God Loves Me

I recently had one of "those" shopping experiences. Being a die-hard yard-saler, I have rarely have the experiences that come with shopping with children. Karma decided that I should get them out of the way all at once.

We have a family picture was coming up and I needed to find some specific colors, so we hit the mall.

Side Note: In my children's defense, a few days before we had hit half a dozen used clothing stores and they behaved beautifully. Yes, we did have to do some backtracking due to a forgotten jacket and a forgotten shoe and we visited three restrooms ... but that just comes with the territory.

Okay, so we arrived at the mall and my umbrella stroller refused to lock into place. I body slammed it into the asphalt. Problem solved. With child #3 finally buckled in, we sailed into the mall on wings of optimism. I shall present just a few highlights.

In the first store, child #3 learned how to get out of the stroller buckles, fell out of the stroller and bonked her head. Child #3 is the one with the lungs. I have never seen a cashier work so fast, or be so willing to part with so many stickers.

Child #2 decided that if child #3 didn't want to ride in the stroller then he would, and climbed in. Child #3 resented the intrusion and began beating her older brother while cursing in two-year-old-eese.

The second store was full of reachable, shiny accessories. Being denied such shine accessories in the first store, child #3 grabbed a bag and with a speed that any kleptomaniac would admire, filled the bag, dashed out the door and began to book it down the hall-way. Child #2 gave chase, tackled her, and held her till I caught up. This was no easy feat. He only has a pound or two on her, but he does have greater speed and agility.

In the third store, I gained greater insight to the definition of stymied (a situation or problem presenting such difficulties as to discourage or defeat any attempt to deal with or resolve it) The dictionary claims this definition has it's roots in golf, but I believe it originated with shopping excursions. The dilemma of finding a opponent's ball between your ball and the cup is nothing to being half naked in a dressing room and having all three of your children wiggle out under the door and begin a game of high-speed chase through the store.

Additionally, child #1 is incapable of standing still in a dressing room. If there is a mirror and an audience she must dance. If she happens to be wearing a new dress, then there is really no hope. Child #2 is compelled to touch naked mannequins. And I am not even going to start on the elevator/escalator debacle, but thank you nameless J.C. Penny employee for bringing my family back together again.

At the end of all this, I was doing a very painful pregnant waddle. I walked my crew out to the van ... and there were no keys. I remember hooking my keys to my purse with a carribeaner before entering the mall, but they were nowhere. I waddled back into the mall. An exhausted child #3 had been screaming for the last 10 minutes and continued to scream unless I carried her. We started to look for the keys, but I simply could not go on. I sat down on a bench, ignoring the narrowed looks being shot at me by the pushy salesman at the closest booth. The screams of nap-needy child #3 were sending all possible customers rushing past him at a trot. Using my last blinking bar of cell-phone battery I call my husband to come and rescue me. I sat there praying and encouraging my children to do the same. As I sat there, I had the idea to rummage through the bags that held my purchases. There, in a bag within a bag, under a pile of clothes were my keys.

I cannot fathom what combination of angels, physics, children, pregnancy brain or flat out miracles it took to get my keys there, but there they were. Considering the chaos we had been through, they could have been anywhere. I called my husband back and told him that God must loved me because despite my seriously considering using duck-tape on a few of His children, He still took the time to rescue me. With child #3's sleepy head dropped to my shoulder, we quietly and thankfully made our way out of the mall.

Family Mission Statement

I once read a great book on organization called "Organized Simplicity." The author recommended that every family should have a mission statement to guide them as they sort through their stuff and their schedules. I loved the concept. Here is the statement we came up with. It has gone through some changes, and I anticipate it may go through more.

Family Mission Statement

Glorify God at all times.

Live with a heart at peace.

Work hard and play hard.

Cultivate strong family bonds.

Serve our fellow men.

Be examples of refinement.

Choose the important over the urgent and

the timeless over the transient.

Be valiant.

Build Zion.

Mission Statement for our Home

Provide a clean, safe sanctuary apart from the world.

Be a place where the spirit of the temple dwells.

Give opportunities for work, learning and wholesome recreation.

Motto

Fortis vincit multum. Amor vincit omnia.

(Strength conquers much. Love conquers all.)

I hope that's grammatically correct in Latin

This house is due for a serious sorting. I'm not sure how that is going to fit in, but I know it needs to happen. I love having a clear measuring stick because I get so confounded attached to my stuff. Wish me luck.

Words, words, words

I love that scene from Hamlet.

As a dyed in the wool semanticist, the power of words intrigues me. For the last little while, I have been thinking about just that and I believe I have isolated the two most powerful phrases known to man. By powerful, I mean destiny shaping, character molding, life altering and universe shaking. Amazingly, they are not:

"To be or not to be" or

"Fourscore and seven years ago" or

"I have a dream" or

"One small step for man" or

"We the people" or even

"And the Academy Award goes to ...."

No, it is my hypothesis that the most powerful phrases of all time are:

"I love you" and

"I know that my Redeemer lives."

This is meaningful to be because I can share those words regardless of what may be falling apart in my life. God, being the canny parent He is, saw fit to keep us very busy (sleeping, eating, working, etc.) He knew how much trouble we would get into in the free time allotted to us, and mercifully minimized it as much as possible. We also live in a flawed and unpredictable world. Much is out of our control. But God left the access points to the most powerful forces for good wide open. Oh sure, both require work, but neither require specialized training or federal approval. No degree, or poll result, or qualifying time is needed. Not even health or wealth or education gives a person an edge when it comes to living these phrases.

I love knowing that, unpredictability and chaos notwithstanding, I can provide my children with the best this world has to offer.

Soldier On

When my husband and I were newly-weds, we had the privilege of attending a remarkable sacrament meeting. It was Veteran's Day, and a white haired gentleman slowly made his way to the podium. In a distinctly German accent, he told of his experience during the war and how he was forced into the army as a youth. He opposed everything the war stood for, and so, as a young man had made the powerful but dangerous decision to never fire a shot. Occasionally, when he was under suspicion, he would fire into the air. "But in all my years in that army, I never fired my rifle at another man, not once." Following his remarks another white haired gentleman came to the microphone and said that he served in the US army during WWII. He spoke of serving his mission in Germany. He was drafted just months after he returned home. How could he fire on a people he loved so much? "I too never fired a shot," he said. The congregation sat in tearful silence following these two grand old men.

Now I am deeply grateful for those who did fire shots in defense of freedom and right. What touches me so deeply about these stories is that these young men, marched into the furnace of war committed to living true to the very best within them -whatever the cost.

That is a lesson I need. I want to face my challenges with the same integrity that those former soldiers did.

All too often I give in to outside pressures. It could be trying to keep my house the way someone else does, without thinking about how I want to keep my house. Sometimes it's driving faster on the freeway because I'm getting cranky looks from other drivers. Sometimes it's trying to look a certain way, or parent a certain way or somehow trying to live up to someone else's standards without considering who I really am or what I really want for myself and my family.

I look forward to getting to know me - the person I am at this stage in my life - and to living life on my terms. I want to live true to the very best within me - whatever the cost.

In Defense of Fiction

Every once in a while I have the distressing experience of running into a literary snob. You know the kind - they only read one or two genres of books because everything else is so patently inferior. When books of fiction of any variety (historical, science-fiction, fantasy, mystery etc.) are mentioned their eyebrows raise just enough to allow themselves to look archly down their noses and make some condescending comment like "Oh, well I'm sure it has it's place, it just feels like such a waste."

As an ardent reader of fiction in all its glorious forms I feel the need to take a stand. Now I'm not targeting people who only read theology or biographies because that is what they think they "should" read. I ache for them, but they are more misguided than snobbish. And for others, fiction just doesn't fill their bucket. I get that. And as far as I am concerned they are completely absolved of the taint of snobbery. Life is short - read what you love. But to those who shun fiction because it is beneath them, we need to chat.

Fiction is the great foil for all the variegated shades of human character. As Lloyd Alexander once said "The nature of fantasy allows happenings which reveal most clearly our own realities and our own strengths."

I have never faced a dragon, but I have faced mountains of laundry that feel more like dragons than inanimate lumps of textiles. I have never journeyed to Mordor, but I have faced every day of my journeys through chronic fatigue and medication induced depression (don't you hate being in the 1-3% of people who end up with a side-effect?) The courage and valor necessary for those conflicts are found in accounts of epic battles, overland journeys and grand adventures. It is not found in descriptions of stain removal or of being tired.

When I read about a fictional character I adopt a part of them for myself. My desires, strengths and weaknesses are cast in stark relief against these foils. I claim pieces of Portia, Hamlet, Katherine and Petruchio. I am molded by Psmith, Charlotte Doyle and Kit. I am pieces of Eugenides the thief, Halt the Ranger, Eilonwy and Cimorene and Meg Murry. As my adopted characters experience new lands and new people, my mind opens with theirs. I am better for their strengths AND their weaknesses.

I do feel benefited from reading accounts of real people, but the connection is less intimate. They existed out of my own head and are being re-hashed for me through someone else's eyes - even if it is an auto-biography and the eyes in question their own. Somehow, the fact of their reality prevents me from bonding in the same way.

No, I am not a fantasy snob. I also read history, biography, auto-biography, science, math and psychology. I do not do horror or "adult" books. They do not fill my bucket. And by the way, why call something "adult" when it is nothing more than juvenile filth written from the emotional perspective of a junior high locker room. Just saying.

So, I would challenge all literary snobs who may stumble across this post to try some fiction. Pick a few books, a few genres, a few authors and give it a try. You may surprise yourself. Amidst the yummy bits of fictional fluff you will find gems of rare depth and insight. I will even go so far as to point out that the Master Teacher himself used fiction (aka parables) to enlighten his followers.

Well, I am off to a much needed happily ever after.

Happy reading.

Lions and Impossibles

One Sunday during church, I had my son curled up on my lap. Attempting to maintain reverence during the sacrament, I was showing him pictures of the Savior that I had put in a little "quiet book." We came to a Greg Olsen picture of the Savior holding a sheep. I whispered in my boy's ear that we are like the sheep and that Jesus will hold us and take care of us too. My boy furrowed his eyebrows and said "But I am not a sheep, I am a lion." Then, in the silence of the chapel he let out a blood-curdling roar.

A few weeks later, for morning devotional, my kids and I were reading in the illustrated version of the New Testament, My daughter asked "Is this a story about Jesus and His impossibles?" I'm sure the Savior smiled at this description of His apostles.

The longer I live, the more I see the truth of the statement "it takes all kinds." It is good to know, that in the fold of God there is a place for lions and impossibles alike. I am so grateful for the lions in my life. I am so thankful for the people who have been patient with me while I have been an "impossible."

We live in a world that rarely celebrates deviations from the norm., the popular or the stylish. How good to know that there is a place and a purpose for every individual and every quirky characteristic. God has a place and a mission prepared for us, be we lions or impossibles or anything in between.

Dented

I have so many good days that I feel guilty about venting twice in a week - it makes my life seem bleak (I am choking back an obscure quote from Auntie Mame. There may only be 13 people left in America who quote that movie - five of them are in my family and none of them follow the blog so .... I'll spare you.) My life is anything but bleak. I just need an outlet.

My children are normally wonderful when I take them visiting teaching (a thing we do in my church where two women from a congregation keep an eye on other women in the congregation and take them a monthly spiritual message.) Today, my cherubs sprouted horns and tails.

I am embarrassed to say that I gave one of my children the "mom finger" in front of my visiting teaching partner. No, it's not the naughty finger, it's the index finger, pointed in a way that says "Get in line bucko, or lighting will come out of my finger and strike you down." The mom finger is usually backed up by a look that would have given Ghenghis Kahn pause.

So, the morning was terrible and then it got worse. Being the mature adult that I am buried myself in meaningless television (thank you Ellen re-runs, The Voice, and Hulu in general) and augmented my t.v. therapy with chocolate chips and more cinnamon toast than I will publicly admit to. Honestly, I do respond maturely to life's problem sometimes, but mature, considered responses are not that interesting to write about. Therefore, you get the dented version of my life which, if not statistically accurate, is honest.

For the sake of argument, I'm willing to try writing an imaginary healthy response to the trials of motherhood. Ahem, here it goes: "Today child #1 buried a family heirloom in the backyard. I breathed deeply, told her I loved her more than (insert priceless object) and worked out my frustration by polishing the bathroom taps."

Ack. Choke. Splutter. I have had moments of deep composure and perspective. I love being that person. I just don't want to read about her. In fact, today, I would probably strangle her.

I need a place where I can admit to being dented and even occasionally talk about being broken. There is comfort in knowing that I am not alone in this battle. And that just maybe, other moms somewhere have given their children "the mom finger" in public.

Here's to tomorrow.