Saved by Grace

Last Monday was a bad day around here. I mean epically awful. A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. Everyone cried. Everyone yelled. It isn't that unusual except that most of the time we can get through a tantrum or two and move on. I take a breather, and everyone eats and we read some stories and are able to salvage the rest of the day.

Not this day. It was non-stop. The children and I just passed around this angry, upset, awfulness all day. As soon as one person calmed down, another would start.

There are a lot of theories out there about why this happens, but I don't really care why - I want to know how I can fix it. Psychological and metaphysical theories aren't so helpful with that part.

9:30am saw me sucking deep breaths of fresh air as I sat on my porch and read my scriptures. Then I was on my knees by my bed praying as hard as I know how. And you know what? The BadDay did not quit. I was still tense, the kids were still always five minutes away from a meltdown. In those moments the only thing I could do was react as calmly as I could and keep breathing.

Looking back, the only thing I know for sure is that through it all I was not alone. I felt the presence of God lifting me up just enough to keep my nose above the proverbial water and no more. I was not saved FROM my day - I was saved IN my day. We survived it, but it was purely on the Grace of Jesus Christ.

This is why I am a Christian. I love the doctrine of Divine Justice for the evils in our world that go unpunished, and the promise of Redemption for the sinner, and the comfort that His Love can heal all broken hearts. But all of that is not enough for me. I need the everyday, personal connection with Deity. I need to be saved by His Grace. Not just once, when I accept Him as my Lord - But hourly, when I accept Him as my Friend. My religion has to be woven through the whole tapestry of my life, and not something I tack on as a comforting afterthought when someone dies.

And I can guarantee you will have this day. This monumentally awful day. You may never be an eight months pregnant stay-at-home mom of five small children at the end of a hot August. But we all have this day. And we have it more than once.

And when that BadDay hits I give you all the sympathy I have. Sometimes just having a shoulder to cry on will be enough. And I'm happy to offer you that. But there will be BadDays when even that does not help. And I hope that you will reach out the the only One who can truly help - and choose to be saved by His Grace, again and again and again.

Meditations on Housework

So the new house has much better carpet than the old one. Its newer, higher quality, and specifically designed so the dirt doesn't show (much). And the layout is such that the inevitable spills from every single meal are not immediately tracked into the living room where any casual visitor can be grossed out by our mess.

The result is that I don't vacuum as often as I used to. (Throwing up several times a day may have something to do with it as well.)

At first I thought it was great, because who needs more work, right?

Another fun thing: there are lots of weeds around the house and on the kids' route to school - the prickly kind, where the stickers cling to your shoes and then drop off other places - like the living room.

You've probably encountered these before. According to my extensive five minute google search, this is goathead, or puncturevine, and it lives to torture feet. They're everywhere around here and now, thanks to my lax housekeeping, all over the house.

Stepping on one of these is worse than stepping on a lego! So bad. And I feel especially terrible when I have to pick them out of tiny toddler feet. Its entirely my fault. Can I really not spare five minutes to vacuum the entryway every couple of days? (Sometimes I really can't. But I'm not the only one in the house who can cover this chore - I just have to remind them)

But I was thinking about the simple, everyday things I need to do to keep my inner self clean. Thoughtful prayer, scripture study, making time for my husband, all of these are a little like vacuuming. Nobody who visits my house can tell if I'm keeping up with those things. Only those people I live with, who take off their shoes and get comfy. They are the ones who are hurt by my neglect of my own spirit. They are the ones who are stabbed by the barbs of my attitude and frustration, by my lack of patience because I thought I was too busy to take ten minutes to talk to God and ask for his help in my day.  And myself, of course. I am not immune to my own negligence.

I'm not perfect at this. And even when I make time to listen to Husband and nurture our love, and make sure I spend part of my day in devotional and prayer, I still mess up and lose my temper and make my own life more complicated than it needs to be. 

Those tiny little barbs are not going to kill anyone. In the grand scheme of things stepping on a little thorn isn't going to ruin anything. You won't even need a bandaid. (Though if you are one of my children you will ask for one anyway.) And there is no way I could get rid of all the weeds in the universe even if I wanted to, and no way I can stop them from occasionally getting tracked into the house. I don't have control in the rest of the world. And occasionally having to deal with someone else's bad day isn't going to ruin you either. 

But in my house I am the queen. The boss-in-charge-of-it-all, and if I decide to clean up then I can. Its as simple as that. If I decide that I want our house to be safe from those little, painful barbs, then I can make it so. 

So that my family will want to come in and take off their shoes and get comfy. So that here, in this place, you are safe.  Even from simple little hurts. We vacuum up as many as we can before they can bother anyone and get rid of the occasional thorn that makes its way in as quickly as possible. With a kiss and a bandaid if it helps.

Simple things really can be that important. Prayer for example. You may be able to go weeks and even years without praying and not even realize how it is hurting yourself and those close to you. And maybe you will decide to just keep your shoes on all the time, to ignore how it feels to walk through the thorns. But that requires never getting comfy with your own feelings, and not letting anyone around you be safe with their spiritual feelings either, for fear of the barbs you are leaving for them.

In fact, I will go so far as to say that prayer is even more powerful than that. We're talking life-changing, earth-shattering power. Way more important and way more influential than one small weed could ever hope to be. I know this for sure. I have tried it in my own life. And failed at keeping up with it and tried again. Its a process. And like cleaning the house, it is never really going to end, because we continue to live here. But it does get easier. And better.

It doesn't matter so much what you say or how you say it. But I will say that for me, simply meditating and trying to clear my mind is not enough. I need the words. I need to talk aloud and say what I'm thinking - all of what I'm thinking, even when what I'm thinking is, "Man, I'm really distracted by that TV show I watched earlier." 

And I've found that God isn't picky with how he is addressed either. God, Allah, Heavenly Father, Supreme Creator of the Universe, or even Hey, you, power-that-I-don't-understand, all get you to the same place. He knows who he is. And more importantly, he knows who you are. And he is never too busy to listen. 

My mind tends to wander when I clean, thanks for following along with me, I may have gotten off on a tangent or two. I'll end with a quote from The Screwtape Letters, by CS Lewis. 

"Whenever there is prayer, there is danger of his own immediate action. He is cynically indifferent to the dignity of his position... and to human animals on their knees he pours out self-knowledge in a quite shameless fashion."

Going Home

Towards the end of the last school year, I packed up the girls and headed out to pick up the boys from school. They can walk home alone, and do about half the time. The rest of the time I pick them up. Usually walking, occasionally with the car if we have somewhere else to go.

On the day in question, the school bell had rung and we saw the boys walking toward us from a couple of blocks away. They decided to hide. They had done this before, and then jumped out to scare us as we got close. This time they ran around a corner. Waited until we got close and then ran away. I called to them, and waved my arms around - but they didn't come. So we turned around and went home. They walked home another way and beat us there. They were sitting on the porch step laughing when we got home.

Their old school had uniforms. Their new school does not. It makes me sad,
because I could dress them alike without seeming like the weird mom.  

Oh, I was MAD. But I had a couple of blocks to cool off, so I reacted calmly. I simply got them their snack and informed them of the consequences of their disobedience. They were so upset when they realized that they had lost screen privileges for a week. Because I was being so unfair! They would not have run away if they had known I was going to take away their phones! They were too far away to hear me calling, so how could they have known I wanted them to come? It wasn't fair that I should punish them when they didn't know they had done something wrong.

Of course, we have rules about which way they should walk home from school, so that I can find them in an emergency. And rules about coming when I call them. But they were still upset that I hadn't run after them and explained exactly what they were choosing when they decided to run away from me.

It gave me a lot to think about. How often in my life I have made decisions, egged on by peer pressure and my delight at my own cleverness. And how hard it sometimes is to have to swallow the consequences knowing full well that I could have avoided the whole thing if I had just been in the right place at the right time.

And it reminded me of teaching the girl's youth group in church. How I loved those girls! I still love them. And it broke my heart when I had prayed about them and felt that there was something I needed to teach them, and they ignored me - or didn't show up at all. A lot of my girls weren't getting a lot of healthy examples at home. Not of positive religious experiences or even examples of healthy adult behavior. And because they never had anyone teach them, and they never bothered to learn, their lives are going to be harder. I've seen many people run away from the very thing that would protect them, and it is so sad.

Independent and strong willed? These two? No way!

I felt like this was a really good analogy for the gospel. God gives us rules and expects us to follow them, and when we do we are happy. When we don't we miss out on blessings. And, like my kids, we complain that it is not fair that God doesn't just give us all the things we want right when we want them. But like my boys did that day, we assume that we know what the goal is, and we think we've met that goal even though we did it our own way.

But I wasn't walking to meet the boys because I didn't think they could get home on their own. Their baby sisters had had a rough day, and I was hoping that spending some time with their big brothers (who they adore) would help them feel better. I was asking for their help, trying to teach them to be aware of others' needs, to serve. Instead they deliberately went to a place where they couldn't hear my voice. They were selfish, and assumed that their journey home was only about getting themselves from point A to point B.

It always makes me sad when I see friends acting like they can keep themselves distant from God and still receive all the blessings they feel they deserve. And I really do feel like that sort of behavior is only motivated by selfishness, and deliberately avoiding service to our brothers and sisters here on earth.

I'm hopeful that this will be something that I can use as a teaching moment for my kids. (Maybe when we've had some space from it, and they can talk about it nicely) Part of the problem was that they were envisioning their phones as some sort of right, as though they deserved them and got them all on their own. Instead of as a gift from their parents, whom they laughed at as they ran away. So they were shocked when they realized that we had given them their phones to use as a teaching tool, and that they couldn't have them if they weren't following all the rules.

(In which I am completely sacreligious and compare Joss Whedon to Jesus Christ)

So, I was asked to speak in our church a month or so ago. We LDSs have a lay ministry, so if you go to church long enough, eventually you will get to help with just about everything. It isn't a super big deal, but I thought up this great analogy that I didn't have time to bring up there, and I liked it so I decided to share it here.

Ever heard of Joss Whedon? He is a writer/director/producer, he has made TV shows and movies and comic books, and even if you are not a super geek like me, you have seen something that he made or helped make, I promise. Avengers, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Toy Story, the man is a genius (really, go check out his IMDb page right now).

For the purposes of this discussion, you really only need to know that right now he is in very high demand in the TV/Movie world. He is popular and trendy and he has a great reputation. He tends to work with the same actors over and over and they seem to jump at the chance to work with him again. Everything he does is good. Every project he works on opens up more opportunities for the people involved.

And I saw an interview with Nathan Fillion, an actor I like who has worked with Joss Whedon a lot. He was talking about "Much Ado about Nothing" which Joss Whedon directed as a fun "little" side project with some friends while on vacation. Apparently, it was difficult for Nathan, and he wouldn't have chosen to do Shakespeare if hadn't been Joss doing the asking. And here is my favorite quote: he said, "Rule number 1: when Joss Whedon calls you, and says "Would you like to...." you say yes."

(youtube clip below)

I love that. I think it speaks so highly of him that people who have worked with him before trust that anything he does will be a good experience and turn out well.

And this is how I feel about callings in my church. I don't do it for my health. It certainly isn't often convenient or even well suited to my personality. But if my God asks me to do something, I say yes. I love Jesus Christ enough, and I trust him enough, that I know that anything we work on together is going to turn out well and will put me in a position to do even more things that I love.

To me, going to all of the meetings I'm asked to, making meals, cleaning the church, teaching lessons, all of that, is because I respect Jesus Christ and I believe that any thing he does is something I want to be a part of.

And that is why I frequently do things that are not necessarily fun or easy. And I have a lot of people who look at me like I am crazy. But its worth it.

An open letter to a dear friend

(Author's note. This is a serious post. I was trying to be serious. But it came out geeky (and Sirius))

Oh, my Friend,

It is always a pleasure to talk to you, and I'm so glad we have had the past several years to get to know each other. After our last handful of conversations, my heart is breaking for you. I'm so sorry for what you are going through right now. If it were in my power I would wave my magic wand and fix everything for you (curse my muggle blood!)

I do understand what it is like to have a crisis of faith. I know what it is to be plagued by doubts and to lose sleep wrestling with thoughts that can't always fit in your head all at once. It is not a comfortable place to be - trying to understand how you can believe two things at the same time that seem to contradict each other. Your phrase "cognitive dissonance" is perfectly descriptive. It would be nice if you had a pensive, to take out your thoughts and look at them again from a different perspective.


I'm not you. So I can't say that I know exactly what you are going through. But I can tell you that I have an inkling. You are not weird or even slightly unusual. There are more of us out there than you think. We tend not to talk about it much. But here is where I am now.

I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I know, its a mouthful. I prefer LDS for convince. Around here lots of people call it "The Church" for short, usually without realizing how egotistical it sounds. A lot of people call us Mormons. But I don't call myself Mormon. To me, Mormon is a culture; an upper-middle-class-suburban-white-conservative-Republican group think that makes me very uncomfortable. I'm lucky, because even though I was raised in that culture, it was always very clear to me that there is a difference between the actual doctrine taught by the LDS Church and the way people interpret it to support what they want so that they don't have to think outside the box. I love the doctrine - I tolerate the culture. Sometimes only barely.

My place in this church is hard won. I was baptized by my father at the age of 8, and I've seen close up a lot of beautiful Christian service and a lot of really awful things too. Which is to say that my church, like the rest of the world, seems to be full of human beings. I never felt pressured to go to church, I never worried that my family and friends would stop loving me if I gave it up. I choose to continue attending this church knowing full well what I was getting myself into. At eighteen I sat up many nights honestly evaluating myself and my life and deciding what role religion would play in my future. I choose to be LDS, just as surely as any adult who runs into our missionaries and decides to join. And I've spent a lot of time re-evaluating that choice over the years. For me, going to church is always a deliberate act of Christianity, and not something I do out of routine.

You're not wrong, my friend. You are not wrong when you ask questions and point out inconsistencies. I wish there were some sermon, some scripture that would make everything fall into place. That would sort everything out that doesn't make sense. Some things don't make sense. Some things seem contradictory. I don't have the answers.

But if you'll forgive me, I do have some advice.Well, Joss Whedon has some advice, which I am going to steal. "When you can't run, you walk. When you can't walk, you crawl. And when you can't crawl, you find someone to carry you."



You know I'm far from perfect, and my faith probably can't carry you for long. But I'm offering it for as long as you need. Here is what I know, here is what has sustained me through my rough times. If anything helps, take it and leave the rest.

First, know that you have your very own conscience. You were born with the "light of Christ... that (you) may know good from evil." No one else needs to tell you what is right, you will know it when you feel it. Have the confidence in yourself that you are capable of finding the peace you seek, as long as you are paying attention. Sometimes it is easier and more fun, to ignore what you feel in your heart and just do what will make you forget. (Why do you think people love Netflix with its 15 seconds to decide if you want to think anymore?)

Sometimes I feel that I'm loosing myself in a lot of conflicting messages about who I should be. It is confusing, and never helpful when I'm trying to set my own priorities. I do better when I focus on who I am now. Who I really am, not who I wish I was, or who I pretend to be. "Just be yourself!" Bwahahaha! All those cheesy Jr. High motivational posters coming back to haunt me. But I find that when I fill my days with things that I love; that I love for deep, personal reasons that have nothing to do with how high-class other people will think I am, that is when I feel the most like myself and make the best decisions.



Second, know that you are who God make you to be. You were created with a quick mind and a strong sense of justice. You desire simple truth and compassion and fairness. Those are qualities that God has and that you inherited. These are good things, and it is right that you should use them to evaluate the world around you. You are a child of the Gods and you are expected to use your talents. Even when your talents lead you to ask difficult questions. You are right. Don't let anyone make you feel like you are not a spiritual person because you don't automatically believe everything people tell you to.

And my final bit of advice comes from James Jones, a therapist. I took a parenting class from him years ago. I'm paraphrasing a bit, but after giving us all kinds of ideas and advice he told us that the most important question you always have to answer - no matter what the problem is - is "How do I react in a Christ-like way?" Because in the end, it won't matter what anyone else said or did, it will only matter that I acted like a Christian.

I may not be helping you at all. I just wanted to let you know the things that I find most helpful. And I'm grateful that you trusted me enough to confide in me. And I will love you no matter what. I have faith in you. You can find what you are looking for.

 - Love you!

Onward, Christian Soldiers

(This is a church-y post.  But not really a happy one.  If you want happy and church-y you may have to move along.  May I suggest the LDS Church's website here.)

I'm what you might call an "Active Mormon."  I attend church with my husband and children, three hours each Sunday.  I volunteer as requested with the Young Women's program, I read my scriptures and pray and try to teach my children to do the same.  I do it because I sincerely believe it is true. I always come away from my Bible study feeling encouraged.  I love the feeling in my heart when I'm doing all that I can to make Christ the center of my life.

But sometimes, I really hate church. Sometimes people are rude.  Sometimes teachers are boring, unprepared or offensive.  Sometimes the children scream in my ear for three hours straight.  Or I duck into the bathroom to cry in the frustration and loneliness of it all. And then I dry my eyes, and make sure there is no makeup dripping down my chin, and paste a smile on my face and head back out there.  Sometimes I feel really angry that I have to be the dependable one while everyone else acts like their problems are more important than mine.  Sometimes I just need a nap.

In short, sometimes it feels like church is three hours of gritting my teeth while people ram good intentions under my fingernails.

It has been especially bad the past several months for a variety of reasons, but I'm writing about it now because of something that happened two weeks ago.  It was before services had started, I was preparing myself to not look as annoyed as I feel for several hours.  The children were fighting over who got to sit on my lap, managing to simultaneously elbow me in the ribs and kick me in the shins.  Husband was finishing up some last minute administrative things (even though it isn't officially his job, he seems to be the only one who knows how to run the computer system).  I looked over and noticed an older woman I've become friends with watching us.  Watching us with an "aren't they adorable" look on her face.  And I suddenly realized that what other people are seeing and what I am feeling are two VERY different things.

I don't really know why that is.  I'm not especially trying to hide it, other than the fact that I hate to cry in front of people.  I don't feel like I'm making a big secret of the fact that my life is frequently overwhelming.  Quite the contrary, I kind of feel like God is going out of His way to make sure that I fail as publicly as possible and on a fairly regular basis.

I am wondering why we don't talk about this more. I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. Maybe it is a woman thing, maybe a Mormon thing, maybe just our culture, I don't know.  But it seems taboo to say that even good things suck sometimes.  Even things we want to do, that we believe are valuable, even vital, can be really awful.

I don't actually have a solution.  It's nice sometimes, to be able to give words to what I am feeling.  To simply be able to name the thing can give a sense of power.  Like in the fairy tales, where the name of the villain is the key to stopping him.

I do believe there is a strength in names, in being able to say the words.  I think we sometimes make things worse by our silence; when a simple, truthful conversation is the only solution we really need.  The Native Americans believed that there is a creative power to speech.  That we take air and vibration through our throat and lips and release something entirely new into the world.

Maybe just talking about it is enough.  Simply acknowledging that a lot of people feel this way.  It doesn't make me a bad person, or even a bad Latter-Day Saint.  It makes me human.  And the people I go to church with are human too.  Even when I'm really frustrated with them.

I keep going to church because I honestly believe that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is true.  I know that most of the negative things I'm feeling will pass in time, because I've felt this way before.  And I still feel close to God when I read and pray on my own.  The bottom line is that going to church makes me a better Christian.  It's a small comfort, but is enough.

Faith

About a year ago I was stuck.  I was frustrated.  I felt like I wasn't learning anything new.  I was loosing patience with my kids all the time and feeling awful about it with no real way to stop myself.

So I prayed a lot.  I prayed for patience.  I prayed for grace. I didn't know what to pray for, so I prayed for whatever it was I needed, trusting that God knew what that was.  I knew God would help, after all, it is in His plan that these kids have a good mother, and (even though I don't understand how it is possible) He loves them even more than I do.

And then I got pregnant.  Because God is hilARious that way.  We joked that if it was a girl we should name her Patience, since that is what I was praying for.  But I knew someday I would loose it at her and people would look at me funny for yelling "Patience! Stop it!"

So we named her Sophia, which means wisdom.  I don't know that I feel any wiser; but I do feel calmer, more focused.  And our house is much more peaceful, even if it is at the same time much more chaotic.

A friend told me the other day, "I don't think I've ever seen you happier than when you have a baby in your arms."  And I think she is right.  We already know that I am a baby person.  And it has been fun, because the new one looks a lot like my oldest when he was a baby, but I feel so much more confident in my abilities as a mother now.  (I feel less confident about parenting an 8 year old. . . poor oldest child, just has to train the parents.)

It takes at least six weeks before any baby can really hold eye contact, or begin to respond with smiles to his/her caregivers, and a few weeks longer than that before the first giggle.  The first time I got to really sit with Phi and tickle her and get her to laugh was only a couple of months ago.  It was magic.

I was laughing and she was laughing, and we were in our own little bubble of perfect bliss.  In that moment, I realized it didn't matter that I had been puking and exhausted and ugly for months.  I didn't care about the pain of childbirth or the messy house or the stress of trying to keep everyone happy.  It was all worth it.  Anything I could have gone through in the previous year was worth those five beautiful minutes.

And still, in the evenings when everything is quiet and I have a few moments to kiss that chubby little neck, everything is Ok.  Everything.  I would do it all again and then some to have those cheeks to kiss, that smile, those eyes.

And so this is my Faith.  It may be simple, and silly, but this is what I believe:  Jesus is better than baby cheeks.

When all is over and we get to see our Heavenly Father and Jesus again we will be filled with such joy!  It won't matter that life was awful and people were mean.  We won't care what it took to get us to that moment, because it will be perfect.  We will even think it was worth it, all that it took to get us there.  And Heaven is the place where that feeling goes on and on.  Where broken hearts are mended and and "the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ."

Sometimes I get so discouraged.  Our world is so full of hate and suffering.  I don't believe that this pleases God, and I don't believe that He causes it.  But I do believe He can fix it.  It is possible to heal even the most shattered of lives, the most broken of hearts.  Heaven is better than baby cheeks.

And EVERYONE will get a chance to be there if that is what they want.  I know, who wouldn't want to go to heaven, right?  But I believe Heaven is a place full of people who are genuinely kind and want to serve others.  Not everyone wants to put forth that effort.  And being damned isn't all pain and fire and brimstone.  Being damned is simply being stopped in your progress, like a river is damned.  Not improving and going forward anymore.  God won't force anyone to move forward if they don't want to.  He will simply let them be.  But they will have to be without the baby cheeks.

Incidentally, the last time I prayed this hard for help and left the details up to God, I got unexpectedly pregnant and had a miscarriage.  See, it isn't really about the babies.  It is about whatever experiences we need at any given time.