Our Wedding Day

A day late and a dollar short - or a week late and a completely different post.

Last Monday, March 2, was our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.  I had a post in mind that I wanted to do and have up on that day.  Then my life got kind of complicated and it just didn't happen.  That post is still to come.  But I wanted to get something up for our anniversary, even if it's a week late, so here you go.  Wedding pictures and a bit of detail about our wedding day.

Bill and I met working at McDonald's.  Our first date was November 2, 1989.  We got engaged on December 27, 1989 - my twentieth birthday.  We planned to get married the following fall.  We soon realized we could either get married in the fall or in the temple (Mormon joke about not being able to keep our hands off each other), so we bumped the date up a bit.  We got our wedding license on Valentine's Day of 1990 and were married on March 2, 1990 - his twenty-third birthday (four months to the day after our first date).

Because we bumped it up, we had about two and a half weeks to get everything pulled together.  When I called my Grandma in Reno and asked what she was doing in two and half weeks, she guessed, "Coming to your wedding?"  Yup.  Then she offered to get me a dress and make my veil.  Cool!  She asked what style I liked and what my measurements were.  She said she would have my dress to me in time for the big day.  It arrived in the mail two or three days before our wedding.  That was the first time I'd seen it - and it was perfect!  Exactly what I would have picked out, and she had even lined it for the temple.

And that's pretty much all you get except for pictures and captions.  It was pretty uneventful, except, you know, we got married and had a reception.  I guess that kind of happened.

Now here are your pretty pictures.


We were married in the Salt Lake City temple.  It was overcast that day.  I love this photo because it doesn't just capture our temple, it also captures our flag (well, both of them because Utah's flag is in there, too).

We had a chocolate wedding cake.  It's chocolate inside, too.  We ran out of the sheet cake we were serving and had to serve this as well.  Bill and I only got one bite each, the ones we fed to each other as dictated by tradition.  We did freeze the top layer and each had a bite of that on our one year anniversary (also following tradition); that bite wasn't so good.  There's another layer in the back that you can't see.  The layers went around the center like a spiral staircase.  Our wedding topper was a crystal Salt Lake Temple on a round mirror.  I still have that, although it got broken in half by one of our children when she was small.  I'm not going to name names.

As you can probably tell from the cake photo, we had our wedding reception in the "cultural hall" of our church.  That means we had it in the gym.  We were fine with it at the time.  It was free and looked beautiful when decorated.  But the background of this photo has always bothered me just a little.  I wish we had a photo of the cake with a nicer background.  Oh, and there's no photo of us feeding each other the cake.  Our photographer was gone by then.  Our friend took a picture, but his camera freaked out and the pictures came out all blurry.  No big deal.

These are all of our family and friends who were able to make it to Salt Lake.  Several of the people in this photo have passed on now, which increases the tender feelings in my heart for it.  The guy on the right with his arm on the shoulder of the lady with dark hair is my husband's twin brother.  Fun fact: he had hernia surgery the day before.  But he still made it there to support his brother, and I'm grateful for that (even though he was angry at me for years for stealing his birthday; he might still be).

Only some of them were able to come inside for the ceremony.  In order to enter the temple, each person must have a temple recommend.  In order to have a temple recommend, you need to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and be living by the standards required.  It's a long list.  If you want to know what's on it, I suggest you go to lds.org and look it up.  As far as I knew, no one that was unable to come in was upset about it.  They understood and respected our beliefs.  My dad wasn't able to come in, but he fully supported me getting married in the temple anyway.  In the temple we are married legally and sealed for time and all eternity spiritually.

I'm pretty sure these alcoves were designed just for photo opportunities like this.

And this.  Isn't it pretty?

It is a little tricky to get into and out of though.  This is a picture of him helping me down.  It's quite significant because I was stubbornly independent back then and rarely let anyone help me with anything.  Thanks, honey!

These doors are another must-have photo spot.  They are gorgeous and somewhat imposing in real life.

I call this the dreamy-filter shot.

Notice how the grass is all brown.  It was very early March in Utah, we were lucky to not have snow on the ground.  But I honestly didn't even notice it that day.  I'm not one of those girls who spent my whole life planning my wedding and cared about every little detail (as evidenced by the dress story).  On my actual wedding day I wasn't stressed about details either.  As long as he and I both got to the temple and got married, nothing else mattered much.

Same shot, only this time we're dreamily gazing into each others eyes.  Or something like that.  Knowing my husband, he was probably doing everything he could to not laugh.  Remember the episode of Friends when Chandler and Monica are planning to get married and they're trying to get engagement photos taken but they all look horrible because Chandler can't smile for photos to save his life?  Yeah, it's like that.

This tree is another popular photo spot.  It was a beautifully shaped tree.  Unfortunately I had no idea there was that electrical box in the shot until after we got the photos back.  Really, I was so unconcerned with details I let my mom pick the photographer (and all the decorations and food, except for the cake) and we just let the photographer walk us around and take pretty much whatever photos he wanted.  Most wedding photographers weren't nearly as creative back then  - in the olden days.

Another dreamy-filter photo.  Man, we look young!

This is probably my favorite photo.  That dress really was gorgeous.  There was actually a small train, but I was able to button it up to make walking easier.  My mom insisted on this photo because she loved the detail on the back so much.  I'm really glad she did.  Didn't my Grandma choose well?  And that's the veil she made for me.

This is inside the church where we held our reception (in that cultural hall I mentioned above).  Doesn't it look pretty?  Okay, so in retrospect our backdrop looks like the backdrop for prom photos, but I liked it at the time.

His mom did the flowers.  We used silk flowers.  I wanted to keep my bouquet (which I wanted very small).  I wanted it to still look good years later.  I still have it and it does.  He was very excited to wear a tux and insisted on one with tails.

For years, Bill said this was his favorite photo.  I think it's because he got to be the focus for a change.  It also has that woman-behind-the-man feeling.  This is the first time I've noticed the metal folding chair and the curtains that sparkle like they're from an old gameshow.

Now this is his favorite.  It was my mom's favorite, too, and the only one she got a print of to hang at her house.  I like it now although I didn't when we first got them.  That whole incredibly-judgmental-of-all-photos-of-myself thing.

And that's all I've got for today.  There are a few more, but I haven't scanned them yet.  We didn't have groomsmen and bridesmaids in matching outfits.  We asked our friends to serve as honorary groomsmen and bridesmaids and told them just to wear something that matched our color scheme (black, white, and dusty rose - don't judge, we were just coming out of the eighties).  We didn't have a long formal line (as most people did at Mormon wedding receptions).  It was just us and our parents.  We initially wanted to skip the line all together, but my mom freaked out at that scandalous idea.  The much smaller line was the compromise.  Everyone who came through the line told us how awesome it was to not have to shake hands with and talk to a bunch of people they didn't know and then awkwardly stand next to them while waiting for the line to progress.  No, I guess they just thanked us for the small line, but that's what they really meant.

Anyway, Happy Anniversary to us!

A Valentine's Day Post - I Know, a Little Freaky Coming From Me

I am not big on romance.  Lovey-dovey, schmoozy, baby talk - all lost on me.  Or, even worse, they irritate me.  I don't read romance novels and I don't generally watch chick flicks.  My friends have seen me roll my eyes and gag at book club when there's too much love story in the book we've chosen.  My husband has been rejected (sorry, honey) when he's gone that route, too.

But every once in a while I feel the need to join the love brigade.  (Actually, I try to be loving most of the time.  It's just not easily recognizable by the people around me.)

Today, my husband and I are going to share ten reasons we each love the other.

I'm not going to call mine a top ten, because I don't want to take the time to organize them that way and I might leave out something important.  It's just a list of ten; I could easily come up with many more.

Ten reasons I love my husband:
1.  He loves me.  Without fail.  No matter what, he loves me.  This matters more than I can say and is the one thing that keeps me going.
2.  He believes in me.  Enough that he helps me believe in myself when I'm not sure I do.
3.  He thinks I'm beautiful.  For real.  When he says, "I love your body," he means it.  And since I often don't love my body, that helps.  And when he looks at me like he's the luckiest man on the planet because he has me, I know he truly feels that way.
4.  He trusts me.  With other men.  With our money.  With our home.  With our kids.  With his heart.  Even with his dvds (usually). ;)
5.  He's willing to learn and grow.  He's taught me a lot about being humble.
6.  He doesn't mind making a fool of himself (which sometimes makes me crazy).  He's open to making mistakes.  I admire this in him, mostly because I have such a difficult time with it.
7.  He wants to be the man of my dreams.  He tries to be what I want.  He tries to talk to me the way I want.  He will change his clothes when I ask him to.
8.  But he also wants to remain true to who he is.  He will tell me when I've pushed too far.  He will stand his ground when necessary.
9.  He went to therapy to save our family and our marriage.  There is no way for me to express how vital this was and how much it means to me that he would go, participate, and know when he needs to go back for a tune up.
10.  He supports me.  He loves watching me succeed.  He wants me to soar.  He's willing to share me with the world.  He is happy for me to be me and never tries to change me.

See, wouldn't you love him, too?

And here's his list -

Top Ten Things Bill Loves About Robin:
1.  Your hair and the fact that you are not afraid to try new things with it.  (This will make more sense in another post, coming soon.)
2.  Your lack of jealousy of me having friends that are women.
3.  Your trust in me. 
4.  That you are always right but are not afraid to be wrong and can admit when you are.
5.  You love me - even though I'm a non-believer.  This should be number one.  It means a lot to me.
6.  Your love for people even when you don't agree with their choices.
7.  I love how well you have raised our kids.
8.  How you don't let pain stop you.
9.  Your humility and forgiveness.
10.  You stayed with me and helped me become a better person even though you had to crawl through the mud to get me there.

I love everything about you.

We're coming up on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary (watch for a special post that day, March 2).  We've gone through a lot to get here.  And I think we are closer and more in love than we've ever been.  We just fit.

My Husband's Zentangle Inspired Art -- and a Valentine!

When I first started doing Zentangle art I was surprised at how simple it could be.  I remember thinking, "Anyone could do this.  Well, anyone except Bill because he can't draw a straight line."  I love him and he's very good at many things, just not anything that has to do with pen and paper.

Imagine my surprise when he came home from work one day and told me that he'd found himself doodling while waiting for something to process at work and wondered if I could teach him to tangle.  What?  Really?

I tried not to let my skepticism show about his chances of success.  "It doesn't matter if it's any good,"  I thought.  "As long as he enjoys it."  Did I believe that?  Kind of.  But I'm a bit of a perfectionist and knew I might be very judgmental of his efforts.  And, honestly, at first I was.

It wasn't simple for him.  His lines were shaky.  He made up weird patterns.  And if you compared it to mine it looked kind of childish.  But that's not what art is.  It's not about everything being the same.  It's not about things being straight and exact.  It's about expressing yourself.

His style is very different from mine.  He isn't as precise (which I know sometimes bothers him).  But he is willing to take chances and jump right in -- yes, like a child.  He enjoys it.  He is proud of it.  And so am I.

I am surprised at how much happiness it brings him.  I am surprised he's stuck with it.  And I am impressed with the progress he's made.

And today, Valentine's Day, he impressed me again.

I am a minimalist.  I don't like things.  I don't want to receive stuff.  Holidays are tough for me because people always want to give me things and I have to pretend to be glad they did when I'm really just thinking, "Oh, great.  More stuff."  (Except for cookies or homemade bread or something like that; those are always welcome -- yum!)

So today when he told me he had a surprise for me for Valentine's Day, I was trying to prepare myself.  Be nice.  Be grateful.  Fake it.  Remember it's from his heart.  Even though you've told him a million times you don't want more stuff.  This is how he shows love; try not to stomp on it (like I have so many times before).

As it turns out, I didn't have to pretend to like it or pretend to be grateful.  Because he made me a tangle!  He knew I didn't want stuff.  He wanted to do something for me, to show his love.  It was perfect.  He used tangle patterns I love.  He used blue and green (his favorite color and mine) to make it represent both of us together.  He even included a Star Trek insignia (inverted) because I love Star Trek.

It was wonderful and sweet and I love him for the effort he put forth and for showing through his offering that he knows me for real. 

So, as my Valentine's Day gift to him, I want to share his art on my blog.  Starting with his valentine.

Isn't it sweet?

His first piece, as he learned the patterns.

He was going for a space theme.  I think he nailed it!

His mountain landscape.

Here's the deal.  Valentine's Day isn't a holiday I particularly care for.  It's another day with too many expectations.  It's another day that makes too many people feel bad.  And the world's idea of romance is cheesy and shallow to me.

But if we want to boil it down to its simplest form, it's about making sure the people we love know we love them.  And his gift to me did that.

It was a good Valentine's Day.

Being There

Sometimes it's just about being there when someone else needs you.  And listening with your heart.

I'm so grateful for all the people who were there for me and listened to me.
I'm so grateful for all the people who let me be there for them and trust me enough to speak when it's so difficult.

That's what it's about.

Why I Asked for Support

A few days ago I wrote a post explaining that I was in a dark and difficult place and asking for prayers and happy thoughts in my behalf.  I am so grateful to everyone who responded and all those who offered prayers, happy thoughts, positive energy, and love.  I believe greatly in the power of all of these.  I have felt lifted in so many ways.  While I do not believe I am out of the woods just yet, I am improved.

It was a rough month.  Two back to back episodes of PTSD followed by a major depression, all while experiencing a new health struggle.  It was a seriously dark place I was in.  And, as is the nature of depression, it was a little too comfortable.

But there was a tickling in the back of my mind that said, "It doesn't have to be this way.  You can be happy.  You like being happy."  All of those things are difficult to remember when I'm in that dark place.

And asking for help was hard.  I grew up in a home where we were taught fierce independence.  We help others.  We don't need help.  We don't discuss our problems with others.  We don't complain.  We suck it up and get back to work.  We push through it.  I lived that way for many years.

That way is a lie!  I want to scream it from the rooftops.  That is not what this life is meant to be!  In our society, independence is praised and revered.  But independence is only a stepping stone.  True mental health is interdependence.  This needs to be said more.  This needs to be taught in our schools and homes and churches.  True mental health (and spiritual health) is interdependence.  Interdependence means we do everything for ourselves that we possibly can and ask for help when we need it.  It means we know enough to see when we're over our heads or in unfamiliar territory.  And we ask for help for those things we can't do for ourselves.

As a religious person, I believe that independence is a beautiful lie to keep us from relying on God and turning to each other.  A lie focused on the importance of self.  I believe we are meant to be interdependent with our fellow man AND with God, not just one or the other.

One strong person can do a lot.  Many strong people, interconnected, can change the world!  No wonder the powers of evil want to stop it.

Those are the underlying reasons I asked for help.  Mostly it was because I was in such a bad way and needed to feel the strength of others.  I needed to not feel so alone.  I needed to see the goodness of the incredible people in my life (including my cyber-life).

And it was because I want to practice what I preach.  I want to know when my friends and family are struggling.  I want to be a support to them.  I want to pray for them.  I want to reach out to them.  I want to tell them I love them when they need it the most.  I want to hurt with them.  I want to cry for them.  And I can't do any of those things if I don't know they are not okay.

It would be hypocritical of me to ask others to tell me when their world is dark if I am not willing to do the same.

My world is brighter today.  My burden is lighter.  Because of the light and strength offered freely by others.  Thank you so much for that.  And thank you to those who open their hearts and share with me when they aren't okay.  You are brave and strong and I am better for the time we have together.

A Moment in Church

As I've begun this year trying to see more divinely, I've found that it has very little to do with my eyes and a lot to do with my heart.  In fact, with my whole soul.  I don't know why there isn't a name to describe what it means to feel something with your whole soul.  I know I'm not the only one who's felt it.  There should be a name for it.

Yesterday, as I sat in the chapel and the meeting began, I remembered to see.  I paused a moment and had an inward conversation with God and asked Him to help me see these people around me the way He sees them.  I opened my heart.  And He began to open my soul.  Just a tiny bit.  And I was flooded.  Intense and overwhelming love doesn't begin to describe what I felt in that tiny peek.  It was so intense that I shut my heart.  I had instantly started to cry and knew this was just a taste.  I wasn't ready for the display I might cause if I kept my heart open and allowed Him to continue pouring.

God, being who He is, respected that.  He found another way to teach me.  To give me a bit of what I was yearning for but I was ready to handle.  As the meeting progressed I was filled with the love the people in the room have for each other.

I am Mormon.  We don't search until we find a congregation that fits us.  Our church is divided into wards (congregations) based on boundaries.  Areas are divided up and we are assigned to a ward.  This means we go to church with our neighbors.  As I've written before, my neighborhood is amazing!  I wish I could explain it in a way that you could understand.  Someone who has moved away read that post and remarked that she missed our neighborhood because it was as close to Mayberry as she'd known.  That's a pretty good comparison.

The thing is, we are a family.  Like any family there are some people who don't always get along.  There are a few black sheep.  But mostly, we love and take care of each other.

And yesterday I felt that love in a way I never have before.  Instead of just feeling love for them, I felt everyone's love for each other.  All of them.  All at the same time.

In the Mormon church, the first Sunday of the month is Fast Sunday.  We are encouraged to prayerfully skip two meals in an effort to draw closer to God and donate what those meals would have cost to the ward.  This money is then used to help our neighbors as deemed appropriate by our bishop (pastor).  And on Fast Sunday we have testimony meeting.  Instead of our regular worship service where two or three members of our ward or stake (a group of wards) delivers a talk they have studied and prepared for, the pulpit is open to everyone.  It is a time when anyone from the congregation can get up and share their testimony with us.  Share what's in their hearts.

There were some beautiful testimonies shared.  But more than that, there was so much love.  It was the brave woman who talked about her recently broken home and asked for help.  She asked that we bear testimony to her children to strengthen them.  It was the woman who followed after her saying that if we'd been asked to give food to her family we wouldn't have hesitated; she asked that we not hesitate on this.  Several who testified pledged to support her and testify to her children.  It was the parents who bore testimony directly to their children so they would know their parents believe.  It was the awe mentioned by many as a young man we've all watch grow up passed the sacrament for the first time.  The love and pride we felt for him and his parents.  It was my dear friend who talked about living far from her family and her husband's family and reminded us that we are her family.  It was the dear sweet little six-year old girl who stood and testified that prayer is good and it will help us and make us happy.  And so much more.

I cried and cried.  The love my neighbors feel for each other is almost always evident.  We are a tight group.  But this day.  This day it was more.  It was palpable.  It filled the room.  My soul was swimming in it.  And God said, "It's kind of like that only better."

One day I hope to be able to let Him teach me the whole lesson.  For now, I'm grateful for the glimpse.

A Year of Kindness

This last year I decided to let KINDNESS be my guide.  The one word that would be on my mind and in my heart as I lived my life.  And I learned a lot.

I learned that any time I make something a chore it becomes less fun for me.  I did okay tweeting every day for a long time.  Then it got a little more erratic.  I think I pretty much stopped all together around July.

I also learned that choosing one word, one idea, to focus on for the year is awesome!  I loved it so much more than I ever liked setting goals or resolutions.  It works for me.  Plus, it gave me plenty of time to really internalize things.  Change takes time.  Usually a lot longer than we think.  A year allows for effort, failure, correction, learning, and more effort.

And I learned that I am so much happier when I am kind.  I'm a pro at the quick, sarcastic quip, but I don't like being that person.  It feels false.  I like being genuine.  I like saying what I mean.  I like telling people how wonderful I think they are.  I like choosing to ignore things that bug me so that others feel uplifted in my presence.  And the more I choose to ignore those things, the less they bug me.  The more kind I choose to be, the more beautiful the world becomes.

I can't speak for the entire world, but in America we live in a society that praises both kindness (openly) and unkindness (subtly).  News stories of service and giving capture our interest and sometimes change our behavior for a while, but we sure do like our sarcasm and teasing.  Our entertainment is filled with biting remarks.  The verbal slam is what gets laughs and praise.  There are entire tv shows dedicated to pulling pranks on people -- the soul purpose of which is to embarrass someone else for our entertainment.  Political discourse is less about discussing a point of view and seeking to understand the other side than it is about tearing the other argument (and often, the other person) to shreds.  We seem to say we want kindness, we like kindness, but our actions so often support the opposite side.

I've learned to keep my mouth shut more.  Since my brain still isn't fully converted, I have to control what I can.  The unkind thoughts still enter my head, but I can stop them from leaving my mouth.  I'm not always successful, but I'm doing so much better.

And I've learned that listening is one of the most kind acts I can perform.  So many people just need someone to listen to them.  Not to fix things.  Not to give advice.  Just to listen.  We all need our hearts to be heard.  Honest listening, with support and love and an intent to understand, sends value to the speaker.  There are just too many people who have no one to listen to them.  Taking the time to truly listen fills my heart in a divine way.  It makes me more than I was.  It enhances me.  It strengthens me.  Listening is a good thing.

I've also learned that being kind sometimes means speaking up.  Maybe it's the compliment I thought in my head but wouldn't always say in the past.  Say it.  It matters.  Or it's asking others to stop or change the conversation when it becomes unkind, even if it's about someone not present.  It may not ever get back to that person to hurt them, but staying silent hurts me.  Staying silent is participating.  It's passively saying that behavior is okay.  And it's not.

And I've learned that as with most things, it's more difficult to be kind with family.  And it's more important.

I notice kindness so much more.  There are so many kind acts every day, everywhere I go.  I notice unkindness more as well.  There's still way too much of that.  And I notice how my efforts to change and be more kind make a difference.  I am changing the world.  One person, one moment, at a time.

Kindness will go forward with me.  It is a part of me now.  It's in my heart.  But I've already chosen my word for next year and can't wait to get started.  More on that next week.

My Kind of Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there was a boy.  There was also a girl.  They grew up doing the best they could, feeling their way through this world, just trying to figure life out.  They had friends and family.  They liked some of them a lot and some of them not so much.  But they were each important because they each helped shape who the boy and girl would become.

One day the boy and girl were grown up.  They didn't need their parents the way they had in the past and wanted to be independent.  After dating other people they finally found each other.  He liked her right away;  she didn't think he was as cool as he did (or the other way around).  But eventually, after spending lots of time together, they fell in love.  They each decided the other person was the neatest person they'd met and chose them to be their partner forever.  They got married and began creating their own home.

Life was good sometimes.  Other times it was sad.  Sometimes they fought.  Sometimes they forgot they loved each other.  But they worked hard to stay together, trying to remember how they'd felt in the beginning, remembering that they had chosen each other.

She stayed home with the kids because she wanted to.  He worked because he felt like that was his responsibility and was proud to do it.  But when he lost his job and couldn't find another one, she worked and he cared for the kids.  (Or the other way around.)

They each did lots of work the other one didn't notice and appreciate.  They each irritated the other.  Sometimes on purpose.  They also both learned to forgive.  And to be sorry.

There were lots of wonderful times.  There were also lots of hard times.  Sometimes he rescued her.  Sometime she rescued him.  But usually they rescued themselves.

Most of the time they were glad they'd chosen to walk life's roads together.  Sometimes they walked holding hands.  Sometimes not.  Sometimes he walked further ahead while she stopped to catch her breath.  And sometimes one of them wandered off the road a bit.  But they always either found their way back or one went looking for the other and guided them back.

They got old.  He got sick.  She took care of him.  She wasn't super well either.  Then he got so sick he died.  She was sad.  Really, really sad.  She missed him a lot.  She thought she would never be happy again.

Little by little, the light came back into her heart.  She found happiness again.  Not in another man or a job or anything, just in herself.  She found that she could be whole just by herself.  Or, at least, pretty darn close.

She had friends and family.  She continued to live.  And she thought of him a lot and was grateful for his part in her life.  She still missed him, but it didn't hurt so much.  She was grateful for that little ache in her heart because it meant she'd loved and been loved.

And one day she just didn't wake up.

And she was happy because she was with her partner again, her best friend.  And she'd missed him.  And there was so much more life ahead of them, just in a way they didn't know before.  A brand new adventure for them to share.

THE END

***************

This post was inspired by the Ruby Gloom episode Venus De Gloomsville.

Why Do You Apologize?

You did something stupid.  It was hurtful.  And now you feel bad.  So you apologize.  And your apology is rejected!

*  Maybe it is openly rejected, "Oh, yeah.  Right.  Sure, you're sorry."  Dripping with sarcasm.
*  Maybe it is accepted on the face of things, but the person still holds a grudge and punishes you every chance they get.
*  Maybe you get no response.  They heard you.  They just won't acknowledge you said anything at all.

So now what?  If you're like most human beings, now you get irritated or even angry.  You offered a sincere apology.  How dare they not accept it?  How immature of them!  How un-Christlike!  And you walk away feeling superior.  You did your part.  They were too childish to do theirs.

But have you ever asked yourself why you are apologizing?  I think our reasons for apologizing change all the time.  And understanding why you are apologizing gives great insight into the way you react afterward.

Sometimes we apologize because we feel genuinely sorry.  Sometimes it's an attempt to get out of trouble.  Sometimes it's because it's what we think we are supposed to do, even when we don't feel sorry.  Sometimes our mom or wife or friend pushes us into apologizing.  Sometimes the person we've offended demands an apology and we offer it out of fear.  Sometimes we're too tired for the fight and just apologize hoping to end it.  There are more reasons we apologize than I can list.

When I say I'm sorry I should mean it.  It shouldn't be about getting out of trouble or doing what's right.  It should be because I saw the hurt I caused, realized I was at fault (either partially or entirely), and want to make amends.

And this is why I don't make my kids apologize.  When they were little I taught them to say, "I'm sorry."  Even when they didn't feel it.  And once they were old enough to say, "But I'm not sorry," the conversation changed.  We discussed other people's feelings, how our actions affect others, and repentance.  Their apologies began to hold greater meaning.  They are 14-21 now.  When they hurt each other they are often not sorry.  In many circumstances I could still bully them into apologizing.  But I won't.  I will chastise and teach.  And if they are unwilling to try to make up for being hurtful (usually because they aren't ready yet), they won't be allowed to stay in the room with the rest of us.  And maybe I will apologize to the person who was hurt because my child misbehaved.  I won't claim the offender is sorry.  I will say I am sorry for their behavior.  Because I am.  Sometimes they later apologize; sometimes they don't.  But when they do, they mean it.

And sometimes, even after all this, even with a sincere apology, forgiveness doesn't come.  The hurt individual stays angry.  And I am okay with that.

I think a sincere apology stands on its own, with or without forgiveness.  If I offer it with my whole heart, I am more concerned about healing a wrong I have committed than being forgiven.  Sometimes it takes a person a while to heal from a hurt.  If I am getting angry or bitter with them because they aren't accepting my apology as quickly as I think they should, how sincerely concerned was I about hurting them?  If I love them and am truly sorry I hurt them, then I have to step back and allow them the time they need to heal instead of demanding that they get over is so that I feel better.

Too often we don't allow people time to process their feelings as deeply as they need to.  We rush things.  We want to feel better now!  You need to forgive me so I can feel better!

Forgiveness is important and I accept an apology as quickly as I can.  Sometimes that's immediately.  Sometimes it takes time for me to heal.  A few minutes.  A few days.  Sometimes longer.  I appreciate the offer of an apology, but I won't fake healing.  I won't pretend I'm over it when I'm not.  Very few things offend me, but sometimes I am hurt.  Often by a repeat offender.  I won't cheapen myself by quickly saying it's all okay when it's not.  My feelings and pain matter.  If I don't value them, who will?

Doesn't everyone deserve that same freedom?

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My post was inspired by this post, by Beth Ann at It's Just Life.  Thanks, Beth, for making me think.

Counting My Blessings

My best friend is sick.  Not a little sick.  Really, really sick.

It started about six weeks ago.  She'd been sick for about two weeks before I even knew she was struggling.  Part of that was because she is a private person and didn't really let anyone know.  Part of it was because I was pretty sick at the time.  And part of it is because I take her health for granted.

Two months ago she was the healthiest person I knew.  She's a little older than me, but much healthier.  She had more energy.  She was a doer.  She was always on the go, ate well, never got sick.  I just assumed I hadn't heard from her because she was busy.  And I was too miserable to worry about anyone else.

Then I found out she was sick.  That kind of rocked my world.  She doesn't get sick; how is this possible?

I was on my way out of an illness.  I tried to check on her every day, calling or visiting.  Little by little she got worse.  She lives alone so there was no one there to monitor every day at first.  As we realized this was for the long haul, her friends started stepping in.  Weeding her garden.  Doing her shopping.  Washing her dishes.  Cleaning her house.  Preparing her meals.  It was a beautiful chorus of service.  All of us doing what we could to help.

I did a little.  I wanted to do more.  I wanted to move in and take care of her.  But that wasn't possible.  I wasn't well enough and it wasn't what she wanted.

Another friend did step up and take over the lion's share of the load.  I will be forever grateful to her for that.  She gave with her whole heart and soul to a woman I love as dearly as if she were my own sister.  Every act of service she performed felt like it was for me, because she was doing for my friend what I couldn't.

My best friend continued to decline.  She doesn't believe in traditional western medicine and was taking a more natural approach.  It was difficult to watch her not heal faster and respect her feelings on her care.  She was hurting a lot.  Swollen.  Sleeping 20 hours a day.  Losing her appetite.  Losing weight.  Severely fatigued.  It broke my heart to see her because she was so altered.

Then she started to improve.  For a couple of weeks she seemed to be getting better.  The pain and swelling went away.  She was able to move easier.  As gradual as it was, it seemed to be getting better.  And we continued to respect her desires for her care.  (There were some who tried to convince her to see a doctor, but those of us closest to her supported her.  Out of love and the belief that she has the right to choose for herself.)

But last week she took a turn for the worse.  An obvious downturn.  And it was scary.  And when it got to a certain point, the person she sees for her healing told her it was time to consult a doctor.  The doctor told her she needed IV fluids and lots of tests, but she could choose to do them on an outpatient basis or be admitted to the hospital.  The decision was hers.  She chose to be admitted.

So I have spent the last two days in and out of the hospital.  Helping her get admitted and settled.  Speaking on her behalf because it's just so hard for her.  And trying to comfort her, if only with my presence in the room.

And the feeling I am overwhelmed with is gratitude.  I am so grateful that I am not that sick.  I am so grateful that her caretaker was humble enough to ask for help.  I am so grateful she was willing to take a new direction, one that was so hard for her, and that the decision was hers.  I am so grateful for all the people who have helped her every step of the way.  I am grateful that all the medical personnel now involved have been respectful of her choices up to this point, never chastising her for waiting to involve traditional medicine.

But the thing I am the most grateful for is that I am well now.  I couldn't be there in the beginning and not much in the middle, but I can be there now.  When it's the darkest.  My health and life are allowing me to spend hours and hours by her bedside or running her errands.  My family supports me and hasn't complained of my absence once.  I get to be with my friend.  The way I want to be.

And she is improving.  I am so, so grateful for that.  I will never take her for granted again.

Celebrity Dinner

You know that question, "If you could have dinner with anyone (alive or dead) who would you choose?"  Have you ever answered that question?  The possibilities are incredible.

I've thought about this question many times.  I'm not really big on celebrities, so it probably wouldn't be one of them.  I do like deep thinkers.  I've thought about Mother Theresa, the Dali Lama, Einstein.  And Jesus.  Who wouldn't want to spend time with Jesus?

But none of these would be my choice.

My choice would be my grandma.  She was the greatest influence for good in my life.  She was the person who made me believe in myself.  She always made me feel important.  And loved.  And valued.

And I miss her.

At first I think I would want her to cook so that I could taste those moments of joy again.  Those dishes that no one else makes like she did.  That little bite of heaven.

Then I think I would want to cook for her, to repay her.  To show her that I was listening to the things she taught me.  To share something wonderful I discovered.

Eventually I realize it doesn't matter.  We wouldn't need to eat.  That really has nothing to do with the idea of this dinner.

We would be together.  We would talk.  I could tell her about all the difficult things in my life.  She could point out the ways they've helped me to grow.  I could tell her about all the wonderful things in my life.  She could help me recognize God's hand in them.

And I would listen so much more.

So much of my life with her was while I was young and so self-centered.  I wish I'd allowed her to talk more.  I'm sad about the parts of her I don't know because I was worried about my own life.  My time spent with her was before I really knew how to slow down and just be in that moment.

But even if I went on and on, she would radiate love.  She would be glad to be with me, too.  And when it was time to go she would tell me how much she loved me.  She would tell me to be good.  And as she hugged me she would give me those rapid, successive kisses on my cheek.

I want to be like her when I grow up.

Ending a Relationship

He was sobbing.  He didn't understand how she could do this.  Had it all been a lie?

I remember standing with my friend as he faced the end of his marriage.  She said she never loved him.  She said it had always been terrible.  And his heart was breaking because he just didn't understand.

My heart was breaking for him.  She was also my friend, but I was hurting for him.  This was something she was doing to him.  She was hurting him.  She was the bad guy.  I never got her side of the story.

When a relationship ends it's easy to feel like we need to take sides.  Those of us on the outside seek to understand so we know who's side to be on.  Maybe not always, but often enough that we should be ashamed.

No matter how close we are to the situation, we are not those people.  We do not feel what they feel.  We have not experienced what they experienced.  We do not know why they made the choices they did.  And no matter what is said or who is blamed, we probably have no real way to know what happened.

I have never ended a marriage.  I have never had my spouse end a marriage.  But we did come close.  I did ask him to move out.  And he was so angry. 

I didn't understand.  I was trying to save our marriage.  I believed that separating would help us figure out what was wrong and heal without being in such close proximity that we were destroying each other.  He felt rejected and powerless.

And that's why being in relationships is so scary.  We are giving power to the other person.  By choosing to love someone, we are giving them the power to hurt us.  Sometimes relationships end because both people want them to.  Other times, one person chooses to end it and the other person is at their mercy.

This is true of any relationship that involves love.  When you love and value someone, and they remove themselves from your life, it hurts.  It could be a parent.  It could be a child.  It could be a friend.

For me, it was a friend.  I am the one who ended it.  And I am seen by many as the bad guy.

I guess I am, in a way.  I didn't handle it well.  I was so afraid of hurting her that I was not direct.  I slowly removed myself from her life.  Little by little we were just no longer connected.

Friendships are tricky things to end.  It's not like you file for a divorce from a friend.  Where is the line?  How do you tell when a friendship is over?

I was not angry.  I do not think she is a bad person.  In fact, I think she is an incredible person.  I admire her a great deal.  But for whatever reason the friendship was no longer good for me.  I think we grew in different directions.  I think we both changed so much that we didn't fit together any more.  Even after trying to put it back together a couple of times, it just no longer felt right.  It felt forced and fake.

The relationship was not good for me.  I'm not saying she wasn't good.  We weren't good together.  I was unhappy.  I wanted out.  The more I tried to make it work, the worse I felt about myself.  I was being untrue to myself by pretending I could make it work.

Ending our friendship hurt her.  I am sorry about that.  I hate the fact that I caused her pain.

But it is my responsibility to take care of myself.  Our relationship was causing me pain.  Maybe that is selfish, but I believe it is what was right for me.  I wish there were a way for me to make the decision that is right for me without making a decision that caused her pain.  I couldn't find one.  And I did try.

We had many good years together.  I am a better person because of her influence in my life.  I think of her often and hope she is happy.

And I know I made the right choice.

The Glory of Women -- Smartly

I have a new essay up at Smartly today singing of the Glory of Women.  Read it and recognize the women in your life.  Or yourself.

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Note to bloggers:  If you have a blogspot blog with embedded comments, I am currently unable to comment (as are many others).  Changing your comment setting to either of the other two options will take care of this.  And please provide an email address somewhere on your site.  There are a couple of you I've been trying to contact since I can't comment.

A Princess Story

Once upon a time there were three princesses:  Gwendolyn, Donatella, and Genevieve.  They lived in an enchanted realm, in neighboring kingdoms.

One day a new princess, Princess Bobbie, moved to the realm and brought her kingdom with her.  Only she didn't know that she was a princess.  You see, that's something about being a princess -- sometimes you forget.

As she was out exploring the realm, Princess Bobbie met the three princesses.  (The three princesses were often together; it helped them remember that they were princesses.)  She was mesmerized.  These princesses glowed.  And they glowed because they were magic!  They weren't the ordinary kind of magic, the kind where everyone can do the same things.  They each had their own special magic and it was exactly the kind of magic needed for their own kingdom.

Princesses aren't what most people think.  They aren't superior and unkind.  They are welcoming and inclusive, and Princess Bobbie was thrilled to be invited into their circle of friends.  As she spent more and more time with them she began to remember who she was.  Her magic began to return.  And that was a very good thing because an evil spell had come over her kingdom; they needed her magic.  So Princess Bobbie left to protect her kingdom.  Things got better and she returned to find her princess friends.  And they were happy together again.

But the evil spell isn't ever fully conquered, it is just cast out of a kingdom.  And over time it was evident that when the spell left one kingdom it would eventually find its way to another.  Sometimes it found its way to one of the other princesses' kingdoms.

If it attacked a kingdom while the princess knew who she was, she was able to defeat it.  But if she was a little unsure of herself, if she couldn't see her own magic anymore, the evil could overwhelm her.

And one of the laws of magic and spells was that each princess had to defeat the evil in her own kingdom.  The other princesses couldn't do it for her.  All they could do was cheer for her.  And try to remind her of who she was and to help her find her magic again.

But the evil tried to keep the princesses apart.  The evil knew that the princesses were stronger when they were together, that their magic grew as they spent more time with each other.

The evil also knew that being a princess is hard.  It can be a very lonely thing.  Especially when a princess forgets who she is.  That's why the evil worked to make each princess feel like she didn't belong or wasn't good enough to be with the other princesses.

But the princesses love each other.  And they are strong.  And they will keep fighting their battles and strengthening each other.  And although one may get lost every now and then, the glow from the others will always lead her back to them.  And the princesses will welcome her back where she belongs and help her remember who she is and the power she has.  Because that is what princesses do.

To Do the Will of God

I would like to share some spiritual thoughts.  To throw out some ideas for you to ponder or to chew on and to do with as you will.

For this exercise to work properly you should know where I stand, what I believe.  I believe in personal revelation from God.  I believe that He speaks to each of us.  In our hearts.  In our minds.  Through a feeling of peace when we hear truth spoken by others.  I believe that He speaks to each of us differently, knowing us as He does, in a way we will understand.

And I believe that many of us choose not to listen.

We turn to Him when we have a question or concern.  Sometimes we even remember to turn to Him in gratitude, just because we feel blessed.  I wonder how often we turn to Him as a servant, a disciple.

We ask what we should do at this particular time, within the framework of our current life and situation.  We ask what direction we should go or path we should take to meet our goals.  We read His words in the holy scriptures or hear it from His servants and look at our life.  We interpret what He would have us do and ask how we should do that.

These are good things.  These are honorable questions and choices.

But I wonder how often we lay it all on the table.  How often we say "Thy will be done" and mean it with our whole heart and life.  We mean it in this instance.  With this situation.  Do we mean it with all that we have and all that we are?

And so I would ask (rhetorically) what are you willing to sacrifice to do the will of God?  Do you ask what He would choose to make of your life if you offered it freely to Him?  And if you ask, do you sincerely listen to the answer and follow through on your offer?

Imagine you are young, say 25, and you ask this of God.  And He communicates to you that He has a very important work for you, but that in order to do this work you will have to be blind.  If you accept this assignment your eyesight will begin to fail and you will be blind before you are 30.  Then you will be ready to do His work.  Would you accept?

Or you are newly married and eager to begin your family.  You ask God how He would use your life and your talents.  He tells you that you will be a leader among women and touch many hearts.  But to qualify you for this role you will be asked to do hard things.  You will get pregnant many times but will not carry a child to term.  You will never hold your living child in your arms.  Would you be willing to carry this burden to serve Him?

What if you are well established in your profession, a giant in your community, and He asks you to give away everything you have and start a new life of simplicity?  Having little materially and working hard to serve others?  Could you let all that go if you knew it was what He wanted?

I ask these questions and put forth these possibilities because I think this is what prevents us from asking.  I believe most of us do not ask, do not offer our whole lives, because we are afraid of the answer.  We have a plan for our life.  Our goals are righteous.  Our hearts are pure.  We will ask His direction as we work toward our goals, but we know what we want to do with our life.

Do we know what He wants to do with it?

My Beautiful Neighborhood

Tonight, as I let the dog in, I took the opportunity to admire my neighborhood.  I stood on my porch and looked at the homes within my immediate view and was overwhelmed with love and gratitude.

I am incredibly fortunate to live in my neighborhood.  I love the location.  I love the view from my porch.  But most of all, I love my neighbors.

There are some younger than us, some older than us, and a few of the wise and wonderful generation.  And each of them has touched my life in some way.

Our immediate neighbors have been incredibly understanding and forgiving during times when the volume between my husband and me was intense.  And again when my children held a picnic on their porch and didn't clean it up.  They have been kind and helpful.  They have watched over us.  They have been an emergency contact for my children when we were away; I felt comforted knowing they were there for my kids.

The ones on the other side I don't know as well.  The parents only speak Spanish and I don't.  We haven't really connected verbally.  But they have been polite and friendly.  We wave at each other with a big smile.  Even without many words, there is a tenderness there.  An understanding that we are neighbors.

Across the street is my neighbor who is 95 (give or take a year).  He frequently walks across the street and visits with me and my kids when we're in the yard.  He brings us produce from his garden.  He talks to my kids about the activities they are involved with.  He tells me about his family and all that they are up to.  And he loves us.  In the way he talks to us and smiles at us, I know that he does.

And all along the street I can see people who are kind to me.  People who have helped me.  People who look out for me and my kids.  People who see when I'm having a bad day and give me a hug.  People who look past the irritating things we do and are still our friends.  People who've had hard times and learned lessons and shared them.  People who speak with love from their heart.  People who are open to connecting and aren't afraid of being loved.

I hear of people who don't get along with their neighbors or who live in unsafe neighborhoods and I am sad.  I wish everyone had a neighborhood like I do.

Each of these people has touched my heart.  Each of them has served me at one time or another.  And if asked each of them would probably say that they didn't do much.  But isn't that the point of a neighborhood?  If we all do a little to take care of each other, everything important will get done.

When Disaster Strikes

It's been two days since the world turned upside down for thousands of people in Japan.  Two days of the rest of the world watching, with so many hoping and praying.  So many people wondering if their loved ones were okay.  Waiting for news.  Hoping for the best.

I only know one person in Japan.  A man I knew shortly after college.  A man I had a flirtation with.  A very sweet, tender-hearted man.  And through the magic of facebook we have been able to reconnect.  We exchange very little, but I am able to get small glimpses into his life every so often.  I feel like he is still my friend.

Today I found out that he and his wife are safe.  And I exhaled.  Because in a very real way I had been holding my breath for the last two days.  Checking facebook more often than usual just to see if he's posted.  Offering many prayers and thinking of him.

Because that was all I could do. 

And when disaster strikes that is often all any of us can do.  Wait.  Hope.  Think.  Pray.  And amid all the horror that has been happening (and will for some time to come) there has been beauty.  Beauty in seeing the rescue efforts under way.  Beauty in nations offering help to other nations.  An unknown brotherhood discovered as earthquake and rescue experts from California travel to Japan to help their family in need.  And the incredible outpouring of love and concern.

There are people who are oblivious, I suppose.  Who don't know what's going on or take time to care.  There may even be those who think it's a good thing because of some prejudice they have or a hard-heartedness about human life.  But I don't have time for those people.

The ones I see are those whose hearts are breaking open full of love and concern.

And while the word disaster generally makes us think of massive things, disasters can also be tiny in scale.  It can be a disaster even if it only affects a few people.  The loss of a child.  Receiving a diagnosis of a terrible disease.  Watching Alzheimer's transform someone you love into someone who doesn't know you.  So many things.

I hope we remember to allow our hearts to be broken open for those disasters, too.  Because while we can't save the world, we can touch lives. 

I can't fix the buildings that fell down.  I can't give everyone clean drinking water.  I can't bring back the people who were lost. 

So I offer what I can.  I offer my prayers because I never run out -- I have enough for everyone.  And I offer my heart.  Because no matter how full it is, no matter how many people I hold in my heart, there is always room for one more.

Smartly Essay - Love

My essay about my love of people is up over at Smartly today.  There is hope for humanity.  People are wonderful.  Maybe we just didn't notice. 

Thinking of you today, Maggie.  You are one of them; may you blossom and soar!

Smartly Essay -- Prayer

I have a new essay up over at Smartly.  It's about prayer.  How do you feel about having others pray for you?  I'd love everyone's input.

You should check it out because My Prayers are with You.

Letter to a Friend -- Take Two

I think it's safe to say that I am in a heavily therapeutic place right now.  Focused on healing so much that I miss a lot.  One thing that proved this to me was my last post.

I don't think it was overly negative or anything, but it didn't even occur to me to write something positive.  Something praising.

Today it occurred to me.  So I want to try again.  There are so many people who have touched my life.  So many who saved me.  From myself.  From bad situations.  Whatever.

This is for them, with one in particular in mind.

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Dear Friend,

My heart is overflowing.  I have so much gratitude I don't know how to express it.  When I think of you, and the time we've spent together, I am ovewhelmed at my fortune.  I know God brought you into my life.  I am sure of this.

Do you know that you are God-like in your nature?  Do you know how much you radiate His love?  His tenderness?  His compassion and acceptance?  Do you know that hugging you is like being wrapped in His arms?

You make me feel safe.  You make me feel valued.  You make me feel wanted.  Do you know how rare that has been in my life?

You are amazing.  You fill me with awe.  I look at your life, at all you've been through, and wonder how you became so radiant.  How were you able to endure the darkest things in life and still shine so brightly?  It was your light that got me through some of the darkest times in my life.

You are such an example to me.  I aspire to be like you.  Sometimes when I'm trying to figure out what to do I ask myself what you would do.  I want to be like you.  You are one of the most Christ-like people I have ever met.

The way your face lights up when you see me.  It's overwhelming.  It floods me with love and value.  And I've watched as you give this gift to others.  Like whoever you are with is the most important person in the world.  Like there is nothing you would rather do than sit and be with this person.  With me.

Do you know your power?  Do you understand your greatness?

And no matter how long we are apart, I am welcomed back with love every time.  Never judged for staying away, for being busy, for not staying in touch.  Just loved.

Do you understand how rare you are?

I love you.  I love you so much it makes my heart hurt.  I love you for what you've done and for who you are.

And I praise God every day for bringing you into my life.  Thank you for being willing.  Thank you for letting Him guide you.  Thank you -- for everything.

Love,
Robin