A Nice Definition of a Good Life

We've experienced a lot of changes in the past few months. Most of them are good changes, but with them has come a really frustrating side effect. We have real estate to sell in a terrible market, Travis has to start a new economy-driven job in a terrible economy, one of my kids is having a really hard time making a good friend since we moved, and finances are stressful and difficult.

I really think that in the long run, the changes we've sacrificed to make are going to be worth it. The real estate will eventually sell (I'm exercising faith), the job will hopefully improve and even if it doesn't, the atmosphere for Travis is far superior to what he was dealing with before. My friendless child will eventually get a friend (faith in my prayers again), and we'll look back on these things and the pros will outweigh the cons.

In the meantime, I feel torn, frayed, and frazzled. I have prayed for resolution to these trials. We've fasted for them, as well. I find myself sighing a lot. Several years ago, it seemed my daughter was having trouble breathing. She would gasp in a ragged breath that seemed inadequate to fill her lungs, then she'd let out a long, sad sigh. Being concerned that she was having trouble breathing, I took her to the doctor. He examined her and then asked her to wait in the waiting room while we went over a few things.

After she was gone, he informed me that she had a condition called "sighing." What on earth is that? you ask. It is a very real mechanism our body uses to try to deal with sadness, loneliness and stress. She didn't have a good friend and was spending her recesses sitting alone and watching the other kids play, shyly unwilling to push herself into any group that she might not be wanted in. It broke my heart and I went on a campaign to try to help her through it. Her aunt took her on a special outing, just the two of them. We talked at length about how she could find someone to befriend. I talked to her teacher. Many of us prayed. Together we helped her through it.

Now I find myself sighing. A lot. I look around me and the ironies are incredible. We're living in the nicest house of our marriage--by miles. But finances are more strapped than they ever have been. Overall, my kids are in schools that are just as good or better than the schools they left, and yet I have a child not adjusting and fitting in. We've spent most of our marriage sacrificing so we could own real estate--the surest investment--and yet we can't get them sold now that we need to.

I know others carry burdens greater than mine and would gladly trade me trials, but I have been feeling so overwhelmed lately. Many times I have been brought to tears as I try to figure out how we're supposed to follow the counsel of the prophet (on many subjects) and still survive until this trial passes.

It is with these things in the back of my mind that I drove to Bountiful today to take pictures of our house there so that we can get it listed as soon as the renters leave. They had so much garbage and so many cars in front of the house, that we were unable to accomplish that reason for the trip. I was frustrated and feeling a little panicky at what lies ahead of us before things get better.

We were listening to a song on a cd. Most of the song was pleasant but meaningless to me, but in the middle of the song, there's a line I've heard many times and even sung along with. But today it was like I was hearing it for the first time. The line goes, "It's when you cry just a little, but you laugh in the middle that you've made it."

That line really stuck out to me. We still laugh. We still love each other. We still have fun together. Does that mean we've made it? Maybe it does. Maybe I need to continue to hope and pray that things improve, but maybe I need to realize that life is good now--not just when the job improves, or the houses sell, or everyone has a friend outside the family. We do have each other, after all.

I'm still worried about all the things I've mentioned, but I think that line told me that I need to realize that we're okay, right here, right now. Even with the tears that are mixed in with the laughter. I'm going to try to remember that.

HELPING HAND

In every trial there is a blessing. I've seen it many times throughout my life and the trial of this surgery has been no different. This has been a difficult time--the health challenges I was facing that led to the surgery as well as this recovery time have been hard and frustrating. I've experience a lot of pain, both physical and emotional. But I've also seen my Heavenly Father's love for me in the many, many family and friends He's blessed me with.

I've once again been reminded of the blessing of my wonderful family, both immediate and extended. I've received the help of a loving family and parents to help keep up on family duties. I can't imagine facing life's challenges without a loving family and wonderful parents. I've been humbled by the phone calls from sisters, brothers, sister-in-laws and parents-in-law.

I've been amazed at the wonderful friends here--those I work with in Young Womens, my visiting teachers, present and past, and other wonderful people who have pitched in and helped me and my family. I've been amazed! I've missed my young women and appreciate the cards and flowers and visits.

I am constantly reminded that my Heavenly Father loves me. What a blessing it is to know that. Thank you to everyone who has helped lighten my load and row my boat. I look forward to taking my turn at the oar.

I love you all!

Did You Think to Pray?

I taught a Young Women's lesson Sunday and it I shared with the girls an experience that happened on my mission with prayer.

Just two months before my mission, my 16 year old brother, Bruce, was killed in a car accident. Leaving on my mission was very difficult. My family was still suffering so much. I even had a sister still in a full-body cast. I wanted to be with my family, but I didn't want to do something that would disappoint them, so I went.

It was very hard. I cried myself to sleep every night in the MTC, then continued to cry each night on my mission. I would quietly lie in bed with tears running down my cheeks, thinking of my brother and my family and literally aching with homesickness. I had lived a thousand miles away from my family for college, so the homesickness wasn't because I was a wimp, it was because of the horrible circumstances.

About six weeks after I arrived in Washington, we had a mission conference about an hour and a half from where we lived. As missionaries we had no music in the car and we were up and driving to the conference very early in the morning. I was driving with three other missionaries in the car. The rain was pouring down as it is prone to do in Washington. The other missionaries promptly fell asleep and I drove, enjoying the peace and quiet.

I've always loved the relationship Tevye has with God in Fiddler on the Roof. His easy conversations, as if they are good friends, are inspiring to me. As I drove, I began to visit with Heavenly Father, much like Tevye did. Of course, I didn't speak aloud, but I poured my heart out to Him as I drove. I told him of my sadness, my loneliness, my worries. I told him how much I wanted to succeed and be a good missionary, but what a hard time I was having missing my family and especially my brother. I visited with Heavenly Father for more than an hour, completely uninterrupted.

Shortly before we arrived at the conference, I realized I was feeling different than I'd been feeling since leaving my family. I was feeling peaceful, okay and even a little happy. I knew Heavenly Father loves me--I felt that love. I didn't feel lonely. I knew He was with me.

That was a turning point for me on my mission. I still experienced times when I'd be busy and then I'd think of my brother and would feel that the wind was being knocked out of me like it did that first day as I realized he really was gone. But then, I'd remember and feel Heavenly Father's love and I'd be okay.

What a blessing to know He really is our father and that He truly cares about our worries, sadness, troubles and fears. I am so grateful and hope I always remember that. We must pray often and stay close to Him. He really is there for us, and His hand is evident in our lives.

This Christmas Season

This Christmas, mend a quarrel.

Seek out a forgotten friend.

Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust.

Write a letter.

Give a soft answer.

Encourage youth.

anifest your loyalty in word and deed.

Keep a promise.

Forgo a grudge.

Forgive an enemy.

Apologize.

Try to understand.

Examine your demands on others.

Think first of someone else.Be kind.Be gentle.Laugh a little more.Express your gratitude.

Welcome a stranger.

Gladden the heart of a child.

Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth.

Speak your love and then speak it again.

Christmas is a celebration,and there is no celebration that compareswith the realization of its true meaning--with the sudden stirring of the heartthat has extended itself unselfishly in the things that matter most.

-Howard W. Hunter

My Hands

I had pretty hands. Family and friends commented often. "You have such pretty hands. You could be a hand model," they'd say. Even perfect strangers noticed. I was proud of my hands. On a young lady with frizzy hair, an imperfect complexion and veins that showed under my eyes, my hands were my bright, shining bit of vanity.

The skin on my hands was smooth and even, my fingers long and slender. The nails were healthy and strong. I never had a professional manicure, but I kept my nails polished and filed and pretty. I remember finding the buffing file from Cover Girl and buffing them until they were pink and shiny. I would take special care to rub my hand lotion into the nails and cuticles, to help keep them healthy.

Then real life happened, and no matter how I tried to keep them soft and supple and pretty, life took a toll. The fall from potential hand model to beaten and battered hands happened gradually. I traded in the gentle office job for four children. The polished nails were sacrificed for the art of making wedding cakes. Of necessity, my nails became shorter and unpolished. No matter how many times a day, I slathered my hands with lotions and creams, hot water, household cleaners and AGE, took their toll.

Then came the stage of my life I'll refer to as "the clumsy stage". During this few years, I fell down stairs, tripped over hoses, fell off chairs and walked into things. My lack of coordination took on a life of its own. My hands suffered during this time, as well. They became permanently scarred from burns and injuries. The skin that was smooth and even is now looking weathered and older. My fingernails are still clean, but never even and not always strong.

Do I hate my hands now? I'm no longer proud of their appearance, but I'm proud of what they're capable of doing. They create clean clothes and dishes out of dirty ones. They take basic pantry items and make meals that nourish my family. They've created beautiful wedding cakes, sewn lovely clothes, curled my daughters' hair, straightened my daughters' hair, clapped at my son's football and basketball games, held my husband's hand, held my children's hands, wiped tears away, and countless other things. They're no longer beautiful to look at, but I hope that when I die, they will have spent a lifetime doing beautiful things. I hope I can remember, when it comes to my hands, that beauty truly is only skin (and nail) deep, but that the good deeds my hands have done will make them "model" hands in the ways that really matter.

What We Learn...

Today I taught the combined young women. The subject was "The Sacred Power of Procreation." Not an easy subject to teach to 30+ girls ranging in age from 12 to 17. I felt a huge responsibility as I prepared the lesson and had a few thoughts that touched me.

First, was how seriously the world undermines this sacred responsibility. Instead of intimate relations being confined to marriage, Satan has convinced the world that it is okay anytime, anywhere, with anyone, as long as both parties consent. What a sad view that is, and how completely it undermines the sacred nature of what it is for--the providing of bodies for Heavenly Father's spirit children and welcoming them into a home where they can be taught to learn to control those bodies.

Second, how very sad that this privilege, that should be regarded with reverence and treated sacredly is so demeaned in the world. It's the subject of vile jokes, it's undermined by pornography and it's misused in almost every possible way. What a huge responsibility we have when we know the truth, to be sure that we teach our children to honor and revere and keep sacred this special gift of providing these necessary physical bodies.

Lastly, I was reminded of the far-reaching consequenses of wrong choices relating to this sacred gift. The pain and anguish and sadness that comes from misusing this power--single parenting, losing your child through adoption, the far-reaching effects of having an abortion--are just a few of the sad effects of misusing this precious gift. Compare those with the blessing of bringing home a beautiful, new baby to a loving home where the gospel is taught. What a contrast.

Becoming parents is such a beautiful gift from our Heavenly Father. I look at my children and I believe the love I have for them is the closest thing I can imagine to how Heavenly Father loves us. I'm so thankful for the incredible privilege of being a mother. I only hope that as the world gets more and more wicked, I can do a better job of teaching them the importance of our Heavenly Father's plan and the importance of revering and treasuring the privelege of fulfilling a role in that plan.

We mothers who know are so blessed.

Sickness comes on horseback but departs on foot. ~Dutch Proverb

Well, I have now lived through the first full week of all four of my kids being in school all day long. I've imagined how I'd use the time--following Flylady with dedication, writing a couple of hours each day on my book, taking care of my calling, among other things. Then the week comes and this how it has gone.

Monday--I had quite a sore throat and stuffy head, but I did Flylady and worked on my book.

Tuesday--The sore throat was worse, the stuffy head was hurting so badly, and my voice was going, but I did Flylady and I wrote.

Wednesday--I was so miserable, I didn't do Flylady and I didn't write.

Thursday--I went to the doctor and learned I had bronchitis and strep throat. I didn't do Flylady and I didn't write.

Friday--I didn't do Flylady and I didn't write.

It has been a very successful week, as you can see. It never seems to fail. When I make a serious goal of some kind, I am thrown off the tracks, often by something over which I have no control. In my disappointment at not fulfilling my goal this week, I realized that I need to recognize the source of my self brow-beating. Satan wants me to give up on the goals. I wonder if Satan is capable of being behind the sickness this week that threw me off course.

Anyway, tonight I'm resolving not to let thoughts of disappointment and discouragement sway me from my goals. I want to have a clean and organized home and I've found Flylady to be the best way for someone like me to fulfill that goal. I want to be published, and I know the only way to do that is to produce and send out material to publishers. So next week, I will do better and instead of getting discouraged if I stumble, I'll pick myself up and continue. My expectation shouldn't be perfection--it should be improvement.

I wish I wasn't such an all or nothing person. I need to learn to do my best, and even if it isn't perfect, if it's my best, I need to be happy with that.

So here are the ramblings of a medicated person. I don't know if they make sense. Maybe tomorrow, I'll read this and take it off the blog because of incomprehensibility. But in the meantime, my goal is to do my best and not let thoughts of discouragement get to me. Next week will be better!