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.


 

Phoning It in

Improving my life was as easy as watching Netflix.

BAHAHAHA . . . yeah, right.

I took a break from Facebook in the month between my birthday and Christmas. I had already taken a ten day break and gotten back into my old habits of endlessly scrolling. That was when I realized that I required a serious detox; I was facing the holidays, the last few weeks of the semester, and the possible onset of seasonal depression. I quit cold turkey and loved it. I was better able to focus, I was more productive, I "had more time," and felt better overall.

The thing about social media is that it occupies my time, my brain, my eyes, and my hands. So if I'm scrolling, that is pretty much all I'm doing. This became apparent when I found myself looking to occupy myself while nursing. Phone in hand, but "unable" to access Facebook, I searched my apps and arrived in YouTube. I know that ideally I would have filled this gap in my behavior by reading a book, but trading up is better than staying where you are.

My stint on YouTube taught me the importance of knowing what I want from my media. Was I hoping to learn something? Feel something? Even if I was just looking to be entertained, making the conscious decision and searching for something that I was interested in was a more direct and efficient way of being entertained than Facebook scrolling. I found some vloggers I really enjoyed and learned a bit more about psychology, home, and financial planning. I tried to find videos that made me excited to do and be more. And, because I could passively watch, I could do other things at the same time.

I didn't give up my phone. It's actually possible that I used my phone even more. But I also used it more mindfully than I had been using it. Yeah, I watched a ton of Netflix. Like, I binged this ridiculous cop show that stars Josh Groban in less than a week. But I also got back in the habit of running every day. I gave back into my love of true crime via podcast, but I also got my dishes done, read my scriptures, and did some laundry. I don't want to tell you that giving up Facebook made me into Wonder Woman, but as I look back on winters past, I've done much better thus far. I still have days when I lose my patience and yell at my kids, have a messy house, or think I've submitted an assignment when I haven't. The difference is that I haven't spiralled out of control and continued to berate myself for all the ways I'm failing while compounding the problem by wasting more time and comparing myself against Facebook's Greatest Hits.

This wasn't a scientific study. I didn't isolate variables, so there's no way for me to know if this was a correlative or a causative relation. However, in Charles Duhigg's The Power of Habit: Why We Do What We Do in Life and Business, Duhigg describes something he calls keystone habits. Keystone habits are changes in routine that when implemented, are catalysts toward greater transformations than many other possible habits. Exercise and getting up earlier are keystone habits. I feel like for me, giving up Facebook was one of these keystone habits.  

As I approached the designated end to this experiment, I debated coming back. I'm afraid of a relapse. However, I cling to the concept that social media links me with friends and family that I am not ambitious enough to keep in touch with by more traditional means. So, I'm back, but I'm aware. I've set up some rules for myself so that I maintain control. I only log into Facebook on a computer, not on my phone. Rather than being an everyday occurrence, I'll pop in once a week ("Facebook Fridays!" *Gagging* How do I live with myself?) for half an hour. Limiting my time makes it more likely that as I'm logged in, I'll have specific people I'll want to check in on.

I heard an analogy in church once. Technology is a tool. We wouldn't grab a hammer and just start hitting things with it. We wouldn't find ourselves holding a hammer and think, "Hmm . . . I wonder what I could fix with this?" Rather, when we were working on a project that required a hammer, we'd fetch the hammer. My Facebook habits were me wandering aimlessly with a hammer, hitting random things and hoping I'd get something out of the experience. Surprise, surprise: I didn't. Ironically, I got much more out of intentionally binging Netflix. So, I guess what I'm saying here is: whatever you do, do it with purpose.  

The end.

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)

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!

 

Why CAN'T We Be Friends?

Once upon a time my computer died so I couldn't write any blog posts for awhile. This was a most unfortunate event. Luckily, it magically came back to life (by means of my husband, not a fairy godmother) and we are now living happily ever after once again.

Which is good, because once again, I have something to say.

This entry is going to cover some things that I've tried to say previously, but haven't explicitly stated. This time, I would like to just come out and say what I've been thinking, rather than alluding to it. Please continue reading, as these same thoughts could be affecting you or someone you know and love.

My problem is this: I'm a Stay-at-Home-Utah-Mormon-Mother.

Actually, that's not the problem—at least, not to me. My problem is that there are some people who think this is a problem. I keep encountering people (sometimes other Mormons, even) who get all uppity about Utah Mormons. Also, people who think Mormon women are being oppressed. And don't let me forget the disputes about stay-at-home moms. If you are unaware of how these criticisms go, the gist is that we're all weak people with nothing to say, oblivious of the unfortunate way we've all been made from cookie cutters. We've been pushed into our current roles because we have no other options. To those perpetuating these myths I say: You're wrong. Please stop.

I take great issue with all of these views because, to the untrained eye, I fit this mold. To those looking at conditions and statistics instead of people, I am one of THOSE people. I grew up in a small Utah town. In fact, I've never lived outside the state of Utah. I'm the oldest daughter in a rather large family who has never really “gone astray.” I am also the mother in a loving two-parent home, who chooses not to work outside the home in order to care for my daughter. To the casual observer, the only thing that sets me apart from the rest of the “Happy Valley” Mormons is that I don't live in Happy Valley. (And I don't have a white picket fence around my yard. Also, a dog. I don't have a dog, either.)

Anyway, the purpose of this entry is not to gripe about how I'm being judged by people who don't know me. It's to tell the world—or at least, those brave souls that will stumble across this—that even though I may look like all the other cookie-cut Mormons, it's not because I don't have any other viable options. I am educated. I don't stay at home with my daughter because I couldn't get better work. I CHOSE to live this way. Just as I have chosen to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ. Yep, I was born and raised in this church, but I have also tested it (Alma 32:26--43).

You can show me all the reasons not to be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I had someone try to do that to me yesterday. I say try because, in actuality, I was more aware of the arguments against my religion than they were. I could have compiled a longer, more comprehensive list than the one with which I was presented because I have seen and heard many arguments as to why I shouldn't believe what I do. I'm not living in a spiritual vacuum—although, admittedly, if there were such a thing/place, it would be in Utah—I've encountered opposition. And if anything, examining their criticisms has made me into more of a believer. There are reasons I am who I am. If you would like to hear them, I'll tell you. If not, that's fine, too. But please stop relegating me and those like me to a few measly labels.

I'd like to rally a cause—the force of so-called cookie-cutter Mormons. Rise up! (Sorry, little BYU joke, there . . . ) Because, if I were were a betting man—er, woman—I would bet that they, like me, are more than they appear. Following a somewhat upsetting experience in which my attempts to befriend members of a different faith failed because their tenets discouraged interacting with “nonbelievers,” I have become sensitive to just how detrimental divisions based upon differences can be. So you're not a Mormon? Okay. Let's still be friends. Grew up outside of Utah? Great. You probably have some powerful experiences to draw from. You're a man? Thank you for the things you do that I can't. You're a hardworking mother who's balancing a career while raising your family? Can you offer me some tips for time management and efficiency?

So, you're different from me in some way? That's cool. Let's stop judging one another and start learning from one another.

In a beautiful talk highlighting our faith and its foundation, our previous prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, had a wonderful quote for those with beliefs that differ from ours: “To these we say in a spirit of love, bring with you all that you have of good and truth which you have received from whatever source, and come and let us see if we may add to it.” I would, in this same spirit, echo to the wide variety of individuals in the world, these same sentiments. I'll bring the good that I have, and you can see if you can add to it.

Wait, My Health Should be a TRIANGLE?

I am a rock, I am an island.

Simon and Garfunkel are great, but they don't always describe my life accurately. If I were to rewrite the song line to fit my current feelings, it would go something like this:

I am unstable. I am a brick veneer.

And my inner emo is showing. Sorry about that. I've just been thinking about where I am now and where I would like to be. And at the risk of stating the obvious, they aren't exactly the same place. In my high school health classes we learned about the different aspects of health (physical, social, mental/emotional) and how they form a triangle that we need to keep in balance. I don't feel like I currently have a triangle—it's more like a line. Or a point. Yep, unbeknownst to everyone else, as a result of my stay-at-home mommery, I have a point of health. I think this means that I eat, breathe, and sleep just enough to survive.

I've been trying to remedy this. For example, lately I've been trying to do some workouts. It was during this escapade that I discovered that I can no longer do a sit-up. The televised work-out leader had us all put our feet together so that our legs formed a rhombus and told us to sit up. And I couldn't. She said “If you can't come up all the way, that's okay! Just come up as far as you can.” So I stared at my stomach and said “You heard the woman. Just come up as far as you can . . . yep, come up . . . NO, COME UP.” And my shoulders stayed on the ground while my stomach continued schlepping.

See, I used to be out of shape, but now I'm OUT OF SHAPE. But I look fine. So people have been asking me “How do you look so good so soon after having a baby?” I think this is a hypothetical question. Scratch that. I HOPE this is a hypothetical question, because I don't have an answer, except that I seem to come from a great gene pool. I think the real reason my belly looks so “good” after having a baby is because in addition to delivering a baby, I seem to have delivered my abdominal muscles as well. That's why there's nothing there. I don't so much care about how I look as I am about being healthy. I mean, this could end up being a matter of life and death. If someone were to put a gun to my head and say “Do a sit-up, or else!” I'm toast. Gotta make some changes.

I don't even need to tell you about the social side of my triangle. Like many other stay-at-home moms, my main interactions are represented by a few smiles, “goos,” and cries from a three month old. Going anywhere is hard when you have to schedule it around feedings and diaper changes. I get to see a few more people now that I have a couple of piano students and I've befriended the Jehovah's Witnesses, but on the whole, I don't get out much.

Mentally? I feel very little control. The hormones of pregnancy and nursing have left me exhausted and ready to cry at the most ridiculous times. Yesterday, I discovered that Melody, Alex, and I were all wearing items that needed mending because they were coming apart at the seams. Some sort of metaphor for my life right now? Perhaps. You be the judge, but first, let me say that I almost fell apart yesterday when I found out that instead of the expected three hours of church meetings (that I was already wondering if I would make it through) we had six hours of meetings. I got tired from the beginning just thinking of meetings to come.

As pathetic as admitting my physical, social, and emotional weaknesses may make me sound, they are the easiest to confront. It's when I think about my spiritual health that I start to feel the worst. And yet, I gain a little hope because of a promise found in Matthew 10:39. Trying to get myself together by starting at any other point is going to be counterproductive. I have to start with my spiritual health first. If I can get myself where I need to be in relation to my Father in Heaven, the rest of the frustrations I'm experiencing are going to be naturally resolved—or I'll realize they aren't as critical as I once thought. This is much easier realized than remedied, but I'm hoping that admitting that I'm not as strong as I look is a good step toward humbling myself and starting my recovery.

So this is my confession. The transition to being a mom, while worth it, is a little tough at times. I'm not a rock. But I'm not an island, either. And while I may not feel like I'm where I need to be now, I can get there eventually. If I put my Heavenly Father first, He's going to lead me to where I need to be and He'll be with me as I go.

The Grace of Lovingkindness

Consider how I love thy precepts: quicken me, O Lord, according to thy lovingkindness.

Psalms 119:159

Words have meaning—even words in the scriptures. Whoops! I mean, especially words in the scriptures. I've often come across scriptural language that made me think, “Well, why didn't you say so?” but as I become more familiar with the language of the time, I see that is exactly what the authors were doing, and so beautifully, too! One of my favorite words as of late is lovingkindness. I think it's such a tender word, quite perfectly suited for its use.

The word was recently called to my attention by my grandma. She mentioned that while reading scriptures, she and my grandpa had come across a “funny word.” And while she tried to remember what it was, I thought of all the funny scriptural words that I could. Firkin. Whithersoever. Sackbut. Heh, sackbut. (I know it's a musical instrument, but it gets me every time!) I was surprised when she finally remembered. “Lovingkindness. Isn't that kind of funny? It's so long!”

So I spent the next little bit trying to figure out why my grandma would think that lovingkindness was a funny word. I concluded it was because it was an interesting combination of words that we don't typically use anymore. I mean, it seems somewhat superfluous. Is it really necessary to have both words? Doesn't kindness presuppose love? Aren't we kind to people we love? And then I thought of families, and both my questions were answered.

But really. How many times do we mistreat the people we love? Far too often. And yet, at the same time, we go on being kind to others that we don't love. We do this for various reasons. We may feel it's our duty to be kind. We may be behaving because people are watching us. Whatever the case, we are human; therefore, for us, the connection between love and kindness must be made so that there is no mistaking our Heavenly Father's role.

Isn't it wonderful that we can know that God is kind to us because He loves us? It's not simply because it's one of His Godly duties to treat us well. But because He is God, we can be sure that He will love us perfectly. Kindly.

Lovingkindness. It reminds me of an institute class I had in which we discussed tender mercies. The teacher explained that the Lord has given us many mercies. And then there are tender mercies. Some of his examples were “It's a mercy that God created this earth for us. It's a tender mercy that He made it beautiful,” and “It's a mercy that God blesses us when we have obeyed His commandments, but it's a tender mercy that sometimes, He just blesses us.”

I really love Isaiah 54. It begins with the Lord promising us that while we may have made mistakes in the past and sometimes feel as though He has left us, He has not forgotten us. Verse 10 reminds us that permanent as we may see the mountains and other geographic features, they will change. What will not change is our Father's everlasting kindness. Due to His lovingkindness and tender mercies, He is able, as verses 11 and 12 show us, to “lay thy stones with fair colours, and lay thy foundations with sapphires.” However He does it, He trades our hardships for precious stones. This is something that I just can't do on my own. I try, but I mess things up. I can harden my heart to stone, but that is of no value to me or anyone else. Somehow, though, He does it. He makes me into a “precious stone”-type person who is fit to live in this “precious stone”-type place talked of in Revelations 21 (especially verses 18—21).

To bring this back to my original verse in Psalms, let me explain why I find this verse to be particularly awesome. Did you know that, in addition to the “go faster” definition we tend to think of for the word quicken, it can also mean “to give or restore vigor or activity to; stir up, rouse, or stimulate,” “to revive; restore life to,” “to become more active, sensitive, etc.,” and “to become alive; receive life”? In pregnancy, quickening occurs when it becomes clear that something in there is alive. So, as a blessing for obeying the Lord's commandments, because of His lovingkindness and tender mercies, we can be more sensitive, revived, and restored. I find that to be lovely, and it makes me want to develop my own lovingkindness.

Rainy Days and Mondays: A Double Whammy.

It was inevitable. After the many questions of "How's being a mom?" and the many answers of "Really great!" there is now "Meh."

Don't anyone fly off the handle, yet; I'm trying not to. I still love being a mom. Yesterday was great, today hasn't been horrible and tomorrow will probably be great again, but the fact remains that there are down days whether you have a baby or not. And it's been a down day. Kind of like when you go to the fridge to see what there is to eat and find that nothing sounds good, but you know you need to eat, so you half-heartedly pick out something that you usually like and put it in your mouth and pretend that you're liking it.

It started this morning with immunizations. Now, I have a sad baby--which makes me sad--and sadness really takes the zip out of my productivity. I sit down to do things that I normally find appealing and stand up again in frustration. I continue this process until it's time for Melody or I to eat and find myself feeling as though I'm accomplishing nothing.

I can't shake the feeling that I ought to be doing something. Sometimes, my math-teacher dad would tell petrified students with an intimidating equation: "Do something, even if it's wrong!" (instructions I often found to be more terrifying than the initial problem), just to end the analysis paralysis. So, that's what I've been doing. I started off with a crying session with Melody. Obviously, that wasn't particularly helpful, so we followed up with a double nap, food, and an episode of X-Files. I found the nap to be most helpful, progressed to piano practice, and now find myself writing a blog. Soon we'll go pick up Alex and have some sort of Family Home Evening. It may have been a bit rough, but I think I'm on the way to another great day tomorrow. Take that, Karen Carpenter!

Would you, could you, in a box?

I have a confession to make: when I worked at the institute, I would take things from the office. Don't panic—I had permission. I wasn't stealing; I was bringing home cardboard boxes.

I love boxes.

My first memory of my love of boxes comes when I was just little—probably three or so, I'm not sure. I just know that it was when the general store (“Old Clove's,” to my family) still had some sort of refrigerated shelving like you would have for meats and cheeses on the west wall, and I know for sure it was before my family moved to Moab and back. I turned four in Moab, so . . . I was pretty young.

ANYWAY, I had a small box that my mom had given me. It was small and flat—the kind with the removable lid that jewelry sometimes comes in. For the day that I had it I carried it everywhere with me and made great plans to find the perfect thing to use it for. Sometimes I put stuff in and took it out, but mostly I just carried this empty box with me. Until we went to Clove's and I lost it in the aforementioned shelving. I was devastated. My mom was unsympathetic. I did not recover my treasured box. Perhaps I've spent my entire life looking to replace it.

You never know when you'll need a box. They are incredibly useful when it comes to organizing things. If Alex and I weren't “poor college students,” I would have those fancy organizational boxes. But we're not, so I don't. That's okay. My bathroom shelves are in order thanks to some well-placed ramen noodle boxes. I keep my sheet music in a shoebox that I covered in old music. I use a blender box as a trash can in Melody's room. I load my closets with various boxes labeled to match their contents. It's a good system.

What's not a good system is the series of boxes that contain unsorted items that I'm not sure where to put them. So I put them in boxes and pretend that they are taken care of. Sure, I'll make it around to going through the boxes and sorting them into more boxes and eventually assigning them a permanent place, but in the meantime they merely provide a false sense of organization and a hiding place for my clutter.

I like boxes. Literally and figuratively. After all, isn't it “hip to be square”?

I need a bit of structure. You may have noticed that many, if not all, of my titles are some sort of recycling of other people's words. Cliches are my Achilles' heel (See? I can't even explain my feelings about cliches without using one!). I write “To do” lists and routines, if only to disregard them. I've been seen as a “good little Mormon girl” who has grown up to be a stay-at-home mom (with a blog, no less!) and I've tried to live up to many of the expectations that have come with those titles. The result: I take the traits and qualities that I've developed, re-box them, and give them a label that I find acceptable while discarding the less helpful clutter that comes with stereotypes.

“Boxes” have given me a way to put my thoughts and beliefs in order. And it works for me—as long as I don't use them as a permanent, disorganized catch-all. However, I have tried to keep some boxes that weren't benefiting me. I still have some. The good news is that I usually try to trade out worn boxes or boxes that are the wrong size for more sturdy boxes that better serve my purposes. And sometimes I just have to donate an entire box and its contents to the DI.

It drove Alex crazy right after we had moved to have me bringing home empty paper boxes from work. “Don't you already have boxes? Aren't you getting rid of boxes?” What he didn't understand, no matter how I explained it to him, was that these boxes were everything I wanted in a box. These were going to help me organize more permanently than the boxes I already had, so I was upgrading.

My Great-grandpa Farnsworth gave me some advice the last time I saw him before he passed away. “You don't have to pick up everything you come across, you know?”

Oh, I know. So when I do find something worth keeping, I put it in a nice box and label it.