He That Worketh Righteousness is Accepted With Him

I serve in my church (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) in their women's organization. Every five months I'm in charge of writing a message to the women in my neighborhood. These are my February thoughts.

I’ve recently been pondering the fear that if we emphasize tolerance and inclusion in our sisterhood, we water down the standards of the church—the fear that if we say that we must let go of a specific image of what a Relief Society sister looks like, we lose the standard that created that image.

Modern revelation says, “Be one, and if ye are not one, ye are not mine.” I think the heart of the commandment requires us to ask what we are united to. Do we need to be united in hairstyles? Do we need to be united in dress? Do we need to be united in life experience? What is it that unites us? 

President Hinckley once taught the brethren, “I remember when President J. Reuben Clark, Jr. […] would stand at this pulpit and plead for unity among the priesthood. I think he was not asking that we give up our individual personalities and become as robots cast from a single mold. I am confident he was not asking that we cease to think, to meditate, to ponder as individuals. I think he was telling us that if we are to assist in moving forward the work of God, we must carry in our hearts a united conviction concerning the great basic foundation stones of our faith.”

But are there not standards? Does the “For the Strength of Youth” pamphlet not teach us to be well-groomed and modestly dressed? Does it not teach us to “choose friends who use good language,” and “to obey the Word of Wisdom” and to “not intentionally harm your body?” Yes. Standards and commandments are given by a prophet of God and we’re each individually striving to live them. However, we can strive without passing judgement on others or even without passing judgement on those whose charge it is to enforce those standards.

President Oaks taught how to seek unity. He said, “[M]embers of majority groupings (whatever their nature) are responsible to accept Church members of other groupings, providing full fellowship and full opportunities in Church participation. We seek to establish a community of Saints—“one body” the Apostle Paul called it—where everyone feels needed and wanted and where all can pursue the eternal goals we share.” That defines my role. In this bigger plan, my only job is to provide full fellowship to anyone who walks into the church or into my life. I’m striving to follow the standards, as God commanded. Who’s to say someone who might not look like me isn’t striving, too? My job, as a run-of-the-mill member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is to simply love and try to see everyone as God sees them. Joseph Smith taught, “While one portion of the human race is judging and condemning the other without mercy, the Great Parent of the universe looks upon the whole of the human family with a fatherly care and paternal regard.”

Jesus, when presented with a woman committing adultery, saw in her a daughter of God and said, “Neither do I condemn thee.”

Jesus sat down with Matthew, a hated tax collector, and saw in him an apostle.

Jesus looked at Saul, “breathing out threatenings and slaughter” against Jesus’ followers, and saw in him the great missionary of the Old World.

Jesus looked at Alma the Younger, going about to destroy the Church of God, and saw in him the great missionary of the New World.

I imagine it was hard for the Israelite saints, after Jesus had spent his entire ministry focused on them, that Peter would then organize a mission to the Gentiles. But the message hadn’t changed then, and it hasn’t changed now. Peter said, “Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: But in every nation he that feareth him and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him. The word which God sent […] preaching peace by Jesus Christ [is] that through his name whosoever believeth in him shall receive remission of sins.”

Just a Little Bit of Perfection

I serve in my church (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) in their women's organization. Every five months I'm in charge of writing a message to the women in my neighborhood. These are my January thoughts.

I run at the gym in the mornings. For the last several Januarys, I’ve witnessed the same pattern. January 1, it’s tough to find a treadmill. The machines are all occupied by people eager and excited to begin their new workout resolutions. The gym is still pretty full the second week. The third week, gym attendance has begun to drop off, and the people attending have begun to look a little surly. By the fourth week, the gym is back to normal, and the only people on the treadmills are the same regulars who were there all through the previous December. 

I understand this pattern. I have set many resolutions during the past many years. I have resolved to read my scriptures for 30 minutes every day for the last 15 years. I have resolved to deep clean a room of my house the first Wednesday of every month. I have resolved to lose 10 pounds. I have resolved to run 5 miles a day. I have resolved to teach my toddlers to read by whatever date. I have resolved to play more, read more, run more, hike more, date my husband more. I have resolved to fit whatever idea of perfection I have created that January, because God has commanded me and you to “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father in Heaven is perfect.” And I have watched myself lose resolve by February. 

I love General Conference. I love hearing modern day prophets help me understand my small role in God’s plan. But sometimes at the end, after I have spent six sessions being stretched, I feel a little inadequate in the face of my imperfection. This is why I loved listening to President Hinckley who always put things in perspective. In his closing remarks to the October 2002 conference he confessed, “I, for one, have made a stronger resolution within myself to be a better person than I have been in the past. I hope that I will be a little kinder to any I meet who may be in distress. I hope that I will be a little more helpful to those who are in need. I hope that I will be a little more worthy of your confidence. I hope that I will be a better husband, a better father and grandfather. I hope that I will be a better neighbor and friend. I hope that I will be a better Latter-day Saint, with an increased understanding of the wonderful aspects of this glorious gospel.”

Somewhere between me and perfection is a space for improvement that I can achieve. I’m not going to get discouraged with my inadequacy, but I can take some steps toward God. Be a little better. Be a little kinder. Be a little more helpful. That’s something I can do.

Musings on Light

I serve in my church (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) in their women's organization. Every five months I'm in charge of writing a message to the women in my neighborhood. These were my thoughts this month.

It is unseasonably 68 degrees outside today. But Christmas has arrived. My two-year-old Lucy wakes up and finds Christmas in the front room, Christmas out the back window, Christmas on the house. She sees Christmas lights. And then she remembers that “Daddy put them,” and we are both wrapped in Christmas love, even though it feels like Christmas in San Diego instead of a good, proper Cottonwood Heights Christmas.

Light is my favorite symbol of Jesus Christ. When Christianity spread throughout the Eastern Roman Empire, the people who believed in gods of light merged their beliefs with a belief in Jesus Christ. A contemporary philosopher taught, “Light comes from the good,” and “light is the visual image of God.” In visual art, halos began as sun rays emanating from Christ’s head. That same culture built a church called Hagia Sophia, a building gilded on the interior, open to the exterior, so that the physical presence of Christ—light—could spill into the building, bounce around the walls, and carve out a mystical experience for the viewers. They were wrapped in light.

Those two images have been on my mind as I’ve pondered light the past week. I drive home from work where I teach my students about the Byzantine Empire and how the Eastern Church used light to cut through the darkness of a medieval world and teach about the Savior, and then I see light coming from my own Christmas tree as I pull up my driveway in the 10 pm dark. Light is irresistible in a darkened world.

It’s been a pretty dark year—world-wise. I can’t remember one in my lifetime where the events seem so fraught with hatred and ugliness. But I believe Jesus Christ. I feel kinship with the woman who was caught committing adultery, dragged out by a very aggressive crowd and threatened with stones thrown at her head. Jesus dismissed the men and told the woman He did not condemn her and encouraged her to, “Go, and sin no more.” Then He told the same men, “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.” Jesus took a woman having a pretty dark day and wrapped her in light.

And He could promise it because of His own day of darkness. In His final mortal conversation with His friends and apostles, Jesus taught them that He was about to face all the darkness of the world (including the darkness of the woman taken in adultery and the darkness of 2017) and die. He told them it was time for them to leave Him alone. And then, as His farewell, before He was pressed by pain and sorrow, He reminded them, “In the world ye shall have tribulation: BUT BE OF GOOD CHEER; I have overcome the world.”

That’s the Christmas I find in my living room, out the back window, on the house. Wrapped in light, I see my commitment to be of good cheer—grace of Jesus Christ. I also see my commitment to follow Him, the Light of the World, as I attempt to be that same light by loving and serving and lifting and illuminating. He is the Light of the World. I will light the world.

Merry Christmas,

Laura

What it's Like to Have a Girl

I'm trying to be more like the 2008 me, the one who actually wrote in this blog. The one who played more with her children because she had far, far less to do, and because she cared far, far less about keeping her house clean. I remember cute little old ladies who would stop me in the store and tell me to enjoy my toddlers because it all went so fast. It was endearing and annoying all at the same time, because sometimes toddlers are monotonous. And mean. And here I am, ten years later, yearning for the time when it was just me and Talmage at the zoo in the morning, a four-hour nap and a blog post to write in the afternoon, and that was it.

I'm eager to recapture a bit of that, and I think writing plays a big part. So I'm ignoring the house. I am very good at finding romantic ways to postpone housework.

........

I have three big boys and a little girl. People often ask me the difference between raising girls and boys, but it's hard to say if the differences in my baby are because she's a girl or because she's Lucy. Also, a lot of the gender-traditional stereotypes are all messed up. So far, my most dramatic child has been one of my boys. Lucy is a bit more chill. And by far, my most destructive child is Miss Lucy, who has colored on the wall at least a dozen times in pencil, crayon, and sharpie. She took a black marker to our white overstuffed lounge chairs. I recently caught her scratching long lines in the leather couches with scissors. She's a girl who is eager to leave her mark. Like Banksy.

I notice little things. Lucy loves trains. Finn loves stuffed animals. Lucy loves blue. All my boys, once ready to show a preference, have chosen pink as their favorite color. Talmage once came home from kindergarten and told me, "I don't like pink anymore. Pink is a girl's color." To which I responded, "Okay, what's your new favorite color?" "Purple!" he declared proudly.

But one of my favorite qualities about Lucy is her awareness of and concern for her family. She's got tabs on where everyone is at all times. She is the tiniest mother hen, gathering her overgrown chicks. Talmage is in his room. Asher is outside. Finn is in the playroom.  Daddy is at school. And it's not until all these chicks have been properly numbered and accounted for that she feels satisfied. Finn started kindergarten this week, and the only tears have been Lucy's. When we returned to the car after dropping him off, her little voice got desperate and she urgently pleaded, "Need my Finn!"

I used to look at other families and the sometimes strong bond siblings shared. Not that my kids couldn't stand each other. They just kind of did their own thing. Well, the younger boys craved the attention of the older boys and the older boys withheld attention from the younger boys, but that's not what I wanted. Not this competition for attention from each other, from me. I wanted something to hold them together tightly, softly bound by warm feathers against a beating heart.

I wanted a Lucy.

I Don't Know Why Parents Crave Adult Conversation. Kid Conversation is Way Better.

"Mom. I'm in love with two girls. One is Addison. The other is the girl I saw at the balloon store. I didn't see her face, but from the back, she was REALLY pretty."

"Mom. I named the fish. There is Lucky One, Lucky Two, Lucky Three, Lucky Four, Lucky Five and Big Mouth."

"Mom. Can I marry two girls?

"Mom. Back soon. Five minutes. Kay?"

"Mom. I would like to work at a zoo or aquarium when I grow up. I bet you get to pick one of the animals to keep as a pet. Yeah. I think I read that somewhere. In a book. A science book. There was a zookeeper and he had a pet lion."

"Mom. Picking which girl to marry is THE WORST."

"Mom. That fish used to be named Big Mouth, but now it's Ralph."

"Mom. Helping me. Wash hands. Kay?"

"Mom. I bet the girl from the balloon store would love me. Especially if she saw me from the front."

(In case I forget when I'm old and gray, this is Finn, Asher, Finn, Lucy, Asher, Finn, Asher, Lucy, Finn.)

A Conversation With One of My Children, Who Shall Remain Nameless (Although Pretty Easy to Guess)

Me: "Hey! How did Finn get these three cuts on his arm?"

Child (brightly): "You don't remember? I thought I already told you and you were okay with it."

Me: "No. You didn't tell me how his arm got sliced."

Child (thoughtfully): "Really? I thought I told you."

Me. "Tell me again."

Child (breezy): "Well, we were playing a game this morning and you know, things happened and he got cut."

Me: "What game were you playing and how did he get cut?"

Child (dismissively): "Just while we were using my pocket knife . . ."

Me: "What game were you playing?"

Child (guiltily): "Um . . . knife fight."

ME: "YOU STABBED HIM WITH AN ACTUAL KNIFE?"

Child (defensively): "Well, YOU won't get us any pretend knives!!"

I Was Teaching A Class Last Night When I Received the Following Text From Talmage--Age 11

"We had an accident. Finn apparently wanted to have lunch at 5:30, and he started to walk on the counters, and as he walked across the sink's counter he plummeted to the ground. At the time, I was downstairs and I heard a loud thunk and a delayed scream. I ran upstairs and saw Finn on the ground with blood all over the floor. In the process, being me, I vomited in the sight of so much blood. Finn supposedly fell on his face and had a killer bloody nose. I ran to the bathroom and grabbed practically a whole roll of toilet paper . . ."

You'd think I'd be alarmed about the ER visit that was sure to follow, but mostly I just want to give him full props for his word choice. His use of commas to offset an appositive from the rest of the sentence ain't too shabby either.

1988

In third grade I had a retainer. This made me a little bit of a celebrity. Crowds of 8-year-olds would gather under the lava hot metal slide on the lower playground at Upland Terrace Elementary and I would stand proudly and triumphantly pull out that molded piece of pink plastic and the multitudes would ooh and ahh. It was a harbinger of good things to come.

One day as I sat in the lunchroom eating my friend's tuna fish sandwich, a skinny kid with brown hair approached and asked to see my retainer. I warned him that I was eating lunch and it would probably look gross. He insisted, and as I pulled it out of my mouth, gobs of masticated tuna and relish stuck to the mold, to the wires, to my lips. I proudly displayed the half-digested-food decorated dental appliance.

It was gross.

That boy was Alonzo Tyler Howe. We got married a short 14 years later.

(After he got a perm, but that's another story.)

I Think Finn Is Lying to Himself About His True Motivation

"I always give you kisses when I want something because I love you."

Del Mar Drive

At church, we were asked to attend the personal history writing class. This is what I wrote in response to the question to tell about my neighborhood.

I grew up in the 80s, which from my current perspective seems like the age of free-range children, unhampered by rigid restrictions like "bedtimes" and "playdates" and concern for things like "bad guys." One exception on the "bad guy" thing: there was a brief period circa 1984 when Salt Lake City grew deathly afraid of kidnappers. My mom packed us all in the car and we traipsed down to the City and County Building to get fingerprinted and to get our pictures taken. I don't remember my ID card, but I remember my little sister Marissa's, because at one, she was wearing my heart-shaped, rainbow-strapped, My-Little-Pony purse in her picture, and though I wanted it back for mine, she screamed until my mom let her have it. I found this injustice supremely unfair, and as far as I was concerned, Marissa and Mom were the bad guys, not some distant and imaginary "bad guy" who might pick me up in a dark-windowed van.

But other than 1984, the 80s were full of free-range children. From 4:00 pm until nightfall, Del Mar Drive was a haven for children, and the lack of supervision seems simultaneously wonderful and shocking. The Moresheads had four kids; the Paulsens had five kids; Spencers had six, Healeys had six, and the Larsons had five. That's 20 children who ran up and down the street, and that's just counting the regulars. I'm not even counting the Buckhouses, the twins who lived next door, the Ekdales, or the Greek girl who wasn't allowed to leave her driveway, but who was allowed to roller-skate in a circle in front of her house.

At 5:15, Jann Moreshead would ring a bell at her door and shout, "Supper is ready!" The Moresheads were Presbyterians on a street full of Mormons, and in my 6-year-old mind, supper is what Presbyterians called dinner. This is the only difference I could identify between our two religions, a difference which I'm sure had more to do with where Jann grew up that any difference in creed, but seemed perfectly logical as Protestant vernacular.

Healeys had dinner at 5:30 (their rigid schedule was both touted and threatened in my home on a regular basis--they also went to bed at the unheard of hour of 7:30 while we Paulsens stumbled into our rooms around 9, or 9:17, or 9:52). Spencers ate around 6 and the Larsons disappeared soon after that.

We went in for dinner whenever it got dark around 7 or 7:30. I'm not certain if this is because my mom like a busy and full life, whether that was chairing the Save-Wasatch-Jr-High Committee, or talking one of her students down off of whatever emotional or academic ledge they faltered on. But the romantic writer in me (and who's to say the romantic writer isn't accurate?) likes to think it was because that's when Dad got home from work. For much of my childhood in the mid-80s, Dad was working on the Emma Eccles Jones Education Building on Utah State campus and left home at 4:00 am to drive to Logan and then returned after dark. We went in to feast on spaghetti or beef rollups whenever the family was all together.

That's what I remember most about Del Mar Drive--playing unsupervised hide n' seek or tag or kick-the-can while my buddies disappeared one-by-one, my belly hungry but full of excitement because soon Dad would be home.

About a Week Later I Got Asked If There Was a Mr. Runner-at-the-Gym

Tyler bought me a wedding ring for Valentine's Day. This is because I misplaced the original. It is a thin gold band and it is lovely. It also makes me sad that I misplaced my original wedding ring.

We moved into this neighborhood a couple years ago and I started running at the rec center about six months ago. We're still relatively new, but we've been around long enough that I recognize a handful of people at the gym. Hi Egberts! You look good on that elliptical Jackie! Hi Jason! How's Leah feeling this morning? Hey Passeys! Hope you are doing well! Hi Guy-Who-Lives-Around-the-Corner-From-Me! How are you? Early workout, eh? That sort of thing. Delivered brightly with a big smile.

I kept up these kind of pleasantries every morning. In fact, one morning when it was about 14 degrees outside I saw Guy-Who-Lives-Around-the-Corner-From-Me on his hands and knees in the parking lot, looking for his keys. I pulled over and asked if he needed a ride home. You know. Neighborly. He said he was okay.

This cheerful banter continued for about a month until one Sunday at church when I saw the actual guy who lives around the corner from me. His name is Brent and he is a couple decades older than Guy-Who-Doesn't-Live-Around-the-Corner-From-Me-But-Looks-a-Little-Like-Brent-Who-Lives-Around-the-Corner-From-Me. And then I realized that I didn't know the man I'd been making small talk with every morning at the gym. And then I realized that I had rolled down my car window, leaned out, and suggestively offered him a ride. My stomach sank. I informed Tyler that I had been unintentionally flirting with some guy at the gym.

I tried to turn down the friendly until one morning when he parked himself at the stairclimber directly by the cardio room exit. I sensed he was ready to make his move. "Hey!" he stopped me as I was on my way out. I immediately launched into an awkward explanation in which I emphasized way too many times that I thought he was my neighbor:

"Hey yourself! So funny story! When we first met I thought you were my neighbor! You're not my neighbor, though. And yes, he's a very nice guy. But you are not my neighbor. Which I thought you were. Which is why I was saying hi. Cause I thought you were my neighbor. Yes I did offer you a ride. Because I thought you were my neighbor. So to sum up, I thought you were my neighbor. I know it seemed like I was flirting with you, but I wasn't. Because I thought you were my neighbor. Doesn't count as flirting. Because of the neighbor assumption. Which I thought you were."

Anyway. Tyler bought me a wedding ring for Valentine's Day.

Yes, I am Keenly Aware that the First Post in Which I Mention My Daughter Includes References to Her Nether Regions

Lucy has taken to storing things in her diaper. I find this makes her uniquely qualified for a future career in shoplifting.

Here is a list of things I have discovered while changing Miss Lucy:

1. Perler beads
2. Pony beads
3. The Apple TV remote
4. My turquoise necklace
5. Anonymous superhero toy from McDonald's (The fact that I have no idea what superhero this was means I don't watch TV enough. Or go to McDonald's enough.)
6. Legos
7. More Legos
8. Even more legos
9. Dishwasher detergent packet

This last one was problematic. Lucy came to me complaining about her diaper. Since Lucy drinks ten cups of milk a day and gets the rest of her calories from dairy, she has frequent digestion issues. We're working on it. But I assumed she was constipated and held my whimpering little girl. When she didn't let up, I changed her diaper to see if the process had been productive, only to find that the detergent tablet she had shoved down her diaper had dissolved next to her skin and there were soap granules deposited all through her nether regions.

There are inescapable consequences when you dedicate your life to shoplifting.

A List of Quotations From Asher David Howe

1. Don't worry mom. I know the answers to all the big questions.
2. Hey mom, what's your third favorite kind of milk?
3. Listen! Lucy's saying Asher! (Incoherent babbling from Lucy.) Hear it? Well, she can't say her sh's so that sounds more like a d, and she can't say er, so it sounds more like uh, but she's saying Asher. It's her first word.
4. (On January 27, after several weeks of asking us to take him ice skating): Mom, I've set my New Years Rezelation: I'm going to go iceskating.
5. "Mom, can you make pancakes this morning?" "Sure. I have enough batter to make one or two pancakes per person." "Great. I'll take two."

Elegy for Lu

I remember the first time my dog Lu found me in the shower. I hadn't shut the door soundly and she had snuck her way in and curled up on the floor. At one point I jumped when I felt something touch my leg and realized I had a buddy in there with me.

Lu was a year old when Talmage was born. This time I had thought to lock the bathroom door and when I turned off the water she was whining. I opened and asked her, "What's wrong?" She led me to the nursery where six-week-old Talmage was crying. She had shadowed me enough to know what my responsibilities were and that baby was screaming and WON'T YOU PLEASE TAKE CARE OF THAT.

If I was cooking, Lu was resting on the heat vent in the kitchen. If I was sleeping, Lu was more often than not not on her dog bed, but on the ground next to me. If I was playing with children, she was present, lying serenely overseeing the commotion. Lu knew the commands "Sit," "Stay,"and "Come," but she was really trained to my voice and my person and was obedient to, "Let's cross here, Lu," and "Hop up, girl," and "Why don't we keep looking for your ball, sweetheart." Lu was always with me. She knew me and I knew her.

When Lu was seven months old, we discovered she had elbow dysplasia. We didn't have much money, but with the little we had and help from friends and family, we got the $1800 surgery. Her elbow was never perfect--strangers often commented on her limp--but she was ready to hike to Dog Lake and swim in East Mill Creek.

Around five or six she tore her ACL. She was playing fetch (she is always playing fetch with you whether you think you are playing or not) and pulled the ligament climbing up a hill. Well, maybe you pay a couple thousand dollars for a surgery when the dog has her whole life in front of her, but you don't spend that much on a DOG when her life is halfway over, do you?

We did.

Lu's almost eleven now, and for the last year she's been tripping over her feet. Three months ago when Lucy was born, she fell coming up Maquel's stairs and she's been limping on her bad elbow ever since. Yesterday at the groomer's, she fell out of a cage four inches off the ground, and it looks like she may have broken her wrist. She tripped as I helped her outside this morning, and other than a couple brief hobbles around the yard to relieve herself, she hasn't moved since.

Lu can't follow me around anymore, so today we stayed with her. I declared it a backyard day. The boys and I played hide n' go seek and Ticket to Ride. We read The Witches on a blanket. Finn brought out a pillow and his stuffed animals. We picnicked on quesadillas and mangos. Lu had a cheeseburger and two hot dogs. We roasted marshmallows for s'mores. We ignored all water restrictions and ran through the sprinklers at high noon. The sun blazed and sparkled on my boys wet bodies, the same bodies Lu sniffed and licked all over when they came home from the hospital as infants, her kisses their baptism into our home. Lu sat serenely overseeing the commotion, just like she's always done.

This evening Tyler and I will load her in the car, maybe to get some X-rays, more likely to make hard decisions. But for now--at 4:11 pm--I sit here writing with a Bic pen and a pad of lined paper. Lu is at my feet. Occasionally she growls at the neighbor next door. Once she barked at what was surely a raccoon. But we are sitting side-by-side. She knows me and I know her.

***

Miss Luella left her broken legs behind at about 7:30 pm this evening. I cradled her to sleep, my body wrapped around hers.

Little Ninja

Halloween 2014

Halloween 2014

Big Announcement

Ziplining

Asher's First Day of Kindergarten