Continuing Ed

Back when Todd was a vet student and we had baby Andrew, I felt that I needed to get a job to supplement our student loans.  Working turned out to be one of the biggest regrets of my life, but at the time I couldn’t see another clear option.  It was 1996, and so we didn’t even use email; the only thing I used our computer for was to write letters.  So working in those days, as far as I could tell, meant going to an actual job or selling things from home.  So I tried Discovery Toys and then Mary Kay.  Both were nightmares.  I hated trying to be a salesperson, I thought the products were way too expensive and almost completely unnecessary, I hated leaving Todd and Andrew, I avoided calls from my coaches, and I gave away more product than I sold.  I still have many of the toys from the Discovery Toys $100 start-up pack, so that wasn’t the worst.  But Mary Kay encouraged us to keep a hefty inventory, so I invested $1000 to get started.  It took little to no time for me to admit it was all a mistake.  But thankfully, they had a contingency plan for those like me who wanted to opt out.  We could sell our product back for 90% of what we paid for it, which is what I did.  As a consequence, I would never be allowed to sell Mary Kay again.  Which was perfect with me.

But I felt awful.  We lived on $1000 a month back in those days.  Our student loan checks for living expenses were about $4,000 a semester; so that was a substantial amount of money I’d used for this experiment.  I am still embarrassed about it, and I of course wish I had just been true to what I know about myself (ie selling is the last thing I want to do), but at the time I felt desperate to stay home with my baby and it was all I could think of that I could do; I would try anything in order to be with him.  And so I have this mark, this error, on my record and I wasted a ton of money and time trying to make these enterprises work.

But I eventually decided to relabel this and so many other “experiences,” mishaps, or mistakes as part of my continuing education.  Just like we’ve all paid hundreds and thousands of dollars for tuition throughout our college years, I feel like my post-collegiate days are still demanding something akin to tuition, and I’m paying it.  But I’m settling into the idea because life’s lessons unavoidably continue outside the classroom.  I’m constantly doing chemistry experiments within my home’s kitchen.  I’m writing and erasing and reconstructing essays, letters, notes, explanations, and blogs over and over and over.  I’m flailing at real-life math as I find myself being wasteful and overspending.  I’m still struggling to figure out the events of history and am grateful we don’t have graded fill-in-the-map exams anymore (although I like to test myself on the computer when no one’s around).  I just find that real life isn’t all that different from college, and so renaming my mistakes, refiling them in my head under continuing ed, assuages my guilt a little, but mostly permits me to accept that I’m simply still learning on the daily.

Just this week I was using a frozen ham bone from Christmas.  But I started on our split pea soup a little late.  So of course I simply turned up the heat to speed things up.  But as Todd came home from work and checked the pot, we realized all the water had been eaten up and I’d burned the pot black, along with the contents.  So we had eggs with our homemade bread instead.  I felt so embarrassed, I know better.  I should’ve started much sooner (but I hate cooking and am always procrastinating), and I already knew we all hate ham soup.  I was just trying to be healthy and to use up the ham bone, wasting vegetables and split peas and ruining our dinner in the process.  But I gave myself grace and let it go.

I was hasty as I was unpacking more items for the cabin’s kitchen.  We had so very much to do in a short weekend window, so I just pulled the crockpot out of its packaging only to hear it immediately shatter all over the kitchen tile.  I was again so embarrassed, mad at myself, and so disappointed.  Not only had I wasted our money, I was trying to make French Dip for us that night and was annoyed I’d ruined our plans.  But I told myself in any building or making project, there is excess, there is overage, scraps are a given.  It’s not unreasonable for us to waste a little in the process of building a cabin.  Sigh.  But this was a completely unnecessary expense.  I didn’t have to tell Todd what had happened, the whole house heard it.  But I did tell him how sorry I was and how ashamed I felt, to which he told me he’d had the workers order a whole new sliding glass door handle set for $170 simply because they couldn’t find the original one in all the mess.  He showed me the one we had found, in a mashed up box, a little too scratched to return, just wasted.

We’ve done that so many times with the cabin.  Not just a $30 crockpot or even $170 door handle.  We’ve had to get rid of couches we thought would work but are completely wrong no matter how we’ve tried to make them work in different rooms and both our house and the cabin.  I accidentally ordered a leather loveseat when I thought I’d ordered a navy one.  How do we return that mistake? We’ve lost or returned all the shower curtains, I can’t remember; so we’ve been showering without them when we’ve gone and I just ordered all new ones.  The eight lovely bar stools we got over a year ago are so sturdy and nice looking, but as we put them together, we realized how awful they look with everything else.  We might switch them out with our home ones because I dislike them there so much. The tile in the showers clashes with the tile we chose for the bathroom floors, which grates on me every time I see them, but there’s no way to undo all that.  Although we did at one point have our workers tear out showers with tile we thought we liked but that turned out all wrong.  So much waste.  But I tell myself, we’re amateurs.  It’s so hard for us to know how things will all look together, and we’re over four hours away, we can’t just pop in and check.  So we’ve made a lot of mistakes and wasted a ton of money.  And yet, we realize that’s just the cost of building and learning, and so we move on.

I’ve bought a lot of clothes over the years that I’ve eventually donated.  Usually thrifted items that I bought on a whim, but sometimes not.  I remember years ago just wanting a high-quality sweatshirt, just one good sweatshirt I could have for many years.  I’d bought others from my alma mater, but they got stretched out, the fuzz faded, a zipper broke, one is too tight so I never wear it.  I thought it I could just find the right one, I could finally be free from sweatshirt problems.  So I did my research and found one with all the good reviews.  It was nearly $100, which is crazy for me.  And I was so excited when it came.  Except it was awful.  The color was a dull gray (which I chose because I thought it would be versatile and neutral), thin with no fluff, and very, very durable (ie stiff).  I hated it.  But I tried to adopt it and like it, like an arranged marriage.  I resented it every time I had to wear it.  But because it was so expensive, I felt obligated to.  For like a year.  Finally, I just got so annoyed with my mistake I decided to get rid of it and just admit it wasn’t working.  Thankfully, I thought of a young friend who is more into rugged outdoor wear than I am, and she took it. I hope she is truly loving it.

I’ve also altered several items, hoping to make them work a little better.  I’ve bought trim that I’ve added to the bottoms of skirts and dresses to make them a little longer, some have worked, some were kind of a flop.  I’ve cut off jeans, some I’ve used, others I accidentally/hastily made too short.  I’ve even cut the neckline of a sweatshirt. I bought two pairs of grandma flannel pajama pants at an estate sale, so vintage and sweet but all stretched out.  So I got some elastic and replaced their waistbands… but they just weren’t good. I hadn’t realized at the time how worn and stained they were.  Sadly, I gave them away.

I also have shoes I’ve spent good money on that I just don’t love… I’m not sure what inspired or motivated me.

And of course I’ve had my share of crafty sewing projects, pillows I hand stitched but that I finally gave away because I didn’t like the fabrics after a few years.  I’m in the middle of a quilt I think I’ll also give away, a different technique I tried that I’m not in love with.  I’ve donated many an unfinished project to thrift stores with confidence that a more skilled crafter will come along, see the potential, and take them to their true level of beauty.

I had the uncanny ability to buy books that I end up hating.  There have only been a handful of books I’ve bought that I’ve truly liked.  Every now and then I’ll buy one at the real price for book group.  I have only ever liked one (and it was a used copy now that I think about it).  It is so weird and so typical that I have learned to only buy thrifted books or to use library books; I don’t trust myself.

Were these experiences, supplies, clothes, fabrics, ingredients, and dollars wasted?  I’ve taught myself to think of them differently. Sometimes I wonder if I was just the middle man.  Maybe it was perfect that we were able to give our friend a couple of couches or a hearty, built-to-last sweatshirt or a new blanket that I’d gotten for a great deal and toted around for years but always hated or the bathmat I thought we’d like at the cabin that looked awful.  Maybe that’s how I’ve learned to cook, because I’ve been making flops for over forty years.  How else am I going to know if a recipe is one I want to keep unless I try it?

I just think of it all like college.  We spent money on the opportunity to go to class.  We bought text books, calculators and other tools and supplies (like when I took a sewing class).  We spent time reading.  We got back tests we didn’t do that great on.  I even took a class over once.

I remember when I had little kids at home feeling guilty for leaving them for a week when we’d go to Todd’s continuing ed vet conferences.  And even more so when I’d go away to Education Week or read just for fun.  But I reframed that guilt and decided this was my continuing ed. This was my conference, these were my text books, the fabrics are my class supplies, the time I watch videos on how to make bread or sew are my lectures.  My exercise time is my p.e.  My lunch break is just as necessary now as it was when I was a student.  My part-time jobs then were to slice bread and give campus tours; now they’re painting the house or weeding the garden. But I still need time to study. :)

I just love how easy it is to let things go (after a moment of grief or upset) by simply using this reframe.  I am amazed—absolutely astounded—at how many mistakes I make, how much I waste, and the kinds of flops I’m a part of.  And yet, I’m learning to just switch it all up in my mind and just call them all by a different name.  For some reason, that’s made all the difference.  I’m less anxious about what will inevitably go wrong in a day and tell myself I’m simply still learning.

The Power of Words

Solemnly, people began to gather outside the mission president’s office. Exchanging astonished glances, many could still not believe that they had been summoned to a church court. The officers of the court were full of love and understanding, but very serious in their investigation of the charges; those present could lose their membership in [the Church]. The charge was not immorality or apostasy; they were accused of speaking evil of a neighbor.

A fine brother had been slandered by those gathered together that evening, accused of the serious charge of immorality. He was completely innocent, but the great damage that had been done by “those whom he counted as his friends” would not be easily repaired. Who could measure the near destruction of this good soul? Who could measure the impact on the branch, as its fellowship was eroded? And what about the effect on those nonmembers who also became involved? Who could ever undo the evil that had affected hundreds of lives?

It had happened so easily. It began with simple words… “Did you hear?”

(Gene R. Cook, “Gossip:  Satan’s Snare,” Ensign, Jan 1981)

Part 1:  How words affect us

A. Negatively

Can you think of a time when something someone said hurt you?  Think back to elementary school if you can.  Even going that far back, it’s not hard.  At least for me.  That’s how powerful words are.  

—It was jr high basketball for p.e. class, we got assigned to teams and one of the girls huffed and asked, “Why do you have to be on our team?”  Result:  Haven’t felt confident since and I’ve avoided sports as much as possible ever since.

—I was a freshman at BYU, it was a home football game, and a friend and I were walking up the stairs to meet our friends when I a guy say, “Those are two of the ugliest girls I’ve ever seen.”  Result:  Those guys didn’t know I’d questioned my looks my whole life.  They made it even harder by adding to those insecurities so that more than 30 years later I still don’t feel confident about my outer shell, I just try to focus on other things.

—I was president of an organization back when I was 26.  We had a 2 year old, I was working, Todd was in vet school, I was trying to figure out marriage and mothering and adult life hundreds of miles away from my family and friends.  There were major issues within the families we were trying to help and lead.  It was summer, we were preparing for girls camp and our camp leader pulled out, which left me scrambling to figure out what to do there.  I was due with my second baby any week.  My grandpa I was really close to had just died.  My sister got divorced.  Just kind of a busy time. Which is fine.  I could manage all that.  What made my calling so difficult was my presidency, of all things.  I discovered they’d all been talking about me behind my back and that they were being critical.  Result:  I felt incredibly insecure.  I couldn’t trust them, I didn’t feel united and it seemed that the girls could tell.  We were ineffective.  I was tentative.  I didn’t want to make any decisions and give them any more fodder to talk about.  Even when they threw me a baby shower, I didn’t know if it was genuine.  The lasting result? This experience has paralyzed me.  I never wanted to be in a position of leadership again.  It scared me to death to think of working in that capacity again.  Their words—even though they weren’t to me in person—shook any  confidence I could’ve had and the effects still linger more than 25 years later and have made me hesitant about ever being in charge of anything.

I’m not saying we can’t be strong and pull ourselves together and disregard what people say and focus on what God has to say to us instead.  Obviously that’s what we do.  All I’m saying is, as strong as our testimonies and faith may be, even with all the good Heavenly Father tells us about ourselves, idle words are still powerful and can have long-lasting repercussions.

Elder Holland asked us in Conference a few years back when he spoke on this topic, “Is this something we could all work on just a a little?  Is this an area in which we could each try to be a little more like a “perfect” man or woman?”

We’re taught “That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment” (Matt 12:36) and that “…our words will condemn us” (Alma 12:14).  Those reminders always makes me uncomfortable because, like feathers from a down pillow flying through the wind, I don’t know how to capture all the thoughtless things I’ve said in my life.  I have so many regrets, I know I’ve hurt so many people either carelessly or unknowingly or even on purpose when I’ve been tired or weak or hurt myself. I know I have room to improve.  Maybe most of us do.  But I also know it’s not hopeless and I know we can do better.

B. Positively

Can you recall some of the positive things people have told you over the years?  I honestly struggled with this.  I know I’ve received compliments or praise in the past, but I don’t know where I’ve put them.  I asked my husband for some examples, and he also drew a blank.

“But there’s a problem: the brain barely responds to our positive words and thoughts. They’re not a threat to our survival, so the brain doesn’t need to respond as rapidly as it does to negative thoughts and words.” (psychologytoday.com, “The Most Dangerous Word in the World”)  Studies differ, but scientists suggest we need anywhere from 3-20 positive interactions to combat the effects of one negative comment.

“I can live for two months on a good compliment.” (Mark Twain)  

Maybe it’s because my love language is words, but I can live for decades on a compliment.  (Maybe it’s because I can’t remember many so I have to hold on to the couple I know.)  But I do remember my 8th grade English class where our teacher praised an essay I’d written about the novel, 1984; she even read it aloud to the class.  It was such a small thing, but unknowingly, Mrs. Forrester was the catalyst to a life full of writing.  She helped me see something in myself that I had no idea I’d want to develop and would come to enjoy so much. Her simple words were a powerful force in my life.  And it’s because of the kind and encouraging words of others throughout my life that I feel confident in pursuing something I love so much.  So much power in something as small as words, you never know the impact they can have.  

Words can be powerful tools as we “succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees” (DC 81:5).

“One kind word can change someone’s entire day.”  I heard a great idea in a youth talk.  A mom wrote a short compliment on a sticky note each day and just stuck it on her daughter’s bedroom door.  I imagine most parents don’t think their teenagers would care that much about a little sentence on a sticky note.  But this daughter kept them all on the inside of her door until it was covered.  Brilliant!  With all the figurative negative sticky notes the world sticks on us all day, it’s comforting and strengthening to have someone you love and look up to tell you the good she sees in you.  I know I see good things in my kids all the time.  And I sometimes forget to say anything or point out what I notice.  I know we don’t need to puff up our kids by being fake and over the top, but genuine, specific praise helps us want to live up to what others see.  Keep in mind how many positives we need to express to repudiate just one negative.

Words build connections.  A meaningful letter that you save and re-read, an intimate talk with someone close.  Words can powerfully weld hearts together.

Part 2:  How we can be better stewards of our words and use them for good?

1.  Remember we’ve made covenants to be follow Christ and to help each other.  “…I have said these things unto you that I might awaken you to a sense of your duty to God…” (Alma 7:22).  Remember the words of our covenant, “Ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light;  Yea and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all places that ye may be in…” (Mosiah 18:9)  In our theme for tonight we’re reminded to be diligent in keeping the commandments of God at all times.  We’ve made covenants to love our neighbor as ourselves and to not bear false witness and to show our love for God, which always goes right back to loving His sons and daughters.

As we strive to keep our covenants and become better stewards of our words, we can always count on our Savior as our model.  He spoke calmly and peacefully, intimately and clearly.  He spoke from His heart and encouraged others to do the same.  You’d never, ever imagine Him saying anything that would put anyone in a bad light or with a small group of followers talking about the ones who used to be with them but have gone their own way.  He would never make light of another’s misfortune or do anything but offer help and love and support.  In everything we do, and especially say, we are always right when we follow Christ’s example.

2.  Look for and focus on the good in people. 

Most of us already know and feel the heaviness of our own shortcomings.  Most of us are dealing with something most people know nothing about.   The Lord expects us to give each other the benefit of the doubt.  We are usually safer assuming that every person we meet is doing the best she can.  Even when we feel we are fairly certain we know the situation and are pretty sure he’s not doing the best he can do, we just need to be kind.  Think of how you’d feel in a similar situation and consider how you can use words to help.  “Therefore, strengthen your brethren in all your conversation, in all your prayers, in all your exhortations, and in all your doings” and “Cease to contend one with another; cease to speak evil one of another… and let your words tend to edifying one another” (DC 136:23-24).

Sometimes we hardly realize what we’re doing.  I remember a lesson in RS back when we were first married that has stuck with me ever since.  I don’t know if the lesson was on this topic or not, but the teacher told how she and her husband would hang out with another couple or couples for an evening and then on the ride home together would talk about how the other couples did things, about their parenting methods, how they would do things differently.  After awhile this woman realized what they had been doing.  She said she loved these couples, they were their close friends, but she and her husband had been tearing them down by talking critically about them, even though they certainly didn’t have malicious intentions.  But that’s just it.  We have to be so careful, even when we’re talking with our spouses.  In most instances, we would be wise to simply hold our tongues when we have nothing good to say.

One of the destructive things I’ve seen is when youth talk about other youth or when we talk about the youth ourselves.  They are already trying to navigate some of the toughest years of their lives.  The last thing they (or their parents) need is neighbors or ward members talking about them, dissecting their lives, whispering about what they’re wearing or who they’re dating or whether or not they’re coming to church.  Instead, we can take note of all the good they do and exude love simply and easily with kind and supportive words. 

As followers of Christ, we should do nothing but focus on the good in others and support each other.  Look for the good and you will find it.  

3.  Be someone others can trust.

We need to become this kind of person so we can become effective instruments for the Lord.  He needs women who can listen and counsel and keep things to herself.  He needs priesthood holders at the helm that He can trust to keep confidences.  It’s crucial that He can count on us.

For me, this is a top priority in any relationship.  Not only with my husband, but with my kids and sisters and friends.  We want people in our lives we can depend on.  I have so much respect for the small circle of friends I know I can trust implicitly.  They are my go-to’s and I never had to remind them to keep something to themselves, they have never once let me down.  One couple we’re friends with has this almost as a mantra, “Your name is safe in our home,” and they live it, which totally inspires us and makes us want to be more like that.

I’ve heard some wise counsel over the years that can help us become more trustworthy:

Don’t say anything you wouldn’t want the person you’re discussing to hear or that you would be embarrassed about if they found out.  (They almost always do.)  Even if you aren’t saying anything, your presence in a conversation can be construed as participation. 

Ask, “Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?”  Most of the time we get hung up on the fact that it’s true without bothering to consider if it were us, would we want it shared.  And really, is it necessary to share everything we know about other people?  I had a wise friend back in Illinois, years older than me, who—even though it was a constant at that stage of our life—simply didn’t share new pregnancy news.  She always said it wasn’t her news to share, and “How often do you get to tell people you’re pregnant?”  She never shared what wasn’t hers to tell.

We can ask ourselves, “What is my motive in sharing this?”  The teachers at our school use this all the time, “Is it helping or hurting?” when the kids are tattling on someone.  If someone hurts himself by falling off the slide, it’s helpful to walk him to the office and tell the secretary.  But it’s not necessary to tell the whole class.  Similarly, if someone you home teach lost his job, it’s helpful to mention that to the bishop in confidence.  But it’s not your place to tell the whole Elders Quorum.

Eleanor Roosevelt: “Great minds discuss ideas.  Average minds discuss events.  Small minds discuss people.”

Unless we are in a leadership position or truly in a relationship that would necessitate it, we should tread very carefully when people become the topic of our conversations.  But, even then, we should be very, very judicious and careful that presidency meetings don’t become gossip sessions.  I appreciated the way one RS president I worked with guarded private information.  She would simply mention there was a sister in the ward who was struggling and that we needed to pray for her.  She wouldn’t give us details about confidential issues, but she knew these sisters needed prayers. It feels good to know what’s going on in a ward, but I’ve realized that sometimes we use the umbrella of a presidency to share information that we don’t really need to discuss, that’s none of our business. 

“When I chided an acquaintance for not telling me that a couple we both knew had gotten divorced—something I thought would probably be common knowledge—her simple explanation put her on my people-you-can-trust list, and I immediately perceived her as a woman of honor and character.

“I just wasn’t completely sure if it was something they wanted discussed yet,” she said. I now knew that anything I told her would be kept confidential. Had she filled me in quickly on any details or, worse, conjecture, she unwittingly would have revealed that she was not careful with information.  (Name Withheld, Ensign, April 1998)

I think we can all relate with that.  When something serious comes up in our lives, maybe a delicate health or family issue, just something we don’t want everyone to know but that we need support with, we all of a sudden long for someone we can trust.  We all have friends we love being with, but I cling to the words of my patriarchal blessing, “Choose your close friends wisely.”  The best way I know to determine who I can trust is to pay attention to how they keep others’ confidences.

“Years ago I struggled for a time with some personal difficulties. I longed for someone I could really trust and talk to. I quickly eliminated those people I had heard talking about others, revealing confidences, and speaking carelessly. Was there anyone I could turn to? Finally I remembered a loving relative I could trust implicitly.

As we talked and I bared my heart, I knew deep in my soul that my words would never be repeated. How fortunate that during a difficult, challenging time I could find a warm, safe shelter, a caring individual who would treasure my confidence and guard my personal information. Many times since I have vowed to offer that same shelter and warmth for others.” (same)

3.  Use prayer.

We can start fresh every day, asking Heavenly Father to help us avoid the temptation to gossip, for the wisdom to know when to leave or switch gears in a conversation, to know what words to use to strengthen those around us and to know who needs us and when the timing is best to talk. 

4.  Finally, we need the Holy Ghost.  He will help us notice when we’re slipping or when the conversation is getting uncomfortable.  He will help us remember our covenants and prompt us to repent and give us courage to make amends when we’ve offended someone. 

Conclusion:

Our son is in Oxnard California.  What he loves the most about this area is the ward’s excitement for missionary work, obviously.  He told us in the last two years the ward he’s in has gone from around 80 to almost 180 attendance at Sacrament meeting.  I of course wanted to know what made the big difference.  He said that they focused on visiting and home teaching and missionary work of course, but then he told me something that surprised me and has stuck with me.  The bishop basically told everyone that they need to quit gossiping and getting offended and realize this isn’t a social church but they are literally God’s children.

When I read that his bishop had been so bold, I was a little surprised.  But then what I heard was an urgency, a call to put aside the pettiness and unChristlike behavior so that they could become what Heavenly Father needed them to be.  We are followers of Christ.  We have made covenants that we will take His name on us, that we will lift and help the people around us, not make life harder for them.  We don’t have time to waste on gossip or unkind words.  We are sons and daughters of God who should be so busy preparing for Christ to come again that the last thing we have time for is idle chit chat that does nothing but hurt people we love.  “…For the devil laugheth, and his angels rejoice” when we’re distracted from our divine purpose.

“Our words, like our deeds, should be filled with faith and hope and charity. With such words, spoken under the influence of the Spirit, tears can be dried, hearts can be healed, lives can be elevated, hope can return, confidence can prevail.” (Elder Holland, The Tongue of Angels, Ensign, May 2007)

I know Christ is real and that He is depending on us to be the disciples we’ve covenanted to be.  I know He will help us use our words to strengthen each other if we ask for His help and follow His perfect example.

Body talk

I’m noticing it more and more these days. Whenever I fold my arms and hug myself, I sense there’s more to hang on to than before, a little more cushion. I’ve been growing steadily over the past nine years. I wonder if it’s age, Tamoxifen, menopause, or a few too many cookies. I wonder if this trajectory will ever taper off or if my body’s decided to gear up for the winter years of my life. I get weighed twice a year, when I go in for my oncology appointments. I also determine how I’m doing as I transition between seasons, do my shorts still fit? Jeans?

And here’s what happens if they don’t. I toss them. I don’t need any more negativity in my life. I don’t want to hassle with the emotions associated with clothes that are clearly not meant for me anymore. I’ve had to donate skirts I’d always worn because the zippers don’t close anymore. (Although I have two dresses I keep even though they don’t zip up; I just wear a jacket over them.) I gave away a new-to-me pair of white summer pants because the zipper wouldn’t stay shut over my soft belly. And I’ve definitely stripped my closet of tops that cling and are a struggle to wiggle into. Gone. I’m left with soft billowing blouses, sweaters that glide and hide, forgiving flannels, and bathing suits with gathers and a little extra flow.

I was garage saling with a friend and we were looking at tops. She said it, “I’m so sick of worrying about my weight.” She’s been up and down over the years like everyone else I know and it’s a constant source of angst and stress. I couldn’t agree more.

Except I don’t. Stress about it. Of course I’d love to be the same weight as I was 9 years ago, which is the same I’d always been since I even noticed weight to be a thing back in high school. Because then I wouldn’t have to decide if my clothes are going to fit or not. But who cares? I’m serious. Who cares one whit if my belly is a little softer than it used to be, if I’m a little squishier, what kinds of clothes I wear, what size pants I’m in, or what the arbitrary number on a little scale dial says? No. One. Not my friends, not my kids, and not even Todd.

I’m down for a Blizzard when Todd and I are on our Thursday dates. We’ll go for ice cream as a family in small neighboring towns several times over the course of the summer. And I’ll have a bowl of vanilla with hot fudge and banana right alongside them every Sunday night. I’ll eat salad and broccoli with my grilled chicken and potatoes. I’ll have a snack if I’m hungry, a bowl of cereal if needed after working in the yard. I take a walk or two with Todd every day. I lift weights. I work out like I have ever since I was 15. I work in the gardens and yard for hours every day. I don’t sit too much. I stretch before bed. I sleep plenty and take a nap if I need it, I drink water. I take my vitamins. I cook from scratch. We eat a plethora of fruits and vegetables, and the only thing I ever check on labels is fiber. I’m not doing anything else. That’s enough. And I’m just going to let the chips fall.

Because here’s what matters.

I’m here. I’m present. I’m not distracted by body talk except to be amazed by what they can do. I don’t care what anyone looks like or what shape they are or what size their clothes are. Why would I? Why would anyone? No one has ever, ever asked me what size I wear or mentioned that I’ve gained or lost weight or even about my eating habits. No. One. Cares.

But here’s why I want to be healthy, and thankfully I see this view touted more and more these days. I want to be around for a long, long time. I want to hike with my kids and grandkids. I want to be strong enough to pull out the thick, tough weeds. Todd needs my help moving boxes of tile and flooring and bees. I want my heart to stay pumping for me forever. I want my innards to have what they need to do their jobs. I want my body to be able to ward off problems and to heal quickly if the need arises. I want to walk five miles without breaking a sweat. I want to touch my toes and play pickleball and yard games with my family and friends. I want to be able to run after a lost ball and not have to sit out the next round. I want to be outside in the freshness and the sounds. I want to shovel snow and gravel and rock. I want to stack wood and have stamina that allows me to work and move and serve all day long if needed. I want a sharp brain, a clear mind, that’s not cluttered with details about numbers on a tag or in a food or what the newest fad in eating is. I want to eat real food that we’ve grown or made here at home so I know what it’s about. I want to have energy to make meals and treats and snacks for anyone who wanders in. I want to go to bed plumb tuckered out from a full day of using my incredible body for good.

I don’t have time to wallow in the fact that there’s a little more to love these days. I wish I knew what changed suddenly after years of being the same, but it’s more of a flitting curiosity than an obsession or concern. Because, like I said, I’m not likely going to give up Costco birthday cake, chocolate chip cookies right from the oven, popcorn on Sunday nights, a hamburger on the way home from boating, or a popsicle on the back deck on a warm summer evening. Those are tiny slivers of joy that I choose to keep. I know there’s talk about social eating, that it’s maybe not good. I disagree. I think it’s very, very good. Food unites and connects, and while I believe our bodies love it when we make efforts to take care of them, I’m all for a little treat here and there.

But we don’t need to talk about it. We don’t need to mention the calories we’re consuming or make comments about how we’ll need to work out more tomorrow to make up for it. We don’t need to be concerned about what diets our friends are on or what they’re doing now to lose weight. We just eat what’s good for us, we have a little treat every now and then, we move in ways that work for our schedules and lives, we do what we can to be our healthiest selves and carry on.

I’ve seen the most amazing stories of people with all kinds of bodies. One pregnant woman had a regular long leg and a tiny short one half the size. Another mother had no arms and it was inspiring to see how she managed the daily tasks of feeding and tending to her baby with her feet. We’ve read of the blind climbing Mount Everest and the man with no arms and no legs who surfs and plays soccer. Our bodies can DO incredible things. That’s what we should be in awe of, not how they look in a dress or bathing suit, but how crazy that they can push the limits, that they can do so many different things, that they heal, that they can create and learn and absorb so much. So yes, we should esteem our bodies. But not for how they look, but for what they can do.

In today’s world even I, a nondescript middle-aged mom, can get sucked right into the nonsense of it all. It’s brutal. Paraded in my feeds are women older and younger than me touting all sorts of lifestyles and habits and routines and products that will improve my everything from shape to skin. At my age though, I can see through the smoke; I’ve lived long enough to know what matters, and yet I STILL get ruffled every now and then when I’m not thinking straight. In talking with a college friend, I realized that even chatter about bodies can be detrimental and stress-inducing, even subconsciously. She believes there is just no need to mention anything about the looks of a person’s body. I’ve thought about this the past several weeks and agree.

I was telling my son just yesterday over lunch that that’s one thing I loved so much about my parents. They just did life. I don’t remember even one time my mom mentioning her body and how it looked, a diet, calories, anything like that. My parents never, ever talked about my sisters and me and our bodies or what we were eating, sizes, growing, shapes, anything. It was simply not part of our home life, and it’s only now that I’m realizing what a blessing that was for young, impressionable girls. And the effect of that background is still with us in that we’re largely uninfluenced by the advertising trends and admonitions of our looks-focused culture. I’m so grateful for this unintentional parenting win. Although today it is much harder to avoid, we as parents and adult mentors have much sway through our examples of what we value and what we say and don’t say.

I know it’s tricky to live in a time when there’s so much hype about bodies and the way they look. But I also know we are our children’s foremost influencers, at least setting the foundation for what they will believe and choose to value. Let it be what be matters. Let’s be healthy, our best versions of ourselves. Let’s of course take care of our bodies, our souls, our minds, yes, for sure. But let’s not obsess about numbers and shapes. Let’s love our bodies, be grateful for them, cherish them. But let’s not allow ourselves to fret about the details, the outsides, the appearances, and all that can change in an instant; we have so much more to share with the world than what we look like; we were born to use our bodies for good, and our time is limited and valuable. This pep talk is as much for me as anyone, I told you I’m right here in the middle of it all too. But we know better. Our heads really do recognize the lies, the deceit, the marketing, the industry intentions. I just think they’ve had their day. It’s time for us to be more than just veneer and to defend the truth of a person’s worth. But it has to start with us accepting ourselves right where we are and using whatever resources we have, including our bodies and all they can do, to establish and promote natural, original, and authentic beauty in all its forms.

Mixed faith friendship

I've been trying to gather my thoughts for months now.  As a friend and I had a teary conversation recently, it hit me why I hadn't been able to write anything.  It's because I don't have the answers, I'm right in the middle of it all, I'm still figuring it out, I'm not sure what it's supposed to look like.

Except that I'm here.  I'm willing.  I'm trying.  

I want to be both the friend where religion doesn’t have to come up at all while also being available to listen for hours.  While I don’t want it to come between us, I want to hear their experiences and what they think, to be safe if they ever feel like talking about it.  I want them to know we have a million other things we can talk about while at the same time acknowledging how tender and big religion can be.  I want them to know I’m curious and eager to listen, but I also want to be respectful of where they are and allow them space to figure things out.

The only evidence I have that anything is working is that our friendships and relationships are not only intact but that I, at least, feel more connected and closer than ever to my friends and family who are not in the church anymore.

As far as our conversations about it all, I’ve tried to leave it up to them because I’m not sure what they want.  And that’s on me.  All I need to do is ask if they feel like talking about what’s been going on or if they would rather not.  I guess my hesitancy in asking is wanting to maintain our friendship.  I don’t want to make it awkward or to ever let religion be a wedge between us.  So with my longest friendships and familial relationships, I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never even asked what made them leave, how they’ve felt about it, or even what their current beliefs are. I think it’s because these people left years, even decades, ago, and back then it felt like it wasn’t polite or any of our business to ask about something so personal. And at this point, after so much time has passed, I feel awkward about bringing it up, I hardly know where to start.

It hasn’t been long since we’ve started to become more open and have more dialog within our culture. But because of that shift, I’ve had such emotional, insightful, and long conversations with several friends about religion in recent years.  I could tell things were changing, and I decided it was worth taking the risk to ask them what they were going through.  I wanted to be a sounding board, to hear these individuals who were already dear friends.  We had a history, a framework of friendship, and so it was natural and safe to ask what they were experiencing and feeling and thinking.  “Tell me where you are, what’s been happening for you, what’s your story.” My husband and I have gone to dinner as couples, we’ve had friends over, we’ve sat in each others’ living rooms, we’ve talked in the hall at church, and I’ve gone on long walks.  But again, these have all been close friends. On the other hand, I know of others within my friendship circles who are also questioning or who have left but with whom I have no real connection other than the occasional social gathering.  It would truly feel disingenuous to insert myself into their stories about something so tender and personal as a faith transition when we don’t already have a strong friendship and foundation.  I think this is exactly what is so offensive when we suddenly try to befriend those who are wavering.  To me, this isn’t the time to, out of nowhere, strike up a relationship.  Friendships take time and lots of casual, normal interactions, to feel comfortable enough to share such private, intimate feelings of grief and loss and change. Anything other than that, ward members showing up with cookies out of the blue, invitations suddenly after years of being in the ward together, neighbors who want to get to know you now… it all feels like a little late and a little fake.

And so mostly I’ve just tried to keep things as comfortable/the same as they’ve always been.  And I honestly don’t know if that feels just right to some or insensitive to others. Some I know have felt grateful that they were able to just slide away, that no one pursued or questioned them.  Others feel disappointed and unnoticed that no one asked or seemed to care about this major change in their life. I have friends in both camps. From my perspective, I honestly just want them to feel at ease and loved no matter what they choose or where they are or go.  I want them to know that religion doesn’t have to be in our relationship at all, I’m here no matter what.  

But I wonder if I’m the one with a wall, protecting our relationship rather than allowing it to grow and change and become even more authentic and intimate.  I also wonder if I’m afraid of being misjudged, that they might feel like I have an agenda about how to “get them back” or “fix them” or “convince them,” when in reality all I want is to avoid making it harder for them by thinking they have to defend themselves; I just want us to keep on being friends.  I also don’t know that people view me as approachable when they’re leaving while I’m solidly staying. And yet, just as they’ve changed over the years, so have I.  I’m not as rigid in my thinking as I was as a teenager and young adult.  I have my own questions, I’m curious, I love hearing what people think about everything.  I wonder if because I’m a long-time active member they feel they already know how I’d react.  But I’m not blind, nothing much shocks me, I’m mature enough to know we all have our own take on the world. I love that we’re different; but more than anything, I believe we all have so much more in common than not.

I sometimes project and think people who leave assume that they know what I believe or think because they were just here.  But I feel like members these days are all over the place in their beliefs and interpretations and practices; to me, there’s no typical member, every marriage is a mixed faith marriage, and we’re all just figuring things out.  But I do feel like there’s been a positive shift in the past several years, and maybe it’s just getting started in some places… but the people I surround myself with as authors, podcasters, lecturers and friends are progressive, open-minded, articulate, accepting, intelligent, questioning, faithful thinkers, researchers, and movers.  We WANT to change the thinking of the past, to switch up the paradigm that faith looks the same for everyone, to question cultural ways of interpreting doctrine, to be inclusive, and to maintain relationships and build new ones with all kinds of people and ways of thinking.

In my experience with family and friends, I’ve found it most comfortable to just take religion off the table.  At least as something that could divide or differentiate us.  I want us all to feel like we can continue as always, that nothing will change the love I have for them.  But, at the same time, I want to be present and available to walk through the questions and grief and anger and disenchantment, and transition.  So, in that sense, I feel I’ve been wrong in not asking. And yet I honestly wanted them to feel it didn’t matter to me, that it wouldn’t change our friendship. I’m trying to be different for my friends who are leaving now, but I don’t know how to go back in time.

It saddens me when members say they have to just be superficial now that their loved one has left the church. I’m well aware that our religion tends to influence much of our lives, but I just don’t buy it in every situation, it depends. I have friends of different faiths or who don’t align with any particular religion or who have left this one who I am much more able to talk in-depth with than many staying members of the church who sometimes tend to be very shallow. I suspect it’s because anything other than traditional doctrine/accepted practice tends to be uncomfortable and a little threatening.  On the other hand, I enjoy a deeper, more satisfying exploration of ideas with friends of differing religious perspectives.  In fact, I think it’s because they’re usually readers and listeners and learners and thinkers that we do have a lot to talk about! From podcasts, books, movies, articles and studies, performances, trips, current events, the houses and projects we’re all working on to how we’re navigating the teen and young adult years with kids and in-laws, health issues, messy relationships all around, caring for parents, aging, finances, marriage, and all sorts of mixed emotions, my friends and I never, ever, ever run out of things to talk about.  Religion never even has to be a thing; and yet, sometimes a friend will want to talk for hours about nothing else and I’m game for it all, I’ll take conversation of any kind because that’s connection.

For now, all I know is what’s helped build bridges.  It starts with both sides assuming the best from the other and remembering we truly care about each other more than we care about differences of opinion or life choices.  I feel like we need to trust the relationship, all the years we’ve shared, and to remember the inevitable ups and downs that are part of any relationship that we’ve managed through. We need to continue to give each other the benefit of the doubt and assume good intentions.  We need to be vulnerable with each other and admit when we’re having a hard time understanding or seeing things the same, but assuring one another that we’re here, we’re willing, we’re trying.  We want help seeing another way.

It’s taken many years, I’m ashamed to say, to make these deeper connections viable.  I feel so regretful and sad that my friends in the past (and even still, I’m sure) have had to be someone different with me than they authentically were, that they thought they had any reason to feel that I would judge them.  I think they’ve felt embarrassed drinking or swearing around me, they didn’t want me to see their tattoos or new clothes or lifestyles they thought I wouldn’t approve of.  I have deep sorrow over it all especially because it inhibited closeness and made them feel they couldn’t be themselves. I’m so sad when friends show relief that I don’t care that they’ve come out, for instance, as if that should ever be anything.  But as I’ve become friends with such amazing people, I have been so disappointed to hear that they didn’t think we would accept them because we’re “Mormon.”  We have got to do better at sharing our unwavering and unconditional love because no one should ever have to worry about something as basic as showing up authentically.  I can’t tell you how sad it makes me to think of anyone being afraid to be anything than who they are, and yet I know I’ve contributed to their pain and discomfort. I wish I could change the past and be more obvious about how much none of that matters to me.  There must be something that still puts people off though, and that’s hard for me because while I love my beliefs and try to live congruently with them, it doesn’t mean I’m not open to all kinds of other ways of living.  I don’t know how to show that though.

Because I actually love it when someone is quiet while we pray because it tells me that they’re comfortable not having to conform and be different for us.  I like that they’re ok drinking whatever they want with me, that we can go to coffee shops, that they have their coffee and tea stashes here on our shelf for when they visit. I love that they don’t have to preface things they think I might be shocked by, that they can talk naturally without filtering.  I love hanging out with my friends with different lifestyles and beliefs who have enriched my thinking and my life so much.  I can’t tell you how grateful I am for their acceptance of me, someone who could represent an institution or set of beliefs they no longer subscribe to and that has contributed so much to their grief and upset, that they see me as a person and not the church.  I’m so deeply thankful for the respect they show me.  Largely due to our strong foundations and our desire to maintain what we’ve always enjoyed, I have seen a warmth and closeness growing within my relationships over the years, both in and out of the church. 

And yet, here we are.  This is all very one-sided.  We are desperately in need of hearing much more from others and their experiences and perceptions, what is helpful and what has been hurtful. I’m grateful for the things I’ve heard and read that help me understand and see other perspectives; I do believe there are many who are trying to help us build these bridges. Because, in my mind, there’s no reason we can’t continue to have the friendships and relationships we’ve always derived so much strength and joy from just because we change our minds about something, even something as personal and big as religion.