Honesty

Honesty, for me, sometimes gets all muddled.

I wonder if honesty should be sacrificed in my fight against cynicism.

And I wonder if "fake it 'till you make it" is a reasonable, albeit dishonest, strategy for optimism, good parenting, wisdom, charitable service, and many other of my pursuits. 

I hate fine lines, grey areas, and muddles.

Umm...I mean...fine lines, grey areas, and muddles are an opportunity for growth and I'm grateful when
they come my way.  See?  so peppy, it's just downright dishonest.

(PS--"Muddles" is what Marko calls "puddles."  Whenever we put on his monkey boots he says, "Now I can jump in Muddles.")

the Baby woke up at 2:30 in the morning

ate some yogurt
and spaghetti
lay back down in his crib
and pulled his favourite yellow afghan over his face

then as I tiptoed out of the room
he pulled the afghan down and
asked in one pathetic syllable
whether I was leaving

"Shhh.  Mommy's still here,"
I said
and up went the afghan again

every two or three minutes
down came the afghan
and out came the plaintive cry

"Mommy's still here."
and up went the afghan again

he couldn't see me,
but checking in every few minutes
he learned to trust that I was still there

at 3:00 in the morning
I was very grateful to be someone's mommy

I wake up all through the day
fold some laundry
wipe a counter
and send my pleading cry

faintly I hear,
"I am still here"

I can't see Him,
but checking in every few minutes
I am learning to trust that He is still there

at 3:30 in the morning
I am very grateful to be Someone's daughter

I used to believe

that babies were blank slates

that anyone could learn to play the piano

that everyone could carry a tune

that I wanted to be a farmer

that I liked animals

that I was organized

that I would have a clean house


I guess I was wrong.  Shucks!

Let this post serve as a reminder to me

to never have an opinion. Or at least not think I ever know what someone else could or should do.

I was a newly wed. I had money for cute haircuts. I was working for way more money than I needed, and considering other jobs with much lower salaries just for the potential enjoyment of them.

I stood in the doorway of a mid-life accountant, with a couple of teenagers at home, a too-large mortgage + reno payment to make, and a straggly no-style haircut adorning her worn out face. She told me of the great retirement package that kept her in a job she disliked. She told me of how it was too late to make a career change, or even a job change. She described trapped, stuck, discouraged feelings. She sounded hopeless.

I cheerfully explained to her how it was never too late to change where we are. I encouraged her to leave her dissatisfying job behind and strike out into something she would enjoy (I didn't bother with the arithmetic that would leave her without mortgage payment every month.) I threw together trite phrases about worlds and oysters and admonished her to live the Nike slogan.

As I walked away, I left very saddened for her limiting mental state that kept her caged in an unhappy life, and grateful for my much better way of viewing the world full of endless potential for me to be successful on every path.

Now, as I get closer and closer to mid-life land, with a too-large mortgage payment, and a no-style haircut, I'm sorry I ever opened my naive know-it-all mouth. I get it now. And I would gratefully trade my life of exciting potential success (rife with business loans that can use the word "million" in them) for a boring, trapped, great-retirement package job.

But our decisions have a way of putting us on a path that goes only forward, even if it's off a cliff. Backing up is great in theory but doesn't always work in reality.

Loveit, I'm sorry I ever gave you useless, demeaning counsel. I hope you've gone on to a comfortable retirement full of grandkids and dandelion bouquets and it is all the sweeter for the thorny path that led you there.

"You Could Keep A Kosher Kitchen,"

Noa said, "because you have two sinks." She is my lovely Jewish friend from Israel. She is not orthodox, but just Jewish "because I'm Jewish."

Her sister, on the other hand, lives a completely orthodox Jewish life, complete with two sinks and two sets of dishes. Her sister doesn't accidentally let her skin brush against her husband's as they pass in the hallway during her unclean time. Her sister has kept having children until she finally had a girl (child number 7) because she must have both sons and daughters unless specifically given permission by the Rabbi not to.

I could listen to Noa describe her sister's life endlessly. Noa always describes her with love and a shrug of the shoulders. I always listen torn between completely relating to the sister's way of life that seems so extreme to others and feeling that a lot of the steps (or limiting them on the Sabbath) are completely ridiculous.

And as I scrubbed my second little sink today that would allow me to live an orthodox and Kosher life, I wondered what practices I may have adopted in an effort to follow the Saviour that might be completely ridiculous too.

What's That About?

I have an irrational, disproportionate discomfort with being the last person to comment or ask a question before the end of a class.

In high school and college I would start watching the clock at about ten minutes before the class ended, and no matter how badly I wanted to clarify something, add my insight or answer a question that seemed to be stumping everybody else, I wouldn't let myself do it. Because it might be the last comment of the class. Gasp! And oh dear if it turns out that the question I asked 16 minutes before class ended winds up being the last question. Uugghh! Now I go through this same clock-watching exercise in Sunday School and Relief Society. Thank goodness I wear a watch.

This morning as I suggested a brilliant name for my cousin's fish on her blog, I realized that I kind of have the opposite thing going on for me in cyberspace. If I'm not the first to comment, I pretty much won't do it.

I think it might boil down to the pressure of having to be clever. I can't cope with it. (It's why I'm grateful to have a blog readership of four.)

If I ask the last question it will be what echoes in everyone's brains as they walk out of class. Like saving your bacon for the last bite so you walk away from the table with a bacon-flavored tongue (yumm), but in a bad way. If I comment when others have already typed their witty, loving, insightful words, well... I guess I just won't.

What does this say about my personality? Maybe I should work on this? Well, add it to the list.

Do You Know What Tempts Me To Lie?

When I do Chas's hair and it looks awful. I let them believe he did it himself. I even add that "Santa brought him his very own gel in his stocking."

When one tiny little, turns out to be stinky, toot escapes the hatch. Thank goodness for a baby to blame it on. He doesn't even mind.

When an official, permanent, document asks my weight. I'd tell anyone rather than tell that document that is going to be typed and stare me in the face every time we go through the border for years to come. The irony is that my history will show that nailing down any weight in type would be better what the real weight will be two years from now.

When something costs $1.94 and I bought seven of them. Can I just say they were a dollar each?

When my children are exhausted and cranky at 6:45 on New Year's Eve and I realize that a three hour movie only gets us to quarter of ten. Is setting the clocks forward a lie? Or is it more like optional daylight savings? It sure made for a cheerful New Year's Day.

What Difference Does It Make To Know That I Am A Child of God?

That's the question I'm going to ask the Primary kids in Sharing Time today.

It's hard to imagine not knowing this truth. It's so simple.

And so powerful.

I've known it for so long that I can't remember not knowing it.

But, when I think of it slowly, I think that it makes all the difference in the world.

I think it changes how I treat my neighbours, my enemies, my brothers and sisters.

I think it gives me confidence that I am valuable. And hope that I am heading somewhere.

It gives me patience. Not all the time, of course, but sometimes.

It gives me freedom and peace.

Answer 14--God Answers Children's Prayers Quickly

and then as we grow, He stretches the distance between prayer and answer.

It's an exercise program for our spirits. It starts with one lap and slowly adds a lap here and there until we have great endurance, strong faith, and a bit of patience.

At 5, with a panicked heart, I prayed in a rack of clothes at the department store that I would find my mother. Immediately, she called my name in the way only she does, with the I long and a soft Y in the third syllable.

At 7, when pulling and lotion and my mother did not extricate me and I was still hanging by my entrapped knee from my bunk bed. I prayed. And it simply slipped out.

At 11, I prayed for a friend, and I prayed a second time, and possibly a third time before Melissa Mitchell came along and we worked out a Paula Abdul dance for the school talent show together.

At 17, I had to study it out in my mind. I had to weigh the many college and scholarship decisions that lay scattered across my bed in glossy brochures of smiling undergrads. I had to sense a direction and ponder it and confirm it with the Lord.


Naomi, this week, decided to add fasting to her ongoing prayers "for a friend at school." The waiting period for a trusting 9 year old these days is about 48 hours. And the answers are as clear as glass, so she will have no chance of missing the connection.

Tuesday, through a misunderstanding in gym class, she found herself in the locker room amidst, "Nobody likes you," "You're so mean," and whispers that included her name.

Her one "hopeful" for a friend offered, "I'm sorry about all this," and walked out. But another girl, not even a playmate of hers, stayed.

Then, to make it clearer she said, "You're my friend." 4th graders don't generally talk this way, but Heavenly Father makes the connection very clear for newbies. And so, she said a second time, "You're my friend."

And they sat on the top of the monkey bar dome and planned their school talent show duet. And they ate lunch together. And they had a playdate.

And Naomi sees the Lord's hand in her life.


I see the Lord's hand in my life. But it is slower to see than it used to be. I search more and wait longer.

My muscles are growing.

how do i bear another's burden?

especially when the burden is my spouse's? because those burdens are mine too.

like, when chas was in the hospital the first time. i had a picture of us meeting crisis like a hallmark card. or like an ensign article. or like...well, i don't know...like the music on jodi's blog. all full of rainbows and marriage to your best friend and everything gonna be all right. it was a photo down a long stark hallway of a couple embracing and strengthening each other. it had a hazy lens look.

but, we weren't the picturesque image i imagined we would be. we were real. we were still us. we still bickered. we both felt overwhelmed. we were both worried beyond description. thank heavens we had others to strengthen us. to help us bear those burdens. i wished we could have carried each other. i wished, at the time, that i could sustain him. i wished he could console me.

as we meet challenges again, i wonder how i can deliver him? i don't like to watch people i love struggle. come to think of it, i don't like to struggle myself.

bearing another's burden, when its already a shared load is complicated. its like buying each other christmas gifts out of the same bank account.

do you just watch? like when a kid is throwing up and you sit by them even though its gross.

do you panic too, so that you are truly empathizing and then you both drown together?

do you smile and say it will all be ok and try to create a happy mood around the house which just might be the waterwings for everyone? but maybe that seems oblivious, even callous.

"the fold of God...his people...are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light" (mosiah 18:8)

i'm willing. i just haven't figured it out yet.
that could almost be my life motto. (or my next blog theme.)

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 = ∞.

Does Obedience Irritate Me?

Well, not when it is my children's obedience. That is my quest.

"When obedience ceases to be an irritant and becomes our quest, in that moment God will endow us with power." (Ezra Taft Benson)

I assume this means our own obedience, not that of our children.

Is obedience my quest?

Is That True?

In a mediocre book I'm reading, there was this line from the Moorish Sage to Queen Catherine of England:

"Sometimes it is better to have the right questions than the right answers."

Is that true?

It's certainly true in friendships, I think. "Did that pinch a bit?" Shelley asked me this week. She chose just the right word.

It's definitely true in mothering. "What do you think you're going to do about that?" My mother asked me a hundred times as she sat on the edge of my bed late at night.

It might be helpful to put doctrinal matters into their proper perspective. "Does knowing whether it is Christ's death or His resurrection that overcomes our death affect how I will treat my children and neighbor tomorrow?"

And in small talk when I have to go to dinner with Dallin's boss and his wife. "How does Finland's national radio station compare with CBC?"

And in renovations and home repairs. "What do you think we should do in the basement?"

These questions were a lot more useful than any answers. Maybe the 15th century fictitious doctor in the book is right.

What Role Does Another's Forgiveness Play In Our Lives?

At General Conference in October, the newest apostle, Elder Andersen, said this: "To those who know me, if ever I have been less than I should have been in your presence, I ask for your forgiveness."

I've wondered over this for months now.

Our forgiveness of another is not dependent on their repentance or apology. "I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men." (Doctrine & Covenants 64:10) Our forgiveness of someone who has wronged us frees us and lightens our hearts.

Our own repentance brings the same blessings of freedom and joy.

But what does their forgiveness of us do? Surely their forgiveness of our wrong is not required for us to feel our own burden lifted when we repent.

But, perhaps, the natural consequence of true repentance is that our hearts turn to the happiness of others, and knowing that their ability to forgive us will bless their lives, we hope it for them.

Why Do So Many Things Have To Be Done EVERY Day To Be Effective?

Flossing
Studying Scriptures
Praying
Exercising
Practicing the Piano
Watering the Garden
Putting Lotion on my Dry Heels
Cleaning the Kitchen

I'm the kind of person who would like to pay my car insurance all at once even if it's huge. Would like to wait until the weeds are waist high so that it feels rewarding to get rid of them. And tends to gravitate toward other once-in-a-while sporadic projects.

I'm not so good with this daily endurance stuff. President Uchtdorf: "We don’t acquire eternal life in a sprint—this is a race of endurance." Apparently we don't acquire clean houses, healthy teeth or piano skills in sprints either.

Where's the Parable Of The Weed?

As I weeded for four hours yesterday I had a lot of time to ponder on this.

Why is there no parable of the weed? I wondered.

It would tell of an amazing creature that is impervious to insult, resistant to poison, and blooms despite constant criticism. It sends down deep roots and waits patiently for rain. It spreads itself far and wide and leaves a lasting record of itself when it is plucked out. It isn't picky about location and will often choose to intertwine itself with beautiful friends. Often it flowers with humble little blossoms and cheerfully produces more when those are picked for the kitchen table vase (unlike my tulips.) It doesn't complain of hardships (no sun and no water) the way my lettuce and tomatoes do. It blooms happily on despite being trampled and ignored. It makes the best of whatever comes its way.

Be ye therefore as the weed.

What Was I Thinking?

I was thinking how laid-back and easy going he was. (It was an act.)

Perhaps I was thinking that it was exotic to marry a Canadian.

I think I might have been thinking that we would lie on the grass as he expounded the scriptures to me. (Not too much grass lying has happened since we got married.)

I think I thought life would be a fun ride with him.

I know I was thinking that he said his dream was to live the Gospel.

I wasn't thinking that I would never worry for a day whether he would provide for his family.

I wasn't thinking how his cow-milking work ethic would sustain our marriage in rough patches.

I wasn't thinking that our first date, which cost no money, was a sign of future frugality.

I didn't know how grateful he would be for some of my talents. (Job-security for me.)

I didn't know that I would always feel like the most beautiful, talented woman on the planet in his eyes.

I didn't know how similar we were. Or how young. Or how immature.

I wasn't thinking how much he might need me. I didn't know how much I needed him.

Ten years in, I think it's all working out quite well.

Why Does Christ Descend From Bathsheba?

I've wondered about this for a while. Somehow it didn't seem right for his genealogy to descend from fornication and murder, especially when there were even other wives of David that seemed more suitable (i.e. righteous.) But I have a theory now.

Christ's lineage is one of kings (Solomon) and sinners (David) and converts (Ruth) and prophets (Abraham). It is not chance that His lineage does not follow the most righteous line from Adam to Seth to Noah and down. Just as it was not chance that He was born in a stable. It includes representation of all types of people.

Christ is truly God to all the world--to every race and caste and religion, to every level of righteousness, to converts and to the original chosen people, and...

...to me.

Is Robert Browning Right?

Oh, please, please let it be true.

Grow old along with me!

The best is yet to be,

The last of life, for which the first was made:

Our times are in His hand

Who saith "A whole I planned,

Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!"

...Not for such hopes and fears

Annulling youth's brief years,

Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark!

Rather I prize the doubt

Low kinds exist without,

Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark.

Poor vaunt of life indeed,

Were man but formed to feed

On joy, to solely seek and find and feast:

Such feasting ended, then

As sure an end to men;

Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast?

Rejoice we are allied

To That which doth provide

And not partake, effect and not receive!

A spark disturbs our clod;

Nearer we hold of God

Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe.

Then, welcome each rebuff

That turns earth's smoothness rough,

Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go!

Be our joys three-parts pain!

Strive, and hold cheap the strain;

Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!

...Not once beat "Praise be Thine!

I see the whole design,

I, who saw power, see now love perfect too:

Perfect I call Thy plan:

Thanks that I was a man!

Maker, remake, complete,--I trust what Thou shalt do!"

...Therefore I summon age

To grant youth's heritage,

Life's struggle having so far reached its term:

Thence shall I pass, approved

A man, for aye removed

From the developed brute; a god though in the germ.

And I shall thereupon

Take rest, ere I be gone

Once more on my adventure brave and new:

Fearless and un-perplexed,

When I wage battle next,

What weapons to select, what armour to indue.

...Youth ended, I shall try

My gain or loss thereby;

Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold:

And I shall weigh the same,

Give life its praise or blame:

Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old.

...So, take and use Thy work:

Amend what flaws may lurk,

What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim!

My times be in Thy hand!

Perfect the cup as planned!

Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same!

(Robert Browning)