Take Away Moments

I love Stake Conference. It is one of my favorite things that we do in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. All of the local congregations gather together in one central church building for a few hours of teaching and lifting and strengthening. We talk of Christ and rejoice in Christ and teach of Christ. I'm unbelievably saddened by the recent article I read about a prominent leader from a different church who chose to call the church to which I belong a "cult" and made straight-faced claims that we are not Christians. Talk about someone who missed the boat.... But, I digress. What I really wanted to share were my two favorite take away moments from Stake Conference, both said by our Stake President.

First, in the evening session of conference on Saturday night (my all time favorite meeting in the entire Church) President Standage said "There is a teaching moment in EVERY verse of the scriptures." Perfect. Our children will learn even just one verse at a time.

Second, the mission president for our area asked President Standage why we've seen a drop off in the number of convert baptisms in this Stake as of late. In the past President Standage said he just did not know. But today he knew. He said we will have few convert baptisms if we cannot learn to take care of our own and we are not taking care of our own. Wow. Way to put us in our place. He made a frank plea for us to do much, much better in our home and visiting teaching efforts. Why is this so stinking hard at times? I'm on it though. It's on my mind and I will do better. No excuses. Children of God deserve a little more than what I've been willing to give, especially when it's been a while since they've been reminded of that great eternal heritage and worth.

Enough said.

The Heart of a Runner

I am a runner. I never imagined that I'd ever really say that. But, here I am: a runner.

Early on Saturday morning I was out at about 6:30 running. It was the first really chilly day of running this season. I had prepared well. I had on a hat and running gloves. I wore my long-sleeved plumb colored compression running shirt. I was warm and on my way to a great seven-mile run. A mile or so into the run, I passed a runner going other direction. It was a relatively young guy wearing ALL the wrong things for cold weather running if you are a "real" runner. He was wearing a heavy hooded sweatshirt and warm up pants, no gloves and a baseball cap. He yelled hello from across the street and I smiled and called back. Runners are generally very cordial and always nod or smile, at the very least, to other runners (at least in my experience).

In that moment I had the great thought that ANYONE, {anyone} can be a runner. It's about having the heart of a runner. You don't have to have anything fancy or neat to just lace up and go. You dont' have to run fast or run far for it to have meaning. You can be any age, any skill level, any person at all.

So, what is the heart of runner? It means doing something because it makes you stronger. It pushes you to be a little better. It means that you do it because it makes you feel good inside and out. It means that you dig out that last stretch even when it doesn't feel like there is anything left to give. It means that you know that running gives you a place where you can calm your mind and put back into perspective those things that have gone askew. It is a place of sanity when so much around you feels a little insane and outside of your control. For me the heart of a runner is not necessarily about the constant push to be faster or find that competitive edge.

If anything, it might just be the opposite. I have a friend who picked up distance running about the same time I did. She's ultra fit and I love to talk runner with her. But running has become so important to her that it is starting to become more important than other important things and I've gradually started to see her make surprising life compromises. She's always looking for a race to run or a time to beat. Don't get me wrong. I would LOVE to be faster. And I love running races. But sometimes I feel a little like the guy wearing the over-sized grey hoodie. It's not about the time or the race. It's about balancing life with what you love and learning how to put first things first. That is the heart of a runner. Balance. We run to find balance and to make everything make sense and to be reminded that we can and are worth the effort.

I wasn't born with the heart of a runner. It's something that I've learned and developed. It's unlikely that I'll ever run fast enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon. In fact it is unlikely that I'll ever run a marathon. I'm a half marathon runner at my best. And I'm unlikely to run more than a couple of races a year. But I love running. Even on the days I don't feel like running and think I might hate running, I still love running.

So I guess maybe that is what gives me the heart of a runner. Instead of wearing my heart on my sleeve, I wear my heart in my shoes.

Christmas Came Early to This Frazzled Mom

I got an unexpected early Christmas present on Thursday. After an incredibly long week of being stressed out, overwhelmed and on the verge of nervous break downs multiple times each day, the surprise came as such a welcome relief. Let me explain WHY my life has taken such a dramatic turn over the last few weeks.

A lot of things are changing rapidly in our family right now. My husband has a new, further away job that is wonderful, but causing me a little stress in anticipation of the longer hours and school work (this new job also comes with a chance to earn a master's degree paid for by his company). Our oldest is starting kindergarten after we pulled him out after just three weeks last year to give him a little more time to mature. I am trying to manage my new seminary calling, being a primary teacher, serving as ward organist, and keep up on a visiting teaching route that some times can be time consuming. Change is wonderful. These are all good, exciting changes. But even good change, happy change can cause negative stress.

Now that you know why I'm a little fragile right now, are you just dying to know what my Christmas present was?

I got home late from teaching a Thursday night class and the second I walked in the the door my kids yelled that I had a Christmas present waiting. And sure enough, there was a square box all wrapped in metallic green, red, white and silver polka dot Christmas paper with a big tacky gold stick-on bow on top. I could not possibly imagine what my husband had in that box. When he took this new job, he also took a pay cut( short term loss=long term gain--it was such a good opportunity for career growth that we were willing to take the cut for the time being). So budgeting has been on the TOP of my mind a lot lately. I am keenly aware of all the pennies being spent and I was pretty sure there weren't any extra pennies left over for an unexpected present. I suddenly remembered having had a conversation weeks ago where I mentioned that with my new seminary responsibilities maybe this would be a good time to replace my old, large print, hand-me-down scriptures that have started falling apart. But as the weeks wore on towards the end of the summer, I'd put the thought out of my mind as other expenses were mounting.

So to my utter amazement, I opened that box to find a beautiful black leather bound, gilt-edged large print set of scriptures. There they were! I was speechless. J had cashed in a bunch of cash back bonus bucks from our credit card early so I could start the new year as a seminary teacher with that new set of scriptures. So sneaky. He had even ordered them using his personal email account so I wouldn't get any order confirmation emails.

I can't even begin to express how special this gift is to me. I love the scriptures. I love how I feel when I read them. I love how boldly, but lovingly the Lord through his prophets speaks. I love that the scriptures have real answers to real problems in real life. Some years ago I heard an excellent talk by a prominent woman in our church named Cheri Dew, where she spoke about learning how to figure out how God speaks to you personally. It is different for everyone. I learned a long time ago that if I want to hear what God has to say to me, I have to open my scriptures. Those are the moments when he speaks. Those two books represent so much potential for me and my personal growth. My heart just yearns to have all that goodness fill my weary soul.

So merry Christmas to me. Oh, and by the way, new scriptures smell a-mazing. You can't help but want to open them and just see what is inside!

Fly away Night Owl

I have a new responsibility at church. I am now the early morning seminary teacher. That means that five days a week I will have between five and eight or so teenagers at my house at 6:00 a.m. Let's just get it out in the open now that I am NOT an early morning person. And that is entirely because I am quite a night owl.

That being said, I sense that the Lord is preparing me for this new responsibility because the last few days, once it hits 9:30 pm, I am useless. Don't call. Don't send me an important email in hopes that I'll reply that night. The night owl in me seems to be heading out.

Goodbye late night reading until the wee hours of the morning. Goodbye quite house while all children and husband are asleep; I'll be right there with you. Goodbye last minute treats or late-night loads or laundry.

Hello inspiration. Hello feasting on the Old Testament. Hello sleepy teenagers. Hello quiet of the morning.

And now come all the morning cliches: The early bird catches the worm. Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. Cease to sleep longer than is needful (okay, that one is a scripture). I know that whom the Lord the calls he qualifies. He's got some work to do with me. But I'll do my best to do my part. Wish me early morning luck! I've got two more weeks to "practice" getting up early. And as my mother always says, practice makes perfect!

Adios, night owl. This early bird is ready to hit the hay.

Malibu Barbie and the A-Frame Little People House

If clothes make the man, then toys make the child. I have spent lots of hours sorting through old boxes of toys and books at my parents house this week, trying to help them pair down what they have amassed over a lifetime of nine children. I'm not the first sibling to have done this and I suspect I won't be the last. But in the mean time it was fun showing my kids the toys I played with when I was growing up.

In several big brown moving boxes I found things like an old magic kit with most of the pieces missing. There was the stuffed smurf, the drum full of maracas and a yellow tambourine, the rainbow colored xylophone with the long yellow chord that you could use to pull the little thing around on its red wheels while it make little tinkling noises. We also had a box of my old My Little Ponies in all their pastel glory. I have vivid memories of the year I got the show stable for Christmas. And there was the stuffed Idaho Potato with his embroidered face and gangely arms and legs. And then came two big boxes of Little People and Dolls.

My parents have a vintage collection of Little People. They don't even make these little people any more because of "choking hazard," though the nine of us made it though just fine. My two favorite pieces are the A-frame house with the absolutely perfect miniture kitchen and a balcony on the second floor and a Main Street USA town. When my boys discovered the main street, they were in heaven. It has a jail (their favorite), a dentist office, a movie theater, a barber shop, a police station, a garage, a restaurant, and an apartment. There is also a stop light on a bridge that connects the two sides of the store and office fronts. At one point while I was sorting other toys, my almost three year old had set up the two sides of the buildings and the stop light and arranged four or five cars driving down the street with little people inside. Classic toys are generationless.

Among the toys I found a big box of toys filled with Barbies and Cabbage Patch dolls. There were five blond hair, blue-eyed Barbies, all of whom would have easily passed for Malibu Barbie (one of them was Peaches 'n Cream Barbie; her dress used to smell like peaches). I found the Barbie who's hair I cut and the Hawaiian Barbie with the super long black hair that got all frizzy after I undid the braids my mom told me not to undo. I found a dress made of Kleenex and cream colored lace tied on to Barbie with a ribbon. I found the Ken doll with the missing leg and the Barbie-sized GI Jo with the battle scare on his cheek. Oh the hours we would play Barbies. It was never "play with Barbies." It was always, "play Barbies."

While I know that the number of toys is so completely unimportant, I hope my children enjoy their toys and look forward to playing with grandma and grandpa's toys, too. I know that for me they represent countless hours of imagination and happiness and life skill building and just good old fun. Sometimes I worry I'm pushing my kids to grow up too quickly. Weeks like this one remind me that toys really do make the child. They have their whole lives to be grown ups. Toys give them a place that is all their own where they can think and do and be anything. I don't have many specific memories of specific moments. But I remember being happy and full of a little kid's big dreams. I hope I can give my children that same gift.

So, what are your favorite childhood toys and what do they mean to you?

Belated Mother's Day

Let's start by saying that my two year old can't keep a secret. My L is just the best. On the day before Mother's Day my good husband had all three boys while I went to teach my morning Weight Watchers class and then to present at a Stake Relief Society Women's Conference. The boys ran some errands and unbeknown to me, picked up a Mother's Day present.

Later in the day we were all in the car going somewhere and Mother's Day came up. Mr. L from the back seat heard the words "Mother's Day" and yelled "Mommy. Mother's Day. Flowers!" Big brother sitting next to him sort of knows the virtue of secret keeping and just as ardently said, "We didn't get you anything, Mom, really. Nothing!" To which L again said, "Yes. Mommy. Mother's Day. Flowers!" And back and forth it went. J and I were in the front seat just laughing hysterically at the two arguing over weather or not I really had a Mother's Day present.

To say the least I had a great Mother's Day. I got to stay in bed until the breakfast of my choosing was ready (I don't really like the idea of breakfast IN bed). The boys ran from the kitchen to get me when Dad gave the word. They bombarded me with hugs and kisses (with three boys, bombarded is the perfect word). They pulled me to the kitchen and showed me that indeed they had picked out a spectacular pot of red-pink tulips. We had eggs and sausage--my all time favorite. All of J's regular before-church meetings were cancelled so I had extra help getting the boys ready for church. I tried to pull the "it's Mother's Day so wear what I want you to wear" card. It didn't work. Two temper tantrums and two personally picked out outfits were just fine by the end of the morning.

After church I got to take a nap. And thanks to my excellent planning skills, dinner was cooking away in the crockpot before we even left for church in the morning.

The boys set a lovely table, complete with China for the grown ups and a scrumptious homemade chocolate cake (I have an AMAZING husband who can turn whole wheat flour into unbelievable creations).

All in all, I felt so loved and so very much like the queen of the family. Some days are more physically demanding than I can almost bare with three busy boys. But I sure wouldn't trade them for anything else!

What a great day to be a woman and a mother!

Book of Mormon Challenge: House of Order #2 WORRY LESS; PRAY MORE

The theme that keeps coming back to me lately is something I came across last week in the last few teachings of Nephi. He basically told the people if they prayed more and worried and wondered less, things would work out. I keep trying to tell myself that phrase over and over: Pray more; worry less.

Boy is it hard.

I can be a bit of a worry wart I guess. I'm not very good at letting go of things that I can't control very well. I worry that I'm not a good enough house keeper. I worry that I'm neglecting the less active children in my primary class. I worry that I'll never become a faster runner. I worry about the library books and movies that are over due (okay, I can control that). I worry about people that I love and the choices that they are making and the potential sadness that they may experience as a result of it. I worry that if I had just said this or that, maybe I could have helped someone a little better. I especially worry about the future. Where should we live, what job should we look for, when will that happen? And so on and so on.

Nephi had the unenviable job of really letting the people have it when they started getting themselves into trouble. So I suppose it should come as no surprise that his words were so clear to me.

Stop all this worrying! Pray more. Do it.

I worry too much with too little action. Moving forward with faith is definitely the goal of a lifetime.

Applying this specifically to my Book of Mormon topic of study of getting my physical and spiritual house in order, I am finding that I'm worrying an awful lot about what isn't getting done. I told my husband the other day that things just never seem to change. Nothing every changes. When will things change? I keep doing the same things and getting the same results. It's making me crazy!

But here's the long and short of it when it comes to keeping house: I'm pretty sure that the Lord will help me make a do-able plan and then execute it if I keep praying and then act instead of worrying and wondering so much about what to do and feeling like a failure for what I'm not doing.

Besides, there is no such thing as failure, only feedback.