Progress

On a beautiful Saturday morning twenty-two years ago, at the mouth of Rock Canyon in Provo, Utah, my freshman ward (church congregation)'s women's group met for an activity. We were sent, two by two, up the road where we met someone who gave us a choice. Two ways lay before us. "At the end of one of these paths," she said, "you will get a five dollar bill. At the end of the other path you will get nothing. Which path do you choose?"

My companion and I deliberated. On one hand, the road without the five dollars at end would likely be "the road less traveled by," and that could make "all the difference." On the other hand, five dollars is at least something. We want to get something out of life! We chose the latter and were sent on up a broad path and around a corner where we landed in "prison" with other unfortunates. No five dollars. We'd been deceived. Our journey was over.

We made the best of our lot, singing an evil camp song at full voice and losing the tug-of-war at the end with a certain flair (suddenly letting go and sending "the righteous" to the ground). But I will never forget looking down from our rocky prison perch and watching those who had chosen the other path moving on to have experiences I wouldn't have. I gained a new perspective on hell. As Robert L. Millet noted,

Joseph Smith taught that "the torment of disappointment in the mind of man'--the realization of what we could have done and who we could have become and yet did not--'is as exquisite as a lake burning with fire and brimstone (Joseph Smith [manual], 224; Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, 357).

I decided then and there that I do not want be damned (dammed/stopped/held-back) in my progress. I want the freedom to grow/increase/experience forever.

Since then, I've found that one hiccup to my progress has been my old nemesis perfectionism. Like the five-dollar-bill path, perfectionism leads me only into a hell. I can't progress if I'm stressed out about not being now who I wish to be eventually. Bruce R. McConkie said,

There are those who believe we must be perfect to gain salvation. This is a doctrinal misunderstanding.What we are doing as members of the Church is charting a course leading to eternal life. That course begins here and now and continues in the realms ahead. If we go out of this life loving the Lord, desiring righteousness, and seeking to acquire the attributes of godliness, we will have that same spirit in the eternal world, and we will then continue to advance and progress until an ultimate, destined day when we will possess, receive, and inherit all things.  

This inheritance will be a gift, not an achievement, and I will still be moving forward. President Dieter F. Uctdorf reminds me:

Whatever our age, wherever our location, we are always in the middle. What's more, we will forever be in the middle.

I went back and looked at what Brad Wilcox taught at Time Out for Women last year:

Justice requires perfection (in the never-make-a-mistake sense). The Savior paid justice in full.  

The Lord requires growth. 

This reminds me of a Janeen Brady song I learned when I was a little girl:

One little step at a time. Are you ready? Let's start to grow. 

 If you want to grow, that's the best way I know: one little step at a time.

The Lord will show me a tree or rock formation on my horizon. Then when I reach that point with the help of His spirit (my compass/guide), he will show me a landmark on my new horizon. I'm reminded of a song I sang when I was a young woman:

New horizons come into view. I see before me many roads to take. What should I say? What should I do?

% geograph.org.uk

No matter where I find myself in life, I can choose the road less traveled (with the guidance of the Savior), put one foot in front of the other trusting in Him, and, as Fievel's dad told him repeatedly, "Keep Walking!"

Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men. Wherefore, if ye shall press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life. (2 Nephi 31:20).

Waltz

You learned how to lead.

I learned how to follow.

We planned,

Choreographing each turn,

Each stop,

Each move forward.

It takes practice to

Move together.
Worth the struggle.

I love feeling
Light,
Joyful,

Beautiful
And as one.

One, two, three;

You, God, me.

Seeking light from heaven,
We practice,
stumble, succeed,

Waltzing through our 

Life together.

Building strength,

Finding joy in

Oneness.

I dance with our son,

Teaching him how to lead
His future
Eternal
Waltz partner.

Don't Knock Mistakes

We've been conditioned
To not make mistakes, but I can't live that way, no
Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words
That you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
Natasha Bedingfield

I like that song.

I've always been desperate to not make a mistake, paralyzed by the possibility of doing or saying something wrong. I don't think anyone wants to make mistakes. "Nasty, uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner!" No, wait. Those are adventures (The Hobbit.) But I'm learning that mistakes are part of the adventure of life! :D I'm hoping that if I can learn to take mistakes in stride, my children won't grow up with complexes.

"If parents are forgiving, the child learns he can try new things, even risking mistakes. On the other hand, if the parents are quick to condemn mistakes, the child will fear attempting new things. In time, a parent's disapproval of a child becomes the child's own disapproval of himself." - Phil Harrison

Rather than trying to prevent children from making mistakes (helicopter parent) or intimidating them into not making mistakes (authoritarian parent), give them opportunities to make mistakes and learn from the consequences. (paraphrased from Parenting with Love and Logic by Foster Cline and Jim Fay and Parental Power by Dr. Paul Jenkins.)

A few months ago, I heard a radio program interviewee talk about how kids come to hate being at school because they grow so afraid of making mistakes. In contrast, he told about a teacher in a Japanese classroom who would say cheerfully, with a smile, "______ didn't give the right answer. He didn't understand this topic. Does somebody else understand this that could explain it to ______?" There is no shame, just trying, sharing, and learning. She demonstrates by her attitude that failure is part and parcel of getting an education. The interviewee also mentioned a children's book, Mistakes That Worked by Charlotte Foltz Jones. It includes The Leaning Tower of Pisa.

c/o Kyle Flood from BC, Canada

I thought of some other mistakes that have worked.

Star Wars: Episodes I-III are a lot more polished-looking than Episodes IV-VI. But David and I don't like them as much because of it. We like the rougher, dicier, rogue-including original trilogy. To us, its imperfections are part of what makes it perfect.

When Anne shows up at Green Gables instead of the boy that was sent for, Marilla tries to return her, explaining that there's been "some queer mistake." Later, Matthew called it a "lucky mistake."

"It wasn't luck, it was Providence," said Marilla. "God knew we needed her."

Down syndrome is considered a mistake (abnormal, not how a person is supposed to develop.) However, I don't consider W--and his unique blend of challenges and abilities-- a mistake. I've needed what I've learned (and continue to learn) by having them in my life.

Some say that I should have married long before I was 32. D's divorce signaled the failure of a marriage. Nevertheless, somehow I married the right person, at the right place, at the right time. Our happiness together (that feels so very right) is built on mistakes. Similarly, my cousin wrote recently about how the happiness of an adoptive family is built on the mistakes of a birth family.

David Berkowitz, The Creation Museum in Petersburg, KY

I've often worried about what I thought was a problem: God gave Adam and Eve commandments, and His plan couldn't be fulfilled unless they broke one of those commandments. Perhaps this was not as singular an experience as I'd thought. Aren't we ALL given commandments by God? He knows we are going to make mistakes, just as he knew Adam and Eve would. Knowing us as well as He does, He factors these mistakes into his plans. (Think of Mormon's prompting to include the small plates of Nephi.) Satan's plan was to get us through this life without mistakes. (And without growth.) Opposition is for a purpose. Weaknesses were given for our benefit. We learn from our mistakes, and so are blessed by them. We're learning by experience to choose the good.

My own worst mistakes have brought me to my knees in humility, where I've come closer to Father in Heaven and understood Him better. I've learned, where I wouldn't have otherwise, how to cast my burdens on the Lord day to day and even moment to moment, and have (while pleading for help) been taught by the spirit things I needed desperately.

Perhaps I shouldn't knock mistakes, my own or others'. Thanks to the Savior, a mistake isn't the end of the world, it's a stepping stone. As my first missionary companions tried to teach me,

"All of life is like [a] race,
With ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win,
Is rise each time you fall." - Dee Groberg

My husband and I discussed all of this at the end of a trying day less than a month ago. He'd gone through all of the (not so fun) preparations for a colonoscopy. A few minutes before we left for the hospital, he took a tour of our garden and, without thinking, tested the ripeness of our grapes by trying one.

Because of that little grape, they were unable to put him under for the procedure, which proved to painful, requiring him to reschedule. In a few days he'll go through the (did I mention, "not so fun?") preparation process again, and that little grape will probably be expensive (as only the first try may covered by insurance.) As awful, and chagrined, as my dear husband feels, we know that the Lord has the mistake covered. He'll take care of us. We can laugh and move on. (Granted, when Jon broke one of my favorite earrings yesterday, attempting to try it on, I didn't take it well. And I'm still smarting about mistakes I made years ago. At least I know it's possible to take mistakes with equanimity. I hope to get better at it.)

I want to move forward cheerfully, accepting that I (and my children) are going to trip, fall, and get plenty of bruises. I want to remember to sing with everything I have whether I do it technically/musically right not. I want to try to communicate, even while falling all over my feet in the process.

The Light of the World by William Holman Hunt, Manchester Art Gallery

I can live freely knowing that the Savior is always there to give me a hand up, a nudge in the right direction, a light to my path, and healing for the falls, bumps and bruises. Especially those I inflict on others.

I started this post with a song that gives me that let-go-of-fear feeling. I'll end with quote I've always loved, of Ezra Taft Benson's, that does the same.

Life joyfully, life happily, live enthusiastically, knowing that God does not dwell in gloom and melancholy, but in light and love.

I Am Enough (and So Is Everyone Else)

Blogging for me acts, rather often, as a kind of scrapbooking or journal. My journals, besides being a record of thoughts/memories/events, help me make sense of what's in my head and build my life on the best things that come into it.

A year or so ago, I attended a conference on parenting with my sister, who is a professional educator. After the needs of children were addressed, the focus turned to the needs of parents. Everyone in the auditorium was asked to close their eyes, listen to the following song, and welcome any thoughts it prompted:



Tears streamed down my face as I listened. And afterward the following thought hit me over the head like a 2x4:

Having W in my life has been teaching me that no one is "less than." And every day of my life I think of myself as "less than."

Several years ago, I was re-reading a favorite book of mine, when I came across the following (which is a basic premise of the book):

I am acceptable the way I am, and you are acceptable the way you are.

I balked at this statement. If I am acceptable just the way I am (and everyone else is acceptable the way they are), why all the talks and lessons about becoming more kind, honest, etc.? I sat there stubbornly for a moment or two, then asked silently (just in case), "Father in Heaven, am I acceptable just the way I am?" The response through the Spirit was a resounding "yes." Since then, I've remembered when I neared the end of my full-time LDS mission and knelt to ask if my offering was acceptable to Him (not thinking, myself, that it would be). He'd responded with an overwhelming "yes" then too.

My initial impulse is to wonder how that is possible. But, then, how is any good thing possible in this life without the Savior? I am learning that at any given moment I am (and everyone else is) enough with Him, because He is everything.

I nothing lack if I am His. And He is mine forever. - The King of Love My Shepherd Is

One morning recently, I caught a replay of a BYU devotional given by Brad Wilcox in July last year. I'd heard parts of it before, but it fits in with current heavenly tutoring.

Grace shall be as your day.

No matter where anyone is in their progression, He has got it covered.

Hold the phone, though. What if someone is not even trying to repent. Are they still acceptable the way they are? Don't we need to be availing ourselves of the atonement to be O.K. (with Him)?

The thing is, that's (as Gollum says) "not it's business." The minute someone who feels like they're close to the Lord, starts to feel like they're better than someone they're worried isn't close to the Lord (presuming to know whether someone, even themselves, is close to the Lord or not), they're not as close to the Lord anymore.

Judge not, that ye be not judged. 

Only the Lord (and those he's designated as Judges in Israel) can judge at all. Not my job. It's not even my job to judge myself. I'm in the exact same boat as everyone else. Remember Elder Uctdorf and the bumper sticker?



The Lord tells me what my job is.

Love one another as I have loved you.

(That means I'm supposed to love me too.)

For all intents and purposes (of those of us who are not the Lord or His bishops), I am acceptable the way I am, and everyone else is acceptable the way they are. And I can be certain that when the Lord judges, it'll be with love for He is love. All I have ever felt from the Lord or a bishop (when acting in the office to which they were appointed) is loving kindness, acceptance, and a sense of their walking forward with me, step by step.

Everyone is "different, [but] not less." (This clip makes me cry.)



So this is true:

Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You. 

and this as well:

 No kind of sneetch is the best on the beaches.

I am enough. And so is everybody else.

Let Go

Tenacious, I don't let go easily. I don't let go of friends my heart gets attached to (Facebook is like a dream come true). I don't let go of places I've lived (I figure I'm "from" them all.) Putting together a blog post (ha) or a scrapbook (just try to pull me out of a project I'm into.) If a contact would miss an appointment with me in the mission field, I'd wait for them on their porch. I'm an emotional bulldog.

Family ties are harder to break. (Doggedness/determinedness/tenaciousness comes from both sides of my family. It helped get the pioneers across the plains.) "Not giving up" is a good thing, right? But one does need to know when to let go. And that isn't my strong suit.

There seems to be a lot of "letting go" involved in forgiveness. I'm finally learning how necessary it is. I put the problem (the person I wronged, or might have wronged, or fear I will wrong, the person I feel wronged by, the wrong either way and its consequences) into the capable hands of the Lord and step back, move on. If I do anything else, I am inferring that God can't handle it, that the atonement isn't infinite. Insufferable presumption.

What seems nearly impossible is forgiving myself. (I can do that? I'm not giving up or being lazy? It's amazing how light I feel when I succeed, and I wonder if I'm allowed to feel so unburdened.) I know very well what mistakes I make every minute (it seems) of every day. It's easy to feel that I'd be letting myself off the hook. Someone has to be riding me all the time, right? Wrong. Father in Heaven doesn't work that way. He is gentle and kind.

What about paying for what I've done wrong? What if everything isn't "all better" with the person I've wronged? Should the Lord's forgiveness be enough for me, when they person I've wronged is not yet inclined to forgive me (or forgive me fully)? I guess so. Once I've apologized and offered to make it right, it's their choice whether or not to accept, and it's time for me to "let go and let God" again.

I can be a better friend to myself. What if I could start each day already forgiving myself for all the mistakes I am bound to make that day, and forgiving others in advance for anything they might do? "Leave to thy God to order and provide." Let go, and let God. There's a lot more involved with that than I'd realized. The only way to get rid of those tension knots in my shoulders, and regain more sanity, is to truly "cast [my] burdens" (not only my list of things-to-do, but also mine and others' mistakes) "on the Lord and trust His constant care."

If I truly let go, I am free to move forward, and I am allowing others the same freedom.

Get Out of the Way

Ever since an insightful day at the temple a few months ago, I've been noticing that much of what is helpful in life is about getting out of the way.

For example, a favorite book of mine teaches the importance of being there for someone while at the same time letting them solve their own problems, as illustrated in the following article:

"His problem wasn't mine to solve. In fact, I needed to get out of his way so he could solve it." (An essay that originally appeared in the New York Times.)

I took a couple of voice and diction classes for a theater education minor I was pursuing for awhile. A book we were to read, Freeing the Natural Voice by Kristin Linklater, has a description on its back cover that includes the following:

The approach is designed to liberate the natural voice rather than to develop a vocal technique. The basic assumption of the work is that everyone possesses a voice capable of expressing, through a two-to-four octave natural pitch range, whatever gamut of emotion, complexity of mood and subtlety of thought he or she experiences. The second assumption is that the tensions acquired through living in this world, as well as defenses, inhibitions and negative reactions to environmental influences, often diminish the efficiency of the natural voice. Hence, the emphasis is on the removal of the blocks that inhibit the human instrument as distinct from the development of a skilled musical instrument.

I learned something similar while singing. My vocal coach, instead of giving me a list of things to do to "make things work right" (a counter-productive approach with me--ties me up in knots) taught me to do what's necessary to free my instrument (much of which involves leaving relaxed what I'd otherwise be inclined to tense-up.) Interestingly, when I am doing what is necessary to sing correctly, it feels effortless and free, like flight; completely exhilarating.

The commandments my Father has given me are not to stress me out. That's as counter-productive for effective living as it is for effective speaking or singing. Hence His wanting me to have faith, to trust in Him. Thinking good thoughts about myself, others, the world, our home; and reading the scriptures are some things that help me get out of the way so that He can help me. Commandments/covenants help me do what is necessary to set me free to fly, to allow the Lord and The Holy Spirit into my life so that He can make more out of my life than I possibly could. 

When I was preparing to serve an LDS mission, the prophet (Ezra Taft Benson) had been encouraging the reading of The Book of Mormon for 30 minutes a day. He had also spoken much about putting God first. 

When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives. The Great Commandment--Love the Lord, Ensign May 1988.)

I started reading the Book of Mormon for at least 30 minutes before starting on my homework. Looking back at my journal during that time, it was evident that before I followed President Benson's counsel I was spinning my wheels, running in circles. Afterward, my life simply took off. I was going places. I was making tracks. I was progressing. It was amazing.

President Benson also spoke on the importance of removing pride. I need to be humble and receptive to the spirit in order to receive the help He wishes to give me. For instance, I had to let go of a lot of pride before I was ready to meet my husband. It's a lesson I keep having to learn.

Getting out of the way helps me understand better how to "Let go and let God" and why He says, "Be still."

Dieter F. Uchtdorf, in last month's Ensign, sums it up beautifully:

"The Lord can use us for His purposes if we simply set aside whatever thoughts limit our ability to serve and allow His will to shape our lives."

Epiphany

Sitting in church one Sunday, feeling the wonderful spirit in our meetings, a thought occurred to me (more than once. I think Heavenly Father wanted to make sure I got it.)

W loves me. He notices when I show love to him, and shows his appreciation to me in the tenderest ways. He forgives me easily. These are some of his strengths.

Since Jesus Christ counseled us to "become as a little child", and He himself is our exemplar, then He must be like a child. He must be like W. He must love me as W does.

W was sent to me to show me how much I am loved by the Lord, every single day of my life.

I have been doing a lot of stressing about things pertaining to W's education--things that need to be done, that I should be doing, that I'm not doing, that I don't know how to do yet. So, another thought:

Is whatever I can teach W more important than what I need to learn from him?

No.

Takes a lot of the stress off,

and brings a lot more love in.

Fear

There are a number of things I'm afraid of: an insect I can't even mention (regular pest control treatments are a necessity at our house), making a mistake, being misunderstood, not being accepted by people I care about, losing someone (or something) I love, losing control (an illusion in and of itself), or being injured emotionally. Serving an LDS mission  meant enduring almost constant torture. I remember being driven home from my mission (in Wisconsin, USA) by my parents, through Minnesota and North Dakota, anticipating the "release" to come. I was almost desperate to be allowed to not have to talk to everybody, not have to open myself up to being hurt almost every minute of every day.

Fear is not only debilitating, but destructive. I've been specifically warned against it (actually commanded, personally, to fear not.) I do though. Such a daily, almost hourly, sinner. It's pretty pitiful. I felt prompted to blog about fear today. Maybe it is important to let fears into the light. They love the dark. In Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, the dangerous "autumn people" were drawn by fears and fed on them. The only way to banish the evil was to not take it seriously, to laugh at it, and to love.

I am learning to Dare to Love in parenting and in other aspects of my life, rather than act (or rather react) in fear. Letting go of fear sets me free to love. "Love conquers all" is not the cliche I used to think it was, not when we're talking about the love of God. Aye, but "letting go", there's the rub. It's so hard. Fear is a tool of the devil. I should be able to drop it like a hot coal. But, no, I hold onto it, subconsciously thinking I know, better than God, how to live my life.

I taught at the Missionary Training Center for about year and a half while I was finishing up my studies at BYU. I remember doing a personal attribute assessment or gospel study alongside the missionaries in class one morning and coming to the realization that if I want the same sort of incredible blessings I enjoyed on a full-time mission, I need to be willing to go through the same kinds of agony. I will have to face my fears. I will have to be uncomfortable. I will have to choose the difficult way, as did Adam and Eve, in order to gain the greatest blessings. 

Our decision to choose full inclusion for my son with Down syndrome has put me face-to-face with my fears in a way that reminds me of when I served a mission or when I chose to marry my husband. I am encouraged, of course, by a very clear feeling of spiritual direction, and by things I've heard and read lately that corroborate our decision. Still, I am plagued by doubts. Arg! I hate feeling like I'm swimming upstream against the current. But, as I do, I can choose whether to carry the weight of my fears or let them go--turn them over to the Lord--and be buoyed up His love that is the antithesis of fear.

Inclusion

Several years ago, my husband and I noticed that my local married siblings' families were doing a lot together. We read my sister's blog posts about the fun the cousins were having and wanted our sons to have that too, but hesitated to speak up. Our son with Down syndrome (W) was always difficult for me to take anywhere. Even at family gatherings, we'd spend all our time watching him to prevent his running or wreaking havoc. He was difficult. And could we knowingly inflict difficulty on others?

It wasn't too long before our boys were invited to a cousins party at this same sister's home (she's kid party planner extraordinaire). We were delighted for this chance for our sons to spend this time with their cousins. But, as we'd feared, it was hard. I remember, near the end of the party, sitting cross-legged on the floor with W on my lap, fighting back tears. (I'd tried, but not always succeeded, at keeping W from destroying a toy or two here, a cup there.) My dear sister came and sat next to me, and told me that I needed to keep bringing W to family gatherings, even though it was hard. She said they needed to learn to have him around. That meant more to me than she may ever know. She wanted him included.

Flash forward three years. J figured out the child-proof doorknob guards and had been spreading his wings into the neighborhood. Our next door neighbors had a little girl his age, and next to her lives a little boy. All three were in the same class at church. Since our neighbors seemed willing to have J around, we'd been letting him go over when his friends were playing outside. We'd kept W back because none of the children are his age and, again, we didn't want to introduce a difficult element. It finally became clear to me, though, that J himself was being a "difficult element" at the homes of his friends. His friends were very comfortable at each other's houses, but we didn't know either family as well as they knew each other, and J hasn't developed the social skills yet to be completely easy to have around. He has a very strong personality (which serves him well as W's little brother). I couldn't be over there with him, because I was home with W, so I determined to not let J go to play at his friend's homes without a specific invitation. I sent a message to our next door neighbors letting them know as much and apologizing.

Then J, W and I had a collective melt-down. (J because he wanted to go play with his friends, I because I couldn't let him, and W because he couldn't take watching us cry.) Afterward, I tried to get the boys to bed, but they were bouncing off the walls. (I was alone with them; my husband was camping with the Webelos scouts we had charge over.) A friend called in the middle of the melee, sensed the state I was in, and showed up a few minutes later with her husband. They took the boys to their home while I readied everything to make bedtime go smoothly and took some deep breaths. 

There was a knock at my door. I thought it was the boys returning, but it was my next door neighbors with a plate of apple crisp. They suggested that the answers to the current difficulty lay in 1) getting to know each other better, all three families, as neighbors, and 2) in my visiting their homes along with J . . . bringing W too. They felt J needed to be out and social (oh boy, does he) and that as hard as it might be (I warned them), they needed to get to know W. They needed to know more about what it was like for us as his parents. And they wanted their children to learn to be comfortable around children with special needs. They love us and want us in their lives. Ever since that night, my boys and I have been out and about the neighborhood together often. (J is helping us all be more social.) We are including ourselves more in the lives of our neighbors, and they are wholeheartedly letting us.

Seclusion vs inclusion. Twice now, we've inadvertently found ourselves leaning toward the former and were encouraged (by the lovely people around us) to choose the latter. W starts Kindergarten next week. Once again, we've found ourselves in the uncomfortable position of having to choose. Do we really want full inclusion with his "typical" peers, when we know it will be more difficult for everyone involved?  We are causing others difficulty by putting W into the regular mix, and that's . . . difficult . . . for us. But if my sister and my next door neighbors are right, it will be worth the difficulty. It helps that we feel prompted to proceed. We are grateful for the staff at his charter school who, despite the difficulties inherent in the situation, have opened their arms to our little boy. I received an email from the special needs coordinator today. She wrote:

I believe W can flourish [here] and we will love him for as long as you are comfortable with him being here. There are many things our students can teach each other.

The other day, I ran across a speech given by a high school senior in Illinois at an literary assembly in 2007:

I know how much you can learn from people, from all people. Society is changing. The mentally handicapped aren't locked in their families' basements anymore. The mentally handicapped aren't rotting in institutions. Our fellow human beings are walking among us, attending school with us, entering the workforce with us; asking for nothing but acceptance, giving nothing but love.

He said he's learned more from his mentally challenged sister Olivia's simple words and love than he has in any classroom.

I only hope that, one day, each of you will open your hearts enough to experience true unconditional love. I hope that, someday, someone will love you as much as Olivia loves me. I hope that, someday, you will love someone as much as I love her.

We similarly hope that the difficulties of working with W in our extended family, neighborhood, and at school will be worth it to those who interact with him. W has changed us so much just by being born. More than 80% of children with Down syndrome are aborted in our society before they have a chance to be born. There are some countries still where children with special needs are rejected by their families and society, kept away from the general populace in institutions. I have seen wonderful couples, some already with large families, guided by the spirit to go and rescue these children. And I believe it is not just for the sake of the children themselves (who God is so very mindful of) but for those who need to know them.

As a side note, I don't think the principle of inclusion applies only to those with special needs (unless it's understood that we all have our own special needs.) When I moved to a different city alone many years ago, I had to choose whether to include myself in church (social) activities. I was uncomfortable entering the fray alone. As I prayed about it, I was surprised to feel that I needed to include myself not just for my own benefit, but because people needed to know me.

I am learning a lot from knowing W. I needed to know him. I thank God I do know him. I'm thankful for those around us who want to know him too.

Thoughts on The Fellowship of the Ring

My husband and I were treated to a special movie event a couple of years ago. We got to see The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring extended edition on the big screen as it was meant to be seen. We loved it. Here are some things I learned (or was reminded of) as I wept my way through parts of the film:

From Boromir:

When I lose hope and faith, I will more easily fall prey to evil.

When I fall, I can repent. I can come back and fight to make it right.

from Frodo:

I don't have to know how to do what's ahead of me or which way to go. If I am willing, I can put one foot in front of the other, accepting guidance and direction from a source I trust.

from Galadriel:

"By small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise." - Alma 37:6

I have a light I can turn to in dark places, when all other lights go out. 

from Sam:

There is power in keeping covenants. Sam's determination to keep his promise allows him to be a blessing to someone who needs him most. 

I have always loved Sam. Besides being a true friend, Sam's faith and hope see him and Frodo through. In the last scene of The Fellowship of the Ring, Frodo turns and says, "I'm glad you're with me Sam." All I could think (through my tears) was, "I'm glad you're with him too!"

In two weeks, I will get to do this again and see The Return of the King. My favorite part of these favorite books is in the last, and is referred to briefly in the extended edition of the film. (A portion was even in the speech Sam makes near the end of The Two Towers.)

"There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach."

p.s. I saw The Return of the King. Something I noticed: Sam can see the star and feel hope. Frodo cannot. It is up to those of us who do see the eternal perspective to help those we love who don't.

Braving the Internet World

Ever since he saw Neil Armstrong take that first step on the moon, my husband has been passionate about space exploration. He would love to further that effort. His love of science extends to chemistry and geology. He wants to educate the public about the chemical elements; how they were discovered, how they're obtained and how we use them. He tours mines, interviews experts, collects rocks everywhere he goes. To read more about his efforts, check out http://elementsunearthed.com/. As you can see, he is sharing what he has learned with the world. His videos have even been translated for use in Argentina.

Putting myself out there into our internet-connected world has been a frightening prospect for me. (Our family blog is "unsearchable" on the internet.) I didn't want the inevitable opposition. A few weeks ago, I read an essay by Lynn D. Wardle, a professor in BYU's School of Family Life who has encountered much opposition in his efforts to defend the family throughout the world. He wrote:

You will be opposed because you can and will make a difference. I have witnessed the positive effect that often results when one person is willing to speak up. 

That struck me and I thought, "How would I most want to make a difference?" My immediate answer? "Building bridges." It's something I've always wanted to use my humanities degree for, but was kind of putting on-hold until I had time later in life to perhaps pursue a career. I don't know why I never before considered using the internet. However, after reading Dr. Wardle's essay I decided there's no time like the present and started a blog: http://buildsomebridges.blogspot.com/. It's cool to be able to publish to the world for free. I don't know who will read it  or how much good it will do. I've noticed, though, that  it is helping me be a bridge (rather that wall) builder in the way I think and interact with others. It's one thing to believe in an idea, and another to live it, right?

I Love My Life!

It just hit me one day, a few years ago, that I am so totally, ridiculously happy. Does each day have it's pros and cons? Yes. Are there things I'm wanting that I don't have yet (a new wardrobe for example?) Unfortunately, yes. But those things don't really matter. I love, LOVE:

My husband

My adorable little boys

Harvesting knowledge and understanding while reading. It's like I'm a bee and all these books are like flowers containing lovely morsels of nectar for mind and soul. My husband lets me rejuvenate at book group once a month. He's so cool.

My cool house. In my cool neighborhood. With the coolest friends ever.

Extended family, both sides. Love 'em.

Comfortable furniture

Memories captured for years, in thousands of pictures.

Friends in other states who let me keep them and love them, no matter how far away they are.

Knowing I have a Father in Heaven who loves me, and is there for me every minute of every day.

Yes, Happiness is me.

And (as Danny Kaye once sang it)

Life couldn't possibly

Not even probably

Life couldn't possibly better be!

Stupid Perfectionism

Perfectionism. The bane of my existence. One of them anyway. I can't be a good mother when I'm trying to be perfect. It's not humanly possible. So what about that scripture in the Bible, "Be ye therefore perfect . . .?"

The rest of the scripture is, ". . . even as your Father in Heaven is perfect." He wasn't telling us that we need to be perfect now. He wants us to come to Him so he can be with us and help us. In the Book of Mormon, when the resurrected Christ shares this same scripture with the Nephites, he ends it with "even as I and your father in heaven is perfect." I think that's telling. The first time he taught this principle, he wasn't perfect yet. He didn't have a glorified, resurrected body like his father. It stands to reason that we won't be perfect, at the very least, until we're dead.

Heavenly Father's been trying to teach me . . .

As I served an LDS mission: (I'm paraphrasing here.) "You've been trying your whole life to 'appear' to be as perfect as humanly possible." I could see the members around me who were doing the same I'd always done, and I could see those around me who didn't 'look' or 'seem' perfect, but who were oh so willing to give. So, I determined to let go of how I 'appeared' and start working on myself from the inside out instead of the outside in. But even now, I worry too much about what others think, especially those whose opinions I most value. I read, last month, some advice given by a woman nearing the end of her life: "What others think of you is none of your business." That's become a mantra of mine.

As a parent: "It doesn't have to be a certain way." What do you mean? The sacrament prayers have to be said a certain way. "Yes, but not on the first attempt, or the second attempt, or the third attempt, or however many more . . ." You understand. The spirit didn't decide to slip this message to me until a time last summer when I was at the lowest of the low, pleading for His help with my weaknesses. I was humble enough at that point to take it, and keep it. To actually believe it. And I repeat it to myself when I'm tempted to get to uptight in how things are going with my kids, in my expectations of them or of myself.

At Time Out for Women this year: "You don't have to do life by yourself." My mission president used to say, "You're throwing the football at one end of the field then trying to run to the other end of the field to catch it." I know I can ask for help. I guess I have a hard time knowing when to ask and who to ask. But even more importantly, I didn't realize that I'm so imperfect every minute of every day of my life that I actually need the Savior to do everything with me. How about that? I really can let go of that stupid perfectionism thing.

Still, have a hard time remembering these "messages to me" (I guess 'cause I'm far from perfect at not trying to be perfect.)  But, darn it, I want to learn to remember. I want to learn to better let go of what I think others are expecting of me . . . and let myself be imperfect. Does that mean I'm "giving up?" That I'm not consistently striving to do and be better? No. And the ironic thing is that I'm better able to be better, when I'm not trying to be perfect.

A Thought I Caught

A tidbit from BYU Education Week one year. Robert Millet is a friend and neighbor.

http://www.mormontimes.com/

Here are some of my favorite quotes:

"I just don't think any of us are going to walk around in exaltation and say "Look what I earned!"

"What is righteousness? Is it hitting the mark? No. . . righteousness is target practice."

"Following Christ isn't a matter of . . . keeping the commandments without any deviation or flaw. . . it IS a matter of going in the 'commandment keeping direction' . . . being pointed in the right direction."

"We are not living in fear. We are not living in doubt."

"Trust more and worry less."

King Peter

I've been a fan of The Chronicles of Narnia since I read them as a child, when most of my imaginative play had to do with "magic" ie. fairies, eves, pixies, flying horses.

Now that I've "put away childish things" so to speak, and understand what true good "magic" is (the power of God at work in our lives), I love these tales by C. S. Lewis even more. . . and, by extension, the films they've inspired. Like so many tales of magic, in books or films, they remind me of what is real.

I watched Prince Caspian again one night, skipping through for the parts I most "needed to hear". There is a contrast in the film between Lucy, who is looking for help from Aslan, and Peter, who will not "wait any longer for Aslan" but thinks he needs to do everything on his own. Lucy, who is looking and waiting, sees Aslan and, when she follows his instructions, receives his help. Peter "relies on his own strength" (I've read The Book of Mormon enough times to know that's a bad idea), and falls on his proverbial face.

As I paused the movie at one point, to ponder on where Peter was failing, a scripture came to mind:

"But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength;

 they shall mount up with wings as eagles;" - Isaiah 40:31

Sometimes I've been Lucy. Too often, I've been Peter. Every day in fact. I know I need to rely on the Lord more. I often think I have to do it on my own and I don't "ask" so I can "receive". I don't "wait on the Lord" and, instead, get discouraged, try to do more than I can do alone, panic, and fall on my proverbial face.

Here's hoping I finally learn my lesson, like King Peter.

Just Around the River Bend

For years my favorite art works were those with light just around the corner. (Music too. I thrilled to Just Around the River Bend from Pocahontas and other songs with a yearning for something just out of reach.) I have this print hanging in my dining room at home:

Fanciful Landscape by Thomas Dougherty

It has been my very favorite painting in the National Gallery of Art since I was first introduced to it the year I finished high school. The print on our wall pales in comparison to the original, so I was excited to drag David to see it when we were in Washington D. C. last summer. Finally standing in front of it with my honey, I was surprised to find that it no longer had the same effect on me that it used to. In fact, my favorite this time around was a very large painting just flooded with present light:

Autumn -- On the Hudson River by Jasper Francis Cropsey

It didn't take me long to figure out why the change of preference. Now, at this time in my life, I'm living the dream that has always been dearest to my heart. I am no longer yearning for the next bend in the river. I am content. I am basking in present light, all day every day, as a wife and a mother. I never want to be anywhere else.