A Year of Run

What an interesting year 2016 was.  So many changes in my life.  So many tough things, some of which got better, others which got worse.

But a very important thing happened in 2016.  Something I never expected.  Something that kind of sneaked up on me.  Something that's changed me for the rest of my life.

In 2016, I became a runner.

In a nutshell, I'd been unhealthy for years.  All kinds of medical struggles.  They weren't dangerous, just life-inhibiting.  In 2014 some things changed in my life which improved my physical and mental health.  More changes happened in 2015, which enabled me to begin walking.  Really walking.  For miles and miles and miles.  With zero intention of running.  Zero desire to run.

Until my third 5k.  I'd done my first one entirely walking, except those last 20 yards; gotta push across the finish line, right?  My second one, I added just a little running here and there.  Basically just enough to beat my time from my first one.  By the time I got to my third one, I knew I'd have to run a significant amount to improve my time.  This was all in the summer and fall of 2015.

I think I ran about a third of that last one - run until you can't breathe, walk until your heart stops pounding to the point you think it will explode, repeat.  It was incredibly difficult.  I couldn't walk the few blocks home, because I'd injured myself by pushing so hard.  And I remember thinking in that moment, "I want to run!"

It took several months of resting a little, going back to it too soon, injuring myself again before I really took healing myself seriously.

At the end of 2015, a year of HEALing, it was time to choose a new word.  I don't do New Year's resolutions.  I choose one word.  One word to guide my year.  Sometimes it's a lot of work to choose my word.  I have so many ideas run through my head.  Several of them would fit.  God and I have to talk it over for a while before I settle on one.

Last year wasn't like that.  I immediately knew what I wanted.  I wanted RUN.  I wanted to run!  But I fought it.  It seemed like such a narrow focus.  How could it possibly govern my year?  How could it affect my spiritual life?  How could I use it to govern my relationships?  How shallow a word was that to choose?!

But when I took it to God, He said it was perfect!  I still didn't know how it would play out, but I trusted it would.

It did.

I ran.

I am a runner.

Let me say that again - I AM A RUNNER!

I don't run fast or far, but I run.  And I love it!  I never, ever thought about running before.  In fact, I mocked my friends who ran.  Why would I torture myself like that?  But then I did it.

Running makes me feel powerful.  Running makes me feel cleansed.  Running makes me feel free.  Running makes me feel alive!  Running is and does so many things.

In years past, when I've reviewed my year through the eyes of that One Word, I've looked at the ways it had an impact on all those individual areas of my life.  When I chose RUN as my word, I expected to look back and see how I let it inspire me to RUN to Jesus or RUN to or from this or that.  But it didn't.  And I've learned something.

I've learned that God doesn't compartmentalize.  I do.  I'm the one who sees my physical health, emotional health, financial health, relational health, mental health, spiritual health, etc. separately.  God sees me.

I've learned that any progress in a positive direction is spiritual progress.  Because everything is spiritual.  I am a spiritual being, so my entire life experience is spiritual.

Progress in a positive direction makes me more whole.  Running makes me more whole.  God knew that.  And He knew that it was good.

Tell Me What You Know About God

Or what you believe.  Or think.  Or understand to be true.  Or wonder.

And then I'll tell you what I know and we'll both be better for it.

If I tell you what I know, and it's different from what you know, will you take offense?  Will it cause bad feelings between us?  Will you feel judged by me?  Will you feel superior to me?

If I tell you what I know, and you are unsure about God, will it make you feel insecure?  Will you feel like I'm trying to convert you?  Will you feel like I'm trying to tell you what to believe?

If you tell me what you know, will it be because you want to convert me?  Will it be because you feel it's your duty?  Will it be because you have truth that I should have?  Will it be because you care for me?  Will it be to condemn me?

If I tell you what I know about God, will it make you uncomfortable?

If you tell me what you know about God, will you try to use it to control me?

I'm fascinated by the beliefs of others.  My faith (the faith within me, not my church) brings me so much joy.  I wish everyone could experience it.  But I don't believe my faith is the only way to find joy.  I believe truth brings joy.  I believe there is a lot of truth out there that I don't know yet.

I've spent my whole life surrounded by people who were almost all members of the same church as me.  I used to think that meant we all had the same perception and understanding of God.  As I've grown I've learned this is not at all true.  There are some general things most of us believe, but there are also differences.  We know different things.

Because you can study and research and ponder every word that has ever been written about God and not know Him as well as a little girl who prays when she is scared.  This little girl who feels something outside of herself that makes her feel safe.  This little girl who feels a strength beyond her own.  If all you do is read and study and ponder, she will know more about God than you do.  Because she will know God.

Maybe you've felt something, sensed something, been aware of something beyond what you can explain.  Maybe you aren't ready to call that God.  Or maybe you call it something else.  I'd love to hear your story.

Or maybe you've never had a sense of anything beyond this world and think others are deceiving themselves.  That it's a happy fairy tale we use to make this world a little less scary.  I'd love to hear your story, too.

A few simple truths I know about God.  My truth.  (People say truth is truth and we can't have different truths, but I don't believe that.  Because our truth isn't just about what is true.  Our truth is also based on who we are and how we can receive it and process it.)

God is aware of each of us individually.  He was once like us.  He experienced mortal life on a world like ours.  He is now God because of the way He lived that life.  He earned it.  He is the Father of our spirits.  He has a physical body but not like ours.  His body is perfected.  And as His children, we have the potential to become like Him.  To do wonderful things after this life.  And hard things, too.  To continue to grow and progress and become.

As our Father, He hurts with us.  He allows difficult things to happen but almost never causes them.  He knows the best us we can be.  He knows hard things are how we get there.  He knows we are strengthened by the resistance of trials.

He knows me.  My life is better when I turn to Him and let Him guide me.  He does not control or force.  If we want Him to be a part of our lives, we have to choose to invite Him.  He waits for that invitation and it brings Him joy to answer it.  We are His purpose.

These are some of my truths about God.  As I grow and learn and experience some of them might change.  Some of my truths will be expanded upon.  I might see others from a different angle.  And some of them may no longer be my truths.  It will be fun to see.

Now I've told you some of what I know about God.  All those questions I asked in the beginning, I'm asking again.  Do you feel threatened by my truths?  Do you feel judged by my truths?  Do you feel superior to me because of my truths?  Do my truths align with yours or challenge yours?

I would love it if you'd share some of your truths with me.  Or just thoughts or feelings or questions.  Questions we can ponder together.  Tell me what you know about God.

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I welcome all opinions and viewpoints, but if you are unkind or abusive or disrespectful I will delete your comment.

I Have a Voice. And I Have Courage.

As long as I can remember my mother has been comparing me to my father.  "Of all the children, you are most like your dad," she would say.  I have probably heard this from her more than a hundred times.  And I hated it every time she said it.  Especially when I felt controlled and demeaned by my dad.  When I saw him as loveless.  Unable to care.  Mean.  I hated that she saw me this way.

But that isn't what she meant.  This past week, as she spent two hours talking about awful things in her life and I listened, I finally knew what she meant.  She saw me as strong.  She saw me as courageous.  She was so proud of the fact that I can speak.  She is amazed that I am able to say what I want.  She envies that I have learned to stand up for myself.  And others.

That, I'll take.

It's been hard work, especially in the issues with my dad.  Learning to stand up to him has been more difficult than I can express.  Learning to speak when I know others may not want to hear what I have to say has been tough.  Even now, when I do it so much more, it's still hard.

But I believe speaking and courage are gifts I have.  I believe it is my duty to use these gifts for the benefit of others.  That is why I have fought so hard to develop them.  I am still better at using my voice through writing, through the safety of my own home, but I am getting better at opening my mouth and speaking when it matters.  And when it's wise.  (Teasing a snake isn't brave; it's foolish.)

Today I feel compelled to use my voice to share some truths.  It's much easier to say I believe than to say I know.  Today I must share some things I know.

I know that you are important.  I know that your tiny presence in this world matters.  I know that you affect more than you know.  I know that you are worth many times more than you believe you are.  I know that you deserve a good life.  I know that the hard times in your life strengthen you, even when you don't see it.  I know that you have a good work to do.

I know that I matter.  I know that speaking truth matters.  I know that I have strengths and wisdom I am unaware of.  I know that allowing God to work through me makes the best use of these strengths and wisdom.

I know there is a God.  I know that He is our Father.  I know it as surely as I know that I breathe.  As clearly as I feel air enter and leave my lungs, I feel His presence in my life.  I have two-way conversations with God.  I speak.  I listen.  He speaks.  He listens.  He strengthens me that I may continue to do hard things.

I know being kind matters.  I know our hearts are happier when we exercise them more, when we love openly.  I know strengthening others strengthens me.  I know lifting others lifts me.

I know God is aware of me.  I know He loves me.  I know He is aware of and loves you, too.  I know He communicates with us even when we don't hear Him.  I know it's worth it to keep trying to hear Him.

I know He is there in the darkness.  I know He would take away all our pain and suffering and trials if that were best for us.  I know He allows our hard times because, like a loving parent watching a child receive an inoculation, He knows more than us and knows what will help us combat all that life has in store.

I know that whether you agree with me or not you are so important.  I know you have the ability to change the world.  I know your voice matters.

Please don't think this was easy for me.  It's difficult to testify.  I have been ridiculed and punished for my beliefs many times in my life, often by people I loved.  But the fact that it's hard will not stop me from speaking.  Because it matters.

My Collapse-in-the-Shower Moment

I've been putting off writing this post.  I'm anxious about it.  I worry I won't capture this important experience properly.  That you won't understand.  And I'm scared to find those feelings again, to be in that moment of intense pain and fear so I can write it.  But I must.  It needs to be told.

Seven years ago my life was very different.  I was working.  A lot.  My kids were younger (7, 8, 10, 12, 14) and involved in many activities.  My husband and I were in therapy.  I was just going through life, trying to stay afloat.  My husband finally saw that he was abusive and was trying to change.  He was questioning the church and trying to decide if he believed in God.  I was learning how to set boundaries and choose for myself.  I was trying to figure out who I was.  Who I truly was and who I wanted to be.

And then I got a headache.

I'd had headaches before.  Bad headaches.  Headaches that lasted for days.  A headache that made me go blind.  And headaches that weren't severe but just made life hard.  Headaches were nothing new.

So when I got this headache I figured it would be like the others.  I would wait it out, treat it with Excedrin, and eventually it would go away.  But it didn't.  Some days it was so bad I couldn't work.  Some days my vision and dizziness were so bad someone else had to drive me home from work.  Some days it was more subtle and I could go on.  But it was always there.

After a few weeks, my husband started to think I was faking.  He even said so.  No one has a headache that long.  You're just using it as an excuse so I have to do everything.  I'm so sick of this stupid headache excuse.  Yeah, me too.

After I'd had it six weeks, two of my toes went numb.  This made me nervous.  When you get a headache that doesn't go away that long, there is a tiny tickling in your mind that says, "What if it's a brain tumor?"  That tickling got stronger.

I told my husband.  He freaked out and immediately made an appointment for me to see the doctor.

We went to the doctor together.  He did a regular work up.  Then he did a neurological screening.  Looking for signs that it might be a brain tumor.  He didn't find anything that pointed that direction, but he was bothered by how long I'd had it and the numbness in my toes.  He talked to me about migraines and said that's what he thought it was; they can cause numbness, too.  He gave me some meds to try and said if it didn't break in a week I needed to come back.  After this appointment Bill said, "At least I know you're not faking."

It didn't break.  I went back.  He repeated the neurological screening.  He still didn't find anything, but he was concerned.  He suggested we do an MRI. 

By this point I was getting nervous.  My headache should have broken by now.  I'd never had a headache like this.  What if this is for real?  What if it's a tumor?

We couldn't get in for the MRI for a few days.  Waiting for that was so hard.  And that's when it happened.

It was the night before my MRI.  I was taking a shower so I'd be all ready in the morning.  And all the walls I'd been putting up to protect myself and my family from the fear came crashing down.  What if it is a tumor?  What if it isn't something that can be fixed?  What if I die?  What about my children?  What will happen to my children?  Although he was finally aware of being abusive, my husband was still mean a lot of the time.  He was learning to be more kind, but his natural tendency was still to strike out when he was stressed or angry.  What would happen if I wasn't there to protect my children?  If I died, they would be alone with him.  Who would protect them?  And I knew he no longer believed in God or going to church.  How would my children remain close to God?  How would they be taught all they needed to know without the gospel in their lives?  How would they know how precious they were to God and how powerful they were and what they should do if I wasn't there to teach them?  I was living with a man who'd made our lives hell for so many years.  These children were his.  I didn't trust him alone with them.  How could I go away and leave them to him?  This is too much for them.  How can they go on without me?  He would put the older ones in charge, make them assume many of my duties.  They would no longer be able to be children.  This isn't fair to them.  It's too much.  If I'm not here to guide their lives, they could become lost.  My death would push my husband to a very dark place; what if he takes it out on the children?  What if he goes into a depression again?  How will they deal with it without me?  How will they get through it?  Who will take care of my children?  Who will love them?  Who will make sure they know they are God's children?

The weight of all of this overwhelmed me.  I crumpled to the floor of the shower in a ball.  Hugging my knees.  Rocking.  Sobbing.  In so much emotional anguish.  In so much pain for my children.

I began to pray.  I wanted to beg to be spared, for my children.  I wanted to plead for my life.  But that wasn't the prayer that came to my heart.  I knew the prayer I needed to offer.  And it was the hardest prayer in my life.  I couldn't do it.  I couldn't say it.  I knew I needed to, but I just couldn't.  The wrestle in my mind and heart was great.  I fought with all I had.  Until I could finally say it.  And mean it.

"Please.  I want to live.  I want to raise my children.  I want to protect them.  I want to love them through the difficulties of life.  Please.  But . . . thy will be done.  If it is not to be, if I am not to live, I know that they are thy children.  I trust that thou wilt love them and protect them.  I know you want the world for them, too.  I know you love them in a way I can't even understand.  As much as I love them and want to stay, I trust thy will."

Meaning it was so important.  In that moment, I fully surrendered my will to God in a way I never had before.  I understood that all would be well even if I weren't to live.  I understood, more than I ever had before, that He watches over and cares.

There was still some fear of what would come.  But there was also an underlying peace.  A knowledge that my children wouldn't be alone.  An understanding that if I couldn't be there, He would bring others into their lives who would meet those needs.  He loves them.  He watches over them.  They are His.

And to this day, that is a knowledge that gets me through.

**********

Update:  My husband went to therapy for a long time.  He's doing much better.  He still slips occasionally, but we both know how to handle it in healthier ways.  There is no tumor.  They still have no answer for my headache, but all tests indicate it isn't life-threatening.  Yes, I still have it.

Snips, Spice, Sugar, Snails - An Introduction

Gender.  What does that mean to you?  Does it inspire questions or debate in your mind?  How often do you find yourself thinking about it or discussing it?  How often do you reference it?  How much does it affect your life and how you interact with those around you?

I've been pondering gender a lot lately.  And I have some thoughts.  Some things to say.  Some practices to question.  Maybe some pots to stir.

But I have too many thoughts for one post.  So I have decided to do a series of posts on the subject of gender.

I am not a fan of stirring controversy.  Really, I usually like to keep my political and religious beliefs to myself.  I do not feel a need to convince others to believe what I believe.

But I imagine that my beliefs may color some of what I say.  So I guess I better get some of them out in the open.

I believe we existed before we came to this earth.  I believe that gender was part of who we were then.  I don't believe we came to earth as a girl or boy because God assigned that to us; I believe we came as whatever we were before.  If you are a girl on earth, I believe you were a girl before earth.

I also believe there are some really big questions about gender and gender-related issues that I don't know the answers to.  Things I have thought about, studied, and prayed about that I am still unsure of.  There are things I haven't taken a position on.

There are generalities.  And there are exceptions.  There are assumptions.  And there are truths.

There is love.  And hate.  And fear.  And confusion.

And I want to talk about some of these.

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This post is part of an on-going series on gender issues.  If you would like to continue this thread, go here.

Thank You for Touching My Life

The other day I was privileged to participate in a two-day activity for our church youth group called Youth Conference.  Over the course of those days there were many activities, from physical to spiritual.

One of those activities involved a partner.  Everyone in the room partnered with someone else.  We stood facing each other, within about half an arms reach.  Then we followed instructions as led by the speaker.  The last instruction really got me.  "Look this person in the eye and imagine what you would say to them if this were the last time you were ever going to see them.  Tell them."

I was caught off guard by the emotion this evoked in me.  My partner was a lady from our neighborhood who has become a good friend of mine.  She has been supportive and understanding in a way most people aren't.  She truly cares about me and doesn't hide it.  She is genuine. 

And in that moment I truly thought about losing her.  My eyes welled up with tears.  I had difficulty speaking clearly.  And I thanked her for touching my life.  If we were never to see each other again, I would want her to know she made a difference.  And I am grateful.

I am grateful for many things.  I live in a time and place where most of life's basic hardships aren't a factor.  I have food, shelter, heat, money, a bed, clothes, electricity, clean running water, access to health care.  I have so many things that so many people in the world don't have.  And I am grateful for those things, even though I don't notice them most days.

But what I do notice are the people in my life.  I notice them every day.  I feel their impact every day.  They shape who I am.  They enrich my existence.  They are the whipped cream that makes my life sweeter.  They are the duct tape that keeps me together when I am falling apart.

I am incredibly blessed to have had so many wonderful people touch my life at one time or another.  And I am grateful for all of them.  For the ones who are still around and the ones who just passed through.

To all of you -- thank you for touching my life.  I am better for it.

The Worst Day of My Life -- When My Husband Left the Church

I have wanted to write this post for a long time.  I have also avoided writing this post for a long time.

It happened almost five years ago, but it is still so tender.

I worry that I won't be able to capture the devastation I felt.  That I still feel when I think about it.  Because, truthfully, I try not to think about it too often.  It's still so painful.

Five years ago was a difficult time in my life.  I was working.  My health was getting worse.  And my marriage was in trouble.  We'd been in therapy for a while and things were getting better.  At least, our relationship was getting better.

But it was at this time that my husband had a crisis of faith.

In order for this to make sense, you must know a few things about our faith.  I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormon).  I have been my whole life.  While there was a time when I was young that I followed along because it was all I knew, that's not what it is now.  I have long since quit relying on the testimony of others.  I am a member of this faith because it makes my heart happy.  It brings me peace.  I believe this is what I was taught before I came to this world.

One of the elements of our faith is a belief in a pre-earth life, this life, and a post-earth life.  We believe this life is just a tiny portion of our existence.  Most of what we do here is in preparation for the next life.  As part of that, in our temples we perform ordinances that we believe carry on into the next life.  In particular, sealings.  We believe that if we are sealed together in the temple, and live the best life we can, that families can be together forever.  We believe we are sealed for time and all eternity.

I believe this.  And I grew up believing this.  This is why I was careful about the boys I dated.  This is why I chose to live my life according to God's commandments.  As a child and teen, getting sealed in the temple to a worthy man who loved me was my main goal.  I tried to do everything I'd been taught to make that happen.

And it did.  I married a returned missionary who took me to the temple.  We were sealed for time and all eternity.  Because of this sealing power, our children were sealed to us also.  There was such safety in knowing that. 

When things got ugly between my husband and me, I knew that things would get sorted out with time and we could still be together forever.  We would find our way back to God and would do so together.

And then he said he had questions.  He wasn't sure anymore that certain parts of our faith were true.  He shared his concerns, we talked about them, and he was reassured and found his footing again.  Then he had more questions, bigger struggles.  We worked through those, too.  Then it went beyond questions and doubts.  He came to a point where he no longer believed it was true.  In fact, he felt it was harmful.  He wanted out and he wanted to take his family with him.  The months that we worked through this were incredibly difficult.  It was hard not to push him to choose the church for me, to make me happy.  Or for anyone else.  I believe in honesty.  He was honest with me and I am grateful for that.

He started blogging about his feelings, denouncing the church.  He made accusations and claims that were anti-Mormon in nature.  We were in counseling with our bishop (pastor) during this time.  I told him of the blog.  He discussed it with my husband and said that if it continued, because of the things he was writing (preaching against the church), his membership in the church would be in jeopardy.  We returned to visit with him a month later, he asked about the blog and was told it was still up, my husband was still adding to it and had no intention of stopping.  And we were at a decision point.

My husband was given two choices.  He could withdraw his name from the church records or the bishop could start proceedings to have him removed.  My husband asked which of these would be easier on the bishop.  I admire that.  My husband chose to have his name removed from the records of the church.

It had been a while coming and I thought I was prepared.

But the day the letter came saying that he was no longer a member of the church I died a little.  My heart broke into a thousand pieces.

It came while he was at work.  I called to tell him it was there.  He asked me to open it and read it to him.  I did.  He said okay and that was that.

But not for me.  I held that letter.  I stared at it.  It didn't matter that I knew it was coming; I was not prepared.

How would we tell the children?  Our families?  Our friends?

And what did this mean for me?  I was unsure about who I was now.  We had been one and now we were two.  I was unsure about eternity now.  I didn't know how I fit in.  I didn't want the attention and sympathy that I knew I would receive.  I fit into a new classification now.  I was a woman married to a non-member.

It was the most lonely day I have ever experienced.  I had this information that seemed to stop the world from spinning and I couldn't talk to anyone about it.  The person I usually talked to about things that made me sad was my husband and he didn't understand.  He was happy and relieved about it.  I felt like a widow.  I walked around in a daze that day.  I cried a lot.  I felt so lost.

I had a friend whose husband died around this time.  I remember feeling like she was lucky because he was living a righteous life when he died and at least she knew her sealing was intact, she knew he would be waiting for her.  I am ashamed of that feeling.  I was jealous of her ending as opposed to mine.

It felt like an end. 

He and I are in a better place.  He is more kind about the church and the fact that the children and I still participate.  But something is gone.  There is a spiritual intimacy that is no longer there.  It died that day.  And I don't know if I will ever be done mourning its loss.

A Sunday in the Life of a Mormon, part three

Go here for part one.
Go here for part two.

We attend Sacrament Meeting as families.  It ends at about 2:10pm.  We then have ten minutes for transition.  During this time people might get chalk from the library or have copies made for a lesson.  Others take time to get a drink or go to the restroom.  The kids generally make a mad dash to Primary.

Sacrament Meeting is followed by Primary/Sunday School. 

Primary is for children 3-11 years old.  There is also a nursery that is part of the Primary program; children 18 months to 3 years attend nursery.  In nursery they play with toys, have a lesson, have a snack, make a craft, have singing time.  Children change classes in January, so they are in nursery until the January after they turn three.  Children 3-7 are in Junior Primary.  Children 8-11 are in Senior Primary.  In our ward there is one class for each age group (3-year olds, 4-year olds, etc.).  Primary begins with an opening song and a prayer by one of the children.  Junior Primary starts in sharing time.  This is a time when a member of the Primary presidency gives a lesson to several classes on topics that fit the theme for the year.  (This year's theme is I Know the Scriptures are True.)  The Primary music director then has about 20-30 minutes to teach and review songs.  Junior Primary then goes to class.  Each age group has their own teacher(s) and classroom.  This schedule is reversed for Senior Primary.  About 15-20 minutes before our block meetings end, Junior Primary comes back into the Primary chapel and the two groups have closing exercises together.  They recognize and welcome visitors, sing to birthday children, recognize children who were baptized that week, give announcements, and recite an Article of Faith or scripture.  Then one or two children give 2 1/2 minute talks (assigned the week before).  A child reads a scripture of his/her choice.  They end with a closing song and a closing prayer by one of the children.

After Sacrament Meeting (when the children go to Primary) the youth and adults go to Sunday School.  Sunday School for the youth is divided up every two years: 12&13-year olds, 14&15-year olds, 16&17-year olds.  The 12&13-year olds are taught about the past presidents of our church.  The older groups are taught about whatever the course of study is for that year.  (This year it's the New Testament.)  Adults are offered varying classes.  Right now we have two Gospel Doctrine classes on the New Testament (the course of study rotates each year).  People can choose which to attend.  Sometimes there are other classes offered, as the bishopric deems necessary:  Temple Preparation; Marriage and Family Relations; Family History; and Teaching, No Greater Call (a class to prepare members to teach).  Sunday School is about 50 minutes.  Each class is opened and closed with prayer.  We usually do not sing as part of Sunday School.

After another ten minute transition, the youth go to Young Men or Young Women and the adults go to their Priesthood quorum (men) or Relief Society (women).  In these settings we have lessons directed specifically to our lives and our responsibilities.  YM and YW are divided in ages like in Sunday School.  Since I work with the Young Women, I go there instead of Relief Society (on the second week the YW meet with the RS for opening exercises).  These classes are about 50 minutes as well.  They open with song and prayer.  We usually have announcements.  We then have a lesson of about 40 minutes on varying gospel subjects.  Tomorrow I am teaching a lesson about agency and responsibility.  We close our class with prayer by one of the young women.

Five minutes before 4:00pm the librarian rings a bell (like a school bell, it goes through the whole building).  This is our five-minute warning.  Then on the hour, the librarian rings the bell twice (hopefully not right in the middle of the prayer).

Then church is over.  I head toward the foyer as that's where I meet my family.  I usually chat while waiting for everyone to show up.  If someone has a meeting or needs to visit with the Bishop they usually walk home.

Once we get home we have certain rules about what we do on the Sabbath.  These are our family rules.  Every family has slightly different rules.  Sunday is family day at our house so my children aren't allowed to play with friends.  We don't watch TV on Sunday.  They are also not allowed on the internet.  In theory, they aren't supposed to use their cell phones to chat with friends either.  (This isn't followed well by my 18-year old daughter and her boyfriend.)  We really only have one family meal on Sunday, usually around 5:00pm or 6:00pm.  People are responsible for taking care of their other food needs.  Sometimes we visit grandparents on Sunday.  We play board games.  Some of us take naps.  We watch DVDs (they have to check with me first to see if I am okay with that DVD on Sunday).  They might go outside and play catch together or go for a bike ride.  Maybe they do a puzzle.  Maybe we have a family home evening lesson.  Maybe they play the piano or another instrument.  Maybe we read scriptures together.  The idea is to make Sunday a day that is different from the others.  A day that focuses on spiritual things and on family.  And sometimes that means sacrifice.

We have only given up TV on Sundays for the last year or two.  It was tough.  We are NASCAR and NFL football fans.  We miss a lot of these events by not watching TV on Sundays.  That's been hard on me probably more than anyone else.  But I feel like it's been worth it.  It's changed the spirit of our home.  It helps to carry the peace we gained at church through the rest of our day.  And I believe it's important to teach my children to sacrifice some of what they want on Sundays as a sign of devotion to God.  It's a way of saying thank you.  It's a way of saying that we are willing to do what is necessary to become the people God would have us be.  (We do have a few exceptions.  We watch the Super Bowl and the Indy 500.)

We end the day with family prayer.

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I know I probably lost many of you through this exercise.  Sorry about that.  I'll be back to regular programming next time.  I probably included too much detail, too.  Sorry again.

Oh, and Libby made a comment on the first part of this that reminded me of a way our church is very different from most.  We do not choose which congregation to attend.  Our wards are assigned based on where we live.  Each area of the world is divided into wards or branches.  Whichever boundaries you're in, that's where you go.  I believe this helps us focus more on the gospel itself rather than just the people we like.  Plus, when we move or travel we don't have to hunt to figure out where we belong.  We check the church website to find our ward and that's where we go.  The lessons taught are the same around the world.  It's like having access to instant family wherever we go.

And our ward is truly like that.  We are a tight knit group.  A family.  We serve each other.  Watch out for each other.  Love each other.  There are easily a hundred people in a two or three block radius that I could call on for help.  And I know they would have my back.

A Sunday in the Life of a Mormon, part two

Go here for part one.

After my meeting, I go home and make sure everyone else is getting ready.  (I should mention that I only live about two blocks from my church building.)

My husband had his name removed from the records of our church about five years ago, so he isn't involved in this process.  It's taken some time, but we've come to a mutual respect of each other's choices.  Sundays are his day to himself.  He spends them sleeping, playing on his computer, watching movies in his room.  It's up to him.  We don't see him much on Sundays.

When I get home I wake anyone who is still asleep.  My kids are old enough that they get themselves ready.  Boy, it was a lot tougher when they were young.

I usually use this time to put the finishing touches on my lesson, if I'm teaching that day.  Or I lie down for a few minutes.  Sundays are a long day for me.

My eighteen-year old daughter gets ready pretty fast and then starts playing the piano.  No, we don't make her and haven't even asked her.  She just really likes to.  She's self taught and is working her way through the hymnbook.  It is requested that she keep her music spiritual when playing on Sunday.

My goal is to be out of the house by 12:30, even though we live close and church doesn't start until 1:00.  This started a while ago.  When my kids were younger we were often late for our meetings.  That meant we usually sat in the foyer or in the overflow on hard chairs.  I figured out that they were better behaved during the meeting if we were in a pew.  By changing my mindset to leaving at 12:30 instead of being there at 1:00 we are always able to get a pew, even when we're running late -- because we're still early.  Also, going early means that they have time to switch into church mode, get a drink of water, go to the restroom -- hopefully, so that they won't need to do those things during the meeting.  And I get to relax and listen to the prelude music, knowing we are all there and ready.  (If one of my kids isn't ready when it's time to leave, he/she walks.)

Since we are so early, we can sit anywhere we want.  We always sit in the back row on the right.  Habit.  My husband liked that spot when he used to come with us and it just kind of stuck.

Our Sunday worship service is three hours long.  The first meeting is Sacrament Meeting.  This is the most important meeting of the day because we participate in the holy ordinance of the sacrament.  The meeting is an hour and ten minutes.  It is conducted by a member of the bishopric.  (Our bishop is similar to a pastor. He has two counselors.  Together, they make up the bishopric.  They are responsible for the spiritual and temporal needs of everyone who lives in our ward boundaries.)  It is opened and closed with music and prayer.  Announcements are given.  New callings are presented for a sustaining vote.  The sacrament is blessed and passed by the young men who hold the priesthood.  The program is presented by various ward members who have been invited to speak by the bishopric on an assigned topic.  There is often a musical number presented in between speakers.  (On the first Sunday of the month we have testimony meeting.  On this day any member of the congregation may go to the pulpit to share his/her testimony.)  On the third Sunday, the musical number is usually presented by the ward choir.  (That's just in our ward.  Each ward decides for itself when the ward choir will sing.)

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To answer Linda's questions:  We call our weekly Sunday worship church.  Everyone is welcome at Sunday worship, member or not.  We do have temples.  These are buildings where sacred, eternal ordinances occur.  Only worthy members may enter the temple.  They must have an interview with the bishop and stake president (a stake is a group of wards).  They must be following the guidelines of the church like paying tithing, being honest, attending their meetings in order to obtain a temple recommend.  They can then attend the temple at a time that is convenient for them.  The temple isn't open on Sunday so that all may attend their regular Sunday meetings.  It also isn't open Monday afternoon or evenings so that it doesn't interfere with Family Home Evening (a time set aside for spiritual instruction in the home and family time).  And the formal name of our faith is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

More to come.

Go here for part three.

A Sunday in the Life of a Mormon, part one

No theology here today, just a glimpse into what my Sundays look like (because I think it's fun to see how others live).  Some of this would vary depending on what my current calling is.  Also, different families establish their own guidelines, so a Mormon in a different family may have a very different Sunday from mine.  I will try to explain terms that may not be understood, but if I do too much explaining this post will be a novel.

Let's go with the second Sunday of the month; currently, that's my busiest one.

We are on the 1:00pm meeting schedule.  That means our meetings start at one in the afternoon.  There are three wards (congregations) that meet in our building so we have to take turns.  The start times are 9:00am, 11:00am, and 1:00pm.  This rotates every year.

Being on the late schedule means we can sleep later.  That is both good and bad at our house.  Good because we are night people and it's easier to get people moving happily in time for church.  Bad because we are night people and tend to stay up later on Saturday knowing we can sleep late the next day.  That is why you will see that the times I am waking people up are ridiculously late.

I am in charge of Sunday dinner.  I try to prepare something that can cook while we are at church or that is really fast and can be prepared after (our church ends at 4:00pm).  Since we don't shop on Sunday, I have to plan ahead.  Usually I get up at about 9:00am (maybe 9:30) and put something in the crock pot.  Then I get myself ready for the day, knowing there won't be time again later or I will be fighting for the bathroom.

I wake my 14-year old son at 10:00am if he isn't already up.  (Funny how he can get himself up just fine for football practice but struggles to get out of bed Sunday mornings.)  He has priesthood duties to perform.  On the first and second Sundays of the month the young men go to each house in the ward to collect fast offerings (donations for the welfare needs in our ward).  Hopefully he gets up and gets himself ready and out the door.

My current calling is second counselor in the Young Women organization (YW).  That means I work with the girls in our ward who are 12 and 13 years old.  It also means I have a YW presidency meeting every second Sunday at 10:30am.  I meet with the president (who works with the 16 and 17-year olds), the first counselor (who works with the 14 and 15-year olds), and the secretary.  We open and close the meeting with prayer.  One of us shares a spiritual thought that we think can help us in our callings.  Then we discuss the needs of the young women in our ward.  We note who is struggling.  We discuss ways to help individuals as well as the group.  We plan activities, hopefully those that will meet the needs of our girls.  We review activities we've already held to note things that worked and things that didn't.  Our president presents items that we need to know about from Ward Council.  Our goal is to follow the guidance of the Spirit as we try to help these young ladies prepare to be wives and mothers.  This meeting usually lasts about an hour.

Okay, I can see that this is going to take longer than I thought.  I guess I'd better break it up into several posts so as not to overwhelm anyone.  More to come.

And I'd love to read about how other people spend their sabbath (no matter what day you observe it) or how you choose to worship.  If you write about it, please send me a link so I can check it out.

Go here for part two.
Go here for part three.

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.

I Walk in Faith . . . Believing

I wondered if this day would come.  If there would come a time when I needed another outlet.  It has.

I started a new blog.  A blog about faith.  My faith.  I offer my heart and my thoughts.  Join me if you wish, but no pressure.

I Walk in Faith . . . Believing.

Watching Clouds Dance -- Smartly

I have a new essay up on Smartly.  It's a moment out of time, a moment of freedom.  Of peace.  Blue sky and one little cloud.  Spend some time with me Watching Clouds Dance.

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?

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 -- 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.

With Wonder and Awe

I listen to the birds outside my window.  It is almost Christmas, there are several inches of snow on the ground, and those birds are still here.  Still chirping away.  And I wonder.  What kind are they?  What keeps them here?  How do they survive?

As I've gotten older I'm afraid I've lost much of my ability to wonder.  Things just don't amaze me like they have in the past.  Is it age?  Is it depression?  Who knows.

But there are still moments.  Moments when time stands still. 

When I hold a sleeping newborn.  I look at this being.  I behold this creature.  And I am filled with awe.  I gaze lovingly.  I glory in its magnificence.  I am overwhelmed by its very being.

I sit on my porch at midnight on a summer evening.  All is quiet.  Except for nature.  Nature composes the most incredible symphonies.  And she plays them in the dark of night.  The crickets.  The wind.  Leaves rustling.  An owl.  And the stillness.  The stillness is a player in the orchestra.  The stars play their chords.  It is breathtaking.

A moment of clarity.  In a room full of people.  During a busy day.  All has been rushed.  Then something clicks.  A look.  A word.  A phrase.  A thought.  All is made clear in my mind in that moment and I am awash in peace.  Clarity.  Calm.

These are the moments when I know I am more.  We are more.  More than we can possibly understand.

Pedmeregocide

Last Sunday was a little ugly.  I'm not afraid to admit it.

We're a go-to-church-every-Sunday family.  (Except for dad, although that only plays a small part in the story.)

I got up early to work on my lesson.  I'd been up for an hour or so showering, curling my hair, making cute little handouts.  Things like that.  I was in a pretty good mood.  It was going to be a lovely day at church.

Then it was time to wake others.  One daughter was out of town.  That took a little pressure off.  One daughter was exhausted from performing in the orchestra for her school play the night before, but she's kind of a morning person (at least compared to the rest of us) so she groaned and got up.  One daughter is in college.  She got up, looked at the clock, and said she was going to be late (I'm thinking, "Then why don't you get yourself up in time to get ready like an adult?" *grrr*).

The morning started to turn at this point.  Oh, did I mention that I started new meds a day or two before that have been affecting my moods?  No.  Well, that could possibly have played a part in the day as well.

Last two.  These two are the toughest.  They have never been morning people anyway and are both at that age when their bodies need a lot more sleep.  And they haven't gotten to the point where they will get up and do something they aren't dying to do if they are still tired.

I wake my son.  Four times.  Every five minutes or so.  The last time I am not pleasant.  "Get up here now or you are grounded from the computer for a week!"  (You've got to know their currency.)  He stumbles upstairs like the living dead.  I tell him to find his clothes before he eats.  He groans an assent.

I wake my youngest.  She tells me she is *cough, cough* sick.  I tell her she is tired and to get up.  We argue back a forth a bit, me getting more impatient every minute. 

My husband and I have a deal that I won't force the kids to go to church.  (And really, if you're forcing someone to go to church will they be getting much out of it?  The gospel isn't really about force; it's about choosing.)  I agree with this in theory but it's a little tougher to live up to Sunday morning as my stress is climbing.

I tell her that it can't be a decision every Sunday.  You just have to plan to go.  Otherwise you're going to choose to sleep in more often than you think.  Soon you won't be going at all.

I hear my son eating.  I ask if he found his clothes.  He tells me he did.  (Let me add here that he has grown many inches lately and now only has one pair of church pants and one church shirt.  I know, I need to get on that.)

The daughter refuses to go.  We are both grumpy and snapping at each other now (fairly loudly).  I tell her I am leaving and I am disappointed that she won't go.  Son is still eating.  I tell him he's going to be walking (only a few blocks) and he'd better get there soon to do his duties.  Two older daughters are ready and head out to the car with me.  As I pull out of the driveway son peeks his head out the door, gets my attention, and tells me he can't find his shirt.  I tell him good luck and he'd better look harder.  I drive away.  (I am now cursing my sleeping husband for not being up to help me.)

Youngest daughter gets to church just as it's starting and tells me her brother still can't find his shirt.  (I'm fairly certain there is smoke coming out of my ears now.)  I get in the car, drive back home, and start hunting.  I can't find it either.  He gets a lecture for lying to me about having found his clothes.  And another one about learning to put his clothes away. At rather high volume.  He finally ends up wearing one of dad's dress shirts (at least four sizes too big).

We drive back to church (son has missed his duties) and I am trying desperately to let it all go so that I can get something from the meeting.

Throughout this morning the thought that kept running through my head was, "I'm going to kill him/her."  I must have thought that ten times.  Maybe not the best mood to go to church in.  But, if you're in that mood, I guess church is the best place to go.

At this point, the wordsmith part of my brain kicks in.  What's the word for wanting to kill your child?  Homicidal is too general.  Fratricidal is wanting to kill your brother.  There's got to be one for wanting to kill your kid(s).  I can't come up with anything.

After the meeting, and before the others, I speak to a couple of my friends I know pay attention to Greek and Latin roots, like me.  I ask if either of them can think of anything.  They can't.  Although we consider Youth-anasia.  (I know, it's only funny if you're a nerd.)

By the time I get home I still don't have a word, but I've come up with a complex.  I declare that I have a Medea complex, which still doesn't entirely apply because she just killed her sons and I have daughters involved.

I mention to my oldest that I've been trying to come up with a word and does she have any idea.  (She's an English major so she's dealt with root words more recently than I have.)  She starts working on it.  Soon my other daughter and son are working on it as well.  They are on the computer, looking up root words.

And I just start laughing.  I have just told my children that I spent the day wanting to kill them and they are working to figure out what to call it.  As if I've just asked them to define the word shoe.

They said they knew I didn't mean it.  And that makes me happy.

The final word they came up with was pedmeregocide, a mix of Greek and Latin roots.  Ped - child, mere - part, ego - self, cide - kill.

And that's what teamwork looks like in our family.

What I Hate Most About Chronic Illness

Take your pick on what qualifies me as chronically ill.  Chronic fatigue.  Chronic headache.  Chronic depression.  Or whatever diagnoses we haven't made yet.  Basically I feel horrible all the time.  On a good day I just feel yucky and drained and my head hurts.  On a bad day I can't get out of bed.

And, while there are so many ways this has changed my life, there is one area that bothers me the most.

It's difficult to not enjoy things I used to, to not want to do anything or be with anyone.  It's more difficult to want to do things but not be able to.  But the most difficult isn't the things that I am missing out on.  It's what my kids are missing out on.

For the first ten years of my marriage I was a doer.  I played with my kids.  I took them places.  I cleaned house.  I made meals.  I read to them.  I volunteered at their schools.  I did crafts with them. 

But that was a long time ago.  At about the ten year mark, my health started going down hill.  And I started to do less and less.  And because it was so long ago, they don't remember all those things.  They don't remember me pushing them in the swings at the park or having picnics on a quilt in the living room.  They remember me asking them to be quiet because my head hurts so much.  They remember me telling them to ask their older sister for help on their homework because my mind isn't clear enough.  They remember me sending them to do things instead of doing things with them.

I expected to teach them about hard work by working with them and by modeling the behavior.  But they see me do one small job and then crawl back into bed because I am so dizzy.  I expected to teach them about service by volunteering in various ways and doing family service projects.  Instead, I try to encourage them to work with their youth groups when there is a service opportunity.  I thought I would teach them spirituality by doing all the things our church suggests we do to teach in our homes.  I often don't feel well enough and so those things fall through the cracks and I have to be content with just getting them to church.

I planned to have a beautiful home where my children could find a place a refuge.  A place that was warm and welcoming to all who passed through our doors.  A place where our family could feel peace.  But I can't clean like I need to.  And I am often tense and isolate myself in my room, leaving them to their own devices which leads to mess and fights.

There are so many things I thought I would be as a mother.  So many desires I am unable to fulfill.  For years I waited, hoping that it was just a matter of time.  But it might not be.

This might be as good as I ever feel again.  And I am mourning that today.

Yes, there are great things in my life.  Yes, I have found other ways to teach and show love to my children.  Yes, I have found value in the life I have.

But it's important to allow ourselves to mourn our disappointments.  It is a loss.  And it makes me sad.

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Oh, and this is my 100th post.  It's been just over a year since I started blogging.  It's amazing how quickly time passes.

A Funeral Junkie

I admit it.  I am a funeral junkie.  There are few things I enjoy more than a good funeral.

No, this is not the macabre side of me speaking.

To be upfront, I have only attended Mormon funerals.  I have heard that funerals performed in other religions are quite different.  It would be interesting to see if I enjoyed one of those as much.

But funerals are so beautiful!

There is so much love.  It's about celebrating a person's life.  I usually learn more about a person at their funeral than I did through many conversations with them.  I love seeing them through the eyes of others.  The way their neighbor saw them.  The way their children, grandchildren, and spouse saw them. 

Yes, there is much sadness.  But this, too, is based in love.  These people are terribly sad because they loved the deceased.  And were loved.  And the love continues.  That's why it hurts.

So, even when there is pain, I get so much out of it.  I cry with those that cry.  I laugh with those that laugh.  It's very therapeutic.

I have been to some funerals that were a result of tragedy:  crib death, target shooting accident, suicide.  Lives cut too short.  These can be so hard.  But I am able to be there to offer my love to ease the burden.  Hopefully my presence is felt and it helps.

But the main reason that I love funerals so much is the spirituality.  People are raw.  Their spirits shine forth in purity.  They glow as if from another sphere.

Angels minister at funerals, those we see and those we don't.

When the room is filled with love and concern, and hearts are breaking, we are joined in unity -- and the veil becomes very thin.