speaking if I have to. With hosting anything at my house.  With cooking whatever.  Gathering supplies, shopping, planning.  Totally fine as long as decorating expectations aren’t too high.

Like I mentioned recently, one of my counselors suggested we go to the temple this past week.  I’m not sure why it never occurred to me.  At all.  Not even once.  It’s a normal thing for presidencies to do, I’ve been in others where we’ve done it.  Why I never thought of it is beyond me.

I also hate going on visits.  Not actually visiting.  Just setting up visits.  Figuring out who to visit.  If someone’s new or just had a baby or surgery, fine, easy; a visit is expected and there’s an obvious reason behind it. I don’t want ladies feeling like they’re a “project” or that we’re checking up on them. If she’s a little older and lives alone, that’s a good place to start and acceptable I think.  Except they can never hear us on the phone and so I hesitate there and put it all off another week.  I’m the worst. 

Here are some thoughts about where I’m coming from.  I figure ladies who want to be involved in church are already here.  If they aren’t interested, I don’t want to bug them.  As much as I love what I believe, I respect what others choose to believe and what they want to do with their lives.  And so I believe in giving people the space to do that.  The problem is that as part of my calling I am to help find those who are searching for this, women who may want to join us again, women who are maybe at a different stage of life now and who are feeling that they may want to try religion again.  Jesus commanded us to feed his sheep and to find those who are lost.  I love Jesus so much, and so I want to follow him.

But ugh.  It is beyond uncomfortable for me.  Not because I can’t be a hard worker.  Not because I don’t have time.  But because I don’t want to offend or bother people who want to be left alone, who are hiding out for a reason.  If they wanted to be found they would seek us out.  It’s not like we’re being obscure and playing hard to get.

And I hate to admit this.  Truly hate it.  But I do it to show you how much I still have to learn.  And to remind us that callings are simply opportunities to grow.  And serve.  But mostly I think they’re for us.  I have prayed sporadically about things pertaining to Relief Society.  On occasion.  But not every night.  I hardly ever prayed about specific sisters until recently.  I had to think of new counselors, etc. but other than that, not much.  I’m really embarrassed.  I can’t believe that’s me.  And as I’ve wondered why on earth this is true, I think I simply didn’t want to face the task in front of me.  It has been too big for me.  Too overwhelming to think of all these sisters in my stewardship. How could I possibly figure out who all these ladies are and personally visit them all, let alone help them with their issues?  What can I, a little 47-year-old church lady with no significant life experience to speak of, possibly contribute to complicated lives filled with real problems? Who am I to think my presence would mean something, that it would be welcome, that I’m anyone special to these women? I’m not the bishop.  I’m just a regular everyday mom who, for whatever reason, has this responsibility for a while. I think I subconsciously wanted it to go away, to figure itself out, to have someone else take over.  I must’ve bargained with myself: if I keep busy and do a good job at all the other tasks, maybe it won’t matter that I wasn’t that great at this people-stuff.  I honestly don’t know that I thought about it at all. I think I tried not to. Time simply passed and the guilt just grew that I wasn’t out and among the sisters, serving and loving them individually in their homes.

Along the way, just in the past few months is all, I started praying a little more about things.  I made a goal for myself to see two sisters a week as a presidency, that’s it.  I started praying about the sisters I’m assigned to personally minister to, something I’ve been bad at.  I must’ve prayed about something because out of nowhere I’m getting answers.  Nothing to anything I specifically asked about, because I don’t think I did.  Except for help in general.  And if I’m being really honest, I think this is a case of unprayed answers. I can’t credit myself at all; I just told you how disconnected I’ve been.  Maybe it’s others praying for their ward members, maybe God just needs me to get on the ball and get serious and get to work.  I don’t know; but, oddly, I’m feeling something new.

All of a sudden the missionaries asked me for my list of sisters I know nothing about.  They’ve been visiting their homes and trying to find out if they’re still there.  They’re texting me all sorts of information about who would like visits and who has moved.  And who wants no more contact with the church.  And others who don’t want to be members of it at all anymore.  Which is fine and also sad. But good information. I just feel like I’m not alone trying to figure out all of it myself.

My counselors and secretary have been so supportive, arranging care for their kids with each other so we can do visits.  They’ve called ladies themselves.  They’ve set up visits with other sisters as companions.  They’ve made themselves available and never, ever make me feel that I’m asking too much or that it’s an inconvenience.  I love that so much.

They have done so much in their own callings.  I don’t have to do a single thing to remind them about any of it.  They’re completely self-sufficient and doing amazing things within the scope of their callings.  Such incredibly competent, reliable, and inspiring women.  I have truly loved every one of these women just like my sisters.

The thing that hit me the most recently was sitting in the temple together as a presidency.  We didn’t say more than a couple of words to each other the whole time.  It wasn’t as if we discussed anyone’s needs or came up with any great activities.  We didn’t even tell each other it felt good to be there.  But what I saw beside me was a vision of unity.  I felt like we are a team.  It isn’t just me against the whole ward of women I need to serve—it’s the four of us working together.

I know not all of you can relate to this sort of experience because you’re all in different churches (or not) or callings or stages of life, whatever.  But consider your own experiences.  Don’t we all feel alone, daunted by the demands we’re facing, wanting to hide out at home or in bed, wishing it to all just take care of itself?  Maybe we don’t want to deal with our teens or extended family or a loss.  Maybe we’re a boss at work and aren’t sure how to rally the troops.  Maybe our coaching isn’t as motivating as we’d hope.  Maybe it feels like us against the world.

And maybe you don’t even want to touch it.  Maybe it’s too big.  Maybe you’re like me and you don’t even think to involve God in the hard parts of life because they’re too “earthy” and mortal and unimportant (we assume) for the Ruler of the universe to care about.  Maybe we think we’ve made our own issues for ourselves and we need to clean it all up ourselves.

But I encourage you/us to open our hearts and ask God to be a part of it all.  Just the petition for general welfare help is a good start.  And then look around.  Notice that a family member has reached out.  Pay attention to the friend that texted or called.  Note that you’re getting ideas you hadn’t come up with before.  Listen.  Look who’s next to you.  See that you have allies all around you, you’re not alone.

I just think no matter how uncomfortable we are with what we’ve been asked to do, whether it’s figuring out life after a spouse has died, dealing with a new job or stage of life, heading up a major project, or taking a turn as a leader in 4-H, we’re not alone.  While what we’re asked to do may be someone else’s dream stint, it’s ok if we’re a little shaky and want to wish it away.  But most of the time we still bravely try to face it.  It just helps to remember that we have teammates on our bench right beside us, that we’re never completely on our own as we do.

Her hands

I was talking with a friend in the library at school who’s in her 50s, just a little further down the road than me.  She mentioned that she had told her daughter recently how much she hated her hands, how ugly they were.  Until her daughter wisely pointed out how much good they’d done over the years, how they’d been used to make food for her family, to give hugs, to work and to serve.

I was just lounging on our sectional the other afternoon playing with a baby’s tiny soft hands.  So engaging.  So peaceful.  As I let my mind wander, I reflected on that exchange with my friend and juxtaposed it with the baby perfection in front of me.  And considered the marvel our bodies are. 

I think it’s been especially hard the past few years as I approach 50.  Up until the 40s or even mid-40s I didn’t pay that much attention.  But I’m finally understanding what all the fuss is about and I can commiserate.

But I felt how deflating and useless that sort of exercise really is and I switched up my thoughts and reminded myself of all our bodies are capable of and all mine has allowed me to accomplish and experience.

I think of my own hands.  I told my friend I feel the same way, I’ve always sort of hated the way my hands look.  But would I want to be a hand model?  And give up all they’ve been able to do? To maintain smooth, wrinkle-free, manicured fingers?  No contest.

As I was watching this baby, I continued my body tour and obviously ventured to my stomach.  Which was interesting.  Because my French beauty book encouraged us to look at the skin on our abdomens and compare it with that on our faces to illustrate the damage the sun has had on us over the years.  And so I recently did take a little peek at my stomach, honestly something I try rarely to do.  It was of course pure and creamy.  I had a bikini when I was maybe five, but it has never seen the light of day since.  And so my tummy is virgin white. 

And a little squishy.  The sides and top poke out of my pants.  I immediately covered right back up, grateful for an ample shirt to glide over it all.  But as I sat with my little baby friend, I of course recognized the trade off.  And would do it again and again in a heartbeat.  Yes, maybe I could have it all: a house full of babies and a taut tanned stomach.  Lots of women do.  With a lot of conditioning and time and willpower (is that what it is?) or maybe a coach. Maybe just better genetics? Maybe a cook?  But I sighed and reminded myself that I’d given life five times over to precious—oh so precious—loved ones.  A little extra, relaxed muscles from birthing and a c-section, mostly a huge lack of self-discipline all contributing to what we have here.  But how can you even begin to weigh the value of a life?  Would I give any of them up for a beautiful body instead? Would I entertain the thought for even a second?

Well I did.  This is how sick our world is.  My body obviously changed with each baby I nursed.  And with my fifth I was distraught.  I toyed with the idea of not even nursing at all because of how ugly I felt my body was becoming.  Which is so twisted—that our world would have such a pull on me as a woman and a mother that I’d actually consider not nursing so I could maintain even a semblance of what I thought a woman should look like.  I cried over it.  I knew I was sacrificing what was left of my figure.  I knew I would continue to become distorted and grow further from the model of what a woman should be.  And yet I chose anyway.  I’m thankful I was able to nurse all five of my babies—so thankful.  Not every mother can.  Not every woman has that experience.  It was a privilege and a blessing, the closeness, knowing I could provide nutrition for them, helping them with a healthy start, I was in awe of my body and how it knew exactly what each of my babies needed.  I felt like I was teaming up with heaven.  Even as satan was tugging on my heart at the same time.

I continued on up to my face, since I’d just finished that French beauty book, her number one tip being the religious use of sunscreen.  But growing up in the 70s and 80s in San Diego, I didn’t know if sunscreen was even invented.  I remember when I was maybe in elementary school my mom presenting us with a new product: Pre-Sun, a precursor to sunscreen.  We balked but eventually converted.  Eventually we could choose from the number scale: 4, 6, 8, and 15.  I usually tried to stick with 6; who would even buy SPF 15? You’d never get a lick of sun that way.  And so we boogie boarded, swam, laid out, slathered ourselves with tan-promoting products.  I grew up in day care, where we played outside a good part of the day.  My mom certainly didn’t lotion me up each morning as a precautionary measure against future skin cancer and wrinkles.  And so I lived.  With freckles.  And sunburns.  And blisters.  Which have all morphed into wrinkles.  And brown “age” spots.  And permanently sun-damaged skin.  Which all adds years to an already oldish-looking body.

And hair. I can’t believe how fast I turn gray again.  I never knew to appreciate naturally dark hair until I had to start coloring it.

I thought about how tied down I get when I sit or squat in a position too long.  I’m thinking now of my mom’s and sister’s arthritis.  Of my anemia and thyroid issues.  Of Todd’s cyst on his wrist (which makes me think of Dr. Seuss) and his pre-cancer on his face that needs to be treated. And how our bodies are aging against all our wishes.

I look at my teenagers who are simply young and active and fit.  Who can wear anything.  Who never have to worry about what they eat or about wrinkles or even about washing their faces.  I want to warn them that they will become us someday.  And yet will that change anything? Would I want it to?

And here’s what I decided.  (And have to tell myself over and over.)

It’s ok to have wrinkles.  It means I’ve danced in the sun all my life and laughed till my eyes have permanent cracks around them.  

It’s ok to have a little extra around my middle.  It means I had birthday cake.  Lots of times.  It means I ate ice cream with my family all over the country.  It means I had fries and shakes with my dad and with my best of friends and enjoyed every minute of it all.

It’s ok to have hands that would never pass for a model’s.  It means they’ve been busy digging in the garden, changing diapers, making bread, and playing play dough.  They’re cracked and worn and aged.  But only because I’d rather use them than display them.

And no way does any part of my body look like the ladies on my exercise videos.  I keep waiting for their “guaranteed results” to show up, but I just figure they’re young, they eat lettuce, they haven’t had kids, they work out a lot.

And maybe that’s what some choose to do with their time.  But I wonder if we could all just settle down and admit we’re never going to be young again.  Not defeated, just content.  With the lives we’ve lived, with the bodies that have been our instruments that have helped us learn so much, with the scars and remainder marks highlighting all we’ve experienced and been through.  From stretch marks and varicose veins to wiry hair and bony hands, can’t we just laugh and tell ourselves that they are simply souvenirs we picked up along the way to remind us of all our life’s journeys?