Bunk Bed

Our boys were excitedly watching us at the beginning...sorting and assembling their brand new bunk bed. Its beautiful, smooth espresso colored wood boards scattered around the bedroom, and the yummy wood smell filled the air and added to their excitement. Eager to help, they sat patiently and watched us from the doorway, helping find the right boards when asked. But, as the assembling wore on, they lost patience and we put on a movie for them while we worked.

Two and a half hours later I'm thinking Ugh, why did we even buy this thing? It was nearing 11:30pm. Both beds completely put together I asked my husband if we could just leave it as two beds for the time being, but knowing how long the boys had been anticipating the bunk bed, I also knew it wasn't an option.

Twenty long minutes later it was finished. The boys were elated and exhausted. We set some ground rules (one on top at a time, their little sister was not aloud on top without mom or dad in the room, etc.) and tucked them in after saying a goodnight prayer of gratitude for their beloved bunk bed.

A little discouraged it had taken so long, I had been fighting feelings of contempt for the bed for the whole three hours. I knew I was tired, so that was adding to my frustration, but I noticed something. As soon as it was finished, and the boys were tucked in, I sat there and looked at them in their new beds, and a feeling washed over me. I do love this bunk bed. What a blessing to have the extra space, and how nice it makes the room look, and how happy the boys are.

Upon reflecting a bit, I was reminded how so many things in life come at a price. Whenever I have worked hard at something, the reward has been worth the effort. Whether it be physical, emotional, or spiritual, whenever I have really applied myself and worked hard, the reward has always outweighed the sacrifice.

I think my athletic experiences in my childhood and teenage years taught me discipline and work ethic. When I was 12 or 13, I had a coach tell me something that has always stuck with me. He had noticed during a particularly long race that I seemed afraid to push hard, that I was afraid of getting tired. He said, Don't be afraid of getting tired! I turned that into, don't be afraid of hard work, or hard things. I learned on a physical level how to do hard things and push myself, and I had tremendous success when I figured out how to achieve certain goals through that hard work. 

Through my post-high school years, I had experiences that taught me emotional and spiritual hard work. I had to face scary realizations and bad habits and tendencies that I'd had. Going through that helped me to make healthier choices, changed how I was and helped me realize how I wanted to be. I say how and not who because we are who we are. Only when we change how we are do we change who we are.

I know it seems silly that assembling a bunk bed from a box brought up all of these thoughts and reminders. But I am grateful for these reminders because life would be so much easier for me if I didn't have to do hard things and just went through the motions. But I know my life wouldn't be as rich and fulfilling if I hadn't, and don't continue to do the hard things. I do them because I am strong, and because I can. And because it is so worth it.

Michael Jackson

Tonight driving home from the grocery store, I was stuck alone at the one intersection in the universe that hates me. I don't think I have EVER hit a green light there ~ yes I'm talking to you 900 East and 6600 South!

While perusing the radio, I happened to stop upon the Michael Jackson song, "Man in the Mirror". And since the stoplight chose to skip the left-hand turn green arrow which I was waiting for, I sat there and listened to this whole song. I never thought a song by Michael Jackson would evoke such emotion out of me, but I was really feeling the words tonight....

I'm Starting With The Man In
The Mirror
I'm Asking Him To Change
His Ways
And No Message Could Have
Been Any Clearer
If You Wanna Make The World
A Better Place
Take A Look At Yourself And
Then Make A Change

I love that we have the power and freedom to choose who we are, and who we want to become.

During this song I found myself asking, Do I make the changes I need to, to become better? A better mother? Wife? Sister? Friend? Daughter? Aunt? Do I know what those changes need to be? More patient? More kind? More loving? More accepting?

And what would the world be like if everyone were brave enough to look in the mirror at themselves? See themselves honestly.

And then 'make that change'?

Days as a Mother

Some days as a mother are more challenging than others. Some days everyone plays well together, meals come together seamlessly, housework and homework are completed, etc.

Then there are the days when you are attempting to help your oldest child with his homework, while the two younger ones cannot help but want your undivided attention simultaneously. They all become frustrated because there is not enough mom to go around.
And mom becomes frustrated because there is not enough mom to go around.

Frustration is the worst.

It often leads to snapping at your 4 year old because he pulls your chair out from under you as you'd leaned over to help your 5 year old with a math problem. I guess hovering over the chair technically means you are 'out' of your seat and done using your chair?

He runs to his room in tears because you scold him. Mom-guilt washes over you. You push through the homework because your 5 year old is becoming impatient and whiny. The 4 year old returns, repentant, apologizing and informs you he said a prayer while up in his room. Your heart melts.

Even during frustrating times there are moments when you feel not so much like a failure mom.

You realize your 4 year old caught on before you did, that maybe it's time to offer a prayer and ask for help.

I love my kids.

When was the closest you've felt to Heavenly Father?

When I was 21 I had come home from a hospital visit and while I had been there, a cousin of mine had brought a journal for people who visited me to write in. Late one night, I decided to pull out that journal and read what people had wrote. I remember feeling so loved and touched by what my visitors had written not only about me, but of the Spirit they had felt when they'd come into my hospital room. Their words of encouragement and faith and love uplifted me in a way that I cannot describe. I'd grown up with these people, but I had no idea I'd meant that much to them. Being on the younger end of a large group of cousins, I'd always looked up to them and felt of myself as sort of an afterthought compared to them. As I sat there basking in these feelings of love and support, a thought crossed my mind.

If this is how much I am loved by my family and friends, how much does Heavenly Father love me?

Within an instant of that thought flowing into my mind, I was overwhelmed with a sweet, warm embrace of pure love. Pure love. It was a love so deep and personal, I had never experienced anything like it before. And I knew what I felt was merely a glimpse of what that pure, unconditional love is, and where it comes from. It was a glimpse of the Divine.

An experience like this could easily be brushed off to be something insignificant. But I could not deny the significance this had on me. On what I believed, and what I knew to be true. That there is a God. That He loves us more than we can comprehend. That there is more to our lives than we can understand.

I wish I could share with everyone that feeling that I'd had - the comfort and peace and unconditional love. I believe it would change the world.

And I believe it does.

Every day.

If we are open enough to listen and receive it.

Sunday Morning Scuff

This morning as I was getting ready for church, I glanced down at my brown boots and paused to admire how new they still looked. I'd worn them pretty regularly for about two months now. They weren't real leather, they were cheap boots. But I was okay with that - grateful I had pretty brown boots at all.

Upon entering the church, while herding my three little ones in as my husband held the door, I stepped up and scuffed the front of my boot! Oh the irony! I had just been admiring how smooth and unmarked they were! My frustration set in quickly, as we slipped in 5 minutes late and found a seat. I sat there, trying to feel okay that the permanent mark had begun the slow process of diminishing my pretty brown boots. But no matter how I tried to feel better, I was still feeling frustrated and angry. As I sat there, staring at the scuff it hit me.

I am that scuff. And that is exactly why I am here. Right now. About to take the sacrament.

Wow. I, like my boots, will be scuffed and torn and broken down.

But unlike my boots, I can still be able to be made whole.

Clean.

New.

Comfort washed over me. And acceptance of my scuff. How grateful I am for this little reminder, and for the knowledge I have of a loving Heavenly Father and Savior.