tell you the story of who i am ~ so many stories of where I've been and how i got to where i am but these stories don't mean anything when you've got no one to tell them to it's true
And I never know when the grief is going to hit. For a while there, it was always right under everything, ready to seep out whenever an opening prevented itself. So raw. As if I had paper-thin skin and the slightest touch would cause a crack for the grief to bleed out--sometimes gush, sometimes trickle.
I used to worry about saying the wrong thing--or any thing--to those grieving because I didn't want to make them sad or cry. Which makes me laugh now because of my own experience. The sadness and the tears are inevitable like a shadow. They are just there all the time. Where there is light, there is shadow. Where there is love, there is grief.
Lately, I don't feel so fragile. Which is probably good. I had a couple of weeks where work and kids' stuff was incredibly busy. Like, every waking thought was taken. When the week ended, it all hit. It's like the grief had been waiting, and collecting interest, for me to slow down so that I could pay up. I wasn't expecting that.
And I wasn't expecting to be extra sad today, on Mother's Day. It is Father's Day I'm worried about. But today I am tenderly sad.
For some reason, my dad I and were extra close. They say that he was the one I turned to as a baby when upset. Some of my purest memories are of my dad rocking me to sleep. He usually fell asleep first and the rocking would stop and I would tap him awake and he would start rocking again. Over and over. I felt so safe, secure, sheltered, loved, adored, calm, whole in the arms of my dad.
My dad was a champion of motherhood. He valued it like almost no other person I've ever met. He's always been proud of me and I always felt his unconditional love. When I became a mother, he showed me a new respect. It kind of surprised me, actually. There was this deference he showed me when it came to mothering that gave me confidence and inspired me to do the best I can.
Dad would have called me today and told me how proud he was of me as a mother, how great my kids are, what a good job I'm doing, and told me that he loved me. We would have chatted about life, world events, he probably would have told me about the northern lights and some cool fact that I may or may not have known about them. And I probably would have started talking in depth about something and before I finished, he would have hit his limit for phone talking and said "Well, thanks so much for talking--" and I would have given him a hard time about being bored of the conversation. And he would have said sorry and if it was really important he would try to keep listening but usually, we would just end the call there with loving teasing and understanding.
If I go to bed, I will wake up. And when I wake up, I will have to go to my dad's funeral.
I'm not ready to bury my dad.
I've been up working on his Life Sketch for a few hours now. How do you sum up a person's life in a short few minutes? What are the important parts? What should be left out? What are the most important themes? How do I distill him down to a few stories and an over-arching theme?
And what would he want me to say? I don't want to let him down. But I don't think he would ever think that. I just want to do right by him.
But it is also too soon. I don't have the wisdom of distance yet. It's been interesting how things have become sweeter. With his death, weaknesses are transformed into endearments. Things we used to tease him about now seem like the tenderest things. And we all are wondering and grieving that we didn't appreciate him enough. His good qualities have crystalized into a crown of glory. We all see him more clearly now that he is no longer here.
But I don't care so much about how great he was, though he was great. I just want my dad to talk and laugh with me. For us to talk about something interesting, argue a little over politics, or go work on something in the shop. Or make breakfast together and chat.
Dad would want me to go to bed, not stay up all night in denial. He would want me to Be Wise.
I want to post on social media how exhausted I am, physically, emotionally, socially, creatively...but I can't because I don't actually want the people I know in real life to know how much real life has got me down.
Parents getting old and sick is hard. Kids growing up and going through puberty and the teen years is hard. Babies not sleeping through the night, husbands with jobs they hate, and then there are the many, many hours I work.
And I'm in that spot where the things I would usually do to rejuvenate me are not things I can do because of the crushing deadlines of things I have to do is glaring at me so intensely that I am frozen to my bed. I want to cry, but I'm too tired. I want to sleep, but I'm listless. I'm also hungry.
And so I write. My laptop is open, so I am work-adjacent. I'm just one window away from working on some of those crushing deadlines.
And I think about...nothing. I just sit here and breath. And it's ok to not have anything brilliant to say about the eternal state of doing.
Did you know that many other languages don't have the word "do"? And when you think about it, "do" is just a broader, unspecific word for action. It's really a pointless verb. It is entirely dependent on context for meaning. It's much better to just use the specific verb. But it just got me thinking that maybe part of the English-speaking world's obsession with productivity could be tied back to this word "do." We have to do just to do. In Spanish, you actions are expressed in specific and intentional verbs, not just general busyness. I could do with more intentionality these days, not so much running to and fro with vague doing.
Since Eric got his awesome job and we moved to NSL, I have had this weird problem of dealing with a body that is used to operating on the edges of survival mode not realizing it can down regulate. So even though life is not at all the same kind of stressful it was for years, it's like I can't turn it off. I've been working on it for over a year now, and while it's a lot better I still find myself getting surprised when it hits really strong at moments. I've also found it hits pretty hard on Sunday nights.
Today was Stake Conference, which meant that Eric and I both had a break from the many responsibilities and mental load of our callings. So of course I planned a dozen or so things we could do in that time, things like have interviews with the kids and an epic family executive counsel where we finish going over some stuff for my Self Reliance class, budgeting, planning for the summer, and other couple stuff. It's 9:32 and the house is trashed (because apparently when MaryLena plays quietly now, it means she is cutting paper into teeny tiny bits of confetti in every room of the house), we have a packed day tomorrow with the homeschool co-op that both Eric and I teach at, there are still dishes all over the kitchen, and I start to take stock of the week and everything, all the physical labor on my plate... and I could list a dozen of open ended things just around the house, a half dozen things on my list for Primary, another half dozen writing-related items, and then just kids' needs and homeschool and I just want to go on a date with my husband and catch a session at the temple.
And gummy bears. I really want gummy bears.
The thing is, this is nothing new. There is always several dozen things that feel on the verge of being urgent. And this doesn't always stress me out, except when it does. And then it's a shot of panic straight to my adrenals. I think about posting on FB or IG or snapchat what I'm feeling, but I never do. When it comes down to it, I'm not a status update kinda girl. My yop is too big for that, I need to equivocate and explain. It's not that I want to just throw up all over the page (even though this page is more vomit then usual), but I also find relief in carving some beauty in my words, it somehow makes the mundane less of a prison and more of a deliberate process I'm submitting to for higher ends.
I was reminded today that I should never fear the wilderness. And that God is in the details of my life. I don't feel like life right now is a wilderness, it feels very full of wonderful things. But it does feel a bit wild and not my promised land. I do feel like I'm "dwelling in a tent," like Lehi of old, in that I am impermanent and ready to pick up and follow the Lord to wherever is next. I do feel like the lesson of my life right now is to learn how to balance and breathe at the same time, to find peace during the storm. And to see God in the details, because BOY are there SO many details right now...
I began the year studying the Gospels and Acts. It was a nice, long prelude to Easter. Since General Conference, I began a new course of study suggested by President Russell M Nelson, to read every entry in the Topical Guide on Jesus Christ. And as we celebrated Easter Week and Easter day, I was right there in my reading, the Last Supper, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection, each author in his own words. I had done something similar before. This time, I got to also read about his Ascension. And I realized for the first time that both Mark and Luke end their accounts with the story of his Ascension. I was deeply moved. To me, their accounts highlight what a life looks like when it has been touched by the Risen Lord. There was "great joy" and they were "continually in the temple, praising and blessing God." Luke 24:50-53. They were liberated and wholly free, they "preached everywhere, the Lord working with them, and confirming the word with signs following." Mark 16:19-20.
Why do I say "wholly free"? I think of Peter, who I have so grown to love as an adult. How he had these deep, strong desires to enact the kind of faith he thought he had. Jumping out of the boat, slicing off a soldier's ear, and in so many other moments, he wanted with his whole self to be this person he could sort of envision. And Christ was continually gently guiding his enthusiasm, helping him grow, helping his faith get to a point where he could be all that he wanted to be. And that didn't come in Christ's lifetime. But his life touched by the Risen Lord was altogether different. Now his faith was mature, now his desires matched his abilities, now he was wholly free to serve and believe and be the kind of disciple he desperately wanted to be before. His tongue was loosed, his heart was confident, the way was sure.
In the past, I have wondered if this difference in Peter had something to do with the gift of the Holy Ghost. And there might still be something in that. But now as a 30-something that has seen a few more trials, part of me just feels it is the natural process of the growth of the spirit and faith. All the miracles that Peter and other witnessed couldn't accelerate the process of gaining a testimony and setting an unbreakable foundation of discipleship. There is no fast track to being that person we want to be. It takes a lifetime. It takes a whole lotta stuff, trials, blessings, joy, misery. And maybe one of the symbols of the Resurrection is that life-long process of maturing and growing and messing up and trying again does find an end (death) and then a glorious rebirth. That it is possible to get out of an angsty place of uncertainty and to a majestically calm place of restful joy.
I love angsty Peter. I love how good his heart is. I love how pure his intentions are. And I love how the Lord loves him and guides him in his well-meaning but immature understanding (which is light years above me). All of that makes me love him all the more when he is the Rock, when he is out there leading and serving, when his doing his ACTs as an apostle. Which brings us to some thoughts about Faith without Works. In one sense, Peter was full of faith. But in another, he had not the faith of a grain of mustard seed because he could not yet do the work of faith. And maybe someday I'll find the words to write a poem about how up until the death of our Lord Jesus Christ, Peter's faith was without works and was dead. But in His Resurrection, Peter's faith and work became intensely alive.
It gives me faith and hope that someday, through the same power, and in my own personal way, I will become the same, that my faith and work will be unified and alive.
This last Thanksgiving Holiday found me in Idaho at my parent's house for the whole week. And before the rest of the family descended up on us, we (my parent's, my sister, and even my husband for a bit there) got involved in another verbal wrestling match of ideas. This happens fairly frequently in my parent's home. I think this is one of our most defining characteristics as a family. And I think it's one way my parents have helped me define me. Here is a list of topics over the last few months:
The Root Cause of Terrorism
What Turns Extremists into Terrorists
White Privilege
How We are All Racists
Mansplaining
Feminism and why cat calling isn't cool
Saving Seed and GMOs
School Shootings, Gun Control, and Mental Health
Sweat Shops/Fast Fashion
White Man's Burden
Impacts of Colonialism
Global Warming
The morning after our most recent contest, my sister, my mom, and I went grocery shopping for the epic Whole30 Thanksgiving Feast my sister had planned (it was soooooo good!). And we got talking about our "conversation" from the night before, not about the ideas themselves, but about how we have conversations like that with our parents. I personally think I have the best parents in the world and one of the big reasons is because we have conversations like this. Because they have taught us to think and articulate our thoughts and even if it frustrates them sometimes that we have our own opinions on things, that they will always engage with us. That they are willing to listen and change their minds. That even though they both grew up with very specific ideas on what it means to respect their parents (don't disagree, don't argue, always defer), that they don't hold us to those same standards. And mostly, that no matter how heated it gets, that they put the relationship first and always end with love (this is mostly my mom's doing). I also hope they know that they ground us in wisdom and help us see greater truth than we could see on our own, that we respect their experience and knowledge and that they are still influencing our thoughts and beliefs. And that I love them SOOO much!
“Depression is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign that you have been strong for too long” ~ Author anonymous
Might I just add, that at least for me to some degree, it is also a sign of being strong without the help of the Lord. I think. Maybe? I have wondered if I was one of those people that never missed a day of scripture study and prayer, maybe I would have been spared this trial?
But while typing that my heart answers, no. Choosing righteousness doesn't mean we are spared hard times. The gospel isn't a forcefield or magical spell or happy pill to shield us from the world and sorrow. Except that it sometimes is, or at least softens the blow, or makes us stronger to endure.
So then I ask, if I had turned to the Lord daily in scripture study and prayer before and as this depression crept into my life, would I have sunk so deep? I don't know. I'm a bit scared of the answer, honestly. Eric has answered firmly "no" for a long time now. Whatever the answer, that sinking, that depth has become an important part of my soul, it has added depth to my life. And now I wouldn't trade it or prevent it. But I do wonder what the experience would have been like, what other dimension and knowledge would have been added to my soul if I had more fully trusted in Him.
The irony of it all is that being depressed completely changed the way that I felt (or didn't feel) the spirit. Most of the time, it was like I couldn't. I was completely insulated from hearing its voice and influence and I felt so very isolated. Now, however I can see that the spirit was still there, getting through imperceptibly. I was never alone. But it's taken years to see that. I honestly have no idea why I kept going to church. There were so many Saturday nights I said I wasn't going to go, because how I could a teach a lesson on ________ when I don't have the Spirit? And yet, I would go. And the lesson was very much directed by the spirit, but I didn't feel it, at least not in the way I was used to feeling it. It seems clear to me now, as I am writing this, that the Lord was there, His angels were there, helping me get dressed and carrying me to church week after week.
Today is Pioneer Day. We watched some scenes from 17 Miracles with the kids and we were all deeply moved seeing "their strength" in their absolute weakness. I wept. I am so grateful for their sacrifices and their stories that are woven into the fabric of my being. I feel their strength today. I know angels helped them push their handcarts, and I'd like to think I was one of those angels. I know now that they were helping to push my handcart of depression a few years back. And I am grateful.
Tonight was Epic. Our church had it's annual Christmas Party/Dinner/Talent Show and we got in on the action in a big way! We also had something of an uphill climb getting on stage, but it turned out to be delightful to everyone involved, so we are glad we powered through. I'll explain:
The girls have been taking ballet from one of my amazing friends here. We just do it at the house, but I make a big deal out of it and Jane knows that she has to toe the line with her ballet teacher if she wants to keep homeschooling. I have told her that's important that she learns to be respectful, take instructions from, and be teachable with other adults. For the most part, it's gone well. Emiline is my struggling perfectionist that assumes that if she doesn't get something exactly right the first time that she must collapse onto the floor in misery. So it's been especially good for her to have this opportunity. And after several months of all this, Jane is finally OK with doing someone else's moves. That kid loves to make and create everything on her own.
So my friend and I decided that we really wanted them to have a solid performance opportunity and that the Ward Talent Show was perfect. We had lots of plans. And as I've begun to say, "with small children, there are plans, and then there is reality." My friend has two kiddos, one about Adam's age (28 months) and an 8 month old. So first her kids got sick, then mine did, then Thanksgiving, then her's got Hand Foot Mouth Disease which kept them quarantined for almost 2 weeks, then we had something flu/strep-like....etc, etc, etc. The forces were conspiring against us! But she had a cute little dance in mind, and costumes envisioned, and Emiline at least was SO excited to perform. We kept planning on it happening. As it turned out, the girls only practiced the lightly-choreographed dance a few times during one very naughty rehearsal (in which they wrote Sorry Cards to their patient teacher) and practiced with me (who didn't know the dance) a handful of times. Every time we had planned to have them practice, some thing or some one exploded... the girls DID perform tonight, but it was almost-not-happening RIGHT up until it happened. I'll explain, after this adorable video
(although shaky, I tossed my phone to a sweet 10 year old girl just before we started the music).
And this is not all the performing that happened tonight. As choir director, I had been asked to put together an upbeat song to be sung as Santa came in. I dutifully chose a song, got music, scheduled rehearsals, and....well, our choir has been...barely a choir. One Tenor and one Bass don't really make a choir. So we've had to cut what numbers we were going to do in the first place for the Christmas Program, and we definitely did not have it in us to do an extra song for the Christmas Party. So offered to let our family sing the song instead. Because it was a really fun song I picked!
But then I didn't hear back from the guy if that's what he wanted or not until just a few days before the performance, so we didn't practice in earnest until last minute. And we still had distract-a-girl Jane and perfectionist Emiline to deal with. And a wandering Adam. And a busy Eric that kept missing practices. But we (I) didn't give up ("you will stand up right now and sing this song or you will go to your room and NOT come to the party!")
Eric was supposed to come home early for his lunch break so we could do some solid practicing all together before I had my RS Presidency Meeting. And then, and I'm not sure why the timing on this became so very paramount to Eric, he comes home and says, "by the way, the guys are on their way over to clean the air ducts- we've got to move stuff out of the way so they can reach them." (Eric works in the office as accountant/bookkeeper/business strategist of a cleaning company) OK! It's 11:15, I need to shower, dress, feed kids, practice the song, AND deal with the vents....?? So we start getting to that and then Eric gets a 13 minute phone call he had to take about some financial aid stuff, and now he has to also fax some documents off in the next 20 minutes. Oh, and then the CD player starts acting up. So we didn't really practice with Eric. But he was going to come home early from work...(you can guess THAT didn't happen). My meeting went REALLY long, I barely had time to dress kids, prep food and head out the door. We practiced in the car. And we did run through it twice on stage before people got there.
But the fun REALLY began when we got there. The plan was to meet up with the ballet teacher before and get one last practice in. Well, she'd had a very special day, too. She couldn't get the music cut and burned just right, problems with tutus, and then kids and her husband beginning to explode (or get sick, again). So she wasn't able to come early, and ended up not even being able to stay for the talent show at all. So I had to call the routine- that I didn't really know. And I have a very specific Emiline that insisted on doing it exactly in the right order.
Remember how I was supposed to feed my kids lunch before that meeting? And it was a lot of rushing around after? Yeah. The party started later than planned, which meant dinner was later, which meant three very hungry children who were WAY geared up for performing. The length of the line brought Emiline to tears 7 times. I told Jane she had to choose one kind of meat to try (we had ham, turkey, and briquet). And that's when, she says anyway, she started to feel sick. Eric had noticed her acting a little glassy-eyed and was worried about her. He was just telling me this over my first few bites of food when she puked. On herself, and on Emiline, and their costumes. I'm so lucky to have a husband that doesn't flinch in the face of puke. He started cleaning Jane, the chair and floor, I tried to calm down Emiline, and then took Jane and Emiline's skirt to the bathroom for washing. The girls were wearing their leotards under their coordinating outfits for our song.
Perhaps that should have been enough to stop us. But Jane still wanted to perform. And the puke was mostly a result of all the phlegm she was coughing through activating her gag reflex. It was actually quite humorous, Eric and I kept passing each other to the bathroom and at the table. I finished cleaning Jane up and as I'm coming out, Eric is taking Adam to the potty (he's completely day trained!!) and as he is coming back out, Emiline has to go, and as soon as we get back, Emiline drops her entire cup of hot chocolate all over her leotard. And Adams' coat. And my feet. So we clean that up just as they start the talent show.
Emiline is slightly hysterical about having nothing to wear until she sees how quickly everything is drying, because in all my free time, I'm shaking all the wet clothes back and forth. Jane has her head in my lap "saving her energy" and Emiline is bouncing up and down, getting more impatient (and likely to knock something else over) for her turn on the program (they didn't announce the order, turns out we were last). In all her hopping, she knocked over her pumpkin spice cake and then squished into her ballet shoes she was wearing (because her boots had puke on them). Eric was nearing his breaking point- well, he was probably past it but he came back over the edge when I batted my eyes at him. And I just kept shaking their clothes, hoping they'd be dry enough to wear.
The primary began the show with a song and bells. All the little kids got a cute little bracelet with bells to ring during the song. Before the singing even starts, I hear the plaintive notes of Emiline's Tragic Howl, but I was dealing with Adam and couldn't get up there right away. She howled through the whole song until I pulled her off stage--her bells had broken and she had none to ring. At that point, I nearly called the whole thing off. But she calmed quickly and then we had two bells from a broken bracelet that Adam and Emiline fought over the rest of the talent show. And I'm still shaking their costumes dry.
And that's the prelude to what turned out to be the funnest time our family has had in a while. Definitely a bright spot and a special memory. ALL the kids really got their groove on and brought it for the performance, definitely the best anyone had performed it (except me). You'd have never known Jane was feeling so miserable! Apparently I birthed true showmen! And Adam only played in the curtains once!
We were all feeling a little high after performing, and it was so fun to share it together. We took our time driving home, kids eating their treats from Santa and looking at the best light shows in Gardner. One of the perks of delivering pizza is knowing where the best Christmas lights are. And then the kids went to bed really quick. Although, we did have to get an encore performance from Adam:
I really owe it all to my mom. I'm an easy and eager performer, despite my introvertedness, because I've been doing it since I was 2. Emiline started Harmony Kids with my mom at 18 months, Jane was 3. And they already knew a version of this song from way back then. I learned from her, though, how to pull something like this off, and why I would want to. Emiline's sunbeam teachers were amazed at how she bloomed on stage- she has a lot of anxiety in class answering questions or even having too much attention on her. And I love how Jane is learning to be told what to do and do it well (choreography, lyrics, melody, instead of making it all up). And Adam is happy to be doing what his family is doing. I also apparently learned how to keep my cool on performance days from her. This was a first for me. I remember how calm and together she always kept it- a stressed out director does not make for a fun performing experience. I would often get stressed out for her. This time, I was the calm center of the hurricane. I had no idea I had that in me. Thanks Mom!
There has been so much humor and drama this week. But not just a bunch of both, but a lot of the two mixed together. We've had a lot of dramor this week. Or huma...
Emiline turned 4 (going on 14). This child is....something else! She is so vibrant! So passionate! So exhausting!!!
We went on a little pre-birthday date which included some party shopping. I don't think she stopped talking for more than 20 seconds at a time. It was one delightfully continuous stream of words out of her mouth. I think she must feel repressed by the other verbal behemoths in the house. We stopped to pick out a birthday #4 candle and she got all dramatic that she just couldn't decide. So I taught her something I should have taught her long ago- eenie meenie miney moe. It's now her go-to strategy for making decisions. Previous to this she'd get all twittered and say "I just don't know!" about even the simplest of choices (like syrup or jam). Now the rhyme has become her tool to figure out and then manipulate chance to get her way (an extra point in the right direction). Also, she doesn't have it memorized yet and makes up a lot of the words, like "stop a kitty in the show" instead of "catch a tiger by the toe."
So on Wednesday she turned 4. And by and large, she was an emotional pill. She sobbed for at least an hour on my bed before falling asleep about...I don't think she even knew what. And during the day she was pouring on the stomping feet and "hmmmphing" and exclaiming "I never.....I NEVER....I never!" into her pillow on at least 6 different occasions. My mom tells me this sort of spazing is pretty normal for the birthday kiddo, but Emiline always goes to great depths in anything she undertakes.
On this glorious day of her birthday, she decided to give her favorite twirly skirt a trim to make it look more like a pirate fairy skirt (never mind that I had made her one for her birthday, or maybe it was because I had made her one that she wanted to make one too). The "trim" was pretty intense, so she had to be grounded from scissors for awhile. Her penitence was also intense, and I thought we had it taken care of.
4 days later, she gets the urge to cut again. This time on her brand new Sophia the First princess nightgown. She didn't wait for me to discover any evidence, she fessed up claiming it was an accident (pretty sure she doesn't know what that word means) and so she got grounded from scissors again and I made her change into boring clothes: a plain shirt and levi shorts. Oh! The horror! AN HOUR AND A HALF later of her crying, and trying to stop herself from crying, and then crying that she couldn't stop crying, and then stopping, and then remembering she was just so sad about her plain clothes and crying again...she BEGGED me to give her a different punishment than plain clothes. So I told her she could choose- plain clothes or a spanking. She didn't take long to decide a spanking was the better choice.
This child is something else! I can see these characteristics blossoming into her greatest strengths and I know she is going to be brilliant at whatever she undertakes. But I'm not sure I'll live to see it, puberty may kill me.
