Today I made a big mistake. I didn’t set out to do it, but as I spoke to someone, my error became so clear that it made my hands shake. I have apologized and will learn from the experience.
I have power in Christ to dispel the shadow cast by a few terrible minutes. I choose to call today powerful in its teaching. I choose to forgive myself. I choose progress over pain. I choose to accept what Christ’s Atonement offers: the ability to move forward. With faith, I will find my smile again.
We are moving forward with carpet after nearly seven years in the house. I guess this means we are staying, although we saw a lot more of our families when we lived out of state. Living close to family means we’re everyday relatives, not destination relatives. In fact, we went to St George this weekend and neither we nor anyone else took a single photo. I’m a little sad that I don’t have pictures of the missionary, his pretty mom now out of the hospital, the cousins, the aunts and uncles, and the grandparents who gathered to celebrate his service. We are still treated like destination relatives, but our stays are shorter. I love being present for the big and little things for the extended family, and there are some very sweet memories that I will treasure from this trip that do not require photographs to recall.
May has been its usual busy self. Richard was away from home all but one weekend, I think. The sprinkler system has been down, but the rain has compensated very well. My new church calling has stressed me out, but with each “first” and introduction, I see that things will be fine. The boys have stayed up late. We have still not planted the tomatoes. I don’t remember the last time I mopped the floor. But sometime this summer, there will be soft new carpet in the house, and I have a pretty new plant. The woman at the store who cares for the plants was a little sad that I took it home instead of her. I kind of want to name the plant Shiela. Wait. Did I just share that online?
I set out to find the “causes” of righteous behavior in the Book of Mormon. Beginning with the first verse and moving through each chapter, I began writing down things that led to righteousness: good parents, visions, dreams, the influence of others, determination to fulfill a covenant, rejoicing in the Lord’s hand in life, etc. Within a very short time, I found the goodness of God linked to the power of people to be good. With every effort shown by people, God was there, helping, guiding, inspiring, and strengthening. He is the source of the spiritual gift of faith. It is in Him that people can find a worthy placement of their faith. He sends blessings with perfect timing. He softens hearts. His Son’s atonement enables, purifies, and gives hope. He manifests himself in word, power, and deed. He is everywhere righteousness is happening. He is the “cause.” To be righteous is to allow His influence in.
I have had detracting voices to my religion throughout my life, some very close. My deep study is one reason I love my church with confidence. The Book of Mormon is true. As I have made it a manual for my life, I have felt its power. I have come to know to know what my religion is by dissecting chapter, verse, and words. It is good.
Yesterday I found a phrase I have not considered. “…all men shall reap the reward of their works, according to that which they have been…” (Alma 9:28)
What have I been to others? Have I been a light? Have I been a gentle place to land?
What have I been to God? Have I been a source of joy to Him? When needed, have I been able to reflect His light to others?
What have I been to myself? Am I as forgiving and patient with myself as I am with others? Is my focus on becoming or doing? Is my priority people or processes?
I have days when I am limited in what I can accomplish. On these days, I erase my to do lists. I have learned that my identity is not just tied to my productivity. There are very few essential things to do each day: pray, read scriptures, love others, repent, eat, and sleep. Righteousness is an identity more than a resume.
Friends, I had to have my portrait taken for display. I cut my hair two times and practiced my smile while snapping selfies over the course of weeks. In the end, the photographer just used the first shot because I began to progressively twitch, blink, and smirk with each successive snap. When he said to smile presidentially, my face collapsed like a hot air balloon without a flame. He let me see my photos and magically altered the one you see. I am not this bright and shiny, ever. Brian Twede is the photographer and he is my friend, a desirable trait for a someone who has editorial power over your image. It has been 24 years since I had a portrait taken of just myself. Brian told me not to wait another quarter of a century to sit for my next portrait.
I might, because this was just exhausting.
I made some new friends this week, three women I did not know before, but felt inspired to choose to serve with me at church. I spent time with each of them, one by one, talking about important things like families, dreams, and testimony and felt my heart warm. I’m not surprised that I love them. I’m surprised how quickly it happened.
I worried and prayed for a sister-in-law.
I enjoyed a date night with Richard for our anniversary, which included two restaurants and lots of roses. Then, lucky us, we had another evening together later in the week, each of us dressed in Scout uniforms, matchy-matchy. I thought I was through with my uniform, but I am delighted at some good memories that came when I put it back on.
I watched Timothy play in an ultimate Frisbee tournament and helped him with Prom preparations. I had a lot of time with Tim this week, and I am so grateful for that.
I disabled the family computer last week, which was mainly being used to watch YouTube videos. When the kids were little, there were times I would chant, “I’m a big bad mama and I’m not afraid of you,” (I know, I am ridiculous) aloud or in my mind when I had to do the hard things that young parents have to do: enforce bedtime, deny requests for sugar, insist on car seats, clean up messes, and react in a positive way to tantrums. Not even that mental chant helped boost my morale over the computer drama. The reality is, a teen tantrum is much more painful to endure than one from a three-year-old.
Richard came home with the best pictures of a Scout campout in Diamond Fork. He brought his smokeless fire pit and Chip brought his guitar, and the boys and leaders sang around the campfire and roasted marshmallows and biscuits as it got dark. Mark came home from the camp, hugged me, and asked what he could eat. Balance is restored.
I wandered into some mean girls’ territory today at the library. As I leaned down to get a book off the shelf, I felt a small rubber band wiz by, and perhaps another. Finally a girl spoke up, “Stop it. That’s Mark’s mom.” I had been kind to this girl before, but wasn’t sure she would claim to know me. In a staggering act of courage against her peers, I saw my small kindness come back to me, only it had grown. It had taken a new form, and it was better than my simple favor. It had become this girl’s bravery and consolation, and it put a quick end to the mischief. I gave her my best smile and moved on, not so defeated as I felt before.
I heard lots of great music this weekend from my family: a trombone quartet at a State music festival, a piano solo by Richard at church, and a concert at the Cathedral of the Madeleine with our niece in the choir. And my father in law commented on our family picture wall all afternoon. That was a sweet melody, too.
We have seen seven winters and springs in Utah. This spring, however, we have tulips everywhere, so many that I wondered if someone planted extra bulbs while our backs were turned. The array of colors is surprising and stunning. Most are tulips we did not know we had. They bloom in places I cleaned out in the flower beds last summer. They bloom in places I have ignored. In glorious display, they proclaim to me that some of the best developments in life happen after an intense season. They show me that latent divine understanding can bloom after drinking steadily from living water through the storms. What a sight!
In the shadow of sandstone formations, I watched the boys scale almost every surface they could. In the silence of the land, I walked a little with God and told him things I really want to do and felt his blessing. In the light of the temple, I saw more clearly who my sons are, and who they are becoming.
A neighbor observed that the views we seek most often are valleys, not mountains. I think we love the view of a valley because it reminds us how far we have come. We are ascending, after all.
