I have defective tear ducts.
Honestly.
I get that it is important to make tears to moisten your eyes, to clear out dirt and debris, and I’m sure there is another really good purpose. I understand that tears come naturally when you are crying your eyes out in grief, extreme joy, and maybe even during intense anger or pain.
But why do tears insist on making an appearance during the curtain call of a middle school production of The Wizard of Oz?
Yes, you read it right. There they were, the cast of teenage players, all lined up with the crowd clapping madly; and suddenly my eyes are morphing into a glassy shade of red, the wetness filling the inside corners.
I could excuse myself if I had a daughter or son in the play, someone I had watched struggle and triumph over their stage freight, or witnessed them putting in the countless hours to learn their lines perfectly. Yes, my emotions would be right there with them, cheering (or tearing, as it were) them on, celebrating their victory.
But not knowing their individual struggles, I was sitting there imagining myself in their place, knowing how difficult it would have been for me; for I would have never had the guts to perform anything. I would have never even tried.
I teared up thinking about these brave young souls, pushing themselves to limits they didn’t even know they could reach. I watched proudly, I was in awe, because to me, this was greatness.
And as is true with anything great…my tears insist on being a part of it all.
Hannah, you were beautiful, gracious, and sugar sweet; everything the Good Witch Glinda should be!
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
37
Andrew: “Mom! Mom! Look in the mirror. Your butt is so fat in the mirror!”
And then he proceeded to give me a few open-handed smacks…it is my birthday after all!
Today I am 37.
Yes, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to me! I am right, smack in the middle of my late 30’s, but my brain still tells me I’m 24. I don’t know why 24, it’s just the year that stuck. Was I having more fun then? Maybe…
But the funny thing, ok, maybe not funny; the weird thing about that is I LOVE the 30’s. My 30’s have given me this wonderful sense of stability and self-confidence that has totally taken the place of the roller coaster emotions and uncertainty that riddled my twenties. I didn’t know myself nearly as well as I feel I do now. I’ve never felt quite as brave, self-assured, or capable as I do currently. I no longer feel I need the approval of others, though sometimes this does help. I don’t feel like I need to please everyone, and I think I’m better for it. I am comfortable with who I am.
My 30’s have even blessed me with a decent dose of wisdom and because I think I’ve always been wise (at the time…but not so much in retrospect), I can only imagine how much more I stand to gain in my 40’s!
I am not embarrassed to admit my age, I don’t hide or excuse it and I can’t imagine that I ever will (If this is somehow not true, don’t tell me. I need a little fantasy). I am proud to have lasted 37 years. I am grateful for each and every one of them. And someday, if I live long enough, like say 37 million years, I’m bound to reach perfection! Right?
And then he proceeded to give me a few open-handed smacks…it is my birthday after all!
Today I am 37.
Yes, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to me! I am right, smack in the middle of my late 30’s, but my brain still tells me I’m 24. I don’t know why 24, it’s just the year that stuck. Was I having more fun then? Maybe…
But the funny thing, ok, maybe not funny; the weird thing about that is I LOVE the 30’s. My 30’s have given me this wonderful sense of stability and self-confidence that has totally taken the place of the roller coaster emotions and uncertainty that riddled my twenties. I didn’t know myself nearly as well as I feel I do now. I’ve never felt quite as brave, self-assured, or capable as I do currently. I no longer feel I need the approval of others, though sometimes this does help. I don’t feel like I need to please everyone, and I think I’m better for it. I am comfortable with who I am.
My 30’s have even blessed me with a decent dose of wisdom and because I think I’ve always been wise (at the time…but not so much in retrospect), I can only imagine how much more I stand to gain in my 40’s!
I am not embarrassed to admit my age, I don’t hide or excuse it and I can’t imagine that I ever will (If this is somehow not true, don’t tell me. I need a little fantasy). I am proud to have lasted 37 years. I am grateful for each and every one of them. And someday, if I live long enough, like say 37 million years, I’m bound to reach perfection! Right?
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Powerful Words
written February 8, 2011
I recently took a parenting class. We were told that at this age (approx. 3-5 years) kids do not understand lying and that whatever they make up, they believe is true. They believe in the power of words and so if they say it, it will actually happen.
Well, Andrew spent this morning stamping a red ink “smiley sun” on the bathroom door. When I confronted him about it, he claimed that he did not do it but rather a ghost held his hand and stamped the door.
A ghost? This was no surprise to me that it was a ghost of all things that forced this naughty deed – apparently there are ghosts everywhere in my house at all hours of the day and night. It’s a wonder anyone gets any sleep for fear of being overrun!
Did he believe a ghost had made him do it? Absolutely. You could feel his surety. Did I call him a liar? Nope, I just asked that he help clean it up and to let the ghosts know that there would be no more stamping on anything besides paper.
He promptly turned around and scolded the air.
I recently took a parenting class. We were told that at this age (approx. 3-5 years) kids do not understand lying and that whatever they make up, they believe is true. They believe in the power of words and so if they say it, it will actually happen.
Well, Andrew spent this morning stamping a red ink “smiley sun” on the bathroom door. When I confronted him about it, he claimed that he did not do it but rather a ghost held his hand and stamped the door.
A ghost? This was no surprise to me that it was a ghost of all things that forced this naughty deed – apparently there are ghosts everywhere in my house at all hours of the day and night. It’s a wonder anyone gets any sleep for fear of being overrun!
Did he believe a ghost had made him do it? Absolutely. You could feel his surety. Did I call him a liar? Nope, I just asked that he help clean it up and to let the ghosts know that there would be no more stamping on anything besides paper.
He promptly turned around and scolded the air.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Public and Private Lives
A couple of days ago I wrote a post about a pretty big happening here at my house, but the story wasn't mine. I posted it, right here on my public blog (I keep a private blog with all of my journal entries and this public one for when I want to share). As I prepared to go to bed, I felt extremely unsettled, like things were not ok. I kept remembering a time when I listened to a lady in church share her daughter’s sins during Sunday School. Her daughter was 16 and it was a terrible tragedy that her mother would treat her private stories as though they were the simple potty-training issues of a three year old. I vowed I would always remember that instance and never betray my child’s confidence in that way.
So, was the post a betrayal? I wasn’t sure. It was my daughter's story and she is only six, just a step beyond the toddler years, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it just shouldn’t be displayed here. After crawling into bed, and after considering the fact that I did pray for guidance on this issue, and maybe, just maybe I shouldn’t be ignoring this feeling…I got up, turned my computer on again, and deleted the post. For memories sake, it’s great to have; for online entertainment, not so much.
Today as I read a few of my past journal entries to my kids, the ones that had to do with them, I was surprised at their reactions. Ava did not want to hear hers…not the one about that day anyway. Andrew LOVED hearing all of his, and Ethan got teary eyed when I read one about him from Valentine’s Day. He was embarrassed that his siblings heard it, even though they were there for the whole thing. Boy was I grateful I hadn’t posted that one publicly!
Yes, it was a wise and loving Heavenly Father that sent His Holy Spirit to inspire me to do what was right for His children. They are getting older, and though I love to write about them, what I write and share needs to be about me…not their private lives.
It was interesting that something so small was really a rather large lesson in growth for me. I was being tempered and tested as to whether I would accept guidance and correction when it was offered. I desire so much to have that direction in my life and the only way I'm going to benefit, is if I am willing to listen. I’m grateful to have taken that first step toward maturity and to have had the wisdom to recognize from whence it came.
So, was the post a betrayal? I wasn’t sure. It was my daughter's story and she is only six, just a step beyond the toddler years, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it just shouldn’t be displayed here. After crawling into bed, and after considering the fact that I did pray for guidance on this issue, and maybe, just maybe I shouldn’t be ignoring this feeling…I got up, turned my computer on again, and deleted the post. For memories sake, it’s great to have; for online entertainment, not so much.
Today as I read a few of my past journal entries to my kids, the ones that had to do with them, I was surprised at their reactions. Ava did not want to hear hers…not the one about that day anyway. Andrew LOVED hearing all of his, and Ethan got teary eyed when I read one about him from Valentine’s Day. He was embarrassed that his siblings heard it, even though they were there for the whole thing. Boy was I grateful I hadn’t posted that one publicly!
Yes, it was a wise and loving Heavenly Father that sent His Holy Spirit to inspire me to do what was right for His children. They are getting older, and though I love to write about them, what I write and share needs to be about me…not their private lives.
It was interesting that something so small was really a rather large lesson in growth for me. I was being tempered and tested as to whether I would accept guidance and correction when it was offered. I desire so much to have that direction in my life and the only way I'm going to benefit, is if I am willing to listen. I’m grateful to have taken that first step toward maturity and to have had the wisdom to recognize from whence it came.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Springing Forth
As a kid, my favorite season was always summer; the sun, the beach, endless playtime and, of course, no school. As a mom, my perspective has changed and so has my favorite time of the year.
I LOVE spring!
It was just a short time ago that I was in the back yard mowing the lawn. The grass was thin and tinged with brown. Nothing was really growing except for the area directly beneath the trampoline (who knew it would be such a greenhouse!), and I was wondering what kind of muscle and money was going to be needed to get it back into shape.
Fast forward two weeks and the lawn has never looked better. This may be a slight exaggeration but the whole thing is seriously green and growing beautifully! It’s almost a miracle, one that happens every March, and each time I am amazed.
Back in December I planted, on a whim, some spring bulbs I bought along with the groceries at Costco. I had big plans for them but by the time I actually got around to putting them in the ground, the plans went out the window and the small globs of dirt and root were buried in the front planter rather haphazardly. There aren’t nearly enough of them to make a bold statement but it sure didn’t dampen my spirits to watch the beautiful little tulips (and some other flower I can't name) suddenly springing forth. It makes my heart happy to see them every time I come in and out of the house. I bet with just a small bit of effort, I could have something interesting growing at all times in that space.
Will I ever expend the effort? I don’t know, but something about spring rejuvenates me and makes me feel like I can take on the world…growing one small thing at a time. Does this mean I might get my garden planted after all?
Monday, March 21, 2011
Laundry & TV
Mondays are not big, exciting days around here. I typically stay home and do the laundry. But, I have to admit, I really love this kind of no pressure, “ease into the week” day; and because it was raining off and on, it was even more enjoyable just hanging out in my sweat pants. Even tonight was relaxing. Baseball was canceled and so we enjoyed an early and easy Family Night together. I was even able to fold and put away all of the clothes by 9pm (this was a miracle all by itself).
But the real reason I love Mondays and laundry days…I get to watch TV. About 6 months or more ago, we canceled our cable and pretty much did away with TV all together. But there is this little known thing called Internet TV that still captures much of what I want to watch. I’m even able to cue everything just like I did on my DVR, but on Hulu.
Since I kicked the real TV habit, I have not found the time to watch except for Monday nights while I fold laundry and when I’m running on the treadmill. It is incredibly hard to believe that I used to watch about an hour or two every night! How did I get anything done and how was I ever ok with wasting that much time?
I guess TV is a hard habit to completely break because I have some real incentive to put in a few extra miles more often and I truly enjoy my quiet clothes folding time. So is TV all bad? I don’t know, maybe, but if my body is getting worked a little harder and I’m actually enjoying household labor, it can’t be completely ruled out.
Tonight I got caught up on this season’s The Amazing Race. If there was ever a reality show I would sign up for, this would be it. Racing my way around the world solving puzzles and completing challenges…now that is my kind of fun! I am well aware, however, that I could never take my husband with me. We would be headed straight for divorce court after this kind of competition. It’s hard to imagine that he wouldn’t want to be with me. I’m difficult, stubborn, controlling and bossy, but I’m determined and quick so we’d be a shoe-in to win.
Anyone else want to sign-up?
But the real reason I love Mondays and laundry days…I get to watch TV. About 6 months or more ago, we canceled our cable and pretty much did away with TV all together. But there is this little known thing called Internet TV that still captures much of what I want to watch. I’m even able to cue everything just like I did on my DVR, but on Hulu.
Since I kicked the real TV habit, I have not found the time to watch except for Monday nights while I fold laundry and when I’m running on the treadmill. It is incredibly hard to believe that I used to watch about an hour or two every night! How did I get anything done and how was I ever ok with wasting that much time?
I guess TV is a hard habit to completely break because I have some real incentive to put in a few extra miles more often and I truly enjoy my quiet clothes folding time. So is TV all bad? I don’t know, maybe, but if my body is getting worked a little harder and I’m actually enjoying household labor, it can’t be completely ruled out.
Tonight I got caught up on this season’s The Amazing Race. If there was ever a reality show I would sign up for, this would be it. Racing my way around the world solving puzzles and completing challenges…now that is my kind of fun! I am well aware, however, that I could never take my husband with me. We would be headed straight for divorce court after this kind of competition. It’s hard to imagine that he wouldn’t want to be with me. I’m difficult, stubborn, controlling and bossy, but I’m determined and quick so we’d be a shoe-in to win.
Anyone else want to sign-up?
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Kissing the Princess
Andrew has always loved princesses. He loves the movies, the stories, and he doesn’t even mind dressing up with the girls. Anywhere we go that resembles a castle turret of sorts (ie. Disneyland, Benedict Castle, the small tower-like structure on Mt. Rubidoux), he is convinced there is a damsel in distress that needs to be rescued and he’s just the man to do it.
He’s even begun calling one of the little girls in his sunbeam class “Princess.”
Friday night, at the wedding reception, he told us that the princess (or the bride) was going to say to him, “I want to kiss you.” And then he would say, “Yes.” He went about telling others that he would not be kissing her on the cheek or the nose; he was going straight for the lips.
Then Saturday night at the Eagle Court of Honor we attended, he spotted the only other 3 year old in the room and insisted on sitting at the table next to the “princess,” so he could talk to her of course. The night went on and he kept looking for a way to get her attention. Eventually he offered her a small handful of M&M’s and then went so far as to give her and her little sister a balloon each saving only one for himself.
He continually talks about kissing girls, he rewinds TV shows over and over to watch the one girl he has picked out as the one he “likes a lot.” It’s cute sometimes, it’s downright hilarious at others, but really I find this advanced maturity a little scary. My desperate, pleading prayer is that this phase ends by the time he is eight and doesn’t return until the age of 22. I suppose I shouldn’t hold my breath…
He’s even begun calling one of the little girls in his sunbeam class “Princess.”
Friday night, at the wedding reception, he told us that the princess (or the bride) was going to say to him, “I want to kiss you.” And then he would say, “Yes.” He went about telling others that he would not be kissing her on the cheek or the nose; he was going straight for the lips.
Then Saturday night at the Eagle Court of Honor we attended, he spotted the only other 3 year old in the room and insisted on sitting at the table next to the “princess,” so he could talk to her of course. The night went on and he kept looking for a way to get her attention. Eventually he offered her a small handful of M&M’s and then went so far as to give her and her little sister a balloon each saving only one for himself.
He continually talks about kissing girls, he rewinds TV shows over and over to watch the one girl he has picked out as the one he “likes a lot.” It’s cute sometimes, it’s downright hilarious at others, but really I find this advanced maturity a little scary. My desperate, pleading prayer is that this phase ends by the time he is eight and doesn’t return until the age of 22. I suppose I shouldn’t hold my breath…
Friday, March 18, 2011
Accessory Challenged
Friday, March 18, 2011
I am accessory challenged. Shoes, handbags, jewelry, sweaters, belts, anything that adds and “makes” the outfit…I am completely unable to choose. Tonight we had a wedding reception to go to and I was having one of those days. Sometimes those days hit me hard, harder than I can handle. I remember once spending over an hour trying to find something to wear. It went on for too long and I was reduced to hopelessness and tears. I ended up staying home….alone, all because of a perceived lack of clothes.
Tonight was shaping up to be just like that, only this time I had a little powerhouse ally. Ava was fighting in my corner and I never imagined how much that could mean. She saw me changing outfit, after outfit, trying to work with the few accessories I have. She would then race to my rescue with her belts, her necklaces, scarves, and anything else she could scrounge up. She would call from the other room, “Mom, will gold match?” and “Mom, what about brown?”
I knew I could not fall to pieces. I could not show my daughter by my actions how important looks and clothing can be, because intellectually, I know the empty truth. There was no way I would fall apart and prove the opposite.
Then this came out of her mouth;
“Mom, it doesn’t matter what you wear. Just wear whatever you want; no one will laugh at you. Sometimes people laugh and you can feel sad but you look beautiful so it doesn’t matter.”
I love that little girl with the sweet and tender heart. I couldn’t help but feel wonderful. The Lord has truly blessed me with an angel.
Now how lucky would I be if she grows up to be a wiz at the details, a master at putting together the finishing touches? That’s why we have daughters...to save us from our own bad fashion decisions.
I am accessory challenged. Shoes, handbags, jewelry, sweaters, belts, anything that adds and “makes” the outfit…I am completely unable to choose. Tonight we had a wedding reception to go to and I was having one of those days. Sometimes those days hit me hard, harder than I can handle. I remember once spending over an hour trying to find something to wear. It went on for too long and I was reduced to hopelessness and tears. I ended up staying home….alone, all because of a perceived lack of clothes.
Tonight was shaping up to be just like that, only this time I had a little powerhouse ally. Ava was fighting in my corner and I never imagined how much that could mean. She saw me changing outfit, after outfit, trying to work with the few accessories I have. She would then race to my rescue with her belts, her necklaces, scarves, and anything else she could scrounge up. She would call from the other room, “Mom, will gold match?” and “Mom, what about brown?”
I knew I could not fall to pieces. I could not show my daughter by my actions how important looks and clothing can be, because intellectually, I know the empty truth. There was no way I would fall apart and prove the opposite.
Then this came out of her mouth;
“Mom, it doesn’t matter what you wear. Just wear whatever you want; no one will laugh at you. Sometimes people laugh and you can feel sad but you look beautiful so it doesn’t matter.”
I love that little girl with the sweet and tender heart. I couldn’t help but feel wonderful. The Lord has truly blessed me with an angel.
Now how lucky would I be if she grows up to be a wiz at the details, a master at putting together the finishing touches? That’s why we have daughters...to save us from our own bad fashion decisions.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Fish Doggies
This is “Cotton Candy” and “RingPop.” They are Andrew’s fish-doggies in case you mistakenly assumed they were goldfish. He won them at the ever-popular ping-pong ball booth during the Little League Opening Day party on Saturday.
Andrew tells me that they love to be petted (which explains the puddles of water that continually surround their small jar), and that they tell him, “We love Andrew,” in the squeaky voice he reserves specifically for speaking on behalf of animals.
After dining on macaroni and cheese, corn flakes, and rice crispies, we aren't really sure how long they will last. Personally, I love short term pets!
Andrew tells me that they love to be petted (which explains the puddles of water that continually surround their small jar), and that they tell him, “We love Andrew,” in the squeaky voice he reserves specifically for speaking on behalf of animals.
After dining on macaroni and cheese, corn flakes, and rice crispies, we aren't really sure how long they will last. Personally, I love short term pets!
Monday, March 14, 2011
Letting It Go
Back when I had only one child, I got up early, took a few naps, showered, dressed, put on makeup and styled my hair every day. I exercised, I went on walks, I tried to look put together whenever I was in public and always by the time my husband came home.
Then I had two kids. I still got dressed and ready each morning. I continued to style my hair and put on makeup each day. I never went out in public without looking appropriate and tasteful.
Now I have three. Two are in school and my youngest is almost four. Life is easier. There are only a few late night issues and everyone goes to bed. And now I drop my kids at school, in my pajamas (at 8:20), I eventually change into either workout clothes or I upgrade to a different pair of sweats...that I did not wear to bed, my hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and no makeup graces my face.
What has happened? Now there are days I even go to the grocery store without the necessary shower and styling session. Have I let myself go? Or have I found that there are more important things to accomplish than satisfying my vanity?
I’m not sure, but this morning sleep beckoned me and everything else had to wait.
Then I had two kids. I still got dressed and ready each morning. I continued to style my hair and put on makeup each day. I never went out in public without looking appropriate and tasteful.
Now I have three. Two are in school and my youngest is almost four. Life is easier. There are only a few late night issues and everyone goes to bed. And now I drop my kids at school, in my pajamas (at 8:20), I eventually change into either workout clothes or I upgrade to a different pair of sweats...that I did not wear to bed, my hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and no makeup graces my face.
What has happened? Now there are days I even go to the grocery store without the necessary shower and styling session. Have I let myself go? Or have I found that there are more important things to accomplish than satisfying my vanity?
I’m not sure, but this morning sleep beckoned me and everything else had to wait.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
True Sacrifice?
Sunday, March 13, 2011
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about sacrifice. In our current religious culture we talk of sacrificing time and money and everything else to further the kingdom of God, to help our fellowmen. We tend to think of paying a full tithe as a sacrifice not to mention the fast offerings, donations to missionary funds, friends of scouting, and any other worthy cause. But can these truly be considered sacrifices?
In some instances, absolutely. But I’ve been looking at my own life, my own discipleship. Can I consider these sacrifices when it all comes back in taxes? We take full advantage of the government’s willingness to recognize charitable giving. About a month ago I read an article that discussed an idea, supposedly on the table, to curb tax breaks on charitable donations. I didn’t study up any more on this and I have no idea how valid the assertion is, but it got me thinking. If we were no longer able to take a tax break for our tithing, how would that affect the members? Do we have sufficient faith to rely solely on the Lord and His promises? Have we trusted too much in the arm of flesh and simply “loaned out” our charitable donations? Losing this benefit would be a trial of faith for many and I began to imagine the impact it would have. Could this be another way in which the wheat will be divided from the tares?
I’ve thought long and hard about this potential scenario, measuring my emotions, my depth of testimony in comparison to my level of fear. It would, no doubt, put a strain on our finances that are stretched pretty thin as it is. But do I have sufficient faith to continue stalwart no matter the cost? What would we have to give up and would that loss be worse than losing the blessings the Lord has promised His faithful?
No. I know the value of those promised blessings. I know the Lord will not leave us helpless and I know He has a better plan. It’s up to us to trust in that plan.
I love how the Lord prepares us for all things. We need only pay attention and be open to the promptings placed before us. This random article on the internet, these thoughts for the last few weeks, both were given in an effort to prepare my heart. And though I don’t know if this preparation culminates in the understanding I have right now, or if this understanding is also in preparation for something more…I’m grateful for the opportunity to see it.
Last night during the adult session of Stake Conference, we were counseled on the blessings of giving a generous fast offering. We were told of the real hardships facing so many here in our area; how, up until this last year, we were always able to send a significant surplus to Salt Lake to bless the lives of so many outside of our immediate care. And up until this year, we were always able to care for our own. That has changed. We are now dependent on others to pull us through as we are receiving from Salt Lake.
I know there are many who struggle, but the bubble I live in currently is pretty heavy duty. The soapy walls are thick enough to obscure my vision and keep many of these hardships at an invisible distance. I don’t feel the effects and so I forget the realities all around me. I forget that the church, as an organization, has funds to support so many because of the efforts and sacrifice of people just like me. We have to step up and help. It is our duty, and it is our greatest source of blessings and joy.
My family has been functioning well on our newly established budget. The numbers are tight and every purchase is considered carefully. There isn’t any extra for extravagance, in fact, there really isn’t enough to go around, to plan for life's eventualities. But, I know the Lord is blessing us and I know that we, in turn, can bless others. I felt inspired and hopeful after our meeting last night. I was ready to double the offering we give each month. It won’t work on paper. I know I will struggle to find the numbers and the substance to back our offering, but I have already seen the Lord’s hand in our lives, His assistance in the smallest of matters. I know He will support us in this and I am excited to put that faith into action.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about sacrifice. In our current religious culture we talk of sacrificing time and money and everything else to further the kingdom of God, to help our fellowmen. We tend to think of paying a full tithe as a sacrifice not to mention the fast offerings, donations to missionary funds, friends of scouting, and any other worthy cause. But can these truly be considered sacrifices?
In some instances, absolutely. But I’ve been looking at my own life, my own discipleship. Can I consider these sacrifices when it all comes back in taxes? We take full advantage of the government’s willingness to recognize charitable giving. About a month ago I read an article that discussed an idea, supposedly on the table, to curb tax breaks on charitable donations. I didn’t study up any more on this and I have no idea how valid the assertion is, but it got me thinking. If we were no longer able to take a tax break for our tithing, how would that affect the members? Do we have sufficient faith to rely solely on the Lord and His promises? Have we trusted too much in the arm of flesh and simply “loaned out” our charitable donations? Losing this benefit would be a trial of faith for many and I began to imagine the impact it would have. Could this be another way in which the wheat will be divided from the tares?
I’ve thought long and hard about this potential scenario, measuring my emotions, my depth of testimony in comparison to my level of fear. It would, no doubt, put a strain on our finances that are stretched pretty thin as it is. But do I have sufficient faith to continue stalwart no matter the cost? What would we have to give up and would that loss be worse than losing the blessings the Lord has promised His faithful?
No. I know the value of those promised blessings. I know the Lord will not leave us helpless and I know He has a better plan. It’s up to us to trust in that plan.
I love how the Lord prepares us for all things. We need only pay attention and be open to the promptings placed before us. This random article on the internet, these thoughts for the last few weeks, both were given in an effort to prepare my heart. And though I don’t know if this preparation culminates in the understanding I have right now, or if this understanding is also in preparation for something more…I’m grateful for the opportunity to see it.
Last night during the adult session of Stake Conference, we were counseled on the blessings of giving a generous fast offering. We were told of the real hardships facing so many here in our area; how, up until this last year, we were always able to send a significant surplus to Salt Lake to bless the lives of so many outside of our immediate care. And up until this year, we were always able to care for our own. That has changed. We are now dependent on others to pull us through as we are receiving from Salt Lake.
I know there are many who struggle, but the bubble I live in currently is pretty heavy duty. The soapy walls are thick enough to obscure my vision and keep many of these hardships at an invisible distance. I don’t feel the effects and so I forget the realities all around me. I forget that the church, as an organization, has funds to support so many because of the efforts and sacrifice of people just like me. We have to step up and help. It is our duty, and it is our greatest source of blessings and joy.
My family has been functioning well on our newly established budget. The numbers are tight and every purchase is considered carefully. There isn’t any extra for extravagance, in fact, there really isn’t enough to go around, to plan for life's eventualities. But, I know the Lord is blessing us and I know that we, in turn, can bless others. I felt inspired and hopeful after our meeting last night. I was ready to double the offering we give each month. It won’t work on paper. I know I will struggle to find the numbers and the substance to back our offering, but I have already seen the Lord’s hand in our lives, His assistance in the smallest of matters. I know He will support us in this and I am excited to put that faith into action.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Peanuts
Written: Sunday, January 16, 2011
Andrew (said while standing and peeing in the toilet):
“Mom, hold your peanuts (penis) and go pee-pee.”
Mom: “I don’t have a penis.”
Andrew: “When Santa brings you a peanut for Christmas then you must hold your peanuts and go pee-pee.”
**What are you getting for Christmas?
Andrew (said while standing and peeing in the toilet):
“Mom, hold your peanuts (penis) and go pee-pee.”
Mom: “I don’t have a penis.”
Andrew: “When Santa brings you a peanut for Christmas then you must hold your peanuts and go pee-pee.”
**What are you getting for Christmas?
Friday, March 11, 2011
Bully
I am feeling a bit of hesitation posting today. You see, the things I'm posting are coming from my daily journal and since I usually write at the end of the day, they tend to be reflective...and consequently I may sound a little down or critical of myself. My life is really quite happy and generally care free...but it doesn't come across so much in these entries. This week's theme seems to be about self improvement. Maybe next week will be a bit more comedic...
I am not a girly-girl, in fact, I believe I am missing the gene for accessorizing which makes me somewhat of an anomaly among women. I can’t buy shoes or purses to save my life. People will tell me, “Just buy whatever you like…” Problem with that is that I have no idea what I like.
One day I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. She was more beautiful than I could have ever imagined and because I don’t know how to accessorize, I didn’t waste much time tying ribbons in her hair or placing elastic headbands just so. I let her be wild and unruly a significant portion of the time.
Now that she’s growing up…that’s all she wants to be, wild and unruly. One day she was given the world’s cutest haircut. It looked fabulous on her and was even mimicked among her friends. But she could hardly wait until it would grow out long again. She tells me she wants ponytails and braids; that she’ll let me “do” her hair. But the truth is, she wants nothing more than the untrained craziness she has spent the last six years with.
Our typical morning goes like this:
“Ava, we need to fix your hair. It’s looking pretty crazy.”
“But mom, I don’t want to do my hair. I want it down.”
“Ava, you look scruffy. It needs to be fixed. You’re not going to school (or church) looking like that.”
The fight goes on for much longer…but I want to get to the point. Let’s re-read the above sentence:
“Ava, you look scruffy.”
Notice the highlighted text? What kind of mom demeans her daughter for her looks?
This one, I’m afraid.
Now, in my defense, I believe my daughter is beautiful even amidst all the bedhead and snarls. I know she is beautiful on the inside which is infinitely more important…but what does Ava hear?
Mom thinks I’m not good enough.
Mom thinks I’m not pretty.
I know that there is nothing wrong with teaching my daughter womanly ways, hygiene and upkeep. But there are so many better ways to go about this. What about a loving suggestion that the hairband we bought the other day would look nice with the blue shirt she is wearing? See, far less scarring.
It always amazes me what we do to each other without intention and without realization. I’m a huge culprit in so many ways but I am deeply grateful for a conversation today that made me think about my actions and words from a different perspective.
My name is Rebecca, and I am a “recovering” bully.
I am not a girly-girl, in fact, I believe I am missing the gene for accessorizing which makes me somewhat of an anomaly among women. I can’t buy shoes or purses to save my life. People will tell me, “Just buy whatever you like…” Problem with that is that I have no idea what I like.
One day I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. She was more beautiful than I could have ever imagined and because I don’t know how to accessorize, I didn’t waste much time tying ribbons in her hair or placing elastic headbands just so. I let her be wild and unruly a significant portion of the time.
Now that she’s growing up…that’s all she wants to be, wild and unruly. One day she was given the world’s cutest haircut. It looked fabulous on her and was even mimicked among her friends. But she could hardly wait until it would grow out long again. She tells me she wants ponytails and braids; that she’ll let me “do” her hair. But the truth is, she wants nothing more than the untrained craziness she has spent the last six years with.
Our typical morning goes like this:
“Ava, we need to fix your hair. It’s looking pretty crazy.”
“But mom, I don’t want to do my hair. I want it down.”
“Ava, you look scruffy. It needs to be fixed. You’re not going to school (or church) looking like that.”
The fight goes on for much longer…but I want to get to the point. Let’s re-read the above sentence:
“Ava, you look scruffy.”
Notice the highlighted text? What kind of mom demeans her daughter for her looks?
This one, I’m afraid.
Now, in my defense, I believe my daughter is beautiful even amidst all the bedhead and snarls. I know she is beautiful on the inside which is infinitely more important…but what does Ava hear?
Mom thinks I’m not good enough.
Mom thinks I’m not pretty.
I know that there is nothing wrong with teaching my daughter womanly ways, hygiene and upkeep. But there are so many better ways to go about this. What about a loving suggestion that the hairband we bought the other day would look nice with the blue shirt she is wearing? See, far less scarring.
It always amazes me what we do to each other without intention and without realization. I’m a huge culprit in so many ways but I am deeply grateful for a conversation today that made me think about my actions and words from a different perspective.
My name is Rebecca, and I am a “recovering” bully.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Reclaiming Control
Thursday, March 10, 2011
I’ve been watching The Biggest Loser this season. Cheering these people on as they take back the control over their bodies and go through all the emotion, the pain, and the struggles that come with recognizing and reworking who you are, has been inspiring.
Watching them overcome at least one thing that they have lost control of has made me wonder where I’ve lost control. Sometimes it’s easier to go through your daily life, never taking the time to think and ponder about your progress, never meditating on or even formulating your goals. It’s easier to stay so busy that you never have to worry or question if there is something awry. I suppose “busyness” can become a sort of drug, an escape from reality.
So I sat and pondered my own progress. There were many things that came to mind. Some that would be obvious to others, and some that are personal, hidden struggles. But for each one,
taking control came down to working hard, consciously making those little decisions every day. True change does not happen with only half of an effort. True change can only be achieved when you give all that you have, everything.
I could feel idea after idea come tumbling down, unlocked from the hiding places of the mind. I realized that I needed to fix and adjust and work harder at everything. I realized that I controlled a rather insignificant portion of my life and that I mostly teeter near the edge...
My heart began to race, the anxiety of the situation loomed ever so large. But then gently I was reminded of the one magnificent, priceless gift I was given. My Savior loved me so much that He gave His life to make up the difference. There are things I can learn to control with His help, there are things I can learn to overcome with Him by my side. And the things I don’t quite get right? He’s provided for them as well. For I know that when I stand before the throne, after all I could do myself, Christ will stand with me; my friend, my comforter, my Savior.
I’ve been watching The Biggest Loser this season. Cheering these people on as they take back the control over their bodies and go through all the emotion, the pain, and the struggles that come with recognizing and reworking who you are, has been inspiring.
Watching them overcome at least one thing that they have lost control of has made me wonder where I’ve lost control. Sometimes it’s easier to go through your daily life, never taking the time to think and ponder about your progress, never meditating on or even formulating your goals. It’s easier to stay so busy that you never have to worry or question if there is something awry. I suppose “busyness” can become a sort of drug, an escape from reality.
So I sat and pondered my own progress. There were many things that came to mind. Some that would be obvious to others, and some that are personal, hidden struggles. But for each one,
taking control came down to working hard, consciously making those little decisions every day. True change does not happen with only half of an effort. True change can only be achieved when you give all that you have, everything.
I could feel idea after idea come tumbling down, unlocked from the hiding places of the mind. I realized that I needed to fix and adjust and work harder at everything. I realized that I controlled a rather insignificant portion of my life and that I mostly teeter near the edge...
My heart began to race, the anxiety of the situation loomed ever so large. But then gently I was reminded of the one magnificent, priceless gift I was given. My Savior loved me so much that He gave His life to make up the difference. There are things I can learn to control with His help, there are things I can learn to overcome with Him by my side. And the things I don’t quite get right? He’s provided for them as well. For I know that when I stand before the throne, after all I could do myself, Christ will stand with me; my friend, my comforter, my Savior.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Ghost Writer
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Some days I decide not to get up early to exercise…well, ok, most days. But I promise myself that it will happen. I purposefully avoid showering, I dress in my workout clothes, and I am sure that the first free minute I get I’ll jump on that treadmill.
There are many days like today…the kids are finally in bed, I feel tired enough for bed, and I’m still in my workout clothes, not sweaty but definitely in need of a shower. So now comes the decision…do I skip the workout, again, and take a shower thus giving me time to write – or – do I do what’s right for my body, run a couple of miles, and then take a well-deserved shower….thus having very little time to write?
Today was a total rarity. I chose the latter and believe me, I enjoy the morning workouts far more! Why is that? Oh well. The decision was much easier to make knowing that my dear friend Tracy (you can find her here) already wrote my journal entry for me. It was actually for last night but by the time it came via email, I was already finished. How’s that for a gift? Maybe I should ask everyone to write me something! So here’s a little glimpse into my life courtesy of my own personal ghost writer:
"Today was crazy as always with my children. I don't know how I find the time to be sane but I manage. Every Tuesday Ethan has scouts so I cart all three kids down to the stake center. While Ethan is busy building his character, training in responsibilities of participating citizenship, and developing his personal fitness Ava and Andrew are the fizz in a soda after it's been shaken. If you shake up a soda and then open it, the fizz comes flying out as if to say, "I just can't take it in here one more second!" Keeping them in the car is like me shaking the can and then letting them out of the car and in to the church is like me opening the can of soda. They run up and down the halls searching for adventure. Tonight was a little bit different. They ran inside but were quickly distracted by what was going on in the gym. They stopped and looked on, mesmerized by the youth playing human battleship. Ava was so in to it that she didn't even notice her dad waving a piece of licorice in front of her face or the fact that she was leaning against Tracy and not me. I'm so glad that I get to be at the church on Tuesday nights because then I get to see Tracy and Deanna who are there for mutual. We always get a good laugh over some thing or another. After scouts I somehow managed to get all three kids in the car (starting the can shaking all over again) and I made it home only for them to explode in to the house. Luckily I have them pretty well trained so they were good about doing bath time, pajamas, and prayers. They are all fast asleep now and I have a few precious minutes to myself. I love my life."
Some days I decide not to get up early to exercise…well, ok, most days. But I promise myself that it will happen. I purposefully avoid showering, I dress in my workout clothes, and I am sure that the first free minute I get I’ll jump on that treadmill.
There are many days like today…the kids are finally in bed, I feel tired enough for bed, and I’m still in my workout clothes, not sweaty but definitely in need of a shower. So now comes the decision…do I skip the workout, again, and take a shower thus giving me time to write – or – do I do what’s right for my body, run a couple of miles, and then take a well-deserved shower….thus having very little time to write?
Today was a total rarity. I chose the latter and believe me, I enjoy the morning workouts far more! Why is that? Oh well. The decision was much easier to make knowing that my dear friend Tracy (you can find her here) already wrote my journal entry for me. It was actually for last night but by the time it came via email, I was already finished. How’s that for a gift? Maybe I should ask everyone to write me something! So here’s a little glimpse into my life courtesy of my own personal ghost writer:
"Today was crazy as always with my children. I don't know how I find the time to be sane but I manage. Every Tuesday Ethan has scouts so I cart all three kids down to the stake center. While Ethan is busy building his character, training in responsibilities of participating citizenship, and developing his personal fitness Ava and Andrew are the fizz in a soda after it's been shaken. If you shake up a soda and then open it, the fizz comes flying out as if to say, "I just can't take it in here one more second!" Keeping them in the car is like me shaking the can and then letting them out of the car and in to the church is like me opening the can of soda. They run up and down the halls searching for adventure. Tonight was a little bit different. They ran inside but were quickly distracted by what was going on in the gym. They stopped and looked on, mesmerized by the youth playing human battleship. Ava was so in to it that she didn't even notice her dad waving a piece of licorice in front of her face or the fact that she was leaning against Tracy and not me. I'm so glad that I get to be at the church on Tuesday nights because then I get to see Tracy and Deanna who are there for mutual. We always get a good laugh over some thing or another. After scouts I somehow managed to get all three kids in the car (starting the can shaking all over again) and I made it home only for them to explode in to the house. Luckily I have them pretty well trained so they were good about doing bath time, pajamas, and prayers. They are all fast asleep now and I have a few precious minutes to myself. I love my life."
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Unfinished
A while back I read a book called “On Writing” by Stephen King. In it he discussed some of the events that led to him becoming a writer, memoir style, and then he gave some advice on how to do it. I found much of it to be sound, and I would know, of course, since I’m a published writer and all (ok, no I’m not but it sounded good to me anyway).
One of the main things he discussed was setting a schedule to write, a routine. You do the same thing every day; you know, wake up, take your morning walk, have breakfast, and then sit down to write for at least three hours.
What? Three hours! I never have three uninterrupted hours! It struck me; writers really do consider writing to be a job. It takes time, thought, focus, and having three little ones running around means that no, I do not have three hours to myself. Some days I’m lucky to take a shower.
But I kind of want to be a writer. I find it exhilarating to work on just the right phrasing, to find the perfect combination of words to express what I feel. I love the exercise my brain gets when it is forced to look at things from a different perspective, to find the interesting in the everyday.
For about two years now I’ve been working on a memoir, my love story. And though I have no intention of trying to have it published, there is a big part of me that wants it to be good enough that someone would consider it publishable material.
Today I had three golden, uninterrupted hours. The ideas were flowing and I was making progress in areas I had previously been unable to crack. I understand the 3-hour concept. What if I could do this every day? What if?
I’ll tell you one thing…I would not still be working on the same piece! That would have been long ago finished and I’d be on to bigger and better things.
But then it would be a job and I’m already employed full-time. I’ve heard there’s a time and a season for everything. My kids and family need me and for this season, I suppose that’s where I’m supposed to be. So I’ve thrown out the deadlines, I work when I can, and someday, yes, someday, I will finish my little 60,000 word memoir.
One of the main things he discussed was setting a schedule to write, a routine. You do the same thing every day; you know, wake up, take your morning walk, have breakfast, and then sit down to write for at least three hours.
What? Three hours! I never have three uninterrupted hours! It struck me; writers really do consider writing to be a job. It takes time, thought, focus, and having three little ones running around means that no, I do not have three hours to myself. Some days I’m lucky to take a shower.
But I kind of want to be a writer. I find it exhilarating to work on just the right phrasing, to find the perfect combination of words to express what I feel. I love the exercise my brain gets when it is forced to look at things from a different perspective, to find the interesting in the everyday.
For about two years now I’ve been working on a memoir, my love story. And though I have no intention of trying to have it published, there is a big part of me that wants it to be good enough that someone would consider it publishable material.
Today I had three golden, uninterrupted hours. The ideas were flowing and I was making progress in areas I had previously been unable to crack. I understand the 3-hour concept. What if I could do this every day? What if?
I’ll tell you one thing…I would not still be working on the same piece! That would have been long ago finished and I’d be on to bigger and better things.
But then it would be a job and I’m already employed full-time. I’ve heard there’s a time and a season for everything. My kids and family need me and for this season, I suppose that’s where I’m supposed to be. So I’ve thrown out the deadlines, I work when I can, and someday, yes, someday, I will finish my little 60,000 word memoir.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Battling Ends
Written March 1, 2011
As I sit here at my computer, halted by a lack of words to type upon the screen, they beckon to me, calling me incessantly by name. My train of thoughts derails. I can’t help but look, study, inspect every last one of them. And then I begin to pick them off. First one, then another, and another, until I can no longer control myself. I’ve lost track of the death toll but the proof lies scattered all over my pajamas.
“Rebecca, please stop,” Todd begs from across the room. He can't stand to watch.
And then I realize; it was the split ends that prompted the short haircut in the first place. Split ends were the reason I kept my tresses neat and trim for so many years. The haircut protected and preserved my sanity.
“So now what?" I think wondering if I'll ever overcome. It's been a hard won fight to grow it long again. And then I pause and grab a handful of hair; for the ends have summoned me again.
As I sit here at my computer, halted by a lack of words to type upon the screen, they beckon to me, calling me incessantly by name. My train of thoughts derails. I can’t help but look, study, inspect every last one of them. And then I begin to pick them off. First one, then another, and another, until I can no longer control myself. I’ve lost track of the death toll but the proof lies scattered all over my pajamas.
“Rebecca, please stop,” Todd begs from across the room. He can't stand to watch.
And then I realize; it was the split ends that prompted the short haircut in the first place. Split ends were the reason I kept my tresses neat and trim for so many years. The haircut protected and preserved my sanity.
“So now what?" I think wondering if I'll ever overcome. It's been a hard won fight to grow it long again. And then I pause and grab a handful of hair; for the ends have summoned me again.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Unequally Yoked
About 12½ years ago, a light bulb came on and I came to the sudden realization that I wasn’t alone, that my burdens were not for me to bear alone. I knew, intellectually and spiritually, that Christ suffered for our sins and for the grief and pain we feel as part of this mortal probation. The only thing I couldn’t figure out was how one could release those burdens to Him. I spent a week contemplating this new revelation.
At the end of that week, I found myself staring at what was left of my black Jetta after rolling into the ditch that served as the median of the freeway. One singular thought rose to the surface of the chaos facing me in that moment;
“Ok Lord, you win. My life is in your hands and I will accept the path you have laid for me.”
I felt light, strength, and relief. I knew I was not shouldering this burden alone. It was an answer to my prayers and the idea I had been contemplating. And though the Lord did truly show me how it felt to come unto Him, I don’t think I fully grasped the reality of how it is done, maybe I never will, but today I learned a little more that brought me closer to true understanding.
Matthew 11
28 Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
The concept of a yoke, when it comes to oxen, is to help distribute the weight and workload taking advantage of the strongest to help the weak. In this way the two animals are kept equal and thus magnified in their ability to bear more than they could on their own.
To take upon you the yoke of Christ is to receive His will as your own. In doing so, you are strengthened as He, being the stronger, carries your weaknesses through the difficulties. As long as we are willing to follow Him, our burdens will be lighter, our strength will be greater, and we shall find rest. It is only when we try to pull away, to go our own way, that we struggle against the burden we will feel to bear alone.
This was the golden answer to the question asked so long ago. How do you place your burdens on Christ?
You simply follow Him, embracing His will for you. In that moment, at the scene of the wreck, I decided to try His plan. I remembered the yoke that bound us together, and I took my first step with Him, relying on the strength of His love and wisdom. And my burden was light.
At the end of that week, I found myself staring at what was left of my black Jetta after rolling into the ditch that served as the median of the freeway. One singular thought rose to the surface of the chaos facing me in that moment;
“Ok Lord, you win. My life is in your hands and I will accept the path you have laid for me.”
I felt light, strength, and relief. I knew I was not shouldering this burden alone. It was an answer to my prayers and the idea I had been contemplating. And though the Lord did truly show me how it felt to come unto Him, I don’t think I fully grasped the reality of how it is done, maybe I never will, but today I learned a little more that brought me closer to true understanding.
Matthew 11
28 Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
The concept of a yoke, when it comes to oxen, is to help distribute the weight and workload taking advantage of the strongest to help the weak. In this way the two animals are kept equal and thus magnified in their ability to bear more than they could on their own.
To take upon you the yoke of Christ is to receive His will as your own. In doing so, you are strengthened as He, being the stronger, carries your weaknesses through the difficulties. As long as we are willing to follow Him, our burdens will be lighter, our strength will be greater, and we shall find rest. It is only when we try to pull away, to go our own way, that we struggle against the burden we will feel to bear alone.
This was the golden answer to the question asked so long ago. How do you place your burdens on Christ?
You simply follow Him, embracing His will for you. In that moment, at the scene of the wreck, I decided to try His plan. I remembered the yoke that bound us together, and I took my first step with Him, relying on the strength of His love and wisdom. And my burden was light.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Sweat the Small Stuff
Yep, I never write anymore. In fact, I rarely take pictures either. It's sad, I know, but I lost interest. But never fear, my memories are not going to fade into oblivion because this year my goal is to write in a journal every day...and I've been doing it. Though sometimes difficult, it has been such a great exercise and the words are already priceless to me.
So, I have been blogging it on another site but very early on I decided not to make it public. I didn't want to have to censor it based on my experiences that day. There are just some things everyone shouldn't read. But as I'm beginning my third month, I've decided that sometimes I'll share the things I write in this blog. I don't know whether it's because I enjoy comments - though I'm not fooling myself thinking that anyone is checking this anymore...it's been a year! - but regardless, you may see some action around here soon.
To kick it off, here's today's entry for your reading pleasure!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
What does it take to get a man off the street, rid of drugs, and on with his life never to relapse again? It takes a complete life change, a change of scenery, and probably a complete rewrite of all he knows.
Today our family toured Benedict Castle. The place was built in the 1920’s, a Spanish inspired mini-castle. In the 1970’s the property was purchased by “Teen Challenge,” a faith-based drug and alcohol rehabilitation program. The staff and students live on site, work, and maintain the property. It was interesting to talk to our tour guide, Hayden, about the way of life there; the lack of access to computers, phones, Internet, television, and just about any other distraction the world throws at you. They are given strict rules and guidelines to follow in order to encourage a permanent life change.
I’m all for strict rules. I mean I’m a Mormon and if nothing else, we are known for our strictness. But Hayden was telling us that he was written up last week for leaving a book on his bed (it was supposed to be put away), and forgetting his sweatshirt in the mess hall. Now that’s pretty rigid. Of course for bigger offenses, like fighting, you are immediately sent away.
As Todd and I were talking on the way home it occurred to me how important it is to get these little things down. That’s what we do as we learn from childhood. We are trusted with the small stuff. We are expected to make our beds, keep our spaces clean, and do our homework. It is through these small exercises that we learn discipline; we learn to be aware of ourselves and the space around us.
Now when one heads down that road to addiction and the many other forms temptation takes for the natural man, he loses the ability to make even the smallest of choices in a responsible way. “Teen Challenge” brings them back to the start. They are only entrusted with the smallest of choices and as they learn and grow, they are slowly given more responsibility. People are not able to work through the big stuff without first mastering the small. What a great and merciful truth!
How can this be better applied to my life currently? For one, as a parent, I’m responsible for the instruction of my children. If I can remember that the little things, the chores and expectations, are the building blocks for real decision making, maybe I can be more consistent. If I don’t work to equip them with these life skills now, I am only handicapping their future.
So, I have been blogging it on another site but very early on I decided not to make it public. I didn't want to have to censor it based on my experiences that day. There are just some things everyone shouldn't read. But as I'm beginning my third month, I've decided that sometimes I'll share the things I write in this blog. I don't know whether it's because I enjoy comments - though I'm not fooling myself thinking that anyone is checking this anymore...it's been a year! - but regardless, you may see some action around here soon.
To kick it off, here's today's entry for your reading pleasure!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
What does it take to get a man off the street, rid of drugs, and on with his life never to relapse again? It takes a complete life change, a change of scenery, and probably a complete rewrite of all he knows.
Today our family toured Benedict Castle. The place was built in the 1920’s, a Spanish inspired mini-castle. In the 1970’s the property was purchased by “Teen Challenge,” a faith-based drug and alcohol rehabilitation program. The staff and students live on site, work, and maintain the property. It was interesting to talk to our tour guide, Hayden, about the way of life there; the lack of access to computers, phones, Internet, television, and just about any other distraction the world throws at you. They are given strict rules and guidelines to follow in order to encourage a permanent life change.
I’m all for strict rules. I mean I’m a Mormon and if nothing else, we are known for our strictness. But Hayden was telling us that he was written up last week for leaving a book on his bed (it was supposed to be put away), and forgetting his sweatshirt in the mess hall. Now that’s pretty rigid. Of course for bigger offenses, like fighting, you are immediately sent away.
As Todd and I were talking on the way home it occurred to me how important it is to get these little things down. That’s what we do as we learn from childhood. We are trusted with the small stuff. We are expected to make our beds, keep our spaces clean, and do our homework. It is through these small exercises that we learn discipline; we learn to be aware of ourselves and the space around us.
Now when one heads down that road to addiction and the many other forms temptation takes for the natural man, he loses the ability to make even the smallest of choices in a responsible way. “Teen Challenge” brings them back to the start. They are only entrusted with the smallest of choices and as they learn and grow, they are slowly given more responsibility. People are not able to work through the big stuff without first mastering the small. What a great and merciful truth!
How can this be better applied to my life currently? For one, as a parent, I’m responsible for the instruction of my children. If I can remember that the little things, the chores and expectations, are the building blocks for real decision making, maybe I can be more consistent. If I don’t work to equip them with these life skills now, I am only handicapping their future.
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