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!