Hi all! Jordan here. Great news! Our blog has an upgrade! It has been moved to http://fingerfoodforthought.wordpress.com!
Please visit the blog there for regular postings. As you know, Kayleen and I have tried blogging in various forms and formats with mixed results. With the big move to Indiana, things kind of got lost. We've taken what we've learned in the past and are starting something new and exciting to give Kayleen's writing career a new jump-start! And so, I'm happy to announce....
Kayleen is back to writing! On a regular basis. This makes me very very very very happy. She is a very talented writer and I think she has very much to share with the world. She loves writing and so many people love reading what she writes. We've arranged our schedules so that at least twice a week, I will be watching the kids for a couple of hours while Kayleen takes the laptop, leaves the house, and writes! She is slowly working on her novel and will be doing regular posts on Finger Food For Thought.
So what are you waiting for? Check it out!
Finger Food For Thought
The latest and greatest writings of Kayleen Barlow
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Trials
Lately I have been thinking about trials and how they affect us personally and also affect our relationships with everyone around us. Call me crazy, but I just spend a lot of time at home lying on the floor. Pregnancy is like my Aristotelian period - I have too much time to just sit and think.
Anyways. Trials.
Trials are a tricky business because everyone has unique trials that are singular to their experiences. They are often very personal and very sensitive. Trials are an inevitable part of the human experience (duh). Everyone in this world will have some sort of difficult trial, because even if it hasn't happened yet, there is sure to be an experience seemingly unbearable somewhere along the way. No one goes through life with only stubbed toes and scratches in their Lexus.
With that being said, trials can make people almost critical of one another. So many times people who have experienced something very difficult develop what I call the "At Least Syndrome." They look at their personal situation, and the struggles they are going through, and then judge others based upon that experience. So, when someone mentions something hard they are experiencing, another sufferer might say, "Well, at least ____." And it is usually a critical comment about how the complainer shouldn't even mention their struggles because they are nothing compared to the true sufferer's.
For example, a quadriplegic and a paraplegic are watching the Olympics together. The paraplegic turns to her friend and says, "I wish I wasn't in a wheelchair. It would be so fun to try ice-skating." The quadriplegic has two choices. She can either say, "How dare you complain about being in a wheelchair to me. At least you have the use of your arms. I can't even feed myself breakfast." And then she could brood in her offense and maintain the opinion that she is the greatest sufferer. Or, the quadriplegic could respond by saying, "I know what you mean, I've always thought it would be so thrilling to fly across the ice like that."
To all of us, and it may even be the case, the paraplegic is lucky because she can still use her arms. But, it isn't our place to decide who is lucky and who isn't. It is only our place to offer compassion and understanding whenever it is required of us. The paraplegic was not mentioning this to her friend because she wanted to convince the quadriplegic about how horrible her life is, but because she was looking for understanding, comfort, and support from someone she knew would be more than qualified to give it. It might be hard for her to discuss these disappointments with friends who play soccer, or swim, or can dance at the prom. So, without trying to be offensive, she reached out for a helping hand from someone who would be able to give it.
If the quadriplegic responds in anger and self-pity, (I'm not saying self-pity is horrible. We all need moments to wallow in the hardships we face - I fully believe it is part of coping), then both friends are hurt, left feeling isolated, and a wall has been placed where a bridge could have been built. If, instead, she responds with love and understanding, then both friends are edified. The paraplegic feels comfort and support, while the quadriplegic feels the increase in confidence and ability that comes with serving others.
Jordan gave me this example, and I really liked it. If someone, Bob, came up to Jordan and said he was very sad because he was going to miss the annual fishing trip to Canada with his dad this year, due to midterms, Jordan would never think, "How dare you talk to me about missing one vacation with your dad? At least you still have your father. I didn't even get to grow up with my dad." Now, Jordan might think, "Wow, how much fun would that be to go fishing for a week with your dad? I wish I could have done that as a kid." Which would be a totally appropriate response. But, he would never try to demean or throw another person's pain back in his face. He would say something like, "Sorry, man, that really stinks." Or, whatever men say in minimally emotional conversations. And he would mean it, without the thought ever crossing his mind that Bob was being "insensitive". Jordan would feel honored that Bob confided his true feelings rather than feeling like he had to pretend or not talk about it in order to not offend Jordan.
So many times people take their burdens and wrap themselves up as if it were a cloak, making everything else they experience a comment upon that trial. Indeed, there are some trials that affect every area of life. Depression makes it difficult to do almost everything: get out of bed, buy milk, make friends, find companionship. Losing a child might make it hard to see a car seat in a friend's car, or drive past an old favorite restaurant, or see other children in the grocery store. Undergoing chemotherapy might make it difficult to simply leave the house, because every other woman has a full head of hair but you. Our trials may feel all consuming, and sometimes they really are, but we should use our pain to help build others up rather than tear them down.
Everyone has their stuff, and everyone has a wound. Sometimes it is more obvious to onlookers, and sometimes it is hidden deep and invisible to people who would like to assume they have it so much worse than everyone else. The thing is, it doesn't matter who has it worse. All that matters is that we follow the Savior's admonition to lift up the heads that hang down.
What if you were experiencing something absolutely devastating, and you knelt down to pray, knowing this was the last place you had to turn? What if, when you prayed, you said, "I can't do this. This is too hard. I can't live through this. Please, help me," and the Savior responded with, "How dare you complain to me? I had to suffer the sins and pains of the whole world for all of time! I had to descend into the depths of hell and suffer unimaginable agony. So, whatever you are going through is nothing compared to what I had to do. Stop being so pathetic."
I am grateful to know my Savior would never respond in that way. Because, when I was in my own personal Gethsemane, and I needed Him more than ever, even if it seemed minute and silly to others, Christ was there saying, "Be of good cheer. I love you. I more than understand, and you may come to me with anything because I will always listen."
In the end, all of us are going to say something hurtful. It is part of human interaction and it is inevitable. And 99% of the time it was unintentional. When someone says something, or does something, or makes a mistake that seems to pour salt on your deepest wound, please, don't take offense, don't judge them, and always assume they did that thing with only kindness intended. Even if kindness is most certainly not what came out. We are all suffering in our own ways and we all need as much compassion and forgiveness as we can get.
But we are not called to wallow in the murkiness of our situations, we are called to rise above the pain and offer balm to those in need, even if our own hearts are still stinging.
P.S. I have been guilty of this very thing, a billion times over, but I will try to be a better person and friend in the future.
HUGS AND KISSES TO ALL!!
Anyways. Trials.
Trials are a tricky business because everyone has unique trials that are singular to their experiences. They are often very personal and very sensitive. Trials are an inevitable part of the human experience (duh). Everyone in this world will have some sort of difficult trial, because even if it hasn't happened yet, there is sure to be an experience seemingly unbearable somewhere along the way. No one goes through life with only stubbed toes and scratches in their Lexus.
With that being said, trials can make people almost critical of one another. So many times people who have experienced something very difficult develop what I call the "At Least Syndrome." They look at their personal situation, and the struggles they are going through, and then judge others based upon that experience. So, when someone mentions something hard they are experiencing, another sufferer might say, "Well, at least ____." And it is usually a critical comment about how the complainer shouldn't even mention their struggles because they are nothing compared to the true sufferer's.
For example, a quadriplegic and a paraplegic are watching the Olympics together. The paraplegic turns to her friend and says, "I wish I wasn't in a wheelchair. It would be so fun to try ice-skating." The quadriplegic has two choices. She can either say, "How dare you complain about being in a wheelchair to me. At least you have the use of your arms. I can't even feed myself breakfast." And then she could brood in her offense and maintain the opinion that she is the greatest sufferer. Or, the quadriplegic could respond by saying, "I know what you mean, I've always thought it would be so thrilling to fly across the ice like that."
To all of us, and it may even be the case, the paraplegic is lucky because she can still use her arms. But, it isn't our place to decide who is lucky and who isn't. It is only our place to offer compassion and understanding whenever it is required of us. The paraplegic was not mentioning this to her friend because she wanted to convince the quadriplegic about how horrible her life is, but because she was looking for understanding, comfort, and support from someone she knew would be more than qualified to give it. It might be hard for her to discuss these disappointments with friends who play soccer, or swim, or can dance at the prom. So, without trying to be offensive, she reached out for a helping hand from someone who would be able to give it.
If the quadriplegic responds in anger and self-pity, (I'm not saying self-pity is horrible. We all need moments to wallow in the hardships we face - I fully believe it is part of coping), then both friends are hurt, left feeling isolated, and a wall has been placed where a bridge could have been built. If, instead, she responds with love and understanding, then both friends are edified. The paraplegic feels comfort and support, while the quadriplegic feels the increase in confidence and ability that comes with serving others.
Jordan gave me this example, and I really liked it. If someone, Bob, came up to Jordan and said he was very sad because he was going to miss the annual fishing trip to Canada with his dad this year, due to midterms, Jordan would never think, "How dare you talk to me about missing one vacation with your dad? At least you still have your father. I didn't even get to grow up with my dad." Now, Jordan might think, "Wow, how much fun would that be to go fishing for a week with your dad? I wish I could have done that as a kid." Which would be a totally appropriate response. But, he would never try to demean or throw another person's pain back in his face. He would say something like, "Sorry, man, that really stinks." Or, whatever men say in minimally emotional conversations. And he would mean it, without the thought ever crossing his mind that Bob was being "insensitive". Jordan would feel honored that Bob confided his true feelings rather than feeling like he had to pretend or not talk about it in order to not offend Jordan.
So many times people take their burdens and wrap themselves up as if it were a cloak, making everything else they experience a comment upon that trial. Indeed, there are some trials that affect every area of life. Depression makes it difficult to do almost everything: get out of bed, buy milk, make friends, find companionship. Losing a child might make it hard to see a car seat in a friend's car, or drive past an old favorite restaurant, or see other children in the grocery store. Undergoing chemotherapy might make it difficult to simply leave the house, because every other woman has a full head of hair but you. Our trials may feel all consuming, and sometimes they really are, but we should use our pain to help build others up rather than tear them down.
Everyone has their stuff, and everyone has a wound. Sometimes it is more obvious to onlookers, and sometimes it is hidden deep and invisible to people who would like to assume they have it so much worse than everyone else. The thing is, it doesn't matter who has it worse. All that matters is that we follow the Savior's admonition to lift up the heads that hang down.
What if you were experiencing something absolutely devastating, and you knelt down to pray, knowing this was the last place you had to turn? What if, when you prayed, you said, "I can't do this. This is too hard. I can't live through this. Please, help me," and the Savior responded with, "How dare you complain to me? I had to suffer the sins and pains of the whole world for all of time! I had to descend into the depths of hell and suffer unimaginable agony. So, whatever you are going through is nothing compared to what I had to do. Stop being so pathetic."
I am grateful to know my Savior would never respond in that way. Because, when I was in my own personal Gethsemane, and I needed Him more than ever, even if it seemed minute and silly to others, Christ was there saying, "Be of good cheer. I love you. I more than understand, and you may come to me with anything because I will always listen."
In the end, all of us are going to say something hurtful. It is part of human interaction and it is inevitable. And 99% of the time it was unintentional. When someone says something, or does something, or makes a mistake that seems to pour salt on your deepest wound, please, don't take offense, don't judge them, and always assume they did that thing with only kindness intended. Even if kindness is most certainly not what came out. We are all suffering in our own ways and we all need as much compassion and forgiveness as we can get.
But we are not called to wallow in the murkiness of our situations, we are called to rise above the pain and offer balm to those in need, even if our own hearts are still stinging.
P.S. I have been guilty of this very thing, a billion times over, but I will try to be a better person and friend in the future.
HUGS AND KISSES TO ALL!!
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
The Move
FINALLY! I have a few minutes to sit down and write. I don't think I have written since I turned in that last paper to office 4166 of the fourth floor of the JFSB on the 15th of June. (A very pivotal point in my life.) My fingers are a little clumsy on the keys, and my mind seems slower than before, but I'M WRITING!!! And it feels so good. I imagine it is what breathing fresh air again, after being trapped in a submarine for several months, must feel like.
Well, to catch everyone up, I finished classes, Jo turned one, I graduated from BYU, Jordan quit his job, we moved to Indiana, Jordan started school, and I visited my parents in Minnesota for two weeks. Now we are back "home", Jo is taking a nap, and I am writing instead of picking up the toddler tornado that just happened in the living room. It is kind of sad if you think about it. I get the same guilty pleasure from not cleaning my house that I once got from sneaking out at night, and flirting with other girls' boyfriends. I'm still trying to figure out how I became an adult.
Now. For the actual blogpost.
Indiana has been a challenge. All of it has been a challenge. As many of my friends know, I had a spaz attack the day we cleaned the apartment back in Provo because I couldn't get the blinds clean. (I apologize to you all, sincerely.) The next morning was a disaster. The kitchen floor was a filthy mess, we had cleaning checkout in fifteen minutes, and Jo was being super needy. I realized the oven hadn't been cleaned, and the only supplies I had were wet wipes. I scrubbed the oven as hard as I could and then started on the muddy, greasy floor. Jo started crying about something, so I lost my patience and told her to leave me alone and burst into tears myself. Then, my sweet little girl went to the wet wipes container, put a wipe in each hand, and sat next to me on the kitchen floor and began scrubbing. She was down on her hands, crawling around cleaning up the mess. I will never forget the way my heart dissolved into pure love and appreciation for that incredible one year old.
We passed the cleaning checks, by a miracle, and Jo and I went off to say goodbye to friends and try to make a few more memories. And we did make memories! I loved talking with my dear friend, Megan, the next morning and being even more convinced how amazing and inspiring that woman is. I was so grateful to spend extra time with my wonderful friend, Julia, and realizing she loved me just as much as I love her. And I had so much fun staying up way too late with my sister-in-law, Rebekah, and talking about everything from Guatemala, boys next door, and pregnancy and feeling more like friends than in-laws.
My last two days in Utah were wonderful. But, the party had to end sometime, and it did the night before we left, when Jo was up till 5 a.m. screaming her head off before finally passing out in exhaustion two hours before we had to leave. I must have looked a little desperate the next day as we flew across the country on our own. The flights were crowded, the layover was long, and my last flight was delayed. It took every ounce of self control not to deck the woman sitting next to me who obviously thought I was unfit to be a mother, because I couldn't get my child to take a nap on a crowded plane. Then she kept telling everyone sitting around us how she raised all her children perfectly and never let them cry in public. If you are that kind of person, don't be! It's obnoxious.
I had already purchased my ticket for the 4:15 shuttle, but since my plane was delayed, I would be landing only a few minutes before that. Since there was a horrible, bossy, unsympathetic baggage man in SLC who wouldn't let me carry on my tiny bag, I still had to wait at baggage claim. Our plane finally landed and I was a nervous wreck. If we missed the shuttle, it meant I would have to spend another twenty dollars on a different ticket, and wait two hours at the airport for the next shuttle. Call me crazy, but the idea of spending another two hours in an airport with a baby who had only slept two hours made me feel like jumping out of the plane without a parachute.
Jo and I ran to baggage claim, and waited, and waited, and waited. Everyone else's bag got off but mine. And it was 4:14. Finally, at 4:15 my bag arrived. I pulled the bag with my right hand, pushed the carseat and stroller with my left, and Jo and I ran as fast as we could. Then I realized I had no idea where the shuttle was supposed to pick me up. I fianlly stopped a random chauffer and said, "Where does the shuttle come?" He looked into my wild eyes and said, "Which one? There are hundreds." I screamed, "The Bloomington one!" He said, "Oh, go out those doors, cross two streets, go into that building, take a right, go out the second pair of doors, and then someone there can direct you."
I wanted to sit down in cry, but instead I started running again. I found the "someone" he must have been referring to sitting behind a desk, popping gum, and facebooking. I asked her, "Did the Bloomington shuttle leave already?" Without looking up, she nodded. I deflated, and, believe it or not, said, "No!" so desperately she tore her eyes away from the latest social gossip. "You can go out there and check," was her helpful comment. So I grabbed our bag, the stroller, and headed outside. It was there alright, pulling away about ten feet in front of me. I figured I had nothing to lose, so I jumped up and down, waved my arms, and shouted as loud as I could. "Wait!! I have to get on!" People stared at me, of course, but to my grateful amazement the shuttle stopped and the driver came out to help me with my bag and stroller. I could have kissed her, but instead I said thanks and made a mental note to call the Vatican and have her sainted.
We got on the shuttle, played musical chairs so Jo and I could sit next to each other, and then pulled out of the airport. I had survived. And it was all going to be okay. Jo fell asleep in like thirty seconds and I turned to look out the window. Something very strange was happening. No matter where I looked I couldn't see any mountains. I knew it was useless, but I turned my head every which way, and still couldn't find any. I suddenly felt so very alone. It finally hit me that we weren't living in Utah anymore. And I could feel a very near and dear piece of my heart chip away. I burst into sobs. Everyone on that shuttle probably thought I was crazy. I cried, hard, for the entire hour and a half ride to Bloomington, where I was dropped off at a Holiday Inn, and then stood in the parking lot and cried even harder.
I had spent four short years of my life in Utah. But the friends I made there were some of the most important of my life. I still miss them tremendously. Megan had been there from the beginning and I can't imagine what college would have been like without her - she was that friend who always answered the phone and always took your side, even if it wasn't her side. She married Jason just five days after Jordan and I were married and I thought that was the best party ever. Then they had Madelyn, and I can't even imagine all the pain and joy they went through. But, other than Jordan, Madelyn has strengthened my testimony of Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father's plan for us more than anyone else. Before they put Madelyn down for a nap, Megan and Jason always sing a song that goes, "I am like a star shining brightly," and I can't think of anything more true. Her spirit just shines.
Shaun and Lanette were so sweet, always baking cookies, and making rolls and having us over for dinner. And I'm pretty sure they should be made into a reality TV show because they are hilarious. Especially now that they have Iris. If anyone wants to see the power of adoption, just go over to their house and watch them oogle over that baby who is drowning in affection. If you ever hear of a mother looking to place a child, call me, because I know two of the best parents in this universe. Any child raised in their home is a child who faces adoration suffocation. I'm dead serious, too.
I also think of the friends who had already left. Kerri went to Chile for a mission, Megan and Brian went to Nebraska for school, Ron moved to Texas and left us all in shock, Tricia and Jason moved to California and broke my heart, and then Jake and Julia moved to Arizona a few days after we left. They are all great friends that we will always remember.
And that is why I sat in that parking lot bawling. I knew I had met some of the most amazing people, and been blessed to call them friends, and that I was really going to miss them.
And I really do. But, we have cell phones, Facebook, blogs, and hopefully a trip to Nauvoo next summer.
So, thank you, Utah, for being awesome. If the next five years in Indiana are half as good as the last four in Utah, then I am in for a treat.
P.S. Bradley and Brandon, you both are saints. Having you here made such a difference and helped me feel like everything was going to work out. I was so grateful to have some faces from Utah those first few days when I was an emotional catastrophe. Really, it made us all feel so much better.
Well, to catch everyone up, I finished classes, Jo turned one, I graduated from BYU, Jordan quit his job, we moved to Indiana, Jordan started school, and I visited my parents in Minnesota for two weeks. Now we are back "home", Jo is taking a nap, and I am writing instead of picking up the toddler tornado that just happened in the living room. It is kind of sad if you think about it. I get the same guilty pleasure from not cleaning my house that I once got from sneaking out at night, and flirting with other girls' boyfriends. I'm still trying to figure out how I became an adult.
Now. For the actual blogpost.
Indiana has been a challenge. All of it has been a challenge. As many of my friends know, I had a spaz attack the day we cleaned the apartment back in Provo because I couldn't get the blinds clean. (I apologize to you all, sincerely.) The next morning was a disaster. The kitchen floor was a filthy mess, we had cleaning checkout in fifteen minutes, and Jo was being super needy. I realized the oven hadn't been cleaned, and the only supplies I had were wet wipes. I scrubbed the oven as hard as I could and then started on the muddy, greasy floor. Jo started crying about something, so I lost my patience and told her to leave me alone and burst into tears myself. Then, my sweet little girl went to the wet wipes container, put a wipe in each hand, and sat next to me on the kitchen floor and began scrubbing. She was down on her hands, crawling around cleaning up the mess. I will never forget the way my heart dissolved into pure love and appreciation for that incredible one year old.
We passed the cleaning checks, by a miracle, and Jo and I went off to say goodbye to friends and try to make a few more memories. And we did make memories! I loved talking with my dear friend, Megan, the next morning and being even more convinced how amazing and inspiring that woman is. I was so grateful to spend extra time with my wonderful friend, Julia, and realizing she loved me just as much as I love her. And I had so much fun staying up way too late with my sister-in-law, Rebekah, and talking about everything from Guatemala, boys next door, and pregnancy and feeling more like friends than in-laws.
My last two days in Utah were wonderful. But, the party had to end sometime, and it did the night before we left, when Jo was up till 5 a.m. screaming her head off before finally passing out in exhaustion two hours before we had to leave. I must have looked a little desperate the next day as we flew across the country on our own. The flights were crowded, the layover was long, and my last flight was delayed. It took every ounce of self control not to deck the woman sitting next to me who obviously thought I was unfit to be a mother, because I couldn't get my child to take a nap on a crowded plane. Then she kept telling everyone sitting around us how she raised all her children perfectly and never let them cry in public. If you are that kind of person, don't be! It's obnoxious.
I had already purchased my ticket for the 4:15 shuttle, but since my plane was delayed, I would be landing only a few minutes before that. Since there was a horrible, bossy, unsympathetic baggage man in SLC who wouldn't let me carry on my tiny bag, I still had to wait at baggage claim. Our plane finally landed and I was a nervous wreck. If we missed the shuttle, it meant I would have to spend another twenty dollars on a different ticket, and wait two hours at the airport for the next shuttle. Call me crazy, but the idea of spending another two hours in an airport with a baby who had only slept two hours made me feel like jumping out of the plane without a parachute.
Jo and I ran to baggage claim, and waited, and waited, and waited. Everyone else's bag got off but mine. And it was 4:14. Finally, at 4:15 my bag arrived. I pulled the bag with my right hand, pushed the carseat and stroller with my left, and Jo and I ran as fast as we could. Then I realized I had no idea where the shuttle was supposed to pick me up. I fianlly stopped a random chauffer and said, "Where does the shuttle come?" He looked into my wild eyes and said, "Which one? There are hundreds." I screamed, "The Bloomington one!" He said, "Oh, go out those doors, cross two streets, go into that building, take a right, go out the second pair of doors, and then someone there can direct you."
I wanted to sit down in cry, but instead I started running again. I found the "someone" he must have been referring to sitting behind a desk, popping gum, and facebooking. I asked her, "Did the Bloomington shuttle leave already?" Without looking up, she nodded. I deflated, and, believe it or not, said, "No!" so desperately she tore her eyes away from the latest social gossip. "You can go out there and check," was her helpful comment. So I grabbed our bag, the stroller, and headed outside. It was there alright, pulling away about ten feet in front of me. I figured I had nothing to lose, so I jumped up and down, waved my arms, and shouted as loud as I could. "Wait!! I have to get on!" People stared at me, of course, but to my grateful amazement the shuttle stopped and the driver came out to help me with my bag and stroller. I could have kissed her, but instead I said thanks and made a mental note to call the Vatican and have her sainted.
We got on the shuttle, played musical chairs so Jo and I could sit next to each other, and then pulled out of the airport. I had survived. And it was all going to be okay. Jo fell asleep in like thirty seconds and I turned to look out the window. Something very strange was happening. No matter where I looked I couldn't see any mountains. I knew it was useless, but I turned my head every which way, and still couldn't find any. I suddenly felt so very alone. It finally hit me that we weren't living in Utah anymore. And I could feel a very near and dear piece of my heart chip away. I burst into sobs. Everyone on that shuttle probably thought I was crazy. I cried, hard, for the entire hour and a half ride to Bloomington, where I was dropped off at a Holiday Inn, and then stood in the parking lot and cried even harder.
I had spent four short years of my life in Utah. But the friends I made there were some of the most important of my life. I still miss them tremendously. Megan had been there from the beginning and I can't imagine what college would have been like without her - she was that friend who always answered the phone and always took your side, even if it wasn't her side. She married Jason just five days after Jordan and I were married and I thought that was the best party ever. Then they had Madelyn, and I can't even imagine all the pain and joy they went through. But, other than Jordan, Madelyn has strengthened my testimony of Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father's plan for us more than anyone else. Before they put Madelyn down for a nap, Megan and Jason always sing a song that goes, "I am like a star shining brightly," and I can't think of anything more true. Her spirit just shines.
Shaun and Lanette were so sweet, always baking cookies, and making rolls and having us over for dinner. And I'm pretty sure they should be made into a reality TV show because they are hilarious. Especially now that they have Iris. If anyone wants to see the power of adoption, just go over to their house and watch them oogle over that baby who is drowning in affection. If you ever hear of a mother looking to place a child, call me, because I know two of the best parents in this universe. Any child raised in their home is a child who faces adoration suffocation. I'm dead serious, too.
I also think of the friends who had already left. Kerri went to Chile for a mission, Megan and Brian went to Nebraska for school, Ron moved to Texas and left us all in shock, Tricia and Jason moved to California and broke my heart, and then Jake and Julia moved to Arizona a few days after we left. They are all great friends that we will always remember.
And that is why I sat in that parking lot bawling. I knew I had met some of the most amazing people, and been blessed to call them friends, and that I was really going to miss them.
And I really do. But, we have cell phones, Facebook, blogs, and hopefully a trip to Nauvoo next summer.
So, thank you, Utah, for being awesome. If the next five years in Indiana are half as good as the last four in Utah, then I am in for a treat.
P.S. Bradley and Brandon, you both are saints. Having you here made such a difference and helped me feel like everything was going to work out. I was so grateful to have some faces from Utah those first few days when I was an emotional catastrophe. Really, it made us all feel so much better.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Desperation Confession
I've become that mother - the mother I never wanted to be. I am sitting here, shamelessly eating a ridiculous amount of potato salad, listening to my daughter scream from her crib, and blogging instead of studying for my exam, working, cleaning the bathroom, and doing the dishes.
I have hit that point where I say, "That's it! I don't care anymore! Go ride your bicycle off the roof if you want to, go eat a whole box of twinkies, and throw a ball in the house, but just give me ten minutes of peace."
To me, having an hour to sit in the mall and people-watch sounds like a party. I am tired of being alone in the house all day, I am tired of calling everyone I have known since the fourth grade only to hear they can't talk, and I am tired of binging on fattening carbs to try and mask my emotional pain.
Today, I am just plain tired of being a mom trapped in this small apartment. Gone are the days of flirting with so-and-so while we crammed for a final, gone are the days of only binging for social purposes, gone are the days of romantic late night walks, sleeping in until ten, and being surrounded by friends 24/7.
When I had Jo I promised myself I would never have a day where I wanted to throw down the laundry basket, dig out a pair of high heels, and run until I found my freedom again. But, like most, this promise has been broken.
I feel like the walls of my life have been imperceptibly shrinking in closer and closer until now I am trapped in a suffocating closet of chores, dinner, diapers, and penny-pinching. I can feel the cheerios creeping up higher and higher, trying to suffocate me.
I am desperate to scream "Let me out!" But afraid of screaming too loudly or the perfectionist who lives next door might judge me as an unfit mother. Instead, what comes out is a meager "I'm just tired" when Jordan asks me what is wrong.
But I can't take it anymore! If I sit here in silence, stuffing myself with potato salad and Oreos for one more day, I'm going to end up as one of those women Mormons talk about all hush-hush. "She just went crazy one day and left. Leaving her poor husband and five angelic boys without a note - No, she says she won't come back." Then they act all surprised! As if they can't believe she didn't love getting up at six every morning, continually folding laundry, and only getting a seven minute shower before someone screamed about soccer practice.
So I am going to say it - Loud and clear - BEING A MOM IS REALLY HARD!!! Spending day after day at home with a teething baby is emotionally, physically, and mentally draining. Everyone who works acts like you have all this time to paint your nails, soak in the tub, and do yoga in your living room. They don't realize that sometimes you can't even think straight there is so much to do.
They don't realize that some days I desperately wish I worked outside of the home; so when my husband pulls in at night I am not tempted to grab the car keys and book it to the Canadian border.
Sometimes I wish I could just dissolve into nothingness and not be ridden with guilt about the dirty floor, the dirty clothes, or the dirty diaper. To *poof* disappear and have no one know.
And the really sad part is, I don't even have anyone to tell this to! I call my husband, he is busy with a client, I call my mom, she is busy packing, I call my friend, she has to put her kid down for a nap, I call my sister, she is at gymnastics practice. So in a desperate attempt for communication I sit down and write a blog post about it! I sit down, and silently tell my keyboard - an inanimate object - that today was really bad. And that all I want is one good reason to put on makeup.
I feel isolated, exhausted, and ridiculously pathetic. I'm losing my sanity, and have eaten so much potato salad I feel sick.
There you have it. Call me a bad mom if you like, say I am a failure, fervently remind me of all the reasons I am so lucky, and reassure me that I am wasting time moping and missing out on these "precious moments that pass so quickly". Judge me all you want - you have my permission.
But, would you mind stopping by to do it? I could use the company.
I have hit that point where I say, "That's it! I don't care anymore! Go ride your bicycle off the roof if you want to, go eat a whole box of twinkies, and throw a ball in the house, but just give me ten minutes of peace."
To me, having an hour to sit in the mall and people-watch sounds like a party. I am tired of being alone in the house all day, I am tired of calling everyone I have known since the fourth grade only to hear they can't talk, and I am tired of binging on fattening carbs to try and mask my emotional pain.
Today, I am just plain tired of being a mom trapped in this small apartment. Gone are the days of flirting with so-and-so while we crammed for a final, gone are the days of only binging for social purposes, gone are the days of romantic late night walks, sleeping in until ten, and being surrounded by friends 24/7.
When I had Jo I promised myself I would never have a day where I wanted to throw down the laundry basket, dig out a pair of high heels, and run until I found my freedom again. But, like most, this promise has been broken.
I feel like the walls of my life have been imperceptibly shrinking in closer and closer until now I am trapped in a suffocating closet of chores, dinner, diapers, and penny-pinching. I can feel the cheerios creeping up higher and higher, trying to suffocate me.
I am desperate to scream "Let me out!" But afraid of screaming too loudly or the perfectionist who lives next door might judge me as an unfit mother. Instead, what comes out is a meager "I'm just tired" when Jordan asks me what is wrong.
But I can't take it anymore! If I sit here in silence, stuffing myself with potato salad and Oreos for one more day, I'm going to end up as one of those women Mormons talk about all hush-hush. "She just went crazy one day and left. Leaving her poor husband and five angelic boys without a note - No, she says she won't come back." Then they act all surprised! As if they can't believe she didn't love getting up at six every morning, continually folding laundry, and only getting a seven minute shower before someone screamed about soccer practice.
So I am going to say it - Loud and clear - BEING A MOM IS REALLY HARD!!! Spending day after day at home with a teething baby is emotionally, physically, and mentally draining. Everyone who works acts like you have all this time to paint your nails, soak in the tub, and do yoga in your living room. They don't realize that sometimes you can't even think straight there is so much to do.
They don't realize that some days I desperately wish I worked outside of the home; so when my husband pulls in at night I am not tempted to grab the car keys and book it to the Canadian border.
Sometimes I wish I could just dissolve into nothingness and not be ridden with guilt about the dirty floor, the dirty clothes, or the dirty diaper. To *poof* disappear and have no one know.
And the really sad part is, I don't even have anyone to tell this to! I call my husband, he is busy with a client, I call my mom, she is busy packing, I call my friend, she has to put her kid down for a nap, I call my sister, she is at gymnastics practice. So in a desperate attempt for communication I sit down and write a blog post about it! I sit down, and silently tell my keyboard - an inanimate object - that today was really bad. And that all I want is one good reason to put on makeup.
I feel isolated, exhausted, and ridiculously pathetic. I'm losing my sanity, and have eaten so much potato salad I feel sick.
There you have it. Call me a bad mom if you like, say I am a failure, fervently remind me of all the reasons I am so lucky, and reassure me that I am wasting time moping and missing out on these "precious moments that pass so quickly". Judge me all you want - you have my permission.
But, would you mind stopping by to do it? I could use the company.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
He Calls Us By Name - Not Number
Being normal is not one of my strengths. The first sixteen years of my life I tried desperately to look like everyone else, to talk like everyone else, to dress like everyone else, and to act like everyone else. Then I attended Perpich Center for the Arts Education - a breeding ground for weirdos. And I finally realized that I could be as odd as I pleased without forgoing any chance at success. Now I try to be exactly who I want to be every day. But that doesn't mean I always want to be the same person.
I think one of my favorite hobbies is trying to continually reinvent myself. In high school I was the obsessive artist. Constantly working on my creations, going a week without showering, glorying in blistered feet, wearing the oddest arrangement of second-hand clothing I could find, eating no meat, and fighting the evils of global warming.
Today I am very different. I rarely find time to create anything other than a spotless bathroom, I still don't like showering, but I do it regularly out of common courtesy for my fellow men, I am terrified of blisters, I opt for the very plain t-shirt and jeans, I love hamburger, and think the warmer it gets the better!
I do not blame this strange phenomenon on identity confusion or personality crisis. Instead, I have realized that none of these things make me ME. No matter what I choose to eat or wear, I can never remove God's permanent stamp that labels me "worthwhile." Worthwhile enough that the God of heaven and earth would descend below all things for my sake.
I think my greatest struggle is believing what I just said. (Yes - I am a raging hypocrite.) Jordan sometimes comes home to find me crying over my uselessness. I often refer to myself as "a worthless lump that will never accomplish anything." I say there is no point to my existence, I shouldn't have been born, or I wish I could disappear and stop failing everyone. Jordan, of coarse, responds in the most Christlike manner and reminds me of God's opinion of me, and my irreversible eternal nature. 99.9% of the good things you read on this blog are things Jordan has taught me. And 100% of the bad stuff is from me.
No one is useless. I used to think that was another way of saying everyone is useless. If all of us were special, then none of us could be special. But this is so wrong and twisted. Every single one of us is a son or daughter of God. The children of a loving Heavenly Father with infinite love for us individually.
Would I ever love Josephine less because I might have another baby? Does any mother say "Oh that one isn't important, I've got seven more." No. Every woman knows she would instantly give her life for each and every one of her children. Whether they were the first, third, or seventeenth.
God is the exact same way. Except that he is way cooler. So he would just as readily give his life for the first, one-thousandth, or ninety-seven-billionth child of his creation. He actually already did that.
We are not human number 7685 to him. God calls us by name. Whether it be Kayleen, Julie, Benjamin, or Smerdyakov. And he has blessed all of us with the most sacred name he could give us - "my child."
I am sure I will have more days when I am overwhelmed with feelings of uselessness and I refer to myself as "the lump." But I know that God loves me, and I know that Christ died for me, ans that "uselessness" is a lie Satan has created to tear me away from love.
He calls us by name - not by number.
I think one of my favorite hobbies is trying to continually reinvent myself. In high school I was the obsessive artist. Constantly working on my creations, going a week without showering, glorying in blistered feet, wearing the oddest arrangement of second-hand clothing I could find, eating no meat, and fighting the evils of global warming.
Today I am very different. I rarely find time to create anything other than a spotless bathroom, I still don't like showering, but I do it regularly out of common courtesy for my fellow men, I am terrified of blisters, I opt for the very plain t-shirt and jeans, I love hamburger, and think the warmer it gets the better!
I do not blame this strange phenomenon on identity confusion or personality crisis. Instead, I have realized that none of these things make me ME. No matter what I choose to eat or wear, I can never remove God's permanent stamp that labels me "worthwhile." Worthwhile enough that the God of heaven and earth would descend below all things for my sake.
I think my greatest struggle is believing what I just said. (Yes - I am a raging hypocrite.) Jordan sometimes comes home to find me crying over my uselessness. I often refer to myself as "a worthless lump that will never accomplish anything." I say there is no point to my existence, I shouldn't have been born, or I wish I could disappear and stop failing everyone. Jordan, of coarse, responds in the most Christlike manner and reminds me of God's opinion of me, and my irreversible eternal nature. 99.9% of the good things you read on this blog are things Jordan has taught me. And 100% of the bad stuff is from me.
No one is useless. I used to think that was another way of saying everyone is useless. If all of us were special, then none of us could be special. But this is so wrong and twisted. Every single one of us is a son or daughter of God. The children of a loving Heavenly Father with infinite love for us individually.
Would I ever love Josephine less because I might have another baby? Does any mother say "Oh that one isn't important, I've got seven more." No. Every woman knows she would instantly give her life for each and every one of her children. Whether they were the first, third, or seventeenth.
God is the exact same way. Except that he is way cooler. So he would just as readily give his life for the first, one-thousandth, or ninety-seven-billionth child of his creation. He actually already did that.
We are not human number 7685 to him. God calls us by name. Whether it be Kayleen, Julie, Benjamin, or Smerdyakov. And he has blessed all of us with the most sacred name he could give us - "my child."
I am sure I will have more days when I am overwhelmed with feelings of uselessness and I refer to myself as "the lump." But I know that God loves me, and I know that Christ died for me, ans that "uselessness" is a lie Satan has created to tear me away from love.
He calls us by name - not by number.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
LIFE!
I never write anymore. I never seem to have the time. I have four chapters of Physical Science homework to work on right now, I have plenty of work to do for the baby shower I am hosting this weekend, I have a test on Friday, and Jo is eating a Christmas bow. I wish life would just give me a second to sit down, relax, and feel like I have finished my long list of tasks.
Life will never do that though, instead, it will only give me more and more balls to juggle as time goes on. I am somewhat devastated by this truth. I love to write, I love to dance, I love to see plays and I love to read. None of these things have been happening lately though. I am drowning in a mess of unimportant chores that MUST be done, and assignments that make me despise General Education credits.
I believe that in a way, everyone is an author. The most important book you will ever write is the one in which you live. The current chapter of my incredible novel is entitled, "Drowning Mother Enjoys the Swim." I am trying so hard to be Mother-of-the-Millenium, but it is not going well. My daughter gets a bath about once a week, if we are lucky, it looks like an atomic Cheerio bomb landed in my living room, and I am wondering if I should check myself into the mental hospital. Jordan comes home to domestic mayhem after twelve hours of work every day and smiles - don't ask me why.
When I imagined myself in this stage of life I imagined everything perfect. I thought that I would be perfect, I thought my child would be perfect, I thought dinner would always be a masterpiece, and no speck of dust would be found anywhere. I also imagined my husband as perfect, but he pretty much is, so that worked out well.
I am beginning to realize that no chapter of my live novel will ever contain perfection. And this is starting to scare me a bit. There will always be crumbs on the couch, and someone will be screaming, and I will never master the art of grilled cheese. My cupcakes will always look like frosting throw-up, and the bags under my eyes are permanent.
With this realization comes a need for game-plan reconstruction. I spend so much time trying to reach the unattainable I don't enjoy the real-life that surrounds me. Yes, Jo's face has booger crusties on it, but she also has a stunning smile on. Dinner may look like camel excrement, but at least I get to share it with my wonderful family. My hair is an eternal disaster of frizz, but I love the way it feels when Jordan runs his fingers through it.
Things don't have to be perfect in order for them to be right. What makes something perfect is not the quality it posesses, but the quality you assign to it. What I choose to see is what will be there before me. Now all I have to do is get my eyesight fixed. Something easier said than done.
I am predicting that this will be a life-long struggle for me. There is too much of my grandma running through my veins for me to be comfortable with the less than ideal. When we clean her house she says, "Now, does it look like we could have the Queen of England over?" Well, in her case it does, she routinely washes her cupboards. But in my case, the Queen of England hasn't returned any of my calls, so maybe I should stop prepping for that.
Life is a mess, and it will always be a mess. If it wasn't that way, then it wouldn't be life. I am off to go revel in my unswept floor, get a four out of five on my Physical Science quiz, and hold my crying baby.
CHEERS!!!
Life will never do that though, instead, it will only give me more and more balls to juggle as time goes on. I am somewhat devastated by this truth. I love to write, I love to dance, I love to see plays and I love to read. None of these things have been happening lately though. I am drowning in a mess of unimportant chores that MUST be done, and assignments that make me despise General Education credits.
I believe that in a way, everyone is an author. The most important book you will ever write is the one in which you live. The current chapter of my incredible novel is entitled, "Drowning Mother Enjoys the Swim." I am trying so hard to be Mother-of-the-Millenium, but it is not going well. My daughter gets a bath about once a week, if we are lucky, it looks like an atomic Cheerio bomb landed in my living room, and I am wondering if I should check myself into the mental hospital. Jordan comes home to domestic mayhem after twelve hours of work every day and smiles - don't ask me why.
When I imagined myself in this stage of life I imagined everything perfect. I thought that I would be perfect, I thought my child would be perfect, I thought dinner would always be a masterpiece, and no speck of dust would be found anywhere. I also imagined my husband as perfect, but he pretty much is, so that worked out well.
I am beginning to realize that no chapter of my live novel will ever contain perfection. And this is starting to scare me a bit. There will always be crumbs on the couch, and someone will be screaming, and I will never master the art of grilled cheese. My cupcakes will always look like frosting throw-up, and the bags under my eyes are permanent.
With this realization comes a need for game-plan reconstruction. I spend so much time trying to reach the unattainable I don't enjoy the real-life that surrounds me. Yes, Jo's face has booger crusties on it, but she also has a stunning smile on. Dinner may look like camel excrement, but at least I get to share it with my wonderful family. My hair is an eternal disaster of frizz, but I love the way it feels when Jordan runs his fingers through it.
Things don't have to be perfect in order for them to be right. What makes something perfect is not the quality it posesses, but the quality you assign to it. What I choose to see is what will be there before me. Now all I have to do is get my eyesight fixed. Something easier said than done.
I am predicting that this will be a life-long struggle for me. There is too much of my grandma running through my veins for me to be comfortable with the less than ideal. When we clean her house she says, "Now, does it look like we could have the Queen of England over?" Well, in her case it does, she routinely washes her cupboards. But in my case, the Queen of England hasn't returned any of my calls, so maybe I should stop prepping for that.
Life is a mess, and it will always be a mess. If it wasn't that way, then it wouldn't be life. I am off to go revel in my unswept floor, get a four out of five on my Physical Science quiz, and hold my crying baby.
CHEERS!!!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Mushy Gushy Post about My Husband
This is when loneliness sets in. Jordan is in Indiana tonight, getting ready for a full day of interviews and meetings with all the important people from the ISYS department there. Jo is laying in bed crying uncontrollably, I presume she has a headache by now. And I am resisting the overwhelming temptation of settling into a slight depression and eating cold cupcakes.
I miss my husband so much, and it hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet. When I am with Jordan I feel so much it seems like I will begin shooting out rays of starlight from my fingers and toes and the ends of my hair. I imagine it is what being filled with a million bouncy balls must feel like. I love to be with him and simply watch him smile, listen to him reveal his magnificent mind, and relish in the music of his piano. There is magic in his eyes, when they meet mine I can feel my soul catch fire.
Without Jordan I begin to feel a little smaller. It is like I am a helium balloon that is slowly deflating and losing the ability to stay afloat. As the saying goes, "I think he is me more than he is mine."
One of my favorite things to do with Jordan is watch romantic films. We usually enjoy them, but at the end he shrugs his shoulders, turns to me with a slight smirk and says, "We're cuter." Now, I don't think they should make a Hollywood chick-flick out of us. For one thing, it would be embarassing. We are both incredibly strange and we only encourage this behavioral indulgence in one another. Our home is a private stage for oddness and uncontrollable giggling. And for another thing,I would hate for the world to realize just how much I don't deserve Jordan. It is somewhat pathetic; the major gap between our levels of awesomeness.
I apologize if I am muking you out with this love confession. But I simply could not help myself, love has made me an emotional desperado. And tonight happens to be my first opportunity to write and Jordan's first night away. So the product is a mushy gushy post about my husband.
I love you Jordan! You are the lightening in my veins and the thunder in my heart - the sublime thuderstorm to a life that craves rain and excitement.
Thank you for everything you have brought into my life. Now I know what love is.
I miss my husband so much, and it hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet. When I am with Jordan I feel so much it seems like I will begin shooting out rays of starlight from my fingers and toes and the ends of my hair. I imagine it is what being filled with a million bouncy balls must feel like. I love to be with him and simply watch him smile, listen to him reveal his magnificent mind, and relish in the music of his piano. There is magic in his eyes, when they meet mine I can feel my soul catch fire.
Without Jordan I begin to feel a little smaller. It is like I am a helium balloon that is slowly deflating and losing the ability to stay afloat. As the saying goes, "I think he is me more than he is mine."
One of my favorite things to do with Jordan is watch romantic films. We usually enjoy them, but at the end he shrugs his shoulders, turns to me with a slight smirk and says, "We're cuter." Now, I don't think they should make a Hollywood chick-flick out of us. For one thing, it would be embarassing. We are both incredibly strange and we only encourage this behavioral indulgence in one another. Our home is a private stage for oddness and uncontrollable giggling. And for another thing,I would hate for the world to realize just how much I don't deserve Jordan. It is somewhat pathetic; the major gap between our levels of awesomeness.
I apologize if I am muking you out with this love confession. But I simply could not help myself, love has made me an emotional desperado. And tonight happens to be my first opportunity to write and Jordan's first night away. So the product is a mushy gushy post about my husband.
I love you Jordan! You are the lightening in my veins and the thunder in my heart - the sublime thuderstorm to a life that craves rain and excitement.
Thank you for everything you have brought into my life. Now I know what love is.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
No Higher Calling
I apologize for never writing anymore. I feel awful about it. I just don't feel like I have the time anymore though. Jo is crawling now, so that means I turn around for ten seconds and then she starts chewing on speaker cords. Right now she is digging in my pile of new books. . . hang on a second . . . . . . okay, now she is digging in her own books, which isn't as bad. And now she is back digging in mine, and Jordan is dragging her away by one leg, and she is screaming, and now Jordan is reorganizing all the books and placing them ontop of his piano out of her reach. And now Jo is digging in his piano music. And now Jordan is trying to deal with that . . .
I really like when Jordan is home from work. He is probably the most helpful husband there is. We have a rule that once he gets home I don't have to change anymore diapers. It is wonderful. Except Jo usually goes number two in the mornings, so I still get the worst of it. Lame!
Parenthood is like nothing else. No matter how naughty she is, how much of a mess she makes, or how loud she screams when I put her socks on, I never lover her any less. Everything she does is simply magnificent - even the things I would rather she not do. Jordan is trying to read her a book right now and she keeps on turning the pages back and forth and drooling all over them. It isn't going well, at all, but it is bonding time and I am having a blast watching them struggle. Hahahaha, Jo just untied Jordan's slippers - he looks so hurt.
Being Jo's mother has taught me more about my Heavenly Father than any other experience. I know that He loves me more than I could ever love my Jo - which is simply unfathomable. But I also know that no matter what I do, no matter how awful the mess I make, or how much I disobey his instruction, He perfectly loves me. That is such a comfort to know. I find so much peace in the reassurance I have of God's love. Nothing is more eternal or more powerful than this. When I think about it, I posssess the greatest gift of all existence.
I am so very grateful to be who I am, to be where I am, and to be blessed with what I have. I know this has come from a deeper understanding of God's love for me and the purposeful life He has laid out for me. Even if I never make the New York Time's Bestseller List, or I never find the cure for cancer, my life has tremendous meaning. And that is because I am a mother.
There is no higher calling. I have been charged with the duty to lead one of God's children back to His presence. I am so honored to have this amazing title. It is so scary but also so fulfilling. I am grateful to know that no matter what the personal situation, every woman has been promised the opportunity to be a mother, as long as they keep God's commands.
Being a mother is greater than anything! And now I have to go deal with my charge - she is throwing washcloths all over the livingroom and I think her father has given up on her. : )
P.S. Jordan just asked Jo, "Why do you only do things I tell you not to do?"
I LOVE IT!!
I really like when Jordan is home from work. He is probably the most helpful husband there is. We have a rule that once he gets home I don't have to change anymore diapers. It is wonderful. Except Jo usually goes number two in the mornings, so I still get the worst of it. Lame!
Parenthood is like nothing else. No matter how naughty she is, how much of a mess she makes, or how loud she screams when I put her socks on, I never lover her any less. Everything she does is simply magnificent - even the things I would rather she not do. Jordan is trying to read her a book right now and she keeps on turning the pages back and forth and drooling all over them. It isn't going well, at all, but it is bonding time and I am having a blast watching them struggle. Hahahaha, Jo just untied Jordan's slippers - he looks so hurt.
Being Jo's mother has taught me more about my Heavenly Father than any other experience. I know that He loves me more than I could ever love my Jo - which is simply unfathomable. But I also know that no matter what I do, no matter how awful the mess I make, or how much I disobey his instruction, He perfectly loves me. That is such a comfort to know. I find so much peace in the reassurance I have of God's love. Nothing is more eternal or more powerful than this. When I think about it, I posssess the greatest gift of all existence.
I am so very grateful to be who I am, to be where I am, and to be blessed with what I have. I know this has come from a deeper understanding of God's love for me and the purposeful life He has laid out for me. Even if I never make the New York Time's Bestseller List, or I never find the cure for cancer, my life has tremendous meaning. And that is because I am a mother.
There is no higher calling. I have been charged with the duty to lead one of God's children back to His presence. I am so honored to have this amazing title. It is so scary but also so fulfilling. I am grateful to know that no matter what the personal situation, every woman has been promised the opportunity to be a mother, as long as they keep God's commands.
Being a mother is greater than anything! And now I have to go deal with my charge - she is throwing washcloths all over the livingroom and I think her father has given up on her. : )
P.S. Jordan just asked Jo, "Why do you only do things I tell you not to do?"
I LOVE IT!!
Friday, February 11, 2011
Christian Women
I am guilty of many things, one of them being critical of those I should have been loving instead. Over the past few months I have been the witness of a lot of criticism, especially between women. I have heard harmful words spoken, that do nothing other than damage relationships and hurt individuals.
Silly things like, "I can't believe she only cleans her house once a month," "She needs to get rid of that bottle," "Women who are induced into labor are selfish," and "That's weird that she wants to breastfeed that long."
Believe me, I have made little comments like these, stuck my nose up in the air, and assumed that everyone who doesn't do things my way must be doing them wrong. I really regret this and wish I could take all my snobbiness back - but I can't. So instead I am going to do all I can to make sure I don't do this again. If I have offended or hurt you, by sticking my nose where it didn't belong, and judging when I had no right to, then I am very sorry and I hope you will forgive me.
The other night, I was with a group of good women. We had all been playing with our children, sharing tips about diapers and teething, and were strengthening friendships and helping one another. Sadly, the conversation was suddenly filled with judgmental remarks, hurt feelings, and friends lost. We slipped into "snappy moms" mode so smoothly no one had even noticed it. Women began talking about how those who use disposable diapers are wasteful, or how those who use cloth are unsanitary. Some women said they could never dress their children in "used" clothing and made it sound almost abusive. Some women said that those who buy only new toys will end up with spoiled brats.
In short, it was awful. I could sense Christ's presence depart and knew we no longer had a sweet spirit about us. We had gone from friends to bickering enemies in a few short minutes. What a loss.
I learned a very important lesson that night. Satan does all he can to destroy God's kingdom, and one of the ways he does this is by causing contention between sisters through his tools of gossip, judgment, and criticism. I, for one, never want to be a Satan's tool, and that is why I have developed a strong resolve never to judge others or cause riffs over things of no importance.
God does not care whether so and so lets her daughter use a bottle until she is one year or two, or whether so and so wants to use cloth or disposable diapers, or whether so and so buys used clothing or new. And if God doesn't care, then I certainly have no right to.
I have made an eternal covenant with my Heavenly Father to build up the kingdom of God in every way I can, and to remove from myself those things that tear it down. When I am critisizing others I am not acting in a way a true Christian woman should act.
As Christ's disciple my main priority is to be a light of Christ to everyone within my sphere. Not to decide who is a good parent, who knows how to clean a shower properly, or what constitutes a homemade dinner. My opinion of people is insignificant, while God's opinion is all important. I should be sharing God's opinion with those I meet. And His opinion is always unconditional love. Therefore, my attitude and remarks should show nothing but unconditional love for my sisters.
I wish I could be perfect from now on, but I know I will make mistakes, I will let petty differences get in the way, and I will make judgmental remarks and possibly offend. But I promise to always do my best to show love that surpasses differences, and a willingness to accept those who think differently than myself.
I promise to do my best to be a Christian woman.
Silly things like, "I can't believe she only cleans her house once a month," "She needs to get rid of that bottle," "Women who are induced into labor are selfish," and "That's weird that she wants to breastfeed that long."
Believe me, I have made little comments like these, stuck my nose up in the air, and assumed that everyone who doesn't do things my way must be doing them wrong. I really regret this and wish I could take all my snobbiness back - but I can't. So instead I am going to do all I can to make sure I don't do this again. If I have offended or hurt you, by sticking my nose where it didn't belong, and judging when I had no right to, then I am very sorry and I hope you will forgive me.
The other night, I was with a group of good women. We had all been playing with our children, sharing tips about diapers and teething, and were strengthening friendships and helping one another. Sadly, the conversation was suddenly filled with judgmental remarks, hurt feelings, and friends lost. We slipped into "snappy moms" mode so smoothly no one had even noticed it. Women began talking about how those who use disposable diapers are wasteful, or how those who use cloth are unsanitary. Some women said they could never dress their children in "used" clothing and made it sound almost abusive. Some women said that those who buy only new toys will end up with spoiled brats.
In short, it was awful. I could sense Christ's presence depart and knew we no longer had a sweet spirit about us. We had gone from friends to bickering enemies in a few short minutes. What a loss.
I learned a very important lesson that night. Satan does all he can to destroy God's kingdom, and one of the ways he does this is by causing contention between sisters through his tools of gossip, judgment, and criticism. I, for one, never want to be a Satan's tool, and that is why I have developed a strong resolve never to judge others or cause riffs over things of no importance.
God does not care whether so and so lets her daughter use a bottle until she is one year or two, or whether so and so wants to use cloth or disposable diapers, or whether so and so buys used clothing or new. And if God doesn't care, then I certainly have no right to.
I have made an eternal covenant with my Heavenly Father to build up the kingdom of God in every way I can, and to remove from myself those things that tear it down. When I am critisizing others I am not acting in a way a true Christian woman should act.
As Christ's disciple my main priority is to be a light of Christ to everyone within my sphere. Not to decide who is a good parent, who knows how to clean a shower properly, or what constitutes a homemade dinner. My opinion of people is insignificant, while God's opinion is all important. I should be sharing God's opinion with those I meet. And His opinion is always unconditional love. Therefore, my attitude and remarks should show nothing but unconditional love for my sisters.
I wish I could be perfect from now on, but I know I will make mistakes, I will let petty differences get in the way, and I will make judgmental remarks and possibly offend. But I promise to always do my best to show love that surpasses differences, and a willingness to accept those who think differently than myself.
I promise to do my best to be a Christian woman.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Slightly Depressing But Then Somewhat Hopeful Blog Post
Tonight a friend was telling me about her wedding day. Like everyone's , hers had some flaws. Her mother-in-law decided to give her the sex talk in the back of a gas station at 10 p.m. on her wedding night, and her own mom insisted on seeing them the next morning. Thankfully, these were not my experiences.
My wedding day was not ideal though. In all honesty, I avoid discussing my wedding day. It was probably one of the hardest days of my life, and one that doesn't bring back the best memories. I wouldn't trade my marriage to Jordan for anything, but I would probably trade my wedding day for almost anything. Well, except spiders and things of that creepy nature.
I feel like people never understand how difficult it is to be a convert sometimes. Both members of the Church and nonmembers. It isn't easy to have your LDS friends and family make small comments or do things that seem to seperate you or make you feel stupid. Whenever this happens I always assume it is unintentional, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt still. It isn't easy to awkwardly explain to nonmember friends and family why I wear garments, don't drink, and refuse to shop on Sunday. And it most certainly isn't easy to exlain to your mom and dad, who you love very much, why they can't be with you for your wedding day.
Instead of waking up with joy and excitement on my wedding day, I woke up in tears. I got in the shower at 4 a.m. and turned on the hot water until it felt like I could boil every emotion away. I stood there for more than an hour, just watching the steam rise and trying to numb myself.
Everyone always says, "But you made the right decision" with a big smile on their face. I think "So what?!" Nowhere does it say that making the right decision means it is going to hurt less. Sometimes making the right decision means you are going to suffer more than if you had made the wrong one. God doesn't guarantee an easy ride to those who sacrifice. He just asks us to follow Him, no matter what the consequence.
When I was thirteen my oldest sister Marissa got married. I watched with stars in my eyes as she got her makeup done, fixed her hair in the mirror, and had everyone fuss over her dress. I was in rapture when she walked down the aisle, holding my father's arm. I couldn't wait until I could be married, have a huge party, dance the night away, and then drive off knowing so many people loved me and wanted me to be happy.
Needless to say, I was crushed when my turn came. Not only did I lose that moment when my father would lovingly give me away, but I also lost the opportunity to be with the people I love the most. My wedding day was filled with strangers I wanted to run away from and heartbroken parents. I held back tears, plastered on smiles and waited for it all to be over.
It did end eventually, and when it did, I spent my first day as a married woman crying my eyes out wishing we had eloped.
I think the worst moment of the whole day was arriving at the luncheon. I was devastated to see my parents standing in a back corner with broken expressions. Not one member of my new family had approached them and tried to make them feel welcome. Everyone stood about talking merrily and simply ignored my parents. It felt as if they were saying, "You're not LDS, you're not one of us, we don't want you here."
I felt so estranged and seperated from everyone. Here I was, supposedly joining a new family, but all I could feel was their disapproval for my parents, and therefore me.
After that I wanted nothing more than to get away and be alone with Jordan. I was scared of being a new bride, and felt horrible guilt every time I thought of my parents. Now as a mother myself, I can't imagine all the pain I must have caused my mom. And for that I am deeply sorry.
Thankfully, time is a promotor of healing, and wedding days do not determine the quality of a marriage. I have enjoyed more than two and a half years of pure bliss living with Jordan and am looking forward to an eternity of even more. My marriage has been the greatest blessing of my life and I am so grateful nothing has the power to take that away, not even death.
God has the power to make good things come out of difficult beginnings - my life is a testament to this. No matter the situation, God can make it right if we have faith in Him. Despite all the hurt feelings, my mom is still my best friend and my dad is still my unsung hero. The love of a family is intended to be forever.
If my family can survive days like this, and even worse days that we have been through, then I know my family can make it through anything. I have felt the power of undconditional love. Both recieving it from my parents and giving it to my Jo.
The family is where we feel God's love for one another, and experience the power of forgiving others and being forgiven. Nothing is more precious to me than my family.
Love is what gives us the wings to soar to heaven, and family is the flight crew.
My wedding day was not ideal though. In all honesty, I avoid discussing my wedding day. It was probably one of the hardest days of my life, and one that doesn't bring back the best memories. I wouldn't trade my marriage to Jordan for anything, but I would probably trade my wedding day for almost anything. Well, except spiders and things of that creepy nature.
I feel like people never understand how difficult it is to be a convert sometimes. Both members of the Church and nonmembers. It isn't easy to have your LDS friends and family make small comments or do things that seem to seperate you or make you feel stupid. Whenever this happens I always assume it is unintentional, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt still. It isn't easy to awkwardly explain to nonmember friends and family why I wear garments, don't drink, and refuse to shop on Sunday. And it most certainly isn't easy to exlain to your mom and dad, who you love very much, why they can't be with you for your wedding day.
Instead of waking up with joy and excitement on my wedding day, I woke up in tears. I got in the shower at 4 a.m. and turned on the hot water until it felt like I could boil every emotion away. I stood there for more than an hour, just watching the steam rise and trying to numb myself.
Everyone always says, "But you made the right decision" with a big smile on their face. I think "So what?!" Nowhere does it say that making the right decision means it is going to hurt less. Sometimes making the right decision means you are going to suffer more than if you had made the wrong one. God doesn't guarantee an easy ride to those who sacrifice. He just asks us to follow Him, no matter what the consequence.
When I was thirteen my oldest sister Marissa got married. I watched with stars in my eyes as she got her makeup done, fixed her hair in the mirror, and had everyone fuss over her dress. I was in rapture when she walked down the aisle, holding my father's arm. I couldn't wait until I could be married, have a huge party, dance the night away, and then drive off knowing so many people loved me and wanted me to be happy.
Needless to say, I was crushed when my turn came. Not only did I lose that moment when my father would lovingly give me away, but I also lost the opportunity to be with the people I love the most. My wedding day was filled with strangers I wanted to run away from and heartbroken parents. I held back tears, plastered on smiles and waited for it all to be over.
It did end eventually, and when it did, I spent my first day as a married woman crying my eyes out wishing we had eloped.
I think the worst moment of the whole day was arriving at the luncheon. I was devastated to see my parents standing in a back corner with broken expressions. Not one member of my new family had approached them and tried to make them feel welcome. Everyone stood about talking merrily and simply ignored my parents. It felt as if they were saying, "You're not LDS, you're not one of us, we don't want you here."
I felt so estranged and seperated from everyone. Here I was, supposedly joining a new family, but all I could feel was their disapproval for my parents, and therefore me.
After that I wanted nothing more than to get away and be alone with Jordan. I was scared of being a new bride, and felt horrible guilt every time I thought of my parents. Now as a mother myself, I can't imagine all the pain I must have caused my mom. And for that I am deeply sorry.
Thankfully, time is a promotor of healing, and wedding days do not determine the quality of a marriage. I have enjoyed more than two and a half years of pure bliss living with Jordan and am looking forward to an eternity of even more. My marriage has been the greatest blessing of my life and I am so grateful nothing has the power to take that away, not even death.
God has the power to make good things come out of difficult beginnings - my life is a testament to this. No matter the situation, God can make it right if we have faith in Him. Despite all the hurt feelings, my mom is still my best friend and my dad is still my unsung hero. The love of a family is intended to be forever.
If my family can survive days like this, and even worse days that we have been through, then I know my family can make it through anything. I have felt the power of undconditional love. Both recieving it from my parents and giving it to my Jo.
The family is where we feel God's love for one another, and experience the power of forgiving others and being forgiven. Nothing is more precious to me than my family.
Love is what gives us the wings to soar to heaven, and family is the flight crew.
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