Perserverance

Who has two normal-colored thumbs and a graveyard of dead plants? This girl.

I'm a wanna-be plant lady. That means that in my life I've tried to grow a lot of things, killed a lot of the things I was trying to grow, and have some things I've managed to keep alive for a while now. I'm by no means an expert, but I have learned some things. Mostly about life, some about plants.

I don't know if this is normal human behavior, but I relate to my houseplants. When I met my red-veined fittonia in Walmart, I felt a thrill and whispered (you guys knew I was weird, right? Because I'm weird . . . ) "Oh, you are beautiful! I'm going to take you home." I found one of my orchids in the clearance section at Smiths. As I examined her wilting leaves and her blossoms that were about to fall I promised that I would take care of her. Granted, I was pregnant at the time, so take that as you will. The point is, I love my plants and see them as the living things they are.

Remember how I told you how I've killed some plants? I've definitely made mistakes. I've forgotten to water, left my basil outside for an aphid snack, and made the mistake of assuming that my first orchid had died because the stems shriveled. As a general rule, it's easier for me to grow houseplants. They're inside where I see them regularly, and they're protected from the elements. However, I tried growing vegetables inside and they didn't get quite enough sun. I got three green beans and a small pepper as a result. Every plant is different. Every circumstance is different. I had to move my pothos from the bathroom because it was too moist. Then I had to move my fittonia into the bathroom because she needed more moisture. I've discovered that even the best gardeners experience weeds, bugs, and diseased plants. What sets them apart from the poor gardeners is that when complications arise, they know how to handle them--or they find out how. Even if their plants die, they find out why, try to fix it, and try again.

Plants need sun and water, right? So, the more the better, yeah? Eh, no. Most people actually overwater their houseplants. "Too much of a good thing" can really apply when dealing with plants. My poor aloe vera has been through the wringer. When I got it, it was a little sunburned. It didn't get enough sun in the bathroom I put it in. (Pinterest got me convinced I needed a plant in my bathroom. I think I tried putting all my plants in the bathroom at one point or another.) I over-corrected and put it on the windowsill to get more sun and it froze on a particularly cold night. I rotted the roots off by watering too much. My kids pinch it because its leaves are so squishy--wait, that's not a good thing. I may have lost my train of argument. You get the idea. The important thing is that you have to pay attention and make little changes until you get it right. Richoteing from one extreme to the other isn't usually the best way to make your corrections. (Also, you should pick hardy plants if you're the "school of hard knocks" kind of gardener.)

We talk a lot about people and their green thumbs. Maybe some people are born with an affinity for plants, but I would venture a guess that keeping things alive is a skill that like so many others, requires practice. You have to know your plants' needs and tendencies and act accordingly. You also have to know yourself and your tendencies. My husband and I have been trying to plan our yard. It's been a long process because 1. I'm more afraid of committing to change than I was to marry my husband, 2. We have more ideas than money, and 3. When we research what we think we want, we've discovered that the plants aren't well suited for our climate, yard, or family. That's okay; we'll keep looking. In the end, what we want is a yard that will look nice but won't require insane amounts of upkeep and water. To plant a tree we thought we wanted because it looked nice but had to worry over because it didn't fit our space and needs would deny us our ultimate goals.

This is my avocado tree. I sprouted it from a seed last summer. Unfortunately, I didn't let it get enough sun and it was awfully leggy. When I discovered my mistake, I put it outside for an afternoon to get it more sun. Instead of having a vacation in the sun, he experienced trauma when my kids put a tricycle tire around him and broke him. I didn't have a lot of hope, but I did my best to nurse him back to health. I put him in a cast and splint, and wouldn't you know it, he recovered.

I don't know if you can see the little knobby bit midway between the soil level and the clip holding the stem to the brace, but that's the place that used to be weak and damaged. Just like a broken bone, the tree healed itself, leaving that spot stronger than it had been before.

After removing the supports, the stem was fine on its own. It even withstood a helicopter crash.

That's when I stepped in with my well-meaning but harmful meddling. *Cringe.*

Because he was so leggy, this little guy had one really big leaf and some teeny tiny leaves. I decided to pinch things back in order to promote growth. This is an actual strategy that has worked when I've done it properly. But this was my first time, and I didn't know what I was doing. I pinched too much and killed the stem.

"But," you say, "Why tell us all this about your avocado tree if its life was so brutish and short?"

Because that was just one stem.

I often mistake lack of blooms for death. I mentioned my first orchid earlier, but when the shoots started to shrivel, I assumed I had killed it. Plants, like people, have periods of latency in which they are alive, but not visibly growing because they are resting, developing stronger roots, and preparing for the next time they blossom. I dumped a whole orchid because I deemed it worthless based upon its appearance. It still saddens me to think on it.

Meanwhile, you're wondering about my avocado tree. As I watched, in the aftermath of my pruning, the stem blackened and shriveled. I cursed myself. What was I thinking? This was the comeback kid. Everyone loves the story of an underdog, and I had killed it. I was so remorseful that I couldn't bring myself to toss him. I kept him on my shelf as a reminder of what a horrible person I was and watered him periodically because I was in denial.

Then, one day, a tiny leaf appeared at the base of the stem. I thought this stem might pull through. It didn't, but the tree had sent up another shoot. Forking from just below the surface, a new stem had split from the original. Healthy and green, my avocado is healthier than before. Despite all the terrible things that have happened, he continues to reach for the light and keep growing.

The internet tells me I'm basically a houseplant, but with more complicated emotions. Whether you're a houseplant or a gardener, take care of yourself: Look to the light and never give up.


 

Please Help Me Fine-Tune My Poem

Today's thought(s) came in the form of a poem. I've dabbled in poetry in the past, but it is still an elusive beast that I struggle with. I enjoy it, but as my dad sometimes says (and he may be quoting somebody, but I'm paraphrasing), poetry can be a lot of pretentious nonsense.

So, here's my pretense. To me it isn't nonsense, though, so if you have thoughts or constructive criticisms for better conveying my sentiments, I would welcome them. As well as any suggestions for a title.

"Go to sleep."

"Go to sleep," I said
"so that your body can rest and grow big
and tall and be healthy
and strong."

"Oh!"

And her eyes light up. Eyes reflecting
the joys of life, back
and forth so many times that I'm awed
to stand at the center and find that the source of all this happiness
is right here before me.

"Oh!" she says,
"I sleep, I wake up, and I be big and strong
and big like you, mama?
I sleep!"

And I laugh because science says that even now, at this peak
of growth, she only adds four inches a year, which works out to be .01 (repeating forever) inches a day.
A change which would still be imperceptible to either of our eyes.

But I pause at the door

Because last night, I kissed a baby girl, tucked her in, and told her to
"Go to sleep."

This morning, that same girl leapt from her bed, spoke in full sentences,
and awakened me.

No more sleep.

Allow Time to Digest

A couple of days ago, something happened that stirred up a lot of people. You may be tired of hearing about that thing. This post is not a response to that thing, but rather a response to the responses to that thing. And a few other things.

First off, this thing that happened deeply upset a lot of people. That's why I was disappointed by the lack of patience, love, and attempts at understanding that I witnessed from both sides. Even some of those who were seemingly attempting to respond with love still came across as a bit cold and hurtful. I read many comment threads in which those who were grappling with this new information were further battered, rather than comforted.

We all believe certain things to be true, but there are some things (and certain times) that we don't need to share, regardless of their truth. It may be a fact that my dear friend is overweight. There is no time that I feel justified in pointing that truth out to her. It would not be kind. It would not build our friendship. It would not be helpful. Very often, these truths that we feel inclined to share at inopportune times are well-known by those with whom we are sharing. "Reminding them" does nothing but scrape an open wound they are attempting to heal.

When an issue like this becomes front and center, we feel a need to do something. Say something. Respond in some way. But hasty responses can do a lot of harm that we may never be aware of. I admire the friend who, upon learning this news, was somewhat hurt and confused, but responded, "I need some time to digest this." This is a matter that may require a bit of time to resolve. Some of us may never be 100% okay with it. I don't think that means that we still can't have strong testimonies. One of the more rankling comments I repeatedly hear is something to the effect of, "If you believe the prophet speaks with God to give us revelation then you shouldn't have any doubts." I respectfully disagree. I have a very strong testimony that the prophet, Thomas S. Monson, speaks for the Lord. That does not mean I have never felt anxious, concerned, confused, or sad about anything--even commandments or policies. It feels a little uncomfortable at times. I would say it even hurts. But I also believe that those times I am hurting are stretching me, molding me, and making me stronger. Eventually. In the meantime though, I feel a bit weak, vulnerable, and I need a little bit of extra love and understanding. The last thing I need is for people to freak out because I'm unsteady.

I sat in a church lesson awhile ago that made me squirm. The lesson was based on Rosemary M. Wixom's talk, "Returning to Faith." I loved this talk. The teacher didn't though, and admitted it up front. It made this teacher uneasy to listen to a story of a young mother who had questions about the gospel. And this concern/panic began before the young mother had even left the church--it was off and running at the first mention of doubt. And throughout the young mother's story of questioning, learning, growing, and returning to the church, this well-meaning teacher continued to interject expressions of alarm. It made me incredibly uncomfortable to see what had been for me a calming, reassuring lesson in persisting in spite of doubts turned on its head.

I saw this same discomfort with others' uncertainty present in the faith-filled responses of many. I am very glad that there are so many strong members who have not struggled with this issue. If you are one of them, I commend you. I also ask though, that you be patient with the rest of us. This is a sensitive issue that can merit some deep concerns. They will likely not be resolved in immediate response to something seen on social media, or shared by friends. It is great that you have answers as to why this thing is right and good, but those are your answers. You can feel free to share them if it feels right, but be prepared to realize that they may not assuage the anxiety of those in the midst of questioning. They will need to find their own answers in their own time. As much as we may wish to fix the problems of others and heal their hurts, we can't always do so. Occasionally, we may only offer hugs and prayers as others undergo their trials of faith. They, in time, can be prepared to do the same for us when we encounter our own uncertainties.

I think it's worth noting that not everyone who asks why is on their way to leaving the church. For those who are, it is not something that will come easily. Many who leave have struggled to stay for a long time. The gospel has become an integral part of them, and separating themselves from something that has been so dear to them for so long causes a great deal of pain. I think that whether our doubts lead us to apostasy or not, we all need a gentle environment in which to question.

Remember those things we believe but don't need to share? I keep hearing a lot of people saying, "I see this as a weeding-out of members." *Cringe.* I don't doubt that this issue will try many. It may even be a reason for departure from the church for many. I'm not going to bring that opinion to a public forum where struggling members may read it. 

You know the thing about weeding? I have zealously weeded strange plants from my flower beds only to discover months later that these "weeds" were some of the most beautiful flowers. I just wasn't familiar enough with them to properly distinguish them from weeds. We also learn from the parable of the wheat and the tares that if we attempt to weed in areas where wheat and tares have grown together, pulling the tares can result in the loss of some wheat. For that reason, tares were allowed to grow up with the wheat, and were sorted after harvest.

This is not my garden. These wheat, tares, flowers, and weeds are real people--our friends, our family, and those in our neighborhoods. Their souls are what's at stake here, not just a few missed flowers. That is why I trust the care of this garden to an all-wise gardener. As Hugh B. Brown's brilliant talk (which was made into a lovely Mormon Message) states in its title, "God Is the Gardener." This entire issue is one that I don't completely understand. My only peace comes from knowing that God is the one who is doing the weeding and pruning. Let's leave that to Him, please.

As we engage in tricky discussions, let's do our best to make our love and understanding increase relative to the sensitivity of the issues. While we may speak out in favor of our beliefs or correct factual inaccuracies, we should engage in such discussions with the utmost care. Regardless of whether we fully accept changes yet or not we all need love at this challenging time. Allow time for the Spirit to work in others so that they may receive their own answers and support them. Realize that, despite your wishes, you may not have their answer, and that's okay. Above all, remember that we are all children of God, and our words can deeply affect each other. 

"Be thou humble; and the Lord thy God shall lead thee by the hand, and give thee answer to thy prayers.

I know thy heart, and have heard thy prayers concerning thy brethren. Be not partial towards them in love above many others, but let thy love be for them as for thyself; and let thy love abound unto all men, and unto all who love my name."

(D&C 112:10-11)

My Child Screams; I'm Trying Not To.

Time for me to come clean.

There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting
There was a time
Then it all went wrong . . .

Wait . . . that's not my confession--that's the introduction to "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Miserables. Not quite the same, but sort of. What I meant to say was:

There was a time when kids would scream
and it meant they were spoiled
and their parents were slacking
There was a time
Then my thoughts were foiled!

Because really, I used to be one of those young people with no parenting experience who would hear the wailings of toddlers and small children and think, "My goodness! Can't you make them stop?" And worse, beyond thinking that, I honestly believed it. I truly thought that about 80% of the time parents could make their children stop screaming by sheer force of excellent parenting.

It is with humble heart (and a screaming toddler) that I approach the internet to say I'm sorry. And wrong. And tired of failing to understand what's wrong. Because everything. Warrants. A scream.

Now, please don't gloat. (You're doing it anyway! I can feel your smugness over the network connection, now stop it!) We all learn different things at different times, and I was just slower on this one, all right? Besides, think back to when it was you, be the bigger person, and find it in your soul to pity me. Recall the first--no matter how early or late in your child's life--time you realized that your "precious sweetums" (No, of course I don't call my kid that, but if YOU do, that's lovely!) was not actually a full-blooded angel. Not because angels don't have blood, but because your child was not behaving in an angelic manner. It's a disappointing moment, but you know, it happens.

The time will come when the adorable larva that once rolled on your floor will take his or her first steps, and you will think it is sweet--until those steps lead them up to the kitchen table at every opportunity of unsupervision. Soft gurgles and laughs will turn to high-pitched shrieks of anger and a mischievous cackle that you just don't trust. And as these--and other just as horrifying--things happen, you will ask yourself what it is you're doing wrong or what more you could do to stop these uncivilized behaviors. I hope at this point you will come to the same conclusion that I have: you can do nothing. I am only half kidding.

Sure, you can do the normal parent stuff--the stuff you're probably already doing--but when it comes down to it, just realize that most of this is happening not because you're a bad parent. It's simply happening because you're raising a precocious 15 month old who thinks the terrible twos sound like great fun. Of course, I can really only speak from my own experience, so maybe your child really is spoiled (please read this with a good-natured tone and smile injected), but I think when your child's personality outgrows his or her language development, you're bound to experience some frustration.

Shall I add insult to injury? The other day we were watching Super Why!--which we sometimes do when the day is long and the sounds of despair are many--and we caught an episode in which the Super Readers' friend, Wolfie (Wolfy? Wolfee? I'm sticking with Wolfie.), kept growling because he was upset. The moral of that story was "Use your words!" Which is great, except, guess what? Sporadic vocabulary of maybe three words--none of which is "words." So, that's awesome.

At least we're to the point now where I can tell she understands some of my words. That's a start, right? I was extremely excited the day I told Melody "No!" and she understood. Little did I realize how much more frustrating it is to be heard, understood, and ignored than it is to simply not be understood. With limited communication skills and even less patience, what's a mom to do?

Hang in there, I guess. Enjoy the screams from bed that mean "I'm awake and ready to come out!" Bask in the screams from the other side of the bathroom door that mean "MOM! What are you doing in there, and why can't I come in?" Revel in the screams that mean "That thing you're doing looks fun! Let me do it with you. And climb on you. And throw books in your face. And stick my finger up your nose, and . . . Mom, why aren't we doing that fun thing anymore, mom . . . ?" and all the other cryptic screams that set your teeth to gritting.

But better than that, enjoy (wholly and sincerely) the moments when she does heed your commands. When she throws her arms around you and hugs you so tightly that you wish your day would stop and all afternoon could just be little arms, a head on your shoulder, and happy smiles. Meditate upon watching her set out her play dishes, fold her arms, and "pray" before "eating." Savor seeing her lay down on the floor next to her daddy and snuggle her head into the crook of his elbow. Pay attention to the sweet moments of joy and let them blur the memory of tantrums. In doing so, you may become aware of just how much more frequently the cute and well-behaved make an appearance than the out-of-control and bratty. To quote Pollyanna (who was not actually quoting Abraham Lincoln), "When you look for the bad in mankind expecting to find it, you surely will." Now, take that, invert it, and don't be too hard on yourself: you're raising quite an enjoyable child.

Peace Like a River

Oh, this world we're living in.

It seems like each day, there's something new to be riled up about. I am occasionally blinded by confusion over happenings in the country (Candidates, ugh!), my family (Having to accept the choices of others can stink), and even the church, occasionally (Heartburn over the situation with the BSA). Instead of seeing “Trees of green, red roses, too . . . ,” in this wonderful world, I can get caught up in the trials I witness and the issues I can't understand. In these times, I call upon my faith and one of my favorite paraphrases of scripture: “Peace like a river.”

The concept of having peace like a river shows up many places in scripture and has been turned into some lovely songs. I love the imagery that comes each time the scriptures mention rivers. As Lehi reminds us in 1 Nephi 2:9, they are continually flowing. We can count on the river to be constantly moving—always forward, regardless of the obstacles that may be encountered.

I have loved the peace like a river metaphor for awhile now, but time and thought deepen my love and understanding of the phrase. When I originally took note, I think I imagined the beauty and calm of a river segment somewhat like this one. It didn't take me long before I realized that rivers don't always look so placid. Sometimes they look like this, this, or even this. (At this point, you're probably very glad that I've shown you all these pictures of rivers, since you may not have known what I was talking about in the beginning. Be advised that I am now talking about the river in all its incarnations. Except this one.)

Not all of these rivers seemed calm to me. And yet . . . I was oddly okay with the phrase “Peace like a river” applying to each of them. Examining all, I found that rivers, regardless of their state of flowing, bring me peace.

But how? And does the analogy apply in less than tranquil cases? I submit to you that yes, it does. I believe it is possible to experience peace in situations that would seemingly leave us battered and breathless against the endless stones and torrents.

The Guide to the Scriptures gives the following insight/definition to the word peace: “In the scriptures, peace can mean either freedom from conflict and turmoil or the inner calm and comfort born of the Spirit that God gives to his faithful Saints.”

God can take us out of the conflict, but he often takes the conflict out of us.

D&C 121:33 prompts some thought: 

How long can rolling waters remain impure? What power shall stay the heavens? As well might man stretch forth his puny arm to stop the Missouri river in its decreed course, or to turn it up stream, as to hinder the Almighty from pouring down knowledge from heaven upon the heads of the Latter-day Saints.

Paul echoes these assurances; “And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:7).”

The flow of the water isn't always slow and easy, but it's at the most turbulent moments that the river can be most powerful—if we can only endure to partake of the clarity of mind available to us. As the scripture in Philippians suggests, we may not understand how, but the peace of God can trump all understanding—or lack thereof, and keep us focused on the Savior. And, as we learn from Nephi, if we live according to the commandments, “then [will] thy peace [be] as a river, and thy righteousness as the waves of the sea (1 Nephi 20:18).” We, like the river, can become an unstoppable force for good.

Henry B. Eyring said it this way:

If we have faith in Jesus Christ, the hardest as well as the easiest times in life can be a blessing. In all conditions, we can choose the right with the guidance of the Spirit. We have the gospel of Jesus Christ to shape and guide our lives if we choose it. And with prophets revealing to us our place in the plan of salvation, we can live with perfect hope and a feeling of peace. We never need to feel that we are alone or unloved in the Lord’s service because we never are. We can feel the love of God. The Savior has promised angels on our left and our right to bear us up. And He always keeps His word. ("Mountains to Climb," April 2012, Emphasis added.)

I conclude with some lyrics from one of my favorite songs and a few more thoughts.

So, hold on thy way,

For I shall be with thee.

And my angels shall encircle thee.

Doubt not what thou knowest,

Fear not man, for he

Cannot hurt thee. . . .

My kindness shall not depart from thee.

("My Kindness Shall Not Depart From Thee," Words and Music by Rob Gardner)

Yes, I sometimes experience frustrations, and life can be filled with turmoil. But without my faith in the Lord, Jesus Christ, and His atonement, I would be forever hopeless, depressed, and anxious. If my testimony were in the feeling I get when I go to church, the organization of it, people who attend, or even the character of the leadership of the church, I would have left long ago. It is not; however, so I have not, and I will not. Whatever else may happen in my life, I continue to have faith in God and cannot deny the truthfulness of the gospel nor the critical way in which I need Jesus Christ's atonement. So, amid the rocks and rapids of the world, church, and family, I will continue downstream with the peace that comes from doing what I know I need to do.

(BONUS: I love this talk by Elder Neal A. Maxwell, but didn't use it. Please enjoy it--the parts that are relevant to this topic, and those that aren't, but are still great!)

Abandoning Perfectionism for the Hope of Perfection

I've never really liked New Year's Resolutions. You'll get a better taste of why by the end of this post, but suffice it to say that I have to approach my goal setting in a little different way than is traditionally presented because I hate that so many resolutions are made, broken, and abandoned by the beginning of February. I've been thinking about some of the goals that people make, and I've decided that I like the whole “I'm giving up _______,” thing. You know, like, some people give up sugar, soda, or carbs. Except, I've decided that I'm going to be giving up my expectations for perfection and the guilt/disappointment I experience when my [perfect] goals aren't met.

It's a hard line to walk—the one at the juncture of “I love myself just the way I am,” and “I strive to be better every day.” I've spent my whole life pinballing between my pursuit of perfection (accompanied by a side of heavy self-criticism, a dose of depression, and a dash of guilt) and my couch of apathy (which, oddly enough, seems to come with the very same side-effects.) And, as I find myself ricocheting from one end of the continuum to the other, I keep praying that I will be suddenly sucked into a gravity well that will keep me in the, of course, perfect balance of accepting myself and being my best.

It hasn't happened yet.

But I hope every day that, like the graph of y(x)=e^-x∙cos(2πx), as I approach infinity, my amplitude will continue to approach zero as I attempt to better myself. Unfortunately, just like the complex equation given above, I find that I can only continue to approach my “zero” (which in this case is perfection)--I can't actually reach it. Bummer.

This is a frustration that has affected every aspect of my life for . . . pretty much always. Ask my mom about doing my hair when I was little (Me: “My ponytail is bumpy, mom! I want it to be smooth!” Mom: “Malinda, it looks fine. Nobody can even tell!” Me: “But I can feel it, and it's bumpy!”). My wanting everything to be perfect stuck with me for awhile and was something everyone around me paid for, not just myself.

However, I recently (just before cutting my hair) made peace with the idea that it's okay for some hairdos to be a little messy. I stopped plastering my fly-aways to my head with hairspray and was finally able to do some cute inside-out ponytails and buns—which I had never been able to do before because I ran the risk of ruining my perfect ponies.

Another long-standing habit I kicked? Plucking my eyebrows. This was a big deal. In about ninth grade I decided I was done with bushy eyebrows and started compulsively plucking. This was . . . not a good idea. I went through years of trying to fix what I had done those many years ago, convinced that the only way to fix things was to keep pulling my eyebrows off my face. It was awkward. My grandpa commented on their unevenness, my mom told me I needed to stop, and even after I was in college, a guy in choir commented on my “unique” eyebrows. Anyway, after years of wondering what to do with one eyebrow that grows up and another that grows down, I decided to leave them alone.

Actually, I gave myself an overly simplistic Economics lesson first. It went something like this: “Self, there's a quantity and a price for beauty here. The price can be money and time, and the quantity can be determined by the question “Just how beautiful am I aiming to be?” If I'm honest with myself, there is an amount of time and money spent on my beautification process which I find to be worthwhile. Once I exceed a certain time or price, though, I find that reaching the “Supermodel” side of the x-axis is not actually that important to me. When I find the place on the graph where I'm willing to pay the price for the results I'm getting, it doesn't make sense for me to try to do more.”

This is exactly what happened with my eyebrows, and actually, I've found that the more natural look compliments the shape of my face better than any other I've had. I have applied this same concept to the amount of make-up I wear (I've stopped trying to cover my pimples—I was actually just making things look worse there, too), the style vs. price of my clothes, and (don't tell anyone!) the frequency with which I shave my legs. By letting a few things slip out of my “beauty routine,” I have found that I can still look and feel just as good—or better—without spending quite as much time and energy on things that weren't as important to me as I once thought. As my dad said the other day “Getting beautiful? Well, I thought you were beautiful before, so you apparently wasted all that time!”

I have tried to apply this same concept to my approach to housecleaning. I am still working to accept that some days I just won't get around to laundry and dishes, but I have tried to minimize the frustration I experience when some things just don't have a place, and others aren't in their given place. I am trying to make my housecleaning mantra: “Is my home clean enough that my family and I can feel the Spirit? [If yes,] Then what else matters?”

There are things about my house that matter. I am not going to become a hoarder and endanger anyone's health, but if our dishes are clean enough to eat off of, why do I need to worry about my floors meeting that standard? If my family is safe and we can enjoy our time at home, perhaps the hours I could spend scrubbing every surface to perfection could be better employed teaching my children how to love and care for each other—or keeping myself mentally and spiritually aligned so that I myself can add to an atmosphere of peace and comfort.

Of course, it's easier for me to write about these changes than it is for me to actually enact them. I slide back (frequently). And it's simpler to tackle the things that people see than it is for me to handle the inner, personal habits that few know about. I feel safer discussing confessions like “I don't want to lose weight, but I want to live healthily!” and “I don't just want to look good—I want to be good,” than I do admitting “I have a real problem trading my criticality for charity,” or “Sometimes I feel like a nasty person. Then I consider how blessed I've been and I feel even worse about being the way that I am.” These are the issues I would rather sweep behind my fridge and ignore than have to deal with. But they are oh, so more important than messy corners.

In conclusion, setting goals is hard for me. What begins as a gimmick that most people forget by February transforms into a thorough evaluation of my whole life and a long process from which I emerge blue, battered, and somehow bearing deep symbolism that may or may not be helpful as I proceed with my life. But I end with the same tone with which I began. To quote Elder Neal A. Maxwell,

Just as doubt, despair, and desensitization go together, so do faith, hope, charity, and patience. The latter qualities must be carefully and constantly nurtured, however, whereas doubt and despair, like dandelions, need little encouragement in order to sprout and spread. Alas, despair comes so naturally to the natural man!

Patience . . . permits us to deal more evenly with the unevenness of life’s experiences.
("Hope Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ," October 1998)

I know I have my limits. I just hope that *MATH ALERT*  like the graph from the beginning of this entry, my limit as x approaches infinity will be zero. Or, (for those of you who understandably panicked at the previous sentence) that as time goes by, I will continue to make fewer and fewer mistakes.

For this next year, my plan is to do the best that I can to improve myself while also better coping with unhelpful guilt and disappointment that will come as I try and fail to change. For me, this plan will include daily prayer and scripture study, trading out time and effort spent on activities that hold less value to me in order to spend more time doing what I love, and journaling regularly to assess my progress. 

In short, I think that this year my goal will be that rather than shame myself, I will instead use my goals to make me happier. It seems that one of the best ways to approach my resolutions would be with gratitude that I can even change at all. As Josh Groban sings in “Thankful,” there is indeed So much to be thankful for.

Happy New Year from the Streets!

 

Great Expectations

I often find that big life events don't turn out much like I expected. They aren't necessarily awful, they just leave me wishing that I hadn't imagined them so much that I got a totally unrealistic idea of how they would be. I think the only time I wasn't let-down in my expectations was when I went to kindergarten.

When I was in the pre-kindergarten phase, I was obsessed with going to school. I would load the diaper bag with every book that I could and carry it to the front door to imagine that I was going to school. (Kudos to my mom for allowing me to string a trail of books to the front door on a regular basis. Also, for not ruining my fantasies by telling me about how truly awful school can be sometimes—say, as an eighth grader.) I found it unfathomable (“It means without fathom”) that I would ever be cool enough to go where the BIG kids go—the elementary school—let alone graduate from a university and be a mom. And yet here I am. How did this happen? It sort of went like this . . .

One day, I finally DID get to go to kindergarten. I put on my [empty] backpack, my mom took a picture of me, and I went to class. It. Was. Awesome. We decorated paper cutouts so they looked like us—and they were almost half my size! Mine had mismatched blue button eyes, approximately three strands of light brown yarn hair, and a scrap of fabric that I would guarantee would not adhere to the For Strength of Youth modesty guidelines, but I was so proud. Later, we rotated through several activities. We played with blocks, and there was a large plastic trough full of water that we got to dip toys in to play, and we listened to Raffi (you may know him for his masterpiece, “Down by the Bay”). It was so wonderful. The only problem was that apparently the book on tape about some pigs that we got to listen to had a song at the end, but my partner rewound the tape before we got to hear it. Other than that, it was just as great as I thought it would be. With promises of finger painting, the trough being filled with a new substance, and the thought that I would get to hear the pig song, I was looking forward to my next week of Kindergarten. Then we had our assessments, and it was determined that I was better suited for first grade. My kindergarten experience had come to an end.

First grade, though! It would be even better because most of my friends were there, anyway. I think as I pictured walking into my first day in Mrs. Munk's classroom, I envisioned that it would be something like the Arthur theme song: I would be surrounded by my teacher, my friends, and some other kids who would all say “Hey!” What a wonderful kind of day.

It wasn't like that, but it was still pretty good. I've found that most of the so-called “big” events in my life have been kind of like that. Not quite what I expected, but still good. A bit anti-climactic, but good. I expected something crazy important and big each school year. Then I would sometimes be disappointed and a bit surprised to discover that this year, like the last, was good. The same thing happened with my high school graduation. The whole bit seemed surreal, but when it was all over I found myself thinking “That's it?” And life went on with some ups and some downs, but really I just found that things were very much the same as they were when I was in high school, and so on.

I have since discovered that dating someone is very much like being single, except that you're dating someone. And when I got married, my wedding day was a very exciting, happy day that made my life after just that much better. I had many people ask how life was being pregnant. Well, it was a lot like life, but I was pregnant. Now I'm a mom, and I love it. However, with all the time spent thinking about what it would be like, I would think my dreams would share a bit more fidelity with my current reality. Much like I haven't noticed day-to-day differences in the mirror, I still don't feel like my life has changed until I look back through snapshots of time and discover there are major differences. I wouldn't trade my current situation for what I thought it would be, though. I don't think my reality's broken, I think it has to do with my expectations. Maybe I need to finish kindergarten and renew my imagination.

What Can I Say?

Note: I started this yesterday, but wanted to make sure it was better than just a first draft. It is now finished and of a quality as I feel befits the topic.

“Now the thing about having a baby—and I can't be the first person to have noticed this—is that thereafter you have it.”

—Jean Kerr

I asked a lot of questions after I had my baby, Melody: “Is this pain NORMAL?” “Will waking up at this hour become NORMAL?” “Is it NORMAL for a baby's bellybutton to bleed like this?” “Will my bellybutton ever look NORMAL again?” You know, the normal stuff. And some of the questions were easily answered (“Duh. Having a baby is a painful process,” and “As long as it doesn't get red, puffy, ooze, or smell bad, it's alright to have some bleeding when a baby's umbilical cord comes off.”) Others have taken more time to resolve (“Will we ever have a NORMAL schedule again?” remains to be seen. And really, it was odd how much my stretched outie that used to be an innie resembled Melody's when her umbilical cord came off, but that's far beyond the point I'm trying to make.)

Other people asked me questions, too, but I felt like some of them were trick questions or something. I had no idea how to answer them.

“So are things back to NORMAL, yet?” Umm . . . are things ever NORMAL after you have a kid? Entrapment! I didn't even dare hazard a guess. If I said “no” would they laugh with the knowledge that things were never going to be NORMAL again? And if I said “yes” would they laugh with the knowledge that things were never going to be NORMAL again, but I desperately wanted them to be, so I was lying? Hormones made me overthink everything.

And would you like to compose a Tweet (140 characters or less!) detailing a life-changing event and how you have felt since this experience? You only have 30 seconds to do so, and the people who will read it may or may not actually care about what you have to say. Go on—begin!

This is how I feel when asked what it's like being a mother. There's the short answer, “Good,” that has become my answer of choice, but that doesn't come close to describing what it's actually like.

I could go for humorous, but I don't feel right about being flippant about something so special just because I'm incapable of concisely putting my feelings into words. Even assuming I could, it would take awhile. Have you ever asked a stranger how they're doing, had them respond with a lengthy run-down of all their sorrows, and thought “Whoops! They actually answered the question, 'bless their heart!'”? Because of the nature of the question, I didn't want to go into a detailed answer for someone who was only asking out of habit or courtesy and didn't actually want to hear everything I had to say about being a mother.

Those who casually ask typically accept “Good” and move on. Those who would listen are usually parents themselves, so they smile sympathetically and nod. I think they're well aware of and sypathetic to my conundrum.

I feel my honest, lengthy answer worth recording, though, so here it is (with some of the more personal insights being removed and saved for my own private record).

Things changed when I became a mother. Even though it's only been a little over a month, I see things completely differently. I've been blessed with some wonderful gospel insights in connection with being a mother/parent.

I tend to be a bit critical of myself. Prior to parenthood, I had a rough patch when I was trying to define my worth to my Father in Heaven based on my accomplishments. Did He still love me, even though it had been months since my last good scripture study session? My house was dirty, I frequently missed my prayers, and I sometimes yelled at my husband—did that cut me off from my Father's love? I knew that wasn't how it worked, but it was just after giving birth that I got a bit more understanding about what true love was and how my Heavenly Father might feel about His children—me included.

I had been anxious about loving my baby. What if, somehow, I didn't love her when she was born? After all, I knew nothing about her. I discovered that, despite my concerns, I loved her as soon as she was born. It wasn't because of what she had been, because prior to this, she'd only been a flutter inside of me. And it wasn't because of what she was doing, because she came right out and peed on me. But I didn't care about any of that because I was her mom and I had done so much for her and I had such hopes for who she would be later. So I saw that who I had been and what I was doing currently was not nearly so important as what I would be. And Heavenly Father will always love me because He is my Father and He has great hopes for what I will allow Him to make of me.

Sometimes, when Melody gets too tired before her feedings, she fights me a little when I try to give her the thing that she really needs—and wants, if she weren't too young and tired to realize it. I thought of the scripture “Can a woman forget her suckling child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee” (Isaiah 49). I would imagine there are times when I am too inexperienced and tired to know what I need/truly want. As I fight what the Lord is trying to do for me, a situation I find most frustrating when Melody does it to me, He never forsakes me. He may step back to give me time to calm down and realize what I truly want, but He would never get so upset that He would throw up His hands, exclaim “FINE! Starve yourself,” and then leave me forever. He is infinitely patient, and “[H]is arm of mercy is extended towards [us]” (Jacob 6:5)—ready to welcome us home when, like the prodigal son, we calm down and “come to ourselves” (Luke 15:17).

It's been a humbling experience having a baby who completely relies on me for all her needs. For the first few days, she really only cried when she had a need. So I could feed her, burp her, or change her and she would stop crying.

And I thought: I am so good at this.

But then she started crying more often. Just because. And it seemed to me that I could take care of everything for her and she would STILL cry. So I started to feel like a failure. But I realized that was ridiculous. By condemning myself because my baby cried, I was similarly judging every mother whose baby cried to be a failure—which I would never do. Because it's an outrageous criteria for “successful” motherhood. Instead, I had to humble myself and admit that I'm not as cool as I thought. I can't solve every problem for Melody—and even if I could, it wouldn't always be best. Sometimes, as much as I hate to admit it and think about it, she will be sad, regardless of what I do for her. It hurts me to think ahead to worse things that I won't be able to rescue her from, but I know it will be okay. Heavenly Father teaches us and allows us agency to choose; I can try to do the same for my children.

The learning curve for parenthood has been incredibly steep. But the lessons I have already been blessed with have been more than worth it. My understanding of charity has become a bit clearer and I feel I have been able to progress in my efforts to be a little more like my Heavenly Father. They are small steps, but He has let me know that what I am doing is good.

Will I ever be NORMAL again? If NORMAL was my life and spiritual progress prior to Melody, I hope not. I've never really cared for the “Don't change a thing!” expressions. For some people “Don't ever change!” (with 'ever' being underlined three times) was a yearbook favorite. But while reflecting on what people had written, I would find myself thinking “I'm glad you like me the way I am, but don't confine me to being this way forever. I hope I will change, if only for the better.”

So I try not to wish for pre-Melody norms. Because although my bellybutton now seems to resemble its former self, I know that my spirituality has grown in a way that can never be diminished. And those changes dwarf any minor physical changes so as to make them seem irrelevant. “Will my bellybutton ever look normal again?” Psh. Like I care.