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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.