A Child's Prayer

Getting A to pray can be a chore. He just doesn't want to sit still and calm down his little body. This morning he came into my bedroom while I was kneeling down to say my morning prayers. He has learned to be quite and save his questions for when I am done. Later he saw his father kneeling in the office saying his prayers as well.

He came in and told me that he'd forgotten to say his morning prayers and told me he was going to go pray. I asked him if he needed help and with an excited little "no" he ran off to kneel by his bed. I listened from the kitchen as he offered the sweetest (and longest without-help) prayer. He asked Heavenly Father to help him feel the spirit at Church today, among other things.

For all the poking and prodding and reminding and asking and crying and laying prostrate rather than kneeling that happens, it is moments like this that make me think that maybe, just maybe I'm doing something right.

(Photo: Hoggle Zoo, Salt Lake City, UT April 2009)

My Mother's Laundry

One of my favorite stories my mother tells is about a day when she was drowning in laundry. She had five or six children at the time and was feeling a bit overwhelmed. She thought to herself as she sat among the mounds of laundry, "what would the Savior think if he came into my house right now?" Immediately the impression came to her that he would just sit right down and help her fold laundry.

In many ways I take after my mother. I'm not a spotless house keeper. I have a somewhat short attention span for lengthy projects. I tend to have a bit of a temper sometimes. But, I also hope that I am as kind as she is. I hope that I love the Lord as much as she does. I hope that I will always be willing to do and serve in any capacity that is required of me, just as she has and continues to do. I hope that I can learn to listen to the spirit as carefully has she has though out her life.

My mother is a joy to have in my life. Growing up she used to always tell me how important it was to be well rounded. Mostly I'd roll my eyes and head off to another piano lesson, or tennis match, or to write a story for the school paper. She really believed that talents came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. She is my inspiration in many of the decisions I've made in my life. She encouraged me to do and be anything I wanted. There was no limit to my capacity. For the most part I've taken that philosophy and run with it. I hope that when I grow up I might be like my mom and be the same kind of inspiration to my family.

Thanks, Mom, for always seeing in me what I couldn't see in myself or could only just catch a glimpse of at the time.

Here's to you on this Mother's Day. Here's to all the laundry that never got folded. Here's to the moments that will be sweet in my memory because I let the laundry slide. Here's to the most noble calling a woman can have. And I learned it all from my mother.

You Might Need a Haircut When...

About six weeks ago I lost my favorite hairclip. It's torteous shell. It holds my hair well. I tried to buy some news ones and the Target I went to didn't have any. Then I went on vacation for a few weeks. I took a hairdryer and didn't even take it out of my suitcase. I rarely dry my hair. I don't usually need to because I like taking night showers and have naturally curly hair. Last Sunday I had to take a morning shower and got out the hairdryer to dry my hair for Church and found that the hairdry was broken. In that moment I realized that between my missing hairclip and my broken blowdryer, I have worn my hair in a ponytail every single day for nearly two months. It is probably time to get a haircut. I always say when all I ever do is put my hair in a ponytail, it is time to get it cut. Maybe that will motivate me to get a better start on my day and get my feet under me a little better so I feel a little more forward-looking on tackling the tasks of the day. Thanks, Tisha, for the reminder that doing your hair can make a big difference.

13.1 in 2:24

The SLC Half Marathon was so much fun. I ran 13.1 miles in just over 2 hours and 24 minutes, a little slower than I had planned, but I finished. (That was the first question my primary class asked me today, "Did you finish?") I ended up running the 1/2 marathon with two sisters, one brother, one-brother-in-law, and one (and only) husband and, somewhere in the crowd, my good friend Maren who got me started in this whole business. My sister-in-law ran the 5K. My brother ran the 1K with five of my nieces and nephews. Two other sister and two other brother-in-laws along with my kids my parents and a few other nieces were fantastic cheerleaders throughout the race course. My Colorado sister planned on coming, but she got snowed in and couldn't get out of town due to the three feet of snow that fell.

My parents were at the bottom of one giant hill at about about mile 11. I was about ready to walk the rest of the way and then I saw them with my two boys and that got me motivated to push through and keep going. By that point my arms of all things were just aching. Next time I'll work on upper body training.

All the way up the hill I just kept thinking that when I turned the corner onto South Temple I'd be right there at the Salt Lake Temple. When I saw the temple I started to cry. For anyone who has read my previous blog entries about running when I cry, you'll remember that I tend to hyperventilate. This was no exception. I had to calm my self down and just breath. I was about a half a mile from the finish line and felt so grateful that I'd come so far and was almost there. It was like this great metaphor for life. We work hard, we prepare and we pass through difficult moments, but, seeing the temple reminded me that, just like in the race, life is so worth the effort.

J and I crossed the finish line together and it was so great to finish with him (he hardly broke a sweat, by the way). I thought I might die for the hour following. But I think it was just lack of sleep and eating the wrong food before I ran (and the night before, and well frankly, the whole week before). It was amazing. It was a stretch physically and mentally. I learned a lot and will do a few things differently next time... and yes I plan on there being a next time. Who wants to do it next year? Hopefully there will be other chances for races later this summer and fall that are closer to home.

I am so sorry to those of you we planned on seeing and didn't get a chance to see. Having the two boys by myself for two weeks turned out to be way more stressful and exhausting than I imagined. We do love you and hope you will still be our friends anyway.

I feel a little like Paul when he wrote to Timothy, "I have fought the good fight. I have finished my course. I have kept the faith."

Whatcha' Reading?

"I would be most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think that decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves." -Anna Quindlen

In my free time lately I've been doing a lot of reading (that amounts to about twenty minutes or so a day, by the way). I've just read and am reading two books that have compelled me to take a deeper look at how I'm doing to truly live my religion as a practicing Christian. I just finished Three Cups of Tea and am currently reading The Robe.

Three Cups of Tea is a true story of one man who fights poverty, illiteracy, and terrorism by building schools and doing other humanitarian projects in Pakistan and Afghanistan. The book focuses on educating girls in particular. We must never underestimate the role a bright and confidant woman can have in the lives of her children and those around her. More than anything the book has made me take a hard look at this war that we are fighting. I think I've all but ignored it mostly out of habit. I took and interest to it when I read the fantastic book A Thousand Splenid Suns and then the interest waned. This story, however, is true and really give me hope that good will prevail. It also forces me to face the idea that I do very little community service. I tell myself that my family and my church responsibilities keep me busy enough. But I feel like those are just excuses some times. There is more to me and I would do well is get out of my comfort zone.

The Robe is an entirely different book. It is the fictitious story of the Roman soldier that got Jesus Christ's robe after the Savior's death. I'm still working through this book, but so far I'm intrigued by what Christianity must look like to one who has not been raised in the Judeo-Christian tradition. The philosophical exchanges between characters show how there are questions and problems like who we are, where we came from, why we are here, and where we are going that resonate with every religious, and irreligious, tradition and culture.

The book also makes me think about my outward oblations as they compare to my inward commitments and covenants. The church to which I belong has a number of rites and rituals that are a physical outward reminder of our personal covenants. This was a way of life--to the extreme--for the Jews 2,000 years ago. I often find my mind wandering and wondering about the sincerity of my outward worship. As do most people, I believe that my actions are sincere. I avoid hypocrisy, but also acknowledge that I am far from perfect and too often give in to my lesser human nature (like the way I just polished off half a package of cinnamon graham crackers while writing this blog entry). The author paints a remarkably ugly picture of the Sanhedrin in particular. They embody and define hypocrisy. On the other hand, Christ is a real and super-read being in this book. People can identify with him, yet he is so much more than a leader and a king. I think I forget what a personal connection that is well maintained with Christ himself can do for my soul.

Both books have made me look more introspectively into how I spend my time, who I am helping and how I live what I know to be true. Both are good reads and worth the time and effort.

Happy Anniversary

Last week J and I celebrated our seventh anniversary. We had a fantastic evening, thanks to a couple in the ward who came and watched out kids. We went dancing and had a private ballroom dance lesson at a local ballroom dance studio and then went out to dinner. The dancing was so much fun. We used to dance a lot, but it's been a while. I had to dust off at least two years of dust on my dancing shoes. It was so nice to just be with my husband and doing something that did not involve children, work, or money discussions.

So here's to another fantastic seven years.

Hyperventilating on The Treadmill

Saturday I was doing a five mile run and decided to load up my iPod with some new music. Almost as an afterthought, I put on a song by Hillary Weeks called "Come Take Your Place." (Thank you, thank you Jennie for giving me the Time Out for Women CD.) It isn't exactly fast-paced running music, however.

As I was pushing through at about mile 4.5 the song came on. Saturday's run had been very introspective and I had spent a lot of time thinking about where I'm going (I mean besides no where very quickly on my treadmill) and what I'm doing with my life. A was playing in the playroom next to me and I could see him coming in and out building things and, of course, crashing them down. As I listened to this song and watched my son, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for the place I am right now in my life. I was meant to be here, now. I was meant to be the mother of these beautiful boys. I was meant to stand with my amazing, loving husband. This is my place, even that part where I teach occasionally unruly six, seven, and eight-year-old primary kids. I have no regrets about passing on grad or law school (for the time being). I have no regrets leaving a career I enjoyed to choose to be a full-time, stay-at-home mother. If anything I appreciate those choices more because I MADE the choice. I understand there are certain expectation as women of faith and I understand that I must find that path through my own faith and prayers. I have much to do and much to live up to.

So here's me, crying my eyes out as I'm touched by this song and suddenly I realize, "I'm running five miles an hour and, wait a second. I can't breath!" I was literally hyperventilating. That is not a good feeling. So I'm trying to get a hold of my self, because, silly me thinks, "But I'm not to five miles yet!" Eventually I got my emotions under control and could breath and of course, what did I do? I played the song AGAIN! Hyperventilating part II. Luckily I was a bit more prepared and quickly got my emotions in check. No passing out. No falling of the treadmill.

All in all, it was very worth the few tense moments of breathlessness to be remided how specific Heavenly Father's plan is for me and how I'm doing just fine because I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.