Answer #13--It's All About Consistency

The power in prayer is cumulative.

My little acts of kindness only amount to anything in their total effect.

My children feel the importance of the temple when they notice that, "we just went to the temple a few weeks ago."

Each Family Home Evening is lonely and insignificant on its own.

Putting up with it and waiting it out and letting it go become patience in their quantity.

Our savings account grows with $50/month. It seems to shrink when I wait until we have enough money to put in.

"In my office is a beautiful painting of a wheat field. The painting is a vast collection of individual brushstrokes—none of which in isolation is very interesting or impressive. In fact, if you stand close to the canvas, all you can see is a mass of seemingly unrelated and unattractive streaks of yellow and gold and brown paint. However, as you gradually move away from the canvas, all of the individual brushstrokes combine together and produce a magnificent landscape of a wheat field. Many ordinary, individual brushstrokes work together to create a captivating and beautiful painting.

Each family prayer, each episode of family scripture study, and each family home evening is a brushstroke on the canvas of our souls. No one event may appear to be very impressive or memorable. But just as the yellow and gold and brown strokes of paint complement each other and produce an impressive masterpiece, so our consistency in doing seemingly small things can lead to significant spiritual results. “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33). Consistency is a key principle as we lay the foundation of a great work in our individual lives and as we become more diligent and concerned in our own homes." (David A. Bednar)

On the other hand, something is always better than nothing.

Don't I KNOW Anything?

I knew when I began this blog that I had more questions than answers, but I had no idea the discrepancy would be so dramatic.

The tally at the top has been unnerving me for weeks now.

So, I've been wracking my brain to find Answers. I'm coming up very short.

I don't know what color to paint my living room.
I don't know how many kids to have.
I don't know what to pack for lunch that anyone will eat.
I don't know how to both simplify and magnify my church callings.
I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.
I don't know where I put my keys.

But, there are a few things I do know. There aren't many, I've realized, but they're the big ones. The answers that really matter, I have. I have them and I know I have them.

Here's One. Answer #10--I Know That God is the Father of My Spirit and the Creator of My Body and that it is my potential to be like Him.

and Answer #11--I Know What Matters Most in Life. I don't do it a lot of the time. That's the problem, of course. But I know what it is.

and Answer #12--I Know That Heavenly Father Speaks To His Children. He speaks to prophets. He spoke to Joseph Smith. My life is happy because of the truths He teaches.

The disparity between Questions (193) and Answers (12) is still ridiculous, but if this were a weighted formula, I think I would be coming out ahead.

Instead of

Q + A = Me,

Something like

Q + KA = Me, where K = ∞.

Answer #5--Something Is Better Than Nothing

A couple of weeks ago I helped package up shoes and clothes and toys for nine orphanages in Africa. I asked several times, "Will they use this?" or "Is this helpful to them?" The woman in charge looked at me like I was crazy to suggest that Africans might not find Elmo stuffed animals, or fleece pajamas, or gold high heels helpful. The truth is she hasn't ever been to Africa.

I kept hearing the cynical, educated voice in my head say, "Don't impose our Western way of life on a culture that works in its own way." Later, with teary eyes, she told me that many of these children would get shoes for the first time in their lives because of our shipment. I cringed as I heard my internal voice argue that maybe life was OK without shoes. Is life OK without shoes? I don't know. I've never been to Africa. I've never had a moment without shoes unless I took them off intentionally.

And so I've spent a while digesting this experience. And I've decided that it falls into a category where I find myself too often--I think I'll do nothing until I know just the right thing to do.

No good.

Here's one of the lessons I learned when Chas was in the hospital. People asked what they could do. I mostly held them off and told them I'd let them know when I figured out what would be helpful. The truth is, I was too confused to know what would be helpful. I was waiting for just the right thing to ask them to do. The one, very most helpful thing I could think of, so that I would not use their help needlessly.

Many of them did not wait for me, but found things to do anyway. There were flowers and food. There were cards and emails and balloons. There were gas gift certificates and Happy Meals for my children. There were Franklin DVDs from the library and a CD player for the hospital room. There were Conference talks and phone calls and people who sensitively didn't stay too long when they visited. There was a bag that included fingernail clippers and a new toothbrush. There was a list of all 34 temple prayer-rolls that had been called. I think the list of helpful things people did could go on endlessly.

The point is, there was nothing that wasn't helpful at some level. Something is always better than nothing.

Sometimes we strike upon a way to fill the need perfectly. A few years ago my mother broke both of her arms. Her brother showed up with an electric toothbrush. Now that was a perfect match!

But, more often than not, we don't know how to fill the need exactly. Better for the need, and so much better for our own souls, to offer something rather than nothing.

Answer #4--My Brother Is The Best

You rock my world.

You always have. Literally actually. Like the Led Zeppelin barreling out of your Nautilus Avenue room at 7 AM, followed by a groggy, stinky lug that I admired every speck of.

By the time I was in Preschool a week, Mom tells me that every teacher could say, “Now we know who Mark is.” There was no one I’d rather tell about, no one I loved more, no one who did cooler things. Like take me sledding and carry the sleds up every time. Like bounce me to the moon on the trampoline (except for the one time it didn’t end so well.) Like let a little sister hang out with you when you were a teenager. Like come to Boston and set up everything, even a hook for my bike to hang on. Like give me a speeding ride in the grocery cart on the way back to the store. (That trip ended up “rocking” my world too.)

I once said, “What if Mom and Dad had more kids than just us?” You rocked my world when you said, “I wouldn’t have liked them as much as I like you.”

I rocked your world too, sometimes: “STOMPEO. DANANANANA. STOMPEO.” Better than the Rolling Stones ever could have.

I feathered my bangs and had my hair cut like yours in 2nd Grade. The school nurse thought I was a boy. I tried to strut like you, but that didn't work out very well.

You were the man of my life for 22 years. You are still the man of my life, you’ve just become the silver medalist. But I’ve noticed that I’m a silver medalist now too. But I don’t mind. We used to talk every day. Now, not as much. That’s what you get with the silver medal—less fame. But I think the achievement is no less great.

I want my kids to be a sibling just like you. I want them to be gregarious and gentle and generous like you. In fact, I want to be gregarious, gentle, and generous like you. I want them to say to their younger sister who’s had a bad dream, “Garrruuuggghh,” which means, “Come on in, Kiddo.” I want them to sneak food to each other in bed after I’ve sent one of them to her room without supper. I want them to race to a train station to put their little sister on a train to the temple when they’ve overslept, even though the temple might not mean much to them at the time. And I want them to take their younger sibling for brunch at Bendix.

I love you. For 31 years I’ve looked on you as my rock. I’ve always wanted to be just like you. I want to be confident in job interviews like you. Fun with kids like you. Generous in time and money like you. Brave in skiing like you. Unruffled by criticism like you. Cheerful like you. Casual about broken things like you. A great sibling in-law like you. An awesome omelette maker like you. And a million other things like you. I just want to be smaller. And less smelly than you. And listen to better music.

Happy Birthday!

Which Opinion Is Really Mine?

There are about 60 blog entries to prove that I feel insecure in my capacity as mother.

BUT--insinuate that four might be too many for me as Dallin's Aunt did last night, or suggest that I am too young as hairdressers have for years, or that children's needs are best met in families of two children ideally spaced as several neighbours have, and here's the earful you get:

"Well, it sure seems to me that people educated, conscientious, and reasonably compassionate as I am ought to be having very large families. If we leave all of the child bearing to people who are so uneducated, stupid, or irresponsible as to think that raising children takes no thought our future will be grim. We who are trying to teach children to be socially responsible, honest, loving people need to have enough children to outnumber the ones who are growing up in a catch-it-as-you-can approach to values. I fully expect that my children will become responsible, hard-working, honest, kind people because of the effort that my husband and I are putting into their upbringing now. They are fortunate to have a father who sets an example of hard-work, honesty, and perseverance. They are lucky to have a mother who is sacrificing all sorts of things in order to go on every school fieldtrip, bring them home at lunch time when they need it, teach them to love people and literature and right. They already have learned to value courage, defending right, helping the weak, speaking the truth, education, and more and I've only had 8 years with them!"

And beware of mentioning to me how expensive it is to raise children, because that's a whole other tirade about what is really required to create these idyllic children mentioned above and by the way Dallin and I have three degrees between us and not a cent of debt for it. So there.

Well, it doesn't happen too often, but every now and then, I think, or at least say, how great a job I think I'm doing and how splendidly my children are turning out. You just have to ask the right question.

Did I Miss Anything?

When I woke up Chas this morning to carry him downstairs for breakfast-in-bed with his Daddy on their birthday, he said,

"Did I sleep late? Did I miss anything?"

Did you miss anything? Are you kidding? You are the anything of today. You are the everything.

Answer #3 -- I am so very glad to have you both.

Answer # 2 -- I Know He Lives.

Mary stood without at the sepulchre weeping: and as she wept, she stooped down, and looked into the sepulchre, and seeth two angels in white sitting, the one at the head, and the other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain. And they say unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? She saith unto them, Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him. And when she had thus said, she turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus. Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou? She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, Tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away. Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith unto him, Rabboni; which is to say, Master. (John 20)


(He Is Not Here, by Walter Rane)

Why seek ye the living among the dead?
He is not here, but is risen. (Luke 24)



(The Disciples Peter and John Running to the Sepulchre, by Dan Burr)

I know He lives. And it sustains me.

Answer #1--Family Home Evening Definitely Goes Better...

...When The Kids Are In Charge Of Their Own Part.

I know it says it in all the manuals. I just never really tried it.

We're now on Week 2 of kid conducting, kid giving lesson, kid inventing/choosing game. (I'll be in charge of the treat, which means it will always be something I don't have to make.)

After 328 Family Home Evenings, 209 of which I wanted to strangle my kids (or my husband), and every time asked myself if this counted toward building family unity, we have now had two very beautiful, somewhat inspirational, mostly cooperative Family Nights.

Yeah for us!

Are There Answers?

This Comment was stolen from my cousin's blog, because I couldn't figure out how to find her to ask permission:

Nicola said... [about my cousin]
I love the way that you put things, especially the questions that you have. Honestly I think life would be boring if nobody ever asked questions. Because without questions and choices we could never truly grow.

Questions and Choices. Not Questions and Answers.
Maybe that is the Answer?