Get a Grip

I'd like to say I'm just having a midlife crisis (I turn 50 this coming Saturday!) because I am having serious, serious misgivings about continuing on with my career. Alas, I still love what I do, but I have noticed in the past couple of years that I simply don't do what I do very well anymore. I'm having trouble concentrating. Almost every.single.job.lately I have looked down with horror at my fingers as they just seem to be flailing around writing the most normal words in an unintelligible way. Okay, for MOST of you the whole steno thing is completely unintelligible, but when I'm writing, those things that are not identified in my dictionary come up in capital red letters that mean, to me as a court reporter, what the ....?

I blazed through school from 1989 (9 months of night school) through 1992, even though I had a baby during that time, making four kids for me in total. It was such a rush to learn something new and to see myself rapidly progressing. After nearly ten years of an abusive marriage, in which I was still entrapped, it was restoring to my soul to receive the praise from my teachers as I did well. Watching myself accomplish so much was very exciting. It was very much like drinking a long, cool drink of water after years in the desert.

I’ll never forget those first years. I was sure that as I became more experienced, my writing would miraculously become nearly error-free. It’s been almost 19 years since I began working as a court reporter, and that day never came; however, I did find that I was really good, especially with medical testimony. I enjoyed my work so much. It paved the way to bring me partially out of the cave of fear and self-consciousness to a place where, because I needed to speak up, I was able to become more comfortable speaking with strangers. Again, after all those years suffering emotional and physical abuse, my opinion of myself had plummeted, and now I had a job to do where I could walk into the room and be assured that I had a place and was needed for what I could do.

I was always sure I would never want to work in court, so it was rather startling to realize that I longed for that opportunity. I was so grateful to be interviewed and then hired for a position with the courts in Fresno back in 2005. I was only there for just over a year, and I often regret…no, I regret every single day that I left that job and jumped back, blindly, into the world of freelance. Mind you, I love Virginia, and I am glad we came here. And face it, my salary alone wasn’t enough to keep us afloat; however, the benefits and the steady paycheck were both tremendous blessings. And I loved that job. It was awesome to be part of a team. It wasn’t boring, by any means. I was moved around from court to court, so the people and the cases and the circumstances were constantly different. Unfortunately, there are no full-time reporters in the courts here in Virginia. Darn it.

When I’ve been asked to transcribe proceedings from my court days, I have been amazed at how clean my notes were. I didn’t drop, or at least I dropped very rarely. Part of that was due to my experience. Which brings up a side note. I was amazed that some of the court reporters who were my colleagues in the courts guarded jealously the opportunity to be assigned to a particular judge. I definitely got the feeling that they saw me as a newcomer who hadn’t yet done my time and didn’t deserve that opportunity. But the glaring part, to me, was that many of them had not been working as court reporters as long as I had, and they had only been in the courts a little longer than I. At any rate, the other reason, I believe, that my notes were so good when I worked in the courts was that I was in good physical shape. I didn’t have to schlep my equipment all over the place because I usually worked in just the main building in Fresno. In addition, I had been taking an anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medication for a while, and one of the first things I had noticed was that my concentration level was dramatically increased. In my profession, we often get behind or trail a few words when speakers speed up, but we can retain them in our memory as we catch up. When concentration goes, you lose that ability, which is devastating to a court reporter. My husband also pointed out, and this is something that I hadn’t realized until he brought it up, that I seemed better able to handle the bumps and jolts of life. If you refer to a previous blog where I talk about brake pads, you’ll understand that during the time I was taking this medication, I always had brake pads, and my life just peaceably ambled along, despite the ups and downs.

Now I have no insurance. Our financial picture is a disaster, much of it our own making, but a large enough portion due to some really crummy luck. I’ve spent 19 years working at this job and having nothing to show for it but an aching body and two decades of stress. It doesn’t help that one of my peers, only six weeks older than I am, has progressed far enough in his life that he has this awesome big white house up in DC, and here I am, just renting a cute but tiny split level in Virginia. I was excited to have the opportunity to interview for a federal court position a few months ago, but I really didn’t think I had a prayer. Sadly, it appears I was correct, and I secretly believe it was a good thing. I feel I’ve deteriorated so much.

This has been a tough summer for us. We never took an actual vacation. Well, Darryl and the kids managed to carve one out of our trip to Utah, but I only had the one afternoon in Park City (which was awesome!) and then the stops we made on the way home. It kicked our butts financially because I had given up two weeks’ work, and then I came home to the traditional slow time in August. Lauren, if you’re reading this, please do not think I regret for one single second that we came out there. I am so grateful for a wonderful husband who recognized even before I did that Lauren and I needed each other at least a little bit at that time.

No, the reason I bring up the tough summer is that it came on the heels of about three of the worst years in my life where I often wondered, “What’s next?” I didn’t think I could manage the stress and sorrow with which I was continually bombarded. Let me assure you that stress does a number on you physically. I haven’t been to the doctor for a checkup in about six years (!), but I’ll bet my cholesterol is high. I’ve lost a lot of the weight I had gained when I was taking that anti-depressant (seriously, I’m depressed so you think I should take a medication that will make me GAIN weight?) Still, I just don’t have any of the bounce…or the brake pads to be able to hit the potholes in my life and just keep going.

It was bad enough when it was merely making a mess of my personal life. The life that resides inside my head. Then I noticed that my physical body was beginning to suffer. I’m feeling aches and pains I’d never had before. My arms ache all.the.time. My back often gives me trouble. If I even think about not taking medication for my headaches, they will come at me with a vengeance. Much of the time they come at me with a vengeance right through the pain medication. And my moods are getting darker and darker. I used to call myself Polyanna. Now I feel like Pollyanna but in a movie written by Tim Burton.

Over the past couple of years I have noticed that I was having more and more days on the job where I simply wasn’t doing very well capturing the record. I found I had to rely on my audio more and more to help me fill in the couple of words here and there that I just had to let go. I was terrified that someone would ask me to read back a part where I had resorted to writing KHEK/KHEK (check/check), which would mark my transcript so I would know I need to listen to the audio in that part. And then that day came, and I had to say with a red face, “I’m sorry, I was unable to capture that. Please repeat.”

This year has been the worst. Even the “easy” jobs have been hard. Plus work has dropped considerably this year, so I’m afraid to check my year-to-date income to see how bad it really is. Then we came home from our unexpected trip to Utah, and I have had about a dozen jobs since then. And every.single.one.of.them. has kicked my butt. It’s great to HAVE audio to check, but my edit time has increased so much that I am simply exhausted after a job, knowing that I’ll be forced to work much longer hours to make the transcript reach my usual high standards.

And now I’m struggling with thoughts of death. Not my own. Sadly, while I wouldn’t take my own life, I wonder whether when push comes to shove, I’d have the desire to fight hard to stay alive? But the worse part is dwelling on thoughts of losing my loved ones. I never had those fears or worries, but here I am, almost falling apart in tears over this imagined misery.
Yesterday I came home from a job that should have been good, but it wasn’t. I’m no longer expecting them to be. And my sweet husband held me in his arms as I told him that I just want to quit being a court reporter. Several years ago I had interviewed for secretarial positions because I was only doing one deposition a month, and we were dying. It was really hard, though, because I clearly loved what I was doing. No surprise that no one called me back after I interviewed because even they could see my heart was not in it. But now I’m stuck with the realization that on Saturday I will be 50 years old, and I not only have nothing to show for all my years of hard work, but I don’t even like it. I don’t jump out of bed, eager to start the day’s work. I’m tired before I even get on that train. It doesn’t bring me joy or even mild contentment anymore. And, like I said, the one thing I’m good at I’m no longer good at.

But what does someone do who has been trained for ONE thing and wants to go ANYwhere else but here (jobwise)?

The Art of Being Multi-Lingual Successfully

What is your love language? A sister in our last ward gave a presentation in a Relief Society meeting about this. I went out and bought Gary Chapman’s book because the idea intrigued me so much. It didn’t take me long to figure out that my love language is acts of service. It’s a little complicated, actually. I mean, I’m almost paralyzed with self-consciousness and rarely give acts of service to people outside my own family unless someone says, “Will you, please, do X for So and So?” And I am by far NOT the best housekeeper in the world, but I like to be able to spend time putting things in order for my family.

My hubby left for a weeklong business trip last Sunday morning, and I spent a couple of hours that evening cleaning his desk and work area. First, it drove me crazy because MY desk is about five feet away from his, and I really hate to work in such a messy area. But I also knew that he kept planning to….meaning to get to the mess himself, but it just wasn’t gonna happen. Really, the time I spent seemed to fly by, and I got such a sense of well being as I saw the desk, well, SEEING the desk.

I especially liked being able to get through the boxes and baskets and put things away for him. When I was done, I took pictures and sent them to him via text message. It was really fun for me to be able to do that for him. Because, well, I love him, and I appreciate so much that he is doing something right now that is blessing our family.

I hear friends complain about the laundry all the time, and I just smile. For me, that’s one of those rare household tasks that I’ve completely mastered, and since I’ve been blessed to have a separate laundry room in my home most of the time Darryl and I have been married, I really, really like being able to have a fairly clean and organized place to clean and organize the clothing my loved ones wear. The OCD or ADHD or whatever letters I should have engraved on my résumé embraces the opportunity to have this job that has a clear beginning, middle, and end. The difference between before and after is remarkable. There is a peace that offering this particular act of service to my loved ones brings me. I think my husband experiences something of the same when he cooks. He is an amazing cook, and I’m not sure whether the kids appreciate what a gift that is. But I do. Every single time he gets in that kitchen and cooks for me, for us, I feel loved. Okay, the one time he used stale potato chips on top of the casserole was not so great, but that was just the one time!

It makes me crazy when I hear guys joke about how impossible it is to understand women. Seriously, if she’s that important to you, take the time to pay attention to what she does for/to you so you know what is important to her.

When I turned 43, my husband surprised me with a trip to Hawai’i. His parents were serving a mission there at the time, so we had free lodging. It was the best trip I have EVER taken. Well, actually, the trip with the family to New York in 2009 WAS pretty awesome, but still. Now, you might say to yourself, “Well, DUH! Of course she thought going to Hawai’i was the best birthday gift.” But guess what? You would be wrong. Going to Hawai’i was kind of gravy for me. Yeah, it was beautiful and fun, and I quickly fell in love with it. But the part that still makes my heart go pitter patter was that my husband took the time and expended the effort to make arrangements for our trip and for our kids while we would be gone. He put a lot of his own energy into making this happen for me. THAT is what made me feel loved.

I’ve come a long way from being the embittered, frustrated wife who felt like I was doing everything while my hubby did nothing. Okay, for the record, my feelings didn’t represent with 100% accuracy the situation in our home. But bless his sweet heart, my husband has spent a lot of time in recent memory trying to remember what I’ve asked him to do or what I clearly prefer in keeping our little world running. He knows I don’t need or want help with the laundry, but he knows I DO want the shower curtain closed. He knows I DO want him to cook for us AND clean up after himself as he cooks. He’s catching on that I am very uncomfortable making phone calls (except when I am talking with friends or family), so he’s doing that less grudgingly, while I wash his dirty socks and underwear with a smile, nary a complaint, and real love in my heart as I do it.

Another thing I love to do is bake treats I know he likes. And I just finished making myself some lunch, and that reminded me that I love to do that for him. I know he likes to have a sandwich brought to him while he's working at his desk. And I make a pretty mean egg salad sandwich :D

Oh, and I know what HIS love language is. His is physical touch. And I try (though I often forget about it) to make sure that I run my fingers through his hair or hold his hand or just lay my hand on his leg when we sit side by side. Yes, I really suffer in showing him love in a language he understands :D I can see our son is the same. He thrives on “pwning” his dad on a regular basis. We have to remake our bed every night before we turn in for the night because it’s been messed up with all the wrestling sessions as our son comes and tries to best his dad who outweighs him by about 150 pounds. He also comes to me about every 15 minutes for a hug. Yeah, tough job, but I’ll muddle through. Since our son is number 6 of my 7, I recognize what a sweet gift it is that he still not only needs our hugs and stroking his hair (he LOVES that!), but he wants them too.

I can see that our sweet girl takes after me. She does every. single. thing. I ask her to do without delay. I have to remind myself to not ask her to do too much because she would certainly do it. She’s a great kid. And I really GET her, and I think she gets me too. And it’s easy enough to do something to show her how much I love her because I just think, “What would I think if someone did this for me?” I often forget how lucky I am with these people who populate my life and home. I'm so glad they are mine.

Some of my other loved ones, I haven’t got a clue. ::sigh::

Speak now or forever....wait, just don't speak, okay?

I wonder whether any of you has buttons. I'll bet you know what they are. In fact, I'm pretty sure your loved ones not only know what they are but delight in pushing them from time to time. There seems to be nothing more satisfying sometimes than to get a rise out of someone who at that moment really ticked us off. Alas, when we let ourselves do that, we often take a little chink out of that fragile relationship we cherish. To quote Pink (I know, ME quote Pink?), "Why do we do that? Why do I do that? Why do I do that?"

Let's see. I know two of my buttons...not necessarily the kind that make me angry but the kind that leave me most vulnerable and hurt the most when pushed. One is that I just want people to like me. The second is that it drives me practically insane when I learn that someone, ANYone finds fault with me for whatever reason, real or imagined. With the never-ending drama of my life in the past, well, forEVER, I have wondered whether it's my vulnerability that invites the incessant button pushing or whether the pushers have chosen those buttons in particular, simply because there is more joy for them, knowing that these hurt the most. So, again, because I hate to think too much about THAT, I turn it to myself and wonder, "How do I treat others?" I wonder whether I'm a button pusher, and even worse, am I a KNOWING button pusher?

I try and try NOT do that. I agonize over everything. I'm kind of a nervous wreck. Take my husband, for example. I know his vulnerabilities, and I not only try to steer clear of them, but I try to protect his feelings in those areas. I'm not as good at as I'd like to think. I try to do the same with Scott and Kristi too. Doesn't always work. And, of course, when I mess up and step on those buttons, they all like to come down on me like a ton of bricks. ::sigh::

Early in the days of my first marriage, my then-husband told me that he and one of his close friends, a guy I'd had a huge crush on for years, sat at the back of the chapel during testimony meeting shortly after I came home from my one year at BYU. That was the first time I had met the man I would marry, when he came to my dorm to pick up my trunk about two weeks before I came home. Anyway, he and his friend, he tells me, sat back there while I was bearing my testimony and made fun of all the gushy, just-came-home-from-BYUness of me. This conversation had to be almost 30 years ago, and it still makes me blush as I remember how mortified I was when he told me.

See, that's one of those buttons of mine. It used to make me mad, which was my reaction to huge embarrassment. I just ache when I feel that someone doesn't like me or finds me laughable in some way. So here's my then-husband, the man with whom I was trying to carve out a life, stomping with glee all over that button. And even worse was the fact that the other person in the story was someone I had liked so much. ::sigh::

I know I talk a lot. I know I chatter. It's like a fountain, all flowing almost uncontrollably. It embarrasses me. I have several children who do the same. I still love to hear them talk. Sometimes it makes my job very difficult, because, face it, someone who likes to talk sure isn't having any fun when he or she has to sit still and shut up while SOMEONE ELSE does all the talking!

Do you have any idea how hard it is to NOT talk? Especially when you feel completely safe and secure with the person who is talking with you? It's nigh unto impossible for me. It's not that I think I have so much to say or that I think I am so interesting. It's that I notice and feel and ponder about so much. And I love, love, love to laugh. It seems I'm almost always bubbling with unexpressed laughter. Everything is funny. I mean, my life kinda sucks much of the time. If I don't laugh, I'll just spend all my time sharpening razor blades and crying all over the place! It's bad enough that I often find myself expressing my dark thoughts all over Facebook or my blog. Trust me, in person, I'm not like that. But now I feel like I have to find a way to turn that part of me off. I'm really losing who I am. Who I used to be.

::sigh::

So, yeah, I've got nothing else to say. Oh, well, to be honest, I have a LOT more to say. I'm just not going to say it. Nope. I'm just going to sit here and keep my big. fat. mouth. shut. I can do it, right?

Mother's Day 2011

Because I’m hopeless at sending gifts and cards for events/holidays, I am particularly grateful for the Internet. Now procrastination doesn’t have to be a deal breaker. I will admit that I spend a lot of time thinking of the cards or gifts I’d like to send, so it’s not like I really just forget. In fact, my husband will tell you that I can remember what color shirt he wore on May 17th, 1998, most likely :D

So, while I am really bad at sending THINGS to my loved ones when I want to let them know how much I love them, my mind and heart are certainly in the right place as I think of them. Since tomorrow, May 8, 2011, is Mother’s Day, I wanted to write a blog entry about my mom…and make sure she sees this, as do all of my “fans.” Hahahahahaha….okay, so maybe I’m a little delusional too. About the fans comment, that is.

I am the oldest of three living children. When I was two, my parents had a baby who died less than two weeks after he was born. I certainly wasn’t old enough to have ever known my brother Kenny, but as soon as I was able to understand that the thinking of the day meant that my mother was never allowed to hold her second child, even after he died, I’ve wanted to somehow turn back the hands of time to GIVE her those moments. Especially after I had children and crossed the imaginary line that makes everything feel more…well, just MORE. I defy any mother to watch “The Little Mermaid” and NOT cry during the scene where Ariel and her dad are saying goodbye to each other after he realizes that she really loves a human and has to leave her childhood home forever!

Let me tell you some things about my mom. She was six weeks shy of her 20th birthday when she got married to a man she’d only known for a few months. In all the years they were married (sadly, only 38 years when he died), I never doubted that my father loved my mother. He could really make her laugh. He used to hurt himself all the time, walking into things and such, and we all secretly believed that he really only did it and then reacted so outrageously because my mom would just go into hysterics. There is very little in life that can lighten the heart of a child like the sound of his or her mother and father laughing together.

By the time I was 5 ½, my parents had all three of the children they would raise to adulthood. I am not really sure what is wrong with me, but I remember that since birth I’ve been plagued by fear and depression. Having five children with emotional issues, I can only imagine that raising me must have been a challenge for my parents. After all, who comes to parenthood with advanced training in how to BE a parent of exactly the kind of child with whom they are blessed? I do remember that I expected that my own family would be just like the one in which I grew up, only better. Doesn’t everyone believe that will happen? Of course, that’s not what happened, but it doesn’t take away the feelings that my upbringing gave me, some of which I had then and some of which I developed later as I learned more about the upbringing of others and realized just how fortunate I had been to grow up where I did.

No one was abusing me. Not physically, not mentally, not sexually. I sometimes thought I had the meanest parents in the world, and I’m really GLAD. My parents were mean because they wouldn’t take any disrespect from me…a gift I all too freely tried to give when I was a confused, hormonal teen. They were mean because even more than my sense of morality, it was my fear of them that kept me from venturing into drugs and alcohol. I mean, what would they DO to me if I got caught?! They were mean because they took us on family vacations that often entailed hours of driving together to go hang out with aunts and uncles, grandparents, and cousins, no theme park to be found. They were mean because they made me go outside and play with the neighborhood kids instead of sitting in the house all day.

When I was very young, a local church sent people door to door, asking whether the parents would like to have their children be picked up on Sundays in a church bus and taken to services, then delivered safely back home. Thank goodness my parents were mean enough to say yes and send me. That clearly started me on the road to being available to recognize the fullness of the gospel when I practically stumbled upon it years later. But more on that in a few…

One thing I remember about my mom is her constant worry about her weight. Of course, I just thought she looked like a mom, and I never meant anything negative about it. I didn’t look at her and see her as she saw herself. That is definitely something she has passed on to me. I am very hard on myself, and my sweet Kristina actually chews me out quite frequently. “You are AWESOME, Mom!” I also remember that my mom smoked until I was a young pre-teen. I had no idea at the time just how bad smoking is, but I remember that my mom was ready to quit long before we found a church that helped us to understand the negatives of smoking. I believe, now, that her efforts were inspired and led the way to her being able to lead our family to accept the gospel.

I also remember that my mom worked my entire childhood (she just retired about five years ago, when I was a “young” 45). At one point in her career she was an eligibility worker with the county, and one of her clients was shot to death by her husband…right in the driveway of the elementary school in front of the couple’s children…and other kids, including my own brother. I think that is the first time that I became aware that my mom’s job couldn’t possibly be an easy one. Later she became the secretary to the dean of my class in high school. How cool do you think it is to have your own mom there all day…so when you “need” to ditch school, you can go get her to sign you out? But, again, there was that fear thing. I really didn’t ditch. I also remember that I really liked having my parents chaperone events I attended. It was great to feel like they were part of my life!

I remember being able to earn my driver’s license about two days after my 16th birthday. And then to have my very own car! Okay, so it was my parents’ car still, but I was its only driver! I still marvel that my mom and dad were willing and able to let me have that blessing.

One of my favorite memories is when I would come home after a dance or a date or some other activity. My parents had end tables in their room instead of night stands. I used to sit in my mom’s end table, telling my parents the minutia of whatever activity I’d attended, sure that they were in rapt attention because, well, THEIR lives were practically over, and mine was so danged exciting! It seriously never occurred to me that they didn’t care. I knew they cared. Even when we were struggling to get along, I never doubted that my parents were interested in me and, most importantly, they loved me.

One of the best gifts my mother ever gave me…and the entire family, in fact, was after we moved to Merced when I was 14. She had mentioned before we moved that she would really like to find a church we could attend as a family. And then we moved across the street from an LDS family. And while making friends, my mom also started asking questions that she’d never had answered before when she was growing up. At first I was a bit hesitant because I had very little information about the church. I remember attending the temple visitors center when I was about nine, and the only thing that I thought of at the time was, “Man, why haven’t I ever heard this before?”

While I had been actively involved in church since I was about seven, my family had only rarely attended any services. The only ones I remember are mass with my grandmother, who was cool enough to attend a Catholic church housed in a California mission. As my mother started asking harder questions, the neighbors offered to send over the missionaries. My mom accepted, and because my dad loved her, he agreed to sit in on the meetings. Like I said, I was a bit hesitant. Although I soon became involved in activities with the youth in the church as well as the weekly meetings with the missionaries, I found it all hard to understand. One friend asked me, “Why don’t you try going to a Christian church?” That was sort of like a shovel to the face because my initial response was, “Wait. I *am* attending a Christian church!” And then the distractions of the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith and various things I’d never heard before just fell away, and I recognized that the church was about Jesus Christ. I knew Him. We had met, so to speak. And that’s when it pierced my very soul.

Because of my mom, I have a richness to my life that I could never have gained any other way. I would never have thought to take the steps myself. I have come to see the Book of Mormon as another Testament of Jesus Christ…it’s one of my favorite publications (I love the Publisher). I find joy in knowing that my family is and can be an Eternal family. Regardless of how broken a family can often seem, this life is such a small part of what we experience, and I know that we will better understand when we have God’s eyes to help.

I am grateful to my mom for picking my dad. I miss him a million times every day. And every one of those times I realize that it’s only a millionth percent of how much my mom must miss him. Ours was not a perfect family. But I meant what I tried to convey at my father’s funeral: I often felt bad for others because they weren’t part of OUR family.

My mom was my inspiration to follow the career path I did. She wasn't involved in the legal profession, but I knew from a very young age that I wanted to be like her. She had many clerical positions. I love telling people how my mom used to jam the keys on her typewriters because she typed so fast! My first non-restaurant job was at a law firm, and that began my own love affair that blossomed in my love in particular for court reporting. My mom can write pen shorthand, and I hope that I'm a feather in her steno cap.

I know my mom was a beautiful singer back when she was young. I haven't heard her sing in years, so I can't tell you whether she's still singing beautifully, though I do know that she loves music. Many of her grandchildren are musically talented, and I know she finds joy and pride in that.

While it isn’t my season to be a grandmother, I am so grateful to my mom for taking my biological grandchildren in and being the grandmother they deserve to have. When I feel particularly sorrowful over my loss, my heart sings with relief in knowing they are still being loved. No child should go through life without grandparents and/or aunts and uncles, family friends, people OTHER than their parents who love them and are proud of them. I’m glad that my mom and dad made sure I had that and that my mom, in turn, is making sure that happens for my grandchildren.

I love my mom. Because I’m her oldest child as well as her oldest daughter, our relationship has all the prickly parts you would expect. But I still smile every single day when I think about her. As an almost-50-year-old woman, I see more of myself in my mother every day. As you can imagine, that equally frightens me and comforts me. The more we see ourselves in our family members, the more we know we belong with one another.

So Happy Mother’s Day, Momma. I’m glad you’re my mom. I’m glad I’m your daughter. And Happy Mother’s Day to all the other mommas out there. You know who you are.

Who Does Depression Hurt? Everyone....

When my ex-husband committed suicide, the early morning call that we received surprised us. I sort of felt like the last puzzle piece had fallen into place, even though none of us had ever seriously considered that he would take his own life. But it suddenly made sense. One of the first memories I have of that event was standing in the shower later that morning, crying my eyes out in a moment of grief. No matter our differences and the fact that our very last conversation had been his screaming at me over the phone, blaming me for something that was actually his fault, it tore at my heart imagining his being in a place that would give his mind the idea that killing himself violently was the way to go. Since then I’ve learned that perhaps he had abruptly stopped taking an anti-depressant, which is now known to increase the risk of suicide….but still.

Disclaimer: No worries. I’m not considering suicide, and I’m not taking any medication. I most likely should be, but that’s another story.

No, what I’m driving at here is one of the thoughts that I still have running around in my head. This was a man who had had a lifetime of failures and disappointments, some not his fault, but many that were. I wonder if he was ultimately face to face with the reality of WHY he kept hitting a brick wall in his life. Was it too much for him when he had no choice but to realize that he couldn’t do anything to improve his life because he would always be…HIM?

So that brings me to, well, ME. Someone posted on Facebook the other day that a decision made in a moment could alter the course of one’s life. Oh, yeah. Don’t we all have that moment in our lives, whether it was a decision for good or bad? I have one. Or 20. Maybe 45.

I remember back in ’96 when my then-estranged husband told me he was filing bankruptcy. I insisted he add me on because I didn’t want to be left with all the bills. I wish I had had better advice or at least had asked someone for advice. But who knows? At any rate, I remember as I was going through it that I had this monologue going on in my head. I was reminding myself that I never thought I would be in that place (filing bankruptcy), and I was discovering that, while I wasn’t happy to be having the experience, I was surviving it. I was learning that my life wasn’t really over. It was huge for me.

I’ve had more and more of those experiences. It’s like I draw this imaginary line and tell myself that at least I haven’t had to go beyond THAT. Yet. And then I do. And I’m still standing. Here I am in 2011, 15 years after that time, and I have had ever-increasing financial woes. I’ve been divorced and remarried. I’ve seen my family erode and turn their backs on me en masse. I’ve sent one of my children away because of the danger she presented to my loved ones. I’ve had to allow another one of my children to live on the street a time or two, I’ve been an abused wife. I’ve been the mother of abused children. Today everything I thought was important in life either surrounds me in tatters, or it’s on the brink of disaster. And I’m still afraid of what’s next. So, yeah, I learned that the things I thought would spell the end of my life really didn’t. But why would anyone want to keep getting up in the morning if this is all they have?

I’ve got a passport. Some days I feel like I just want to make a plane reservation for ANYwhere else in the world and just disappear. Again, no worries. My sense of responsibility is probably part of my core person. I couldn’t leave my two youngest children. They need me. They still want me. And I am curious to see what happens with them. And my husband always has his family to turn to. Must be nice…..

What I am afraid of is that, while I’m not willing to turn my back on my life, I will just shatter one day, and I will involuntarily “leave.” How much can a person really take? Something has to give. Something has to change. I need to be moving up again. I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom, but I greatly fear that I haven’t. Yet. :(

Balm of Gilead - Now on Aisle 9

When sore trials came upon you,
Did you think to pray?
When your soul was bowed in sorrow,
Balm of Gilead did you borrow
At the gates of day?

“Did You Think to Pray?” is a lovely hymn, and, like most hymns, its message is more powerful than its simple words. You may recall my earlier nod to “Abide With Me”:

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day

From that song I gained hope amid my trials by changing my view. I am not living my life so much as this is “life’s little day,” and it is important, but it is only a small part of the Eternal Being I am.

In the three and a half years we lived in our previous home, I absolutely loved doing the laundry. I know that sounds weird, but it’s true. First, I had a to-die-for laundry room. Secondly, there is something so satisfying about taking dirty laundry and transforming it into clean, sweet-smelling clothing and linens. Perhaps it was the service I rendered to my family as I washed and dried their clothes, folding them or hanging them, knowing whose were whose (okay, with 5 daughters, that’s not always an easy task). I had stored in my head the knowledge of whose clothes needed to be pretreated, whose clothes needed to be hung to dry, whose clothes needed to be washed in cold water. Who needed a work uniform for the next day. Being able to keep that one. small. thing. in order was really big. My entire life was swirling around me, but the laundry was the eye of that storm. In the laundry room I could find peace to work. The secret was, who else would dare to enter that domain? Because, as they quickly discovered, it was pretty likely they would find a job as their reward..:D

But because folding laundry is a mostly mindless task, I could get a lot of thinking done as I folded. Smoothing out my son’s jeans as I put them on a hanger (he had a huge closet and no dresser at the time) accompanied the internal…silent….arguments I had with those who had hurt me that day or that week or that month. Prayers were uttered…again, silently….and then they would be answered, either in the laundry room or in the course of my day. Driving to work later in the day, I would see a heart-stopping sight that gave me pause and a reminder that life is not random. I would overhear one child offer a kind word or a helping hand to another, and once I picked myself up off the floor, I would feel a flood of peace and happiness that that one moment was perfect. Perhaps if I gathered all those moments together, they would fill my hand…or hands….

Ah, then we moved. I still love our new house. Despite its weak points, it has a warmth (except in the basement, where the windows are not double-paned) and an air of home and peace. Yesterday morning we were ready early for church, and the four of us who were going found ourselves sitting together in the living room and remarking what a great FHE place it will be. The kitchen gets a little more organized every chance I get. It’s even more enjoyable to cook there. I think the light in the room really adds to that. Last night we gathered in the basement family room to watch the Super Bowl, the five of us. Darryl started a fire in the woodstove with the little bit of wood we had left. The downstairs TV isn’t the best, but the company and the ambience sure were. We had a fun time together. Yeah, really, watching football was FUN.

Scott and Kristi love to climb on our bed with us and watch TV. Scott regularly tries to “PWN” his dad. And he likes to trash talk like he’s some sort of force to be reckoned with. And he comes back for more later. Sweet little moments of happiness that melt in my heart. Kristi is our little ninja who is a good soul in that 11 y/o body.

Our lesson in Relief Society yesterday was about the connection between faith, hope, and love (charity). Like a three-legged stool, we need all three legs to be able to sit. Most of the lesson was about hope, and I heard something profound enough…not a new concept by any means, but profound….to want to write it down so I won’t forget.

We all know that Satan is the Father of Lies. He seems to especially take delight in taking the truths we have in our lives and twist them just enough to make them the worst kind of lie. One of his tools is despair, which is literally the lack of hope. He takes the promises that the Lord has made us, and when we wonder why those promises are not being kept in OUR way and in OUR time frame, he prods us with thoughts like, “You’re not really good enough to receive those blessings.” “It’s YOUR fault that you’ve been rejected by God.” And when we lose hope, we lose our faith. And we lose our ability to love and to serve others. And then what promise do we have?

I still believe in the eternal nature of the family. I long for the day when our family will be together again; hopefully in this life, but most assuredly in the next. Satan loves to prod me and say, “Why would you WANT to be with your family forever?” “What if it’s not really true, and all you’ve worked for your whole measly life has been a fraud and a waste?”

Almost every day I face a problem I feel unable to overcome. A lifetime of wanting everybody to like me yet seeing many turn away has left me not only aware of the great fraud I am foisting on others (like I am an adult who can handle adult problems) but afraid to face those problems head on and wade through them, not around them, in order to resolve them.

The great fraud, you ask? The one that led me to believe that once I became an adult, I would have the wisdom to know the answers. At least most of the time. But instead of knowing the answers, I just skulk about, hoping to avoid stirring up trouble. Maybe buying myself a few more minutes of “peace.”

So…I need to reconsider the Balm of Gilead I seek. It seems I find mine at Wal*Mart in the laundry supplies aisle. With a working washer and dryer and enough laundry detergent and fabric softener, I can work out the problems of the laundry. At least with THAT I can be successful most of the time. For the other, well, I suppose it’s true what I’ve been told. I need to seek the Balm of Gilead that can only be found by searching on my knees. Because this cheap stuff just isn’t the same.

In case there is a way for cyberspace to communicate to those I love, I want to take a moment to express my love and gratitude for them. Just as I am multi-faceted (as is my husband), I know they all are, as well.

I am grateful for one daughter who found the love of her life and is raising a little family filled with love. I would give much to have been able to start my adult life that way. It never occurred to me a single second that I wouldn’t have that blessing, so I hope she doesn’t ever take it for granted. I am grateful that I have those two precious grandchildren, because they are in my thoughts every single day. One day I will be able to BE their grandma, and I look to that day with joy and longing.

I am grateful for another daughter who has faced her share (and maybe others’ shares) of struggle and challenge but who has found satisfaction in being able to advance in her career. I know that she has a good work ethic, perhaps different than mine, but I still recognize a small piece of me in who she has become. I hope that she is able to find peace in her soul so that she can not only succeed in life but that she can truly be happy.

I have two other daughters who aren’t with me right now, and who knows whether that is a breach that will be repaired or whether it will separate us even further? I see strengths and weakness in each of them, but they are very young and have a lot of life to live. I hope that the good in them will surpass what is less desirable and that they will allow the Spirit to work in them so that they can recognize the value in everyone.

At home I have an adult son who struggles with ADHD and with finding people who are willing to accept him. Those who see through eyes of love accept him and embrace who he IS, not who people think he should be. He is getting ready to embark on a new opportunity, and we are so proud and grateful. We have hope that his abilities and skills will allow him to shine and truly progress beyond where he has come so far in his life. I pray every day that he will be touched by the Spirit, as well, enabling him to see how much his Father in Heaven loves him.

My two little ones I’ve already spoken about. They haven’t abandoned us, nor do I imagine they will as they grow up, because that doesn’t seem to be a part of their makeup. I don’t know the answers to all the problems that crop up, but I do know that there is something different here. Something worth watching.

I can remember how much I loved getting together for extended family events. We lived close to my parents for about ten years, and I really enjoyed Sunday dinners and family celebrations. I can’t express just how much I miss that time in my life. Of course, part of the reason I miss it so much is the fact that my dad was alive then. But being part of family was my Balm of Gilead then.

I’m not part of that anymore. Let’s be honest, very little of that has to do with being 3,000 miles away from everyone else. Some rifts are created by physical distance. But I remember knowing that I was with my people and that I was allowed to be there. I may have been judged, but I don’t remember that being the biggest part of it.

I recently caught up with someone I knew when I was in high school. She was married and had two children. According to the world’s standards, I can’t imagine many people would have envied her. They didn’t have much money, and they were the kind of people most of us easily dismiss. But there was that one thing that they had that most of us wish we had. They were happy. They loved each other. They still love each other. And I have a hunch that they couldn’t care less about the trappings of life that other people think are MUST HAVES in order to be happy. I’ve seen that on occasion in my job. I have seen family members who have experienced the loss of one of their own pull together to support and love one another. Nothing about who they are or what interests them as individuals speaks to my interests, but they have that one elusive thing: They all love each other, through thick and thin, despite family quarrels. When trouble comes, they don’t point fingers at one another and pull families apart; they simply help each other. Because THAT is what family does.

So I renew my determination that I will not think of it as talking to myself, but I will seek my true Balm of Gilead by pouring out my heart to my Heavenly Father and letting him take over. I have a hunch he has the wisdom I find so elusive. And then some.

Of Pancakes and Brake Pads

(Scott's photo of one of the trees in our yard)

The dust has settled. We are in our new home, smaller, more intimate and cozy, and $600 cheaper :D It’ll probably be months before we find everything. Our garage is detached (and it’s HUGE!), which requires an internal discussion before we head out there for any reason. We’re already rethinking the decision to put the extra fridge and upright freezer out there…Still, when we look all over the house for something and can’t find it, we realize with a somewhat sinking heart that “it’s probably in the garage.” But spring has to come sometime, doesn’t it?

It’s been quite a task to unpack, which is usually my favorite part of moving. But this house is much smaller, so there are no vast wastelands of storage. We’ve really simplified our lives out of necessity, and that’s a very good thing. So the process is therapeutic, but it takes some real thinking before anything gets put away. And sometimes more than one try.

One thing I had hoped I would find has been available in great abundance. I mentioned on my Facebook status update this morning that Darryl made pancakes for breakfast. Scott and Kristi have no school today because it snowed pretty hard yesterday. My court day was also canceled, so all four of us were home. In fact, we slept in till nearly 9:00! But anyway, back to the breakfast. Scott said the blessing, and he said, “Please bless us that we will enjoy being together today.” I teased him that God may be a god of miracles, but let’s not ask the impossible from him, but in reality, I almost hugged him because he said something that often rises to the surface in my mother’s brain. While we ate, we joked and laughed, enjoying the yummy pancakes, and generally DID enjoy being together.

Disclaimer here: Kristi was especially stressed last night (before the snow day was announced) because she had an inordinate amount (for a 6th grader) of homework that should have been due today, and she was worried about how she’d get it done. Then the kids’ computer crashed, and she was really frantic. Coming home from a difficult job up in DC, I was a bit stressed, as well, and by the end of our initial encounter, she was in tears, and I was feeling pretty sheepish. Never fear, she didn’t hesitate to come to me and talk about it, and we kissed and made up, promising not to take our stress out on one another. As for Scott, well, if you’ve met Scott, you know that that boy has too much brain in his head to let him stay out of trouble for any long stretches of time. He’s kind of the burr under my saddle much of the time….but I honestly wouldn’t trade him or Kristi for anyone or for any reason.

In recent memory, I’ve bragged about Scott’s art work, beamed with pride over his accomplishments in music, and bragged about both his and Kristi’s intelligence and their obvious thirst for knowledge. Kristi listened jealously a few weeks ago when Scott told us that they had dissected frogs in science. See, she’s only in 6th, he’s in 7th, and SHE wants to be a surgeon when she grows up. Really. Scott’s science teacher, who probably spends a lot of days just shaking her head over his, um, “humor,” was actually pleased to tell me that he had been able to name all the organs of the frog when asked. And he did a pretty good job in the dissection. I can remember a million years ago our science class dissected earth worms, and let’s just say, there’s a REASON why I work with words, not science….:D

(Scott's painting of Niagara Falls)

My visiting teacher came over the other day, and we had a lovely visit (I really love this lady. She’s one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known). She was telling me how much she likes our house, and I looked around my little living room/dining room area and had to agree. It’s warm and friendly and…inviting. And there is no one here who does not agree. It’s been almost two weeks, and I haven’t heard a single word of complaint or disparagement about the new place. Trust me, that’s BIG in my world. Scott’s a little slow in doing the work to put his room together, but Kristi had her little sanctuary unpacked in record time. Each has a room with a queen-sized bed, and they will both eventually have added a personal touch.

(Scott's photo of our new house, after the snow)

Right now we are in the midst of (yet another) crisis. Our Mazda sits in the driveway, undriveable because (we thought) of a blown head gasket. There is now hope that the problem is really something much less expensive. Then on the coldest morning in a long time, our van’s transmission suddenly stopped responding. We actually have to nurse the van through the various gears manually, starting in first, then slowly moving up to drive. It’s scary.

Then we wrote our landlord two checks to cover the rest of the rent for January as well as our deposit. We don’t have any cash from the other house because the landlord summarily changed the locks on the house and didn’t give us a single minute to paint, clean, and repair the house before turning it back over. That’s a story for our lawyer to handle, because, yeah, taking possession of your house and barring your tenant from his/her property (patio furniture, entertainment center, and BBQ, along with miscellaneous other things) is kind of, um, against the law. At any rate, current landlord, whom we really like, received the two checks, one dated for the day I dropped them off and the other dated for this Friday, the 28th. Darryl wrote him an e-mail telling him that we needed him to hold the second check. But when I went to check our account yesterday, I discovered we were overdrawn…in the amount of the second check, which he had deposited along with the first one. So, boo on him for not paying attention, and boo on the bank(s) for not checking the dates….and ::sigh:: on us because we are broke till payday. Again.

And yet…and yet, I can’t believe how UNstressed I feel about this. I’m looking at my husband and falling in love with him more every day. I see my “babies,” who actually look at me back and LIKE me as well as LOVE me. It feels like having gone for your entire adult life with bad brake pads. It’s so bad, makes so much noise, actually groans and even hurts to hit the brakes. In the meantime, you’re not noticing that all the other parts work fine. In fact, the car has a great finish, and the upholstery is really nice. The heater works great. But you’re so fixed on those loud, painful brakes that you don’t even notice all the good things. And then, one day, you FINALLY get those brake pads replaced, and you SEE and HEAR and FEEL all the awesome parts of your car working together. It’s magical. You might even miss the old brake pads because you were awfully careful about how you braked, but that doesn’t keep you from reveling in the joy you feel in your car that works beautifully and blesses you. Every. Single. Day.

I relish each day for the gift I receive. I’m finally ready to start living my life. So it took me 49 years to get started. What can I say? :D

So now you've read the Constitution....but do you know what it says?

The minds of many have been focused on the tragic shootings in Arizona yesterday. One thing that chills me is the realization that this really isn’t shocking anymore, despite the high profile victims and the seemingly impossibly sweet youngest victim as well as the stories of the others who died. But our world has come to a darker place. I often wonder whether this is what John the Revelator saw when he envisioned the last days. Okay, so that’s kind of a duh, isn’t it?

I was surprised by a phone call this evening from someone who is speaking ABOUT me but not TO me, asking me to explain my take on the legalities of the matter. You see, it is known who the shooter was, and he is in custody and has even made his first court appearance. Of course, his plea will be not guilty, and he will be tried before a jury. My caller wondered why, since there were so many people who will testify that he was, indeed, the shooter, can’t we just dispense with the trial by jury, have the matter heard by a judge, and make sure the key is well and truly thrown away. I definitely understand the sentiment, and I’ve even been known to secretly applaud some of that good ol’ vigilante justice visited on particularly heinous individuals by their fellow heinous inmates.

I’m no lawyer, of course, and I don’t profess to have any special knowledge, just lots of years of working in the judicial system and observing. So as much as I can understand it, I do, and I know that there is a reason for the laws we consider so precious.

So why does someone accused of a capital crime (a crime for which a person may be punished with the death penalty) rarely plead guilty? It isn’t really because anyone believes the accused is really innocent. Despite the fact that we have the right to be presumed innocent until proven guilty, the court of public opinion is far less interested in what’s just. But in a case like the instant case, where several people actually saw the shooter committing the acts, it’s not like those people will question his guilt, right?

The first thing I thought of was the Constitution. Having worked for a long time in court, reporting many a guilty plea hearing, I’ve heard hundreds of defendants receive a recitation of his/her rights. Sure enough, in the Sixth Amendment, we are granted: “In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defence.”

With the efforts of a good attorney, deals are made, punishments can be softened or even made more “palatable” to the general public, especially when the prosecutor is offered a dangling guilty plea in return. It’s kind of “business as usual” for the lawyers and judges, unfortunately. I often remind myself that my day at work is possibly the worst day in the life of the person on the other side of the table, so I need to take it seriously. And I do.

So why am I making a blog entry about this? As I was explaining what I understand about how important this liberty is for each of us, I was inspired with a great analogy. I said, “The reason it’s important to have this law is, just imagine if you were accused of a crime. Ten people say they know you committed the crime, but you know you did not. How fair would it be for the courts to determine that since ten other people said you did it, they needn’t bother with a trial? Instead, they would just find you guilty and send you directly to the punishment phase. And then there’s the fact that we, the public, want to know in this case what really happened. The people who were hurt and the people whose family members were killed have the right to stand before the accused and let him know how he has hurt them. And they have the right to know why he did it.”

And then I realized the painful irony of what I was saying to the person who was listening. Thank you, Heavenly Father, for giving me a moment of inspiration. It may not be of any use to my listener, but it certainly bore fruit in my heart and in my mind. My journey is far from over, but I feel stronger every day. I see a new reason to be joyful every time I turn. The mail or offhand remarks often bring things that cause me concern, but then I’ll see something or hear something that reduces the tough lessons to mere learning opportunities.

Man, I wonder if I can get a Ph.D. when I get to the end of all this? :D

We are of peace. Always.

Oh, man, I’ve been so negative lately. Let me take a few minutes to talk about the OTHER stuff that’s going on in my life.

It has been simply amazing to see the transformation in our home in the last several weeks. It’s been easier to see that Scott and Kristi are actually friends. Well, most of the time. They ARE still brother and sister, after all :D

Christmas was a time I feared because drama doesn’t usually mix well with family celebration. Oh, wait, I guess that’s actually an oxymoron, right? Seriously, when there is peace, when there is no anger swirling around, when there is no one standing by to dash the feelings of the 13 y/o boy and 11 y/o girl, it’s amazing what comes to the surface. Sure, we’re still puzzling over how to get Scott to learn the lesson about appropriate behavior in class, but he’s a pretty awesome kid, so it’s easy to forgive him.

We, of course, are having a little landlord drama over moving out of our too-large, too-expensive home, but it will all be a thing of the past fairly soon, and we have a hunch that THEIR financial troubles are coloring how they are behaving towards us. Oh, and he’s a lawyer, so that would add to the mix.

As Darryl pointed out, we are all healthy. We love each other and really like to hang out. Scott and Kristi love nothing more, it seems, than hanging out with us in our room watching TV. We have great pets who give us all the unconditional love our hearts could desire. Each of us (Darryl and me, that is) has a great job for which we have worked really hard to qualify. His allows him to be paid while helping those who really need help. My job is less touchy-feely, but it feels tremendously good to be able to finish editing a job barely half an hour after I first took it because it was taken down so cleanly in the first place.

Scott has been flourishing with his French horn. Jeremy (his private instructor) tells us that he’s a good player but not a great player, though he has the potential to be. He just needs to decide if he really wants to be serious about it. I have a hunch that decision is just around the corner. He also had a long talk with his guidance counselor who is really great with him. Even though he’s only in 7th grade (halfway done with the year), he’s excited about all the educational opportunities awaiting him in high school. Keep your fingers crossed, because I echo the counselor who said that he thinks we’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg of Scott’s academic achievement.

Kristi is just about the sweetest person I know. What 11 y/o do you know who is so compassionate that she not only offers foot rubs, but she takes the time to assure her loved ones that she appreciates them and whatever they do for her? I rarely, maybe almost never, get any negative feedback when I ask her to do anything. I actually have to remind myself to NOT ask her to do too much, because it would be very easy to take advantage of that cooperative nature. Her kindness to me makes me want to make sure I am patient and kind with her. What a concept. Imagine if we all did that.

Last night I drove Darryl down to Thornburg to run with Spotsy. I stopped at the store on the way home to pick up things for dinner, made it home around 6:30, and quickly made dinner while Scott, Kristi, and I made our lunches for today. We were at the table by 7 and had finished cleaning up by 7:30. Kristi was marveling at how efficient we all were. I was secretly marveling at how much more efficient everyone/everything is.

Aaron’s been very helpful in the preliminary stages of our move. In fact, all three of the kids have really stepped up, which makes my huge task seem less burdensome. We need to get this done more quickly than we had planned, so I hope to also come up with some energy and motivation. ::Negativity alert:: Have I ever mentioned how much I hate moving? At least the packing part. Unpacking is not a problem.

Speaking of Aaron, we are hoping to hear soon from the Woodrow Wilson school that he should begin attending this year. He hopes to get advanced training in either IT or auto mechanics. Frankly, his knowledge of computers now is almost frightening, so I hope that’s the direction he heads. Everyone needs a computer genius (I promise, I am not making this up) in the family!

I love you all, my friends and family. I hope that you will continue to listen to my whines and support me with your prayers, as I will you.

Seeing Every Dimension in our 3-D World

Last year we studied the Old Testament in Sunday School. Sometime mid-year we discussed David over several weeks. What an amazing, multi-faceted (and multi-talented) person. It is clear from reading the Psalms that he was a passionate person with the gift of expressing himself beautifully (think of Isaiah…Neal A. Maxwell…)

Because of some changes in our ward over the past several months, I found myself at different times during the year teaching several different classes. Right now I am teaching the oldest kids, which I started doing in the early part of December. What great kids they are. They are smart and really interested in what we are studying. But then we got to a review week. We talked briefly about several things that had been discussed over the course of the year. One of the names that was mentioned was David. And I was dismayed when I discovered that these students could only remember David’s falling into sin. It was a great fall, and it was a grave sin, no doubt about that. But it was troubling to me that no one mentioned any of the marvelous things he had done in his life before AND after he sinned. It seemed as though his sin, in those students’ minds, erased forever all the good parts of David and reduced him to the moment when he clearly made one of the worst (most stupid) decisions in his life.

Think back to a day when you did something really stupid. Something that went against all you ever were in your life. Something that, perhaps, changed the entire course of your life. I’ll be more personal here. I grew up as a pensive little girl who always knew I was somehow “different” from the other members of my family. I have a hunch that I might have had ADHD or something like that. Regardless of what it was, I struggled with debilitating headaches and the melancholy that often accompanies them. I never felt like I was good enough. Ever. Despite that, I lived the most moral life I could. I didn’t cheat, I tried very hard not to lie, I tried to be nice to other people. I never drank or smoked or did drugs.

I had a bit of a reputation for being pretty “straight,” as we called it back then. And I was judgmental. I remember going to a football game at my high school. I imagine it was Homecoming the year I was in college. I was sitting with my boyfriend of about five months. He had been my best friend even longer than that. He got up to go to the concession stand and returned with a soda. I asked him what it was. He said it was a Coke. I have no idea why, but I was appalled. I called him…shudder…a “fool.” (The whole Coke = bad for Mormons thing.) He most likely forgot about this years ago, but it has haunted me for 32 years.

I saw in my future a day when I would be worthy to be married in the temple to a wonderful returned missionary. We would have five or six awesome kids. I would learn to be a great homemaker, and I would bring joy to my loved ones as I served them. I really saw this as my future. And I knew that my children would always be awesome because my future husband and I would raise them "right."

I know Heavenly Father would never cause us to sin, but I absolutely believe that one of the very important reasons he gave us Agency is to ALLOW us to sin, because through sin we learn our most important lessons. When I was 19, I had the most unexpected fall from grace, and I still can’t explain it. It was my fault. No one forced me, but it was really stupid. Because of that, one of my favorite shows of all time is “Quantum Leap,” because I know exactly to which moment I would want to go back to “fix” my life and get it back on the track that I felt I was supposed to follow.

Ah, but then I think, would I like the person I became had I not taken that huge stumble? See, while it was a huge blow to my self-esteem (which had always been very low), discovering that I could…and would…sin opened me up to a place where I could take that judgmental part of me and lay it aside. The scales had fallen from my eyes, and I saw others more like they would want to be seen. later, as I heard stories of young couples “having” to get married, I listened to my peers gossip about how disgusted they were by those young couples, but I would see something different. I would see young people who had been human but who had subsequently taken up the reins of responsibility and made a choice that would bless lives. I saw young people who had a battle ahead of them as they tried to become worthy again to attend the temple.

We had a long talk with one of our children last night about Agency. I talked about how much I dislike the coupling of that word with the word “free,” because there really is no such thing as Free Agency. Now, there is Agency that allows us the freedom to choose for ourselves in all things, but we are NOT free of the consequences of those choices, good or bad. And then there’s the fact that sometimes we suffer the consequences, good or bad, of OTHER people’s freely chosen decisions. Doesn’t seem fair, but there it is.

I have certainly not lived a blameless life. But in the 30 years since I fell down, I picked myself up, dusted myself off…time and time again as I slipped up here or slipped up there….and planted my feet back on the path that I felt was the right path…the moral path. I even made the same grievous error again, but under completely different circumstances. But I have always tried to be kind, to NOT be judgmental, to give others the benefit of a doubt. Sometimes that kicks me in the teeth. Heck, even literally, in fact.

Most of all I remain humble, recognizing in myself the weakness of human failings. But it is a struggle not to ask “why me?” “How long do I have to be punished for my sins?” But stepping back a little, I recognize that it is not the Lord “punishing” me. In some cases I still feel the consequences of my actions, and in other cases, especially long after I have repented and been forgiven, I recognize that the consequences I feel are those resulting from someone else’s choice to judge ME.

Another person in my family confided in me the other day that efforts had been made, strenuously, to draw this person into the web of hate and lies that has collapsed my life. The argument? Because of my sin when I was 19 years old. That sin for which I had taken responsibility, repented, and absolutely been forgiven by the Lord and by anyone whose RIGHT it was to forgive me. Lapses in judgment in various areas of my life since then are liberally interspersed with religious (hahaha, get it?) efforts to live the life that I know is right. You know, like a normal person's life.

I know I am a good person. A good HUMAN person. My sins are between me and my Father in Heaven. And when they need outside intervention, they are between me and my Father in Heaven and my bishop. They are no one else’s business. I’m smart enough to know when it IS someone else’s business, and then I take it up with that person or persons.

I love deeply. I like deeply. I care about how others feel. I weigh every word I say, trying not to judge or hurt. When I get angry and speak out of turn, it hurts in my gut, and I can’t sleep until I’ve asked forgiveness of the poor victim. Anyone who really knows me knows that it is so important to me that others like me. And now I see that at the very heart of my most hurtful life experience has been “loved” ones who see me arrested in time at some of the worst moments of my life. One person who will not be named actually told me that she couldn't understand why my first husband didn't hit me sooner because she didn't like the way I talked to her. I could live my life as though I were Mother Teresa, and it would be all for naught. If it were strangers who felt this way about me or just people I know in my world, I could certainly live with that. But it is the very people who should love me and who won’t rest till all of my family turns against me that torture my every waking moment with their judgment and opinion.

The irony of WHAT these people find so heinous in my life, considering mistakes in their own lives, would be humorous if it were happening in a TV show. But because I have always held out a hand to my friends and family despite their own stumbles, even the ones that were actually AGAINST me, this cuts me to the very core.

Ask yourself this question: Are you without sin? Have you lived a life free of hurting others? Have you passed through your life so far without shooting yourself in the foot, thus hampering your own progress along the path you felt was the right one? Regardless of your answer, ask yourself another question. Whose right is it to forever hold those things against you? That’s right….NO ONE. Because even God won’t forever hold against you the things for which you repent. And NOT forgiving is the greater sin.

And let’s take it a step further. Ask yourself: Against whom do you hold a grudge? Why? Is it right for you to hold that grudge? Even further, do you hold a grudge over something that is simply none of your business but is personal for another person altogether? And then, who suffers from your grudge, really?

Please do what I plan to do even more than I have tried to do my whole life….forgive others. You may not think they deserve it. But you don’t have the right to think that. We all deserve to be forgiven. And when we hurt because we ourselves have sinned, how much is it worth to have someone else compassionately hold out a hand just to let us know that our pain is understood, and we will find love, not judgment?

I have many friends and acquaintances whose lifestyles differ greatly from mine. Some of them have been raised to believe the things I believe, and others have not. Regardless, it would be the greatest hypocrisy for me to turn my back on ANYone simply for the fact that their choices would not be my choices.

My husband and I have been married nearly 14 years. It's been tumultuous, but I feel we have grown closer and stronger as we have struggled through our trials. We have done and said things that have hurt each other, and we would only be harming ourselves if we didn't let those things go and truly forget. Of course, after this debacle in my life, I actually gave him leave this morning to just walk away. I realized that my life would most likely have reached this place regardless of who was walking by my side, but he sure doesn't deserve to be dragged through it with me. And you know what he did? He just smiled. And hugged me. I sure love that guy :D

Thank you for reading these words that are very cathartic to me. I continue my journey, and I recognize the truth of what my patriarchal blessing very clearly stated back when I was only 16 years old: “…it is in your nature to be obedient and keep the laws of God. There will be times when it will be difficult, for there will be temptation and trials…you have received even in your early years a testimony by the Spirit that the Gospel of Jesus of Christ is true. That testimony will carry you through all of the difficult times and trials that will come into your life.” Amen.

Let us not just believe IN Christ. Let us also BELIEVE Christ. His Atonement opened for us the opportunity to repent. Let us believe that for ourselves and, just as importantly, for others. And while we’re at it, let’s make sure we all have a good supply of Windex on hand to keep our “windows” clean so we can see each other the way we should.

“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.” (D&C 64:10)