From there to here

You may remember when I felt like this.

And I told you when I felt like this.


But I did not tell very many about this (newly imported from my private journal).

Not even this or this.


And certainly not this.


But I feel much more comfortable sharing a look into this most intimate journey I have been on, because of THIS.

What do you think?

I've wondered lately about my life, and my calling responsibilities in particular.

I've fretted and worried about my abilities, or lack thereof, specifically organization, and decision making....things that do not come naturally to me, but I know are important.


So that must be why I was called to this position?


To learn these important lessons, to "make weak things strong unto [me]".

But sometimes I wonder, if perhaps that's why we have councilors and secretaries, to even out the load, to fill in for each others' lack. Perhaps this is a way for weak things to become strong.


So that must be why I was called to this position?


To share important burdens, to jointly fill essential needs.

But also I ponder (and apparently others do too), that perhaps I already have within me, all that is required. That my abilities, my strengths: calmness, love, innovation, knowledge, and teaching are perhaps the most important things that can be given to those I serve.


And that is why I was chosen for this position?


To fret less about what is hard and unnatural for me, and instead to invest my time, "Improv[ing] the Shining Moments". Taking what is best about me, and giving it all my effort.




I don't know. Perhaps all three?


What do you think?

Such Words

It is interesting to be named for a woman so associated with motherhood. I have always felt such a kinship with her. A woman of pure virtue, a woman of beauty, I always dreamed of playing her on stage, singing songs about her, or being discovered by an artist, certain that I am the very vision of her, and must be the model for his painting.

I also dreamed of and gloried in coming motherhood, from childhood even. I have always been, profoundly, a future mother.

As I grew older, I knew this to be my chosen path, more important than any career. College was for growth, and development of talents and interests, and to a lesser degree preparation for a possible income.

Surely I would have many children. Why bother waiting? All I needed was the right man, someone I could share every bit of myself with and one who desired children in the way I did. What a glorious future!


(This pause is for laughing/eye-rolling etc.)


Now, my hopes are so solid in comparison to my girlish dreams. They are more specific, more based in reality. I watch friends planning on having a few children giving birth right and left.

We, the little family with grand plans, wait, wait, wait.

Somehow Barren Tree is more a companion, than tiny seedling.

And Mary…Mary!

My hero, my guide.

For the first time in my life, her story gives me pain.

The beautiful, transforming words, “Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb…,” prick my heart.

Please, Lord, let such words be for me.

Usually, I let these sort of thoughts pass me by

As a child I didn't think I was very pretty, not ugly either, just not pretty. Either way, it didn't really concern me. As I got older, I was told my coloring was very unique, or that my big, blue eyes were beautiful, and that comforted me. I decided I was unusual. Not pretty in the classic sense, but pretty in a different sense, which, in a way, was almost better. I certainly thought my eyes were prettier than all others I'd seen.



Then I met her.

I have this friend. She kind of looks like me. Sometimes people wonder if we're related.

We're both tall and slender, but she's taller, with thinner legs.

We both have fair skin, but hers is acne, scar, and even freckle free.

We have the same dark hair, hers more expertly coiffed.

Our eyes are the same color, but hers are larger, her lashes longer and thicker.

Her lips are more full, her eyebrows more symmetrical.

While my face is round, hers is longer and thinner, and her cheekbones! Did you know I have a thing about cheekbones? Hers are positively regal, elven even.

We even have the same name.



And yet.


I could never envision a trade. There was no trait so seductive I'd give up a part of myself for it. There has never been anything about her situation that I'd trade for my own.


Until now.




Congratulations my friend.

Happiness

"I can never forget the night I thought you were dying, Gilbert. Oh, I knew--I knew then--and I thought it was too late."

"But it wasn't, sweetheart. Oh, Anne, this makes up for everything, doesn't it? Let's resolve to keep this day sacred to perfect beauty all our lives for the gift it has given us."

"It's the birthday of our happiness," said Anne softly.



You're up too late. Husband gone to bed, and you finishing a children's book just after midnight. It was cute, funny even, but left you wishing for something more. You rise, head to the bookshelf for a midnight snack. What will it be? Frederick Wentworth's life-altering letter to Anne? Mara and Sheftu's dance of misdirection turned devotion?

You sit, eyeing your old friends, waiting for one to speak, and come to a boxed set, untouched, unread, a Christmas gift from your mother. Unconciously, you have been saving them. You know why she wanted you to have them. You'd grown up hearing stories of her, reading Laura Ingills Wilder to get through nausea, and knew, when she presented you with a different (but equally beloved) series for your own, what they were for. There was a laugh in her eye, and you smiled. Each of you knew the other knew.

So they sat, untouched, on the shelf, waiting for the terrible, wonderful days of change. You would read them straight through, in order, something you've never done. Yet, your hand hovers over the third volume, the one you read most as a younger adult, in those eyes, the most romantic.

Pulling it from the box, you open the book around page two hundred. You skim through the Heroine's denial, graduation, realization, homecoming, family, friends, and then revelation.

"There is a book of revelation in everyone's life, just as there is in the Bible. Anne read hers that bitter night, as she kept her agonized vigil through the hours of storm and darkness."

Unconsciously, you have been trying not to break the spine, but, telling yourself not be silly, you open the book, your book, wider, relinquishing a portion of your dream. This may not count for a first read, but broken spines do not equal broken traditions. Or so you tell yourself.

There are two statements on the final page that you have heard others quote, but your eyes find something new, something you've never noticed before, and well with emotion at the words, "the birthday of our happiness."

You remember such a day of your own, a day of decision, a day upon which you were finally ready to step from fifteen months of darkness into the light of the rest of your life. Happiness is a gift, but it is also a choice. That day you were afraid, but you finally knew what you wanted, and had the courage to take it anyway.

And as you bask in the sudden peace of gratitude and love, you remember the man in the room next to you, the one who shares that birthday. The light is still on, so you are not surprised to find him as he is, asleep on his knees, head on the bed, arms still in the attitude of prayer.

You wake him, turn out the lights, get him under the covers, and hold him close to you.

Often, when you see the two of you reflected in a mirror, your mind seems to disown your body and, for a moment, you wonder who you are, who he is, how you came to be together. But tonight, as he pulls you close, you fall asleep remembering how it all happened, warm in your surety, safe in familiarity, spirit settled in the present.

You've had many special days since then, a day of promise, a day of covenants, but your heart turns fondly to that day, the dawning day, of the birthday of your happiness.

Waiting

I have a warm place.

Dark


Quiet



Safe




and Empty.



Waiting just for you.




___________________________________________________

Warning: The following discusses two medical conditions (though neither very graphically).



I had that thought during Sacrament meeting yesterday, "I have a warm place." It was a bittersweet feeling. This week I had what is termed a 'Chemical Pregnancy.' That's when you have a miscarriage at less than five weeks along. I took my test on Monday, when I was maybe six. The positive reading was a surprise (because of the bleeding) but I didn't really get the chance to be excited. By the end of work, I guessed I would miscarry. The cramps were so strong.

I would feel fine in the mornings, and then horrible in the evenings. Finally, on Wednesday, I started having large clots (the shedding lining). Once they were passed, I felt normal again. I'm okay now, but I still have to take it easy. On Thursday I was bending over (picking stuff up) and it caused me some pain. I think that's probably passed now, but I'm still feeling a bit sick. However, I think that's my digestion issues. Something's going on there, but I'm not sure what. It's like my entire tract (from the stomach down) is sensitive. I feel fine till I eat, and then it hurts all the way down. It's worse if it's sugary, greasy food, but it hurts no matter what.

Emotionally, I'm okay. That first night (last Monday) I was calm till I talked to my mom. I could hear the sincere pity in her voice. It made me feel a little doomed. Then I asked Chris to give me a blessing. In the prayer beforehand, I asked the Lord for guidance, and for truth. After the blessing, I told Chris I should have been more specific about the kind of truth I wanted! I wanted to know if I needed to go to the hospital, He told me I needed to have faith and be joyful. I wanted to know the future of this baby, He told me that my children love me, and will come to me at the appointed time. By the end, I realized that things could go either way, and, somehow, that was less comforting than before.

I couldn't deal with it, so we watched Wives and Daughters. I was better after that, struggling to have faith, to not feel sorry for myself. It was an up and down day.

Still, yesterday, Father's Day, I had that moment, I wrote my Haiku, and it must have given me a little eternal perspective, because during the closing Hymn, O My Father, I felt kind of homesick. I love music because it teaches you emotions. I really felt along with Eliza R. Snow this time. I missed Him too.

O my Father, thou that dwellest

In the high and glorious place,

When shall I regain thy presence

And again behold thy face?

...

For a wise and glorious purpose (!!)

Thou hast placed me here on earth

And withheld the recollection

Of my former friends and birth;

...

I had learned to call thee Father,

Thru thy Spirit from on high,

But, until the key of knowledge

Was restored, I knew not why.

In the heav’ns are parents single?

No, the thought makes reason stare!

Truth is reason; truth eternal

Tells me I’ve a mother there.

When I leave this frail existence,

When I lay this mortal by,

Father, Mother, may I meet you

In your royal courts on high?

Then, at length, when I’ve completed

All you sent me forth to do,

With your mutual approbation

Let me come and dwell with you.

It's like I told Chris later that day. That's it! That's the reason. We come to this earth to be parents, to create life!

This time is a time of creation. Whatever we make of ourselves, what relationships we make, pieces of art, what children we make, what spaces, what times, what happiness. That's what it's about.


And that's what I want to do.


Father, help me not to be idle while I wait.