As a Lesbian Woman: My Own Journey on Gay Marriage

I wrote this as a response to my girlfriend, Nicole's, Facebook post about the progression of her views on gay marriage as she realized how those viewpoints now included herself as a lesbian woman. She referenced me as being someone ahead of the curve, and it gave me the opportunity to think about my own journey on this path. I wanted to put my thoughts here so they would be collected with other deep feelings I have shared over the years. While my complete journey would take a thousand more posts, this is a small snapshot of my thoughts. They are as follows:

Nicole is always so generous and kind when it comes to me and my thoughts. I wish I could claim that I was always super progressive. I guess I did always believe that people should be able to love whomever they love without interference from anyone else.

I used to have a teacher friend many many (many) years ago that always talked about her roommate. I strongly suspected that this was cloaked language, but I never asked her to clarify or asked her questions that could potentially out her. However, the thought that perhaps she had to hide her roommates' real status in her life out of fear of career repercussions, or how she would be treated, or for whatever reason, made me so so so sad. The fact that I could freely talk about my spouse and she felt she couldn't, felt profoundly unfair.

I am sad to admit, however, that my journey was imperfect. I wanted all partners to be able to have the same rights I had, medically, financially, career and housing opportunities without discrimination, etc. but I thought those could be accomplished with civil unions or just expanding the definitions of what it meant to be someone's life partner.

I slowly began to see how ridiculous it was for some people to have the right to define their relationship, while others didn't. They didn't get to choose how to categorize their own relationships. It was a construct put upon them by others to only define themselves in a very limited way. I started to see how again, this was profoundly unfair. I don't have the right to tell anyone what their relationships mean to them, and no one else should have that right either.

I was livid about Prop 8. I couldn't believe a religion, at the time, my religion, could and would put so much money, energy and effort into defeating the right for two people to define their relationship in the way they felt best. It was again, profoundly unfair!

I waited anxiously for the verdict from the highest court. When I found out about the landmark Supreme Court case giving to right to marry to everyone, I woke up my dear friend Becca because I knew she would be as happy as I was, more so I'm sure. It was one of the proudest moments I had experienced about our country's willingness to be more inclusive. I think I was teary all day. Finally, this ridiculous limitation was removed.

As I argued with friends and family (and anyone willing to listen) about the rights' of LGBTQIA+ people, I was ignored, eye rolled, and "accused" of being "one of them". I say accused, because that's definitely what it felt like.

Then, I realized, I WAS one of them. Having never had the opportunity or space to imagine that as a possibility for ME, ever, I never did consider that it could be my truth. With this realization, many things in my life began to click into place as I realized why some things worked for me, and some things never did. I found Nicole, and my life, and my sexuality, made sense. I suddenly felt like I could own my own skin, and then share my deepest self with someone else in a way I just couldn't before.

I quickly found that some people who were closest to me, who claimed to be strong allies in that fight, realized that they could be allies to other people in that fight, to be proud of them for finding the real them, but they could not support that for me. It was too personal to them, too close, too painful for them to support me. I needed to be vilified, pushed away, criticized. They needed to see me as deeply, and fundamentally confused. Where I was once thoughtful and wise to them, I became broken and wrong. (Thankfully, I did always have the support and continuous love of Casey and Bryn, for which I will forever be tearfully and heart-meltingly grateful.)

Despite all of that, I am proud to be who I am. I never shy away from talking about my amazing girlfriend, or from being lovey in public (sorry Bryn and Casey 😁 ) even though we often get sidelong glances and sometimes all-out stares from other patrons who have seemingly never seen an openly lesbian couple showing affection for each other in public. I get to do that, to be that, openly, because of the long, wearisome struggle of so many for so long. I get to do that because many people continue to try to learn to be more inclusive. I know that there are people, so so many people who refuse to welcome, to love, to progress in their thinking that they continue to hate, actively. But, if enough of us continue to try to do better, to be better, to choose love in all things, we will move the pendulum toward more love, toward more inclusiveness, more safety for all people.

I really didn't mean for this to turn into a speech, ;) this is what Nicole's beautiful writing always does to me. :D

I choose love, I choose to be forever LOUD and PROUD! 💜❤️💜❤️

Physical and Spiritual Gliding

I first learned about the principle of gliding from running guru Jeff Galloway in 2000, when I was training for my first marathon. Jeff's philosophies are especially popular with beginning runners as he strongly advocates for frequent walking breaks, as often as after every 7 or 8 minutes of running. As I trained for the marathon, I knew that the course was very downhill for the first 16 or so miles. I knew that if I didn't train for that downhill, my quads would not be prepared for the pounding, so I trained every Saturday morning up (and down) City Creek Canyon. The paved path up City Creek is about 5 3/4 miles long (even though the sign says 5 1/2) from gate to gate, mostly uphill the whole way with differing grades of steepness. However, anyone who has spent time in City Creek can tell you where all of the monster hills are; they are brutal running up, and can be very difficult to run down. If you completely give in to gravity, you are going to lose form at best, or go out of control and fall down at worst; but, if you try to maintain your same form as on a more gentle grade, your running gets really tight, your stride becomes sloppy and your muscles feel constricted. This is where I learned to glide. Gliding is a conscious relaxing of your muscles, for me, especially quads and back as you run down a particularly steep hill. It is the perfect in between place of maintaining control and letting go. It is just a little bit scary to try for the first time because it feels, I don't know, dangerous. You have to consciously let go of your control and trust that your body will know what to do, and give in to the gravitational pull. I always have to remember to do it. It is not instinctual to me. About a third of the way down the hill the thought comes to glide. I can physically feel the shift. The paradoxical thing is, the more you let go and relax into the glide, the more you fly. I feel my body relax, my step becomes lighter, and I feel so free. I feel more in control than ever. It feels delicious.

A couple of years ago I started to feel my spiritual ground shift and start to tilt downward. The grade was bearable, however, and felt familiar. I'd been there before. I had traveled a hilly course for many years. It was easy to keep my same pace, my same form. Then, the grade became more steep, and I found myself beginning to tighten, my stride flailing a bit. This last year I spiritually ran through the Rotary Park sign and headed down the long steep path heading down to mile 4. I found I was trying to figure out how to land my strikes so I could stay in control, but I wasn't succeeding. It felt like I kept turning an ankle, finding more side stitches I couldn't breathe through, snapping IT bands. The more I tried to hold on, the more I hurt myself, and the steepness of the grade just keep increasing. Then I had the conscious thought to glide. Give in to the pull. No! Did I mention I am stubborn? Give in. No. Then, I felt I had no choice almost. I was falling down. Unhappy. I had to try. As I did, I felt so good and my soul knew what to do. Then, since that path was way too scary, I rejected it and tightened my grip again. The ground continued to make me stumble. I tried to glide again with the same result. Yes! Frightened, I again pulled back. Finally, I decided to trust the physical principle I had learned to love. I chose to glide. It feels like me again. Suddenly, my mind has relaxed, my soul is at peace, my heart is so happy, my pace has quickened, and I'm learning to FLY! I can almost touch the beautiful blue Utah sky. I'm almost free. And it feels delicious.

Happiness

Happiness is
loving a borrowed book

so much

so much that I can't wait for my own book
to arrive in the mail

so I can turn every marked page
into a page I can mark

encouraging the phrases
to finally

Become

MINE

Words

I was listening to NPR  the other day, and they had an award wining poet on the show,  he said "Words are cheap."  That instantly brought to mind the opposite, "Words are expensive". Then, the skeleton of this poem popped into my head and it started writing itself. I'm no poet, but I liked this idea.


WORDS

Words mean nothing

Words are cheap
They have no cost

Words are light
They float effortlessly around us

Words are fleeting
Spoken without thought
Chosen at random

Words are harmless
Words wound

Words are permanent
Their meanings never forgotten
Permanently emblazoned

Words are heavy
Their weight makes us sag

Words are expensive
Their cost we are sometimes unprepared to pay

Words mean everything

Prayer

I have had an analogy buzzing at the edges of my conscious for many months now.  I have wanted to flesh it out in writing, but I'm not sure that I will be sharing this on Facebook.  There are all sorts of concerns that I have about making these very personal feelings public.  I guess I will write it down for myself, and then let it rest a while before I decide what I will do with it.  The metaphor that won't go away begins like this:

Imagine a child who wants to love their parent, but their parent seems distant and difficult to talk to.  They have been told all of their life that their parent is easy to talk to, is readily available, and is easily accessible.  But, that seems a foreign concept to the child.  That certainly hasn't been her experience.  Then, after years of effort of differing degrees of intensity, a beautiful relationship builds such that the child now comes to their parent often and consistently feels connected.  It seems to the child that time and time again, their parent responds to pleas of help to soften a heart, to change a desire, to help her change.  I imagine this pleading to happen in the kitchen, because that's where I have many of my conversations with my own children.

Then, something unexpected and painful happens in the child's life.  The child is lost, confused.  Since the child has done everything she was told she was supposed to do to continue the connection, in fact she has fulfilled the requirements several times over, she feels confident she will get help.   Even though the experience is painful, more painful than she ever thought possible, she knows she just needs to ask for help, and it will come.  The child, as per her learned pattern, comes to her parent tearfully pleading for help.  Surely, her parent will, once again, help to soften the pain, to change her heart.  Surprisingly, she gets nothing.  Often, she will feel the equivalence of a comfort hug, but no help with the pain.  Hmm.  This doesn't make sense.  She just needs to keep trying.  So, she repeatedly begs for help. . . in tears. . . again. . . and again. . . and again. . . again. . . again. . . aga. . .  ag. . . a. . .  Then, she comes to her parent with drier eyes, and asks. . . . . Nothing. . . . . . .   Then, she is done crying. . . but she still asks. . . . Nothing. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now, she is stronger.  Not only are the tears long gone, but she no longer asks.  Her heart has healed, and is now scarred and protected.  She still goes through the motions of keeping the connection, but her confidence is gone.  Long.  Gone.  When she approaches her parent, it is to ask for strength and peace for those who struggle; it is to ask for help for others.  But, truth be told, she is not sure she believes that extra help will really come.  It is more for her own comfort that she is voicing this love and concern for her loved ones.  She has enough respect for her parent to continue to include her, now distant, parent --  Father -- in her life, but she no longer has faith to believe that He listens or responds. . . or cares. 

She is strong.  She believes in listening to her gut.  She has learned to trust herself and her intentions.  She has learned to love more people, especially those who have experienced deep pain.  She believes in the goodness of men and women everywhere.  She has seen God in the love that people show to each other, and is drawn to those who choose love over judgment and criticism.  Her protected heart has grown into a much stronger foundation of trust in herself.  Perhaps, like a certain ruby-shoe-wearing character from a show she can't stand, she has discovered that she had it in her all along.  All she had to do was recognize it and find it within herself. 

I used to pray to something
Something
Something I called God

I expected the warmth of
Good Morning, of
I've missed you, of
I'm glad you're back



Silence
The deafening kind
empty



Now I pray to nothing
nothing

and no one answers

Authority and Keys to the Grown-Up Restroom

I had an A-HA! moment the other day as I walked home from work. I was thinking about something that had happened at work that day, and I had two analogies simultaneously pop into my head.  So I don't forget it completely (a particular talent of mine), I want to write it down.  My official title at work is Paraprofessional.  It is just a fancy way of saying Teacher Aide.  At my school, and probably all other schools in my district, parapros are not given keys:  no keys for classrooms, restrooms for the grown-ups, doors to the building, etc.  Only teachers were allowed to have keys.  A few years ago, we were given Fobs so we could at least enter the building.  I remember how empowered I felt to have the power to come into the building without relying on someone walking by to let me in.  However, for the first 6 1/2 years of my employment, the restrooms were always locked, so in order to use them, I had to ask the secretaries in the front office for the key.  I remember thinking that it was quite demoralizing to be in my 40's and still need to ask to use the restroom.  I knew that I had the authority to use the restrooms for adults, and all I needed to do was ask the holders of the keys for help, but for some reason it really bothered me.  The last part of this last year, our administration changed the system for the restroom doors so no keys were needed.  I recognize how silly it must seem, but I felt so relieved to not have to feel like I was one of the students anymore.  Then, I was chatting with my co-worker the other day, and she mentioned that it was possible that I was finally going to be given keys.  It made me so happy, validated,  and acknowledged as a full member of the staff at the school. 

As I was walking home, it clicked.  I'm sure you have already guessed the connection.  It made me realize how many women in the church feel about not officially holding the priesthood.  We are told repeatedly that we have the authority of the priesthood (the ability to use the grown-up restroom), when we are acting in our responsibilities in our respective callings, etc., but if we need the actual keys of the priesthood (the power to enter said restroom), we have to ask someone who has been given that power.  So, there is a continual need to ask permission from someone with actual power to do anything. 

The second analogy that hit simultaneously, was the idea of partners/spouses and money.  I'm not exactly sure how to describe my thoughts on this one, because this analogy doesn't apply to every couple.  In fact, it doesn't even describe my own three-way relationship between my husband, me, and our finances.  But, I have heard of this happening often.  In many partnerships, the couple has blended their accounts so that all of their money is jointly owned.  However, often one person is in charge of the finances so they control the checkbook, so to speak.  So, even though they both have the authority to spend their money, it's really one person with the power to approve or disapprove any one purchase or charge, thereby necessitating the first to ask permission of the second. 

For some women, it is not enough to have the authority, when they still are forced to continually ask someone else to exercise their power to access their keys.  I'm still not sure where I am on this particular issue, but this eye-opening moment helped me understand, to a small degree, how they might feel.  This is such a complicated issue.  I have many friends and family members that have no problem asking for the proverbial restroom key.  They are just grateful to be able to use the grown-up restroom.  I have a lot of respect for these women.  I also have friends for whom this issue is a very painful one.  They feel marginalized for having to ask for the key again and again and again.  My heart hurts for their pain. 
   

Am I an ER?

"So, you're a singer?"  I'm asked often.
I pause, hesitant, "Well. . . I sing."
Blank look.  "What does that mean?  Don't you have a degree in singing?" They respond.
"Yes . . . sort of.  It's in choral education."  I reply.
"Haven't you been teaching singing in one form or another for years?" They ask.
"Yes"
"Haven't you taken singing lessons off and on for 15 years?"  They are starting to get irritated.
"Yes"
"Haven't you put in your 10,000 Malcolm Gladwell hours?"  Pitch is rising.
"And then some." I answer.
"Then, you are a singER!" They say definitively.

. . . . .  This is the hard part.  If I say, "Yes" I'm claiming something.  As soon as I say I'm a singER, people expect something of me.  Or, perhaps, they think I put myself in a certain category of accomplishment.  I don't make money singing.  I'm not a professional singER by any means.  I don't sound like an opera singer, I don't sing like most musical theater singERs, I only sing certain kinds of jazz, I sing folk and pop, but only in my own way.  The next time they hear me sing, they will be making their own decision.  

Am I a singER?  I have been singing almost since birth, it's how most people knew me as a kid.  It's probably in my veins and sinews, the most basic core of who I am. However, how much it calls to me ebbs and flows over the years.  Sometimes, I sing daily.  And sometimes, it takes me months to actually let the constant, but quiet, pull of my piano draw me to it.  But once it wins and I give in, I usually stay glued to the bench for song after song.  I guess, YES, I am a singER.  But, I don't sound like anyone else, I don't have a genre, I just sing like me.

There's more.

This next quote is hard for me to write.  It sounds so arrogant, so please keep reading to get my meaning. "You are a good writer!"  A few people have been kind enough to say.  But then, they are not going to tell me to my face that I stink at it are they?  Regardless, I have heard it often enough that I have been thinking about it.  Am I a writER?

This one is much easier for me to answer.  I have a friend who is a writER, a published, practiced, talented writER.  I have been reading about the process she goes through to write her next book. A rewrite of the whole book to change voice.  A rewrite of the whole book to change setting.  She edits again, and again, and again.  She writes every day for hours and hours.

I write a blog.  I hope I am grammatically correct.  I hope I use full sentences.  I hope I use correct tenses.  I very much hope I am somewhat interesting, and somewhat entertaining to read.  I sincerely hope I sometimes connect with people on a deeper level.  However, am I a writER?  No.  I don't claim to be a writER. Yet, since I know I am not a writER, every compliment, every kind word is a rare treasure that I hold close, never to be forgotten.

Am I a teachER?

Twenty-one years ago, when I got my first teaching job, I was more than slightly terrified.  I remember standing in my empty classroom before a single student arrived.  I distinctly remember saying to myself with much trepidation, "I sure hope I like this."  My fears were unfounded.  I loved it.  However, I only taught for three years before I stopped teaching in a classroom to become a mother.  Within a couple of years, I had friends and neighbors begging me to start teaching private piano lessons.  When I couldn't dissuade them - and I tried - I reluctantly agreed to open a teaching studio in my home.  Again, I quickly learned to love it.  I taught for about 14 years before I "retired" due to my children's busy afternoon schedules.  In the meantime, my youngest daughter began all-day Kindergarten, so I begged the principal of our elementary school for a job teaching at the school.  I started teaching a math rotation, and now, for the last three years plus, I have been teaching reading intervention with an amazing team.  However, since my position was that of an aide, I was never sure what to tell people when they asked what I did for work.  When people found out I worked in a school, they would ask if I was a teacher.  Not wanting to sound presumptuous, I always told people no. However, I have since changed my mind.  Being a teachER is more than your official title.  It's more than a job you have or a thing you do.  Teaching is a mind-set.  It's either in your bones, or it isn't.  I think you can learn to be a teacher for a career, but whether or not you become a teachER, whether or not it becomes a part of your soul, the way you think, who you are, has to be remembered or discovered, not learned. Almost every calling I have ever had in my church has been teaching related.  Or, I have turned it into a teaching opportunity.

Am I a teachER?  Yes.  I am.  It is a switch I can not turn off, even if I try.  It's how I approach every situation.  There is always an internal dialogue of how I would approach or teach something differently.

Am I a runnER?

Yes.  I have been running off and on for 25 years, and have been a consistent runnER for the last 16 years.  I have run some marathons and a handful of triathlons, however, I have won NONE of them.  The only medals I have from running are for races where everyone gets a medal for finishing.  I think I feel like a runner because I choose to run at least 4 times a week -- every week -- year after year.  I don't necessarily love to run, and my favorite part of a run is finishing each run.  But, if I do have to miss an occasional run because of illness, I miss it body, mind, and spirit.  I feel so much better if I have run that morning.  So, when our alarm goes off at a ridiculously early hour, I grumble and groan just like everyone else.  But, while I'm grumbling, I'm lacing up my shoes.

Yes, I am a runnER.

Am I a bikER?

No.  Even though I have been consistently biking twice a week, either outside or at the rec center, for a couple of years now, I haven't earned this particular ER.

Am I a readER?

YES!  Thankfully, yes!  I see the struggle it is for my students to learn to read, and I am so grateful that I can read without the difficulty they experience.  It is a major source of peace and satisfaction in my life.  It's something I practice daily.  10,000 hours?  Easy!

I am a readER!

Am I a mothER?

YES!  YES!  YES! and YES!!  My co-favorite descriptor is that of a mothER!  I love spending time with my girls!  They are smart, funny, kind (um, mostly), and a continual source of joy for me.  I find that I don't even mind driving them to their various classes, school, work, shopping - ok, I lied, I hate shopping, etc.  I love being able to meet any one of their needs.  With Casey getting older, I find I recognize the shortness of the time I will have with them before they go out on their own, so I appreciate our time together even more.

I am most definitely a happy mothER!

Finally, I am a partnER/wife!

My other co-favorite desciptor is that of being a partnER to a great man.  I owe much of who I am, and who I am becoming to the way Dave encourages and empowers me.  I still have a long way to go to find and embrace the strength I believe lies dormant inside me, but I am grateful to be married to a man who wants to support me, who wants me to realize who I was meant to become.

I am a grateful partnER!

A singER, writer, teachER, runnER, biker, readER, MOTHER, PARTNER.  These are just a handful of words that describe, in their own way, my journey.  I still don't know when that line is crossed and I become an official ER.  Each category is a journey, a part of a whole, snapshots in time, phases of a life.  There's so much more to learn, to experience, to become.  I'm so inexplicably grateful my family will be there to experience it with me.

The Sabbath Day

Sabbath Day Sacrament Meeting Talk

September 15, 2013

I’m so grateful for this opportunity I have had to think about the Sabbath day, and what it means to keep it holy. It sparked a wonderful conversation on social media which then bled into a beautiful conversation with my daughter and family.  I believe that talks are for the speaker to learn, and I have learned.

What have we been told about the Sabbath Day?  On the Youth page of LDS.org, it says:

“Honoring the Sabbath day includes attending all your Church meetings.  Go to sacrament meeting prepared to worship the Lord and partake worthily of the sacrament.  During sacrament meeting, be reverent and willing to learn.  Refrain from activities that would distract you or others during this sacred meeting.  Be on time for your meetings.  As you do these things, you invite the Spirit of the Lord to be with you.”

It goes on to suggest some appropriate activities:

“. . . spending quiet time with your family, studying the gospel, fulfilling your Church callings and responsibilities, serving others, writing letters, writing in your journal, and doing family history”

Then it lists things it deems inappropriate:

“Sunday is not a day for shopping, recreation, or athletic events.  Do not seek entertainment or make purchases on this day.  Whenever possible, choose a job that does not require you to work on Sundays.”

In order to prepare for this talk, I followed my good friend, Sarah Williams’, example and asked an open question on Facebook asking for input as to how people feel about the Sabbath Day.  What I found was interesting, and not all that unexpected.  First of all, atypically, I received input from a darling friend that I met at girls’ camp this year.  She said that Sunday is her favorite day of the week.  She “view[s] the Sabbath as a day to get closer to family, relax, and feel the spirit.”  She continues, “I love spending time with my siblings. . . becoming closer friends while we look and think about all the amazing things Heavenly Father created.”  I also heard from another friend, a young man who is a (sort-of) recently returned missionary.  He says, “I flippin love Sundays!  No work, no school, just a day of rest.  I think I’d go crazy without it.”  He adds, “I’ve tried to follow the example of the Nephites and use church to be ‘edified and strengthened together.’  Moroni 6 baby.”  His words, not mine.

I loved hearing from these awesome friends!!  I’m so happy they seem to have found a great balance in their lives in their Sunday worship. What a blessing for them. However, their responses seem to be atypical, and not the norm.  What I found most of all, was a lot of conflicted feelings about the Sabbath day.    One youth said, “I like church, but sacrament meeting often has speakers that just ramble.  It’s kind of boring.” Most moms talked about how difficult it is to round up little ones and even get them to church.  One of my former students said, “I feel that the season I am in right now, a mom with four kids a dog and a husband . . I give myself a high five if I can get us all to church on time.” Another friend said, “My kids will tell you straight up that they hate Sundays.” They feel their parents are too busy with church callings and don’t have enough time for family. One responder was particularly astute.  She said, “I like the IDEA of the Sabbath Day – it provides time for me to study gospel principles, write in my journal, and just relax.  In all actuality, [though] when I come home from church, I’m somewhat burned out as far as gospel stuff goes since I have just exposed myself to gospel teachings for 3 straight hours.  Since I tend to focus on what I’m doing wrong, Sundays have become guilt days for me of late.  All I can think about is what I’m not doing and how I’d like to be doing [those things], but I don’t have the energy or the desire.  And I get tired of “relaxing” after about an hour because I feel like I’m not getting anything done.”  She had several people agree with her. 

I would like to focus on her comments for a moment.  If I may, I would like to use an analogy.  On Fast Sunday, we refrain from eating partly to remind us how important it is to feed our bodies, and how much we rely on food and water to keep our bodies moving and functioning properly.  This is also used to remind us how important it is to also constantly feed our spirits.  That, just like our bodies need continual nourishment, our spirits also need continual nourishment.  So, we sometimes compare our bodies to our spirits, since they are halves of a perfect whole.  Continuing that train of thought, let’s say Sundays are a day of spiritual feasting, full of 3 hours of concentrated church worship, followed by reading scriptures, writing in journals, doing family history work, writing letters to missionaries, reading the lessons for the next Sunday, and intense personal prayer and pondering.  Now, since our bodies are the other half of the perfect whole, let’s pretend Mondays are a day of physical feasting.  To me, this idea is like going to Chuck-A-Rama, eating for 3 solid hours, then staying at the restaurant pondering the meal, preparing for the next meal, and continuing to feast for the rest of the day.  That makes me sick just thinking about it.  And I really really like Chuck-A-Rama rolls smothered in honey butter.  However, if I ate that much for that long, even the rolls would make my stomach turn. In addition to being so full for that day, do you think the rolls will still sound appealing the next day, or the next?  So, something that was delicious to me would now become nausea inducing.

May we talk for just a bit about balance in body and spirit?  I love to eat, but I don’t eat constantly one day, then fast for the rest of the week.  Not healthy.  I love to run, well, I love to be done with a run.  But, I don’t run 20 miles one day, then not run the rest of the week.  It’s not healthy.  I will soon hate running, not to mention I will get injured toot sweet.  So, may I suggest that when we are spiritually full, forcing an extra piece of spiritual chocolate cake down our gullets is not going to be helpful to us.  In fact, it just might make us spiritually throw-up.  Also, is it possible that it will also make spiritual things sound less delicious, less desirable the next day or the next?  I’m not trying to say that we should not do those wonderful suggestions on the Sabbath day checklist.  Should we read our scriptures on Sunday?  Yes!  May I suggest, however, that we read our scriptures a little bit every day instead of gorging on Sundays, and then fasting the rest of the week?  It feeds our spirits in a beautiful way.  Should we write in our journals?  Probably!  I stink at this particular Sunday checklist item.  But, I know some who are “religious” journal writers and this feeds them.  Should we go to church on Sunday?  Yes!  It is there that we partake of the healing sacrament.  That is where we are strengthened and taught.  It is where we get to worship our Heavenly Father with our friends and neighbors, members of our extended families. There were other “should”s at the beginning of my talk, we all know them. May I say, though, if we are sincerely trying to be spiritually fed on Sunday, which this responder sounds like she is, I trust her to listen to her internal spiritual meter to know when her allotment of should-s are done, and she is FULL for the day.  I’m also not saying that after she is full, the Sabbath day is over for her.  What I am suggesting is that now, she gets to think about OTHER things that spiritually feed her.  What OTHER things can she do?

This is the slightly dangerous part.  The dangerous part to which I’m referring, is using a word that I have just now used three times:  SHOULD.  Should is one of my least favorite words.  It is full of guilt.  I just talked about the big “should”s: going to church, reading scriptures, etc.  However, sometimes we use that word to tell someone what they SHOULD or SHOULD NOT do on Sundays.  Remember the young woman that I met at girls’ camp:  the one who said she LOVES Sundays because it is a day of spiritual renewal for her?  I’m not going to tell you the specific things she does on Sundays, because you might be tempted to use your “should” marker, and use it to mark which things on her list she SHOULD do, and which things she SHOULDN’T do. 

L Tom Perry said, in a New Era article dated July 2010, “There appear to be three things that the Lord would require of us in keeping His day holy:

1.     To keep ourselves unspotted from the world. [meaning to] stay away from worldly places on the Sabbath
2.     To go to the house of prayer and partake of the sacrament.
3.     To rest from our labors.”

It sounds to me that there is a lot of room left open for us to make good decisions as to what to do with the rest of our Sabbath worship.  Here we get to use one of my favorite words:  INTENT.  What is our intent?  Is our intent to continue our Sabbath worship, or are we trying to justify something we just want to do?  Is our intent is to refresh ourselves like it says in Exodus 31:16-17:

16 Wherefore the children of Israel shall keep the sabbath, to observe the sabbath throughout their generations, for a perpetual covenant.
 17 It is a sign between me and the children of Israel for ever: for in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day he rested, and was refreshed.

Isn’t that beautiful.  The Lord was “refreshed” by his rest on the Sabbath.  Do we feel “refreshed” by our worship?  If so, wonderful.  If not, what can we do that we can be renewed body, mind and spirit so we are spiritually full and ready for the coming week?

The wonderful thing that many responders to the Facebook question said, was that their favorite part of Sunday is spending time with family.  For example, one busy mom offered, “I’ll confess it’s not my favorite day of the week.  I still have to cook dinner and load the dishwasher, hardly a rest for me, but at least I don’t dread it like I used to. . . I will say that my favorite time on Sundays is late in the evening when Dad’s home from meetings and we get our one weekly sit-down meal as a family.”  Or, one mom whose children are grown and who have mostly left home, said, “At my age, what I enjoy most about Sunday is sitting next to my daughter during Sacrament meeting . . . just being close for a few minutes.  We rush through life and I now appreciate more than ever those few and far between moments with any of my children.”  Another busy mom added, “when [the kids] were a little older, I loved Sundays because they would snuggle up with me and I’d read to them for hours after church.”  Being with family, was the theme, but the how and where they were with their families was very different.  Their intent was to draw closer as a family.  Beautiful.

So, I’m not going to tell my dear friend what she should do with the rest of her Sabbath day, after she feels full.  I trust her to think about her intent, make a good decision, and let go of her guilt.  I’m guessing that Heavenly Father knows her and knows her intent, that it is good, as she is good.  We have the gift of choice.  We are blessed to not live during the time of the Mosaic laws, where the children of Israel were given lists and lists of things they could and couldn’t do on Sundays, with rules galore; but instead, we live with the higher laws of our Savior, Jesus Christ, where He trusts us to use our good intent to serve Him, and worship our Father in Heaven in part by keeping the Sabbath day holy.  What an amazing gift.

Out of the Darkness

Every time I write a blog post, I swear it will be my last one.  But then an idea will strike me hard and my mind starts racing.  Like Holden Caulfield, I think in a stream of consciousness (however, mine is with considerably fewer swear words).  In order to slow down my brain and process my thoughts, I seem to need to write.  As I was stepping into the shower this morning, I was thinking about a brief reference I made the other day to something I have said in my blog.  That led to thinking about the different posts in my blog and the topics I have discussed.  In particular, I thought about my “Into the Darkness” post.  I’ve never gone back to read it again, and I don’t know if or when I will do so, but the question that came to mind is, “Are you now OUT of the darkness?”  I thought about what it felt like to be IN the darkness, and my immediate answer became obvious and clear:  YES, I AM out of the darkness.  That answer came with a big, deep, relieved sigh.  However, something was wrong, off.  I don’t at all feel like I did two and a half years ago before I began my unintentional journey.  I feel so radically different than I did then.  And then, the answer – or at least the analogy – came to mind of the hobbits from The Lord of the Rings. Frodo, Samwise Gamgee, Merry and Pippen, came home from their perilous journey to Mount Doom.  They survived!  They were successful in their quest!   They destroyed the ring!  Things can now go back to the way they were before!!  Right?  I love how Peter Jackson portrayed these four friends as they sit in Frodo and Sam’s favorite pub.  Everyone else around them laughs and drinks and behaves as if nothing has changed - because for them, nothing has (yes, I know it’s different in the book, stick with the analogy purists).  However, for these four friends, everything is different.  The places they have been, the battles they have been forced to wage externally and internally, have forever changed them.  I realized this morning that I recognized the looks on their faces as they looked around at the people in the pub.  They seem slightly awed that everyone seemed to be going about living their lives as if nothing has changed.  They realize that they are the same hobbits as they have always been, and yet, they are now very VERY different.

I feel like these characters (hopefully not Frodo though, I still think Sam should have just pushed him into the lava, ring and all, when he refused to throw it in to be destroyed once and for all, but I digress).  I feel like I have fought, and mostly won, the internal battles I was forced to wage.  All of the surprising, new fears have been sent on their way to find new homes.  I hope they will be kinder to their new hosts.  So, I won.  Right?  Yes, and . . . yes.  However, because of the journey I travelled, I will forever be different. Like the returning hobbits, I look around and see others, and it seems to me that nothing has changed for them, yet everything about me, internally, has changed:  how I see other people, how I see myself, how I see my future, how I see my family and friends, how I interact with others, what I am interested in, how I spend my time.  A song I like to sing from the musical, “Ragtime”, sums it up perfectly, “We can never go back to before.”  Robert Frost said, “The best way out is always through.”  Through means we begin on one end, travel through something, and then continue on our way.  We don’t loop back and pick up where we left off before beginning the trial.  I have had close friends say that I seem different.  I am.  For good or for bad, I will forever be different.  Hopefully I will be more compassionate, less judgmental, more patient – with God and myself, more open, more quiet, a better listener . . .  and more still.

Learning to Love the Beast

"You can't hate the Beast and expect to beat it; the only way to truly conquer something, as every great philosopher & geneticist will tell you, is to love it."  Born to Run by Christopher McDougall p. 125.

 

When I read that last December, I groaned.  "Please don't let it be true," I thought.  There is no way I will ever love, or like, or appreciate, or even tolerate this "Beast".  That would mean that I will never conquer it.  No way!  That has to be wrong.  I tried to just ignore it.  But, the quote wouldn't go away.  It was always hovering in the shadows of my mind.  Unbidden, it would quietly surface just to remind me it was still there.  I didn't even know I had this particular Beast:  fear.  In fact, I arrogantly would have insisted that I didn't really have any fears of note.  I mean, I knew I had a fear of jumping off of high things without a harness (cliffs, diving boards, very tall rocks).  I also have discovered a fear of watching my kids hiking on dangerous paths (Dave took Casey and Bryn hiking up Angel's Landing in Zion National Park, I stayed back so my anxiety wouldn't be infectious).  However, other than these perfectly rational fears ;), I truly wouldn't have been able to list any others.  
 

For the last two years, God, in His infinite wisdom and goodness, has seen fit to show me all new fears in exquisite detail.  In true Kerstin fashion, I fought and fought against these fears.  It's not that I was in denial about them.  Since they were so glaringly obvious, and shown to me in crystal clear HD,  I couldn't be in denial about them.  I felt the weight of the fears like a heavy homemade quilt wrapping every part of me in its "comfort," stifling my sometimes claustrophobic-prone awareness.  I can only say I tried to push the quilt off, or at least find an opening to catch a deep breath or two.  I found, however, that trying to fight it was like trying to fight summer humidity in Illinois.  I was able to find reprieves, though, smaller and shorter at first, eventually growing into longer and longer stretches of contentment.  However, I always knew that I was just in a temperature-controlled environment.  I always knew the humidity was just waiting for me outside the door.


 

Just recently, I was thinking about my humid nemesis.  But this time when I thought about it, I had a new and very welcome thought:  not only have I come to a peace with my fear, I have actually come to love it.  Truly love it.  I have discovered that I am no longer afraid of it, in fact, I just don't need it anymore.  Contented Sigh.  These last two years have put into perfect clarity what I need, what is bonus, and what is just extra stuff I don't need or even want anymore.  Turns out this particular Beast won't destroy me after all -- at least not today.  Be still.  Beautiful!

I Am One Of "Those" Women

"What was one of your favorite parts of General Conference?" the Gospel Doctrine teacher asked.

"I liked President Packer's poem," sweet neighborhood sister said.

We all nodded.

"I liked Elder Holland's talk." another neighborhood friend offered.

This time our nods were more emphatic.

"I loved the fact that two women gave prayers for the first time." I said.

Chirp, chirp.

Next, a class member cracked a joke, and many in the class giggled. "Oh, brother, she is one of "those" women," it felt to me they all thought, as, in my mind, they all did their own internal eye roll. I was not terribly shocked, but admittedly, very disappointed.

I've been one of "those" women ever since I was a child. My brothers can attest that I used to sit at the kitchen table and complain about the inequalities of boys and girls in the world. For the child I was, I used to limit my complaints to things I thought my brothers got, and then compare them to the things I felt like I didn't get. For example, the boys "got" to participate in Scouts. Ok, I didn't know then that that could be a reward or a punishment depending on the boy, and/or the activity or merit badge on which they were working. Additionally, the boys in my ward got to go to Lake Powell every year for a week as an activity. They stayed on a houseboat, water-skied, cliff jumped off of ridiculously high cliffs (ok, that didn't sound fun, it sounded terrifying), and slept and ate to their hearts’ content. The young women in our ward went to wilderness camp. I kid you not.

Also, I was raised in a very traditional home. My dad spent his days (and most nights) at work or at church. My mom spent her days working, taking care of all seven of us kids, cleaning the house, and preparing all meals. I'll never forget one particular night. Mom was bustling around trying to get dinner on the table with help from some of the kids. Dad was sitting at the table reading the paper and waiting for dinner to be served. After we had said the prayer and started passing the food, my dad picked up his glass, pretended to drink the empty liquid from his cup, and loudly said, "This water is delicious" or something to that effect. Mom, jumped up, giggled and quickly set about to fix her "mistake" of not putting something to drink on the table. I was mortified. "Get it yourself, Dad!" I angrily retorted -- in my head. Not only that, but, since there were four boys and three girls in our home, it was easy to see if the jobs in the home were gender specific. Some were not: cleaning the bathrooms, vacuuming, dusting, dishes. Some, most definitely were: mowing the lawn, weeding, cleaning the kitchen, dishes when guests were present. I'm sure you can guess which gender did which chore.

As I got older, I started to recognize these things as male privilege vs. female privilege. That is a whole other post which I will not venture into now. But, suffice it to say, I have been keenly aware of gender differences for a very long time. I started to feel bad about how attentively I focused on these differences until Dave and I started to discuss all of the other "those" women in church history. Biblically, Rebekah had to trick Isaac into giving the birthright to the "right" son, Jacob. Emma Smith was a wonderful support to Joseph and yet there were several times she disagreed with him, on some very big doctrinal issues. She also was a very powerful woman as the first Relief Society President. Then there was Eliza R. Snow and Mary Fielding Smith, just to name a few, and my favorite, Eve. The Lord needed an Adam, a person of obedience, in the Garden of Eden, and, he needed an Eve, a person who questioned. God needed both of them to further His plan. If not for Eve, they would still be in the Garden. They were equal partners with different responsibilities; a perfect balance between obedience and question.

I so believe that men and women are equal in importance in God's plan. I believe their differences are like two pieces in a puzzle, they fit together to form a perfect whole. I also believe church doctrine supports this philosophy. We are told again and again, in talk after talk, that women are equal to men, wives are equal to husbands. Unfortunately, many of our traditions, and church culture in general, seem to contradict this teaching, or at least they don't support it. For example, there are still stakes and wards where women are not invited to give the opening prayer in their sacrament meetings, even though it specifically states in the Church Handbook, given to every ward leader, men AND women should be invited to give both opening and closing prayers in any and all meetings. Yet, for 182 sessions of General Conference, there has never been a woman who has been invited to give either the invocation or the benediction. It's my understanding that there were letters written by several women to the Brethren pleading with them to invite a woman to offer a prayer in that very public setting. Many women felt that if women were invited to give prayers in General Conference, it would send a strong message. In a beautiful, meaningful, and quiet way, that request was granted. Saturday morning during the 183rd session of General Conference for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a woman offered the closing prayer. Then, on Sunday afternoon, a woman gave the opening prayer! Either the Brethren caved to the pressure of "those" women, or they decided that there had been an incorrect tradition that needed to change, or it was a revelation that the time had come to recognize women in a small, but important way. I have never known the Brethren to "cave" on anything. So, an historic decision was made.

When, they announced that a woman was giving the closing prayer, I cheered. Then, when she prayed (who is she? I don't even remember. It doesn't matter, really), I held Casey's hand and cried. History.

What was one of my favorite parts of General Conference? Without sarcasm, and without guile, one of my favorite parts was the historic invitation to a woman to offer up a prayer on behalf of us all, men and women, during a general conference of the church.

As a beautiful postscript, our Stake Conference was just held last weekend. Who gave the opening prayers at both the adult session on Saturday night, and the general session on Sunday morning? Women! Luckily, I have a wonderful Stake President who supports and loves "those" women.

My Epiphany

I thought I was done with my blog. I haven't felt drawn to write for some time now. I certainly have had much on my mind, but I have been lucky enough to have not only my fabulous husband, Dave, to talk to, but amazing friends as well. These friends let me dive straight into the deepest end of any ocean (ok, pool, since I am afraid of open water swimming) and talk about anything and everything, including and most especially, topics most Mormons refuse to even think about much less discuss.

However, I feel like I have had such an epiphany in the last day or so that my mind is whirring. I have so much on my mind, I want to see if can put it in writing: to flesh out the specifics on my own before I have another discussion. Besides, in person, this would dominate the discussion for far too long.

I have a hard time sitting still, I have too much of my mother in me.  I love to be very scheduled.  It helps me feel like I am actively engaged in doing, in learning.  I usually struggle finding the right balance of being just the right amount of busy, and the right amount of being available to be with my family.  Usually I don’t find the line until I cross over it and find I am on the “much too busy” side of the line.  Because of this need to always be working toward something, I’m always on the lookout for things that interest me.  Over the last several years, I have pursued several different avenues of interest for me, only to have each door close one after another, again and again. I won't go into specifics here because it doesn't matter what they were.  I had some time on my hands and was itching to fill it with the preparation I KNEW was going to be necessary for whatever was going to happen NEXT in my life. Then, this last year, it seemed like I was getting a more specific and pointed direction, perhaps from God, to "Be Still".  One day, I was watching a show on television, and the lead singer of The Fray sang their new song, "Be Still", which hit me hard; it went right to my gut.  Then, I went to church, and the song chosen for the congregation to sing was "Be Still My Soul"; again, a strong reaction.  Soon after, a friend gave me the gift of a bracelet on which was engraved, yup, you guessed it, "Be Still and Know That I Am God". These are just three of many reminders. All coincidences? Yup, probably. But to me, it seemed like a message. It felt good when I thought about it, so I decided that God was trying to tell me something. I was pretty sure what it meant: "Be still and just be patient". I was sure something was coming. I speculated that maybe I needed to save up some energy because something big must be imminent. . . I was sure it was right around the corner. . . Any day now. . . um. . . Weeks went by, then months, then a year and still counting.

Then, the other morning it hit me, maybe the message isn't "Be still and be patient because something else is coming". Maybe the message has been "Be still and just appreciate where you are!" What a concept! It came rushing at me all at once how incredibly lucky I am! Almost without fail, every morning I get to run or bike with Dave. I get an hour of uninterrupted discussion along with the motivation to stay in shape. Twice a week, Casey, my oldest daughter, even joins us. Then, I get to walk my youngest daughter to her school since that is also where I work. We get to talk about the upcoming day and anything else on her mind.  At work, I teach reading intervention to 21 students ranging from 1st grade to 4th grade. I adore my students and most of the time I enjoy trying desperately to help them learn to read. They are difficult, wonderful, frustrating, sweet, confusing, endearing, challenging children.

For a long time, it seemed like it wasn't enough. Since my degree and license are in a different field of education, I have felt like I should have been looking for a teaching position in that different field.  However, I realized this morning that the benefits to this job are huge. I have no meetings I have to attend, no professional development that is required of me, no extended lesson plans to prepare, nothing to grade. Also, I get to come home every day at 12:00. My kids come home around 3:00, so I have three hours to myself every day.

 I used to feel guilty about having this time on my hands. Surely, I should spend that time preparing for my next job, my next church calling, my next college degree, working on my music. Then I realized, right now, I have time to go to lunch with a friend, study scriptures, go to yoga class, go to the temple, work on finances, clean the house, practice the piano or sing (ok I don't practice, but I have time to if I want to), take a nap, read a book -- I've read book after delicious book --  prepare dinner since I'm loving to cook, not just bake, again. Then, when the kids come home, I have time to drive them to ballet, to violin, pick them up from an activity, take them to or pick them up from a friend's house. Then, when things settle down in the evening, we are all together as a family. We spend most nights like that, all together. Sometimes we watch a show, usually a Netflix series of the moment. Sometimes we are just home, hanging out together talking with and listening to each other. I get to do all of these things without worrying about homework from a class I'm taking, lesson plans to prepare for the next class I'm teaching, church callings that I just can't master.

I used to feel like if I didn't have something concrete to show for my time, I was failing.  If I didn’t have a CD of finished music, another degree to my name, more worldly recognition, more, more, more, than I was being stagnant and lazy. I finally realized that right now, I get to be a teacher – it’s in my blood, who I am -- and more importantly, I get to be a mom.  I love my relationships with my three girls. Being a mother is the best thing I have ever done, and the best thing I will ever do.  I never want to lose focus of that again.

Best of all, with this extra time Dave and I have at night now (Dave used to have a busy church assignment which ate up a chunk of his time every week), we spend a TON of time together.  We go anywhere and everywhere together.  Most errands are done side by side.  We also go out three times a week to catch a quick bite and just talk. We know each other top to bottom, inside and out, the good and the bad, the pretty and the ugly. We know just about everything that there is to know about ourselves and each other. But then, of course, there is much more to discover, we just haven't unearthed it yet.  He is my best and dearest friend.

I realized that I have everything, and yet for some reason, I still wanted more.  How ungrateful.  How foolish.  

BE STILL. Oh, ok, now I get it. Nice!

The Night Circus - favorite quotes

"The bonfire ignites in an eruption of yellow flame.
Then the second chime follows, and they become a clear sky-blue.
A third chime with a third arrow, and the flames are a warm bright pink.
Flames the color of a ripe pumpkin follow the fourth arrow.
A fifth, and the flames are scarlet-red.
A sixth brings a deeper, sparkling crimson.
Seven, and the fire is soaked in a color like an incandescent wine.
Eight, and the flames are shimmering violet.
Nine, and violet shifts to indigo.
A tenth chime, a tenth arrow, and the bonfire turns deepest midnight blue.
On the penultimate chime, the dancing flames change from blue to black, and for the moment, it is difficult to discern the fire from its cauldron.
And on the final strike, the dark flames are replaced with a blinding white, a shower of sparks falling like snowflakes around it.  Huge curls of dense white smoke swirl up into the night sky." pg. 120

"'Secrets have power,' Widget begins. 'And the power diminishes when they are shared, so they are best kept and kept well.  Sharing secrets, real secrets, important ones, with even one other person, will change them.  Writing them down is worse, because who can tell how many eyes might see them inscribed on paper, no matter how careful you might be with it.  So it's really best to keep your secrets when you have them, for their own good, as well as yours.'" pg. 226

"'So by losing his secrets, the wizard gained immortality.  His tree stood long after the clever young girl was old and no longer beautiful, and in a way, he became greater and stronger than he had ever been before.  Though if he were given the chance to do it all over again, he likely would have been more careful with his secrets.'" pg. 228

"'Call me by my name,' he says.  He has never heard her speak his name and holding her in his arms he suddenly craves the sound. 'Please,' he adds when she hesitates.

"'Marco,' she says, her voice low and soft.  The sound of his name on her tongue is even more intoxicating than he had imagined, and he leans in to taste it." pg. 349

"'I've tried,' Marco says, cupping her face in his hands. 'I have tried to let you go and I cannot.  I cannot stop thinking of you.  I cannot stop dreaming about you.  Do you not feel the same for me?'

"'I do,' Celia says.  'I have you here, all around me.  I sit in the ice Garden to get a hint of this, this way that you make me feel.  I felt it even before I knew who you were, and every time I think it could not possibly get any stronger, it does.'" pg. 352

"Inside, the train is opulent, gilded, and warm.  Most of the passenger cars are lined with thick patterned carpets, upholstered in velvets in burgundies and violets and creams, as though they have been dipped in a sunset, hovering at twilight and holding on to the colors before they fade to midnight and stars." pg. 402

"It would be like pulling the Murray twins apart and expecting them to be the same.  They would be whole but not complete." pg. 459

"'There are no more battles between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens in need of rescue.  Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case.'" pg. 497

"'They are the circus.  You can hear his footsteps in the Labyrinth.  You can smell her perfume in the Cloud Maze.  It's marvelous.'

'You think being imprisoned marvelous?'

'It's a matter of perspective,' Widget says.  'They have each other.  They are confined within a space that is remarkable, one that can, and will, grow and change around them.  In a way, they have the world, bound only by his imagination.'" pg. 502

"'He was seeking immortality, which is a terrible thing to seek.  It is not seeking anything, but rather avoiding the unavoidable.  He will grow to despise that state if he does not already.  I hope my student and your teacher are more fortunate.'

'You mean. . . you hope they can die?' Widget asks.

'I mean only that I hope they find darkness or paradise without fear of it, if they can.'" pg. 503

"'Someone needs to tell those tales.  When the battles are fought and won and lost, when the pirates find their treasures and the dragons eat their foes for breakfast with a nice cup of Lapsang souchong, someone needs to tell their bits of overlapping narrative.  There's magic in that.  It's in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict.  From the mundane to the profound.  You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose.  That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words.  That is your role, your gift.  Your sister may be able to see the future, but you yourself can shape it, boy.  Do not forget that.'  He takes another sip of his wine.  'There are many kinds of magic, after all.'" pg. 505

Happy 11th Birthday, Sage

She was born with it.  It's a gift.  A talent.  Sage was born loving children.  She is not only willing to help babysit little ones, she truly loves it, and them.  She has always been drawn to those younger than she.  She is chomping at the bit to be old enough to have babysitting jobs. I love how I can always volunteer to help a neighbor with emergency babysitting needs.  I know that Sage will not only be willing, but eager to step right in and take over, which she consistently does.  I get to just love the kids and Sage gets to be surrogate mom.  When she was about 8 years old, as we talked about what to do for her birthday party, she said she wanted a separate party that she would plan and carry out all by herself for all of her much younger friends, which she did.

In addition to loving children, Sage also loves to organize.  When she is in the right mood, she will organize anything:  a closet, a drawer, her room.  Not to say that her room is never a mess - it is - but everything is relative.  A mess for her is not really very messy for a stereotypical tween from what I hear. 

She also loves to create interesting hair styles for herself complete with intricate braids, twists and buns.  She has done her own hair since the time she could hold a brush.  Her school picture from pre-school at age 4, is of Sage sporting her own style created and realized on her own.  Only on occasion, when she finds a style she wants to try that is just a little too intricate, will she ask me for help.  It really is quite impressive.

She has her own sense of fashion as well.  She is quite particular about what she thinks matches and complements.   Dave has a pair of green sweats that he almost never wears, except to races so that if he doesn't end up getting them back in his drop bag, he is not bothered.  One night several years ago, he happened to be wearing them when he went in to say good-night.  He asked if he could give her a good-night kiss.  She responded immediately and emphatically with, "Not if you're wearing those pants!"

Sage is very responsible, and teachable at school.  It just about kills her to not turn in a homework assignment.  When she has the right motivation from a caring teacher, she would move mountains to finish every task asked of her.

Sage is my buddy, my partner, my always willing companion when I visit a friend, go run an errand, or anything I need to do.  She is very very social and loves to be with people, and most of the time, I will do.  But, she sure loves time with her friends.  They are more willing to play virtual school, or city, or even virtual church.  Everything she creates, she creates big.  She and her friend made up a dance, set up our backyard for the premier, created invitations and tickets, and provided refreshments for all who attended - it was a pretty exclusive list of attendees.  That's just one example.

She has her own set of challenges and difficulties which includes the much practiced talent of annoying her sister, but Sage is a gift and a blessing to me, and most people who know her.

How to Lose 5 Pounds in One Day With No Drugs and No Exercise

Impossible, you say?  No, really.  I tried this method myself last Friday and found the claims to be completely accurate.  You just need to follow these five easy (ok, not quite easy) steps.

Step #1:  Be so weak and sick that you can barely move a muscle all day.  The one time you try to venure downstairs, you have to take a break on the top of the stairs to sit down and moan, then you whimper down each step, continuing until you finally reach your bed again and gratefully fall back into bed.

Step #2:  Throw up so many times during the 24 (ok, 32) hours that the thought of food or liquid causes your stomach to convulse and threaten to dry heave.  

Step #3:  Finally, successfully make it downstairs when the kids come home from school where they gather around you and watch hours and hours of "Bones" and "Say Yes to the Dress", while you fade in and out of coherence.  Luckily, um, or unluckily, the girls seemed to like this step.

Step #4:  Turn down a getaway with your spouse the one, and only, time they plan one from beginning to end right down to choosing and booking the hotel.  In Dave's defense, he claims to be the "Idea Man", and I'm in charge of Operations.

Step #5:  After a whole day of lying immobile, you collapse into bed at 8:30 and sleep the sleep of the dead until morning.

After the successful completion of all five steps, you wake up feeling 95% better, and voila, 5 pound weight loss!  What's the first thing I did to celebrate my accomplishment of the weight loss (and being able to stand up)?  I ate a handful of peanut M&M's.  I'm going to enjoy gaining back every ounce I lost.  Speaking of which. . . I'm hungry.