Press Forward, Saints

The Madonna of the Praire
by William H.D. Koerner

Recently, someone I love told me that I am a pioneer woman. I think this may be the greatest compliment I have ever received, and I'm liking that this disclosure happened right around the time of Utah's Pioneer Day holiday. It has given me lots of time to reflect on just what this means.

We often talk about how our modern struggles are just as hard as those of our pioneer ancestors, except they look really different. What is the same? Read more.

This song is my life: Fiery Crash by Andrew Bird

The variations on lyrics to Andrew Bird’s “Fiery Crash” are remarkable. Though it seems clear that he’s saying “Dramamine,” everyone else on the Internet finds that to be something about “jet waves driving me.” I can’t say exactly who’s right and who’s wrong, but it’s clear that my airplane experience is intrinsically linked with that motion sickness pill. One night flight, it knocked me out when I least expected it. I remember every inch of my body going limp. “You were hurtling through space, g-forces twisting your face,” says Mr. Bird. Which is exactly what it was like in a relaxed way. My often tense and anxious body gave into the comfort next to me and knew everything was just fine. Unable to move anything, I succumb to goodness and peace in ways I can only do when I truly feel powerless.

I don’t often feel like this. Usually my mind is filled with the worst things that can happen. I only get through airplane flights because for some reason I’m good at shutting down my fears quickly in that setting. That’s usually the healthiest route for me.

But I like the way Mr. Bird sings about these fears that sometimes take us over. Actually thinking it through can allow us to arrive at the fact that what we envisioned will not happen. But it’s crucial not to be stuck in the middle of the scenario.

“Where every human face has you reaching for your mace. So it’s kind of an imposition, a fatal premonition. . . . But to save our lives you have to envision the fiery crash. It’s just a formality. Why must I explain? Just a nod to mortality, before you get on this plane.”

What I will be

The little yellow kitchen in my little yellow house, 2010.

In a few weeks, I will walk; meaning, I will cross a stage and receive a fake diploma. I won't really graduate from Brigham Young University until August, and I'll finish my last class in June, but for all intensive purposes, I am finishing my last real semester of classes.

I haven't even begun to scratch the surface of the thoughts and feelings attached to that. Some of them, I've pushed down pretty far, which is alright for the time being, because I cannot handle them right now.

I say that because the past few months have been marked by the deepest depression I've yet endured. I will not say that my entire time at BYU has been rough, but I will confess that much of my time at college has been really hard. There are lots of reasons for this, but one of the biggest ones is that I often didn't know what exactly I wanted to become. Choosing a major and actually applying myself to learning often felt like a battle I could never win.

Finally, I found the editing minor, which combines many things I love. Even with that though, I still often find myself disliking the field. I do not succumb to these feelings though because I know God has given me gifts in this area and that I enjoy it most of the time. This is good enough for me, and I trust that He will open up opportunities to make good use of me as an editor and as a writer. A few weeks ago, someone challenged me, asking "Is editing really a good thing for you?" In essence, I replied firmly, "We are not opening up that can of doubt and fear again. I have made a choice, and I will make it good."

I often think of this talk from Elder Nelson about choosing an educational path and a career. He said:

A doctor’s ultimate destination is not in the hospital. For a lawyer, it is not in the courtroom. For a jet pilot, it is not in the cockpit of a Boeing 747. Each person’s chosen occupation is only a means to an end; it is not an end in itself. The end for which each of you should strive is to be the person that you can become—the person who God wants you to be. The day will come when your professional career will end. The career that you will have labored so hard to achieve—the work that will have supported you and your family—will one day be behind you. Then you will have learned this great lesson: much more important than what you do for a living is what kind of person you become. When you leave this frail existence, what you have become will matter most. Attributes such as “faith, virtue, knowledge, temperance, patience, brotherly kindness, godliness, charity, humility, [and] diligence” (D&C 4:6) will all be weighed in the Lord’s balance.

I wish I could say that during my time at BYU I have developed those attributes splendidly. I haven't, but I have made some good progress.

Even now, when faced with decisions about jobs and internships, I think I still don't know exactly what I want to be. The question I've been wrestling with all this time is still there, still bothering me.

But out of the depression I've been in lately, I've found a better question to ask: what kind of person do I want to be for my children? In many ways, I ask this in the same spirit that I ask God who He wants me to become. That's probably the more important question to ask, but I've found that phrasing it in terms of my children helps make it a bit more tangible.

My answer to this question is primarily that I want to be a woman of faith. I want to be a mother who knows. Those are my primary goals.

I also enjoy reflecting on the fun parts too. My mom likes to remind me that I will be a good mother someday because I am creative. I believe this is something I can use to make the world my children live in good and bright.

Dorothy Lee, a wonderful anthropologist who writes many good things about motherhood, says, "Motherhood is not a thing in itself, it is I who am a mother and I have to be myself first." She doesn't mean this comment in the sense that we have to go out and find ourselves in some grand external sphere to be mothers. Rather, her point is that what our children want is us. They want to know us as whole people with quirks and flaws and preferences.

I find that lovely. It also makes me want to be my best self—the one who writes good things, does not fear, and is fun. I can imagine that the day-to-day stresses of motherhood might threaten to dampen that spirit within us, but it certainly does not need to. In fact, those daily activities of eating, cleaning, sleeping, working, worshiping, and playing are exactly where our true selves lie. Knowing this makes me worry a lot less about what my degree says I am.

As my period ends

If you're doubting that I mean "that period" as in my menstrual cycle, don't doubt. I am actually saying in this space that as of today, my monthly cycle is winding down.

I feel comfortable saying such things partially because most of my readers are female, but more so I'm saying it to express gratitude. Usually when women speak of their periods it's in terms of misery and lamenting. Unlike many women though, I feel the symptoms only slightly. A bit of discomfort off and on, but not the intense cramping and headaches that many experience.

My gratitude isn't actually so much so for the lack of pain though. I'm grateful for the lack of pain because for me, it means something more. When my mom reached age 24, her periods became more intense and painful than they ever were before. That marked the beginning of a long struggle to have children, as the pain was a manifestation of other problems, including endometriosis. This is why it's just me and my brother.

So with each passing cycle in my body, I feel excited at the thought that my body will—most likely—still be capable of conceiving. Whatever physical problems lurk in my future, they have not yet set in. When all the other aspects of my life seem to be falling apart, I'm grateful that one thing in me will work when the time is right. This is not of course to imply that women who suffer problems with infertility are "broken" or "failing." But in my own personal realm, it means I have a potential in me that is greater than I can imagine. This is something to be grateful for.

With that thought, I'll suggest you download this free album with a special tip of my hat to the song, "On the Hudson," which invites us to "sing of avocado trees and ships and unborn children in your hips."

Some thoughts before conference

I came to campus to write. I came to the music and dance section of the library to find the window view that inspired me last time. I came to sit and dash off the multitude of thoughts and feelings in me so that they might weave a blend of truth that I can rely on. I came so that blend could make it to this blog and go just a bit further than myself.

It's imperative that I do this, but I feel selfish with my thoughts right now. Selfish because there are feelings in me of peace and understanding that are only complete in the whole story, and I cannot give anyone the whole story. God hasn't given even me the whole story of things. Occasionally though, He reminds me that there is a whole story. He is pulling it out of me bit by bit, as angels come and go.

He has these "divers angels, from Michael or Adam down to the present time, all declaring their dispensation, their rights, their keys, their honors, their majesty and glory, and the power of their priesthood; giving line upon line, precept upon precept; here a little, and there a little; giving us consolation by holding forth that which is to come, confirming our hope!"

This weekend, we'll hear from some of those angels as we listen to General Conference. This is a time to hear what we need to do and what we need to believe. I need that because sometimes I forget it in the wake of the pressing concerns of the world.

It occurred to me today that I have little to fear because God has promised me the best of blessings conditioned upon my faithfulness. They only way they won't be fulfilled is if I let myself lose faith in God by worrying and fearing that they won't come. It's strangely paradoxical: what I'm afraid I'll lose I can lose by being afraid I'll lose it. Christ truly is "an high priest of good things to come."

I love the Lord's rebuke here: "Who am I, saith the Lord, that have promised and have not fulfilled? I command and men obey not; I revoke and they receive not the blessing. Then they say in their hearts: This is not the work of the Lord, for his promises are not fulfilled. But wo unto such, for their reward lurketh beneath, and not from above."

It's an easy mistake to make, but let's not make it.

Making baby food

My mom often talks about how some baby food is horrendous, but some of it is divine.

My biggest concern has always been that it seems expensive. The other day, I happened upon this link to how to make your own baby food. Though I'm not that worried about organic, I do love the idea of someday making affordable, healthy baby food that tastes good and looks this pretty.

Here's to the future.

Source: styleberryblog.com via Katie on Pinterest

A mother's heart

Today, I went walking in search of the playground near my house. I took the long way, wandering down 7th East towards the school there instead of the smaller park. To my delight, I found a playground beyond my wildest dreams. They just installed it: a pirate ship—each turn of wood work gloriously crafted to make some child sure this is the real deal.

Yes. There is pirate candy.

Mostly though, it just looked cool. I walked around it and thought about how I could climb in it, but then what would I do? If I had a friend, I'd throw back a Jones soda and tell stories about the wind and how spring is coming. But I worried that there wasn't really much to do with the pirate ship besides just being in the pirate ship.

How very demanding that all sounds of me. As a child, I would have been far more capable of coming up with entertainment. I realized that I still am. I just need a child who will appreciate my efforts.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be a mother. The idea of it thrills me. I get so excited when I think I want to be a mother. I want to have a family. These thoughts are beautiful and good, but sometimes, when I think more about what that entails, I get worried. I start thinking about what I will do all day with a house of children. I worry about filling the time everyday. I worry about always drowning in a mess. I worry about my kitchen looking like this play one I found today.

I'm afraid of not being able to handle the day-to-day living part of it, so much so that when I think about actually being a mom, my focus shifts to these areas and the excitement I feel at the simpler thoughts evaporates from me.

When this happens, I think of this quote from a woman who has nine children now. This comes from her essay titled "To the Mother with Only One Child." 

"When I had only one child, I told myself over and over that motherhood was fulfilling and sanctifying and was filling my heart to the brim with peace and satisfaction.  And so I felt horribly guilty for being so bored, so resentful, so exhausted.  This is a joyful time, dammit!  I should enjoy being suddenly transformed into the Doyenne of Anything that Smells Bad.

"I loved my baby, I loved pushing her on the swing, watching squirrels at the park together, introducing her to apple sauce, and watching her lips move in joyful dreams of milk.  But it was hard, hard, hard.  All this work:  is this who I am now?"

This quote is comforting, because even for this woman, who is what we could call a good mother now, it was a struggle to make this change to all day care. Her days were long and hard, but she still felt moments of joy. Over time as she had more children, those long, hard days changed into more times of enjoyment, though the initial move may be very hard.

It's a shift to fill your entire day with the needs of one other person. But how glorious it becomes as you grow. It's a difficult balance to strike: realizing it's demanding, but stepping up with faith and cheer anyways.

I told a friend yesterday that I didn't feel like I was wanting the right things, meaning that my desire to be a wife and mother is sometimes shallow and overwhelmed by my worries about the less glamorous parts of it. She said, "Well of course! No one wants to be wiping butts all day." This bothered me. I suppose she was trying to make me realize that my worries are normal. But that wasn't what I needed to hear.

What I really want is to change my desires so that my focus is on the why and the beautiful rather than the how. The how is so important: you cannot give love to your family without being willing to give them the deepest acts of service, the "feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and administering to their relief, both spiritually and temporally, according to their wants" (Mosiah 4:26). For me, I need to focus on why those things are so important and what they say: the why, which is love—deeper and purer than anything else—for both God and His children.

After my frustrating encounter, I came across this quote from Kristen Oaks, an LDS woman who did not marry until her 50s.  

"I got a doctorate and became so involved in my profession that I forgot about being a good person. I would say to everyone in this room, always remember that your first calling is as a mother or as a father. Develop those domestic talents, talents of love and talents of service."

Her words validated the thoughts of my heart.

My dearest friend Kent once told me about a new mother who blogged. Her mom commented that all her daughter wrote about was pee and poop. The younger mother exclaimed, "You understand it now! That is my life." I love that this story was important to him. I believe it stuck with him because he understood the struggles of parenting, yet he has a much deeper conviction of the joys behind the struggles. He was willing to take it all.

For him it was so obvious that these things all fit together. Finding matching shoes, cleaning counter tops, and preparing food—all means to joyful moments of standing in holy places, creating praiseworthy projects, and partaking of the Bread of Life together. Those all sound pretty great to me. I can live with the means to get there if those are the ends.

"How can I become the woman of whom I dream?"

Over the past few days, the title of this talk by President Hinckley keeps coming to my mind.

"You are creatures of divinity; you are daughters of the Almighty. Limitless is your potential. Magnificent is your future, if you will take control of it. Do not let your lives drift in a fruitless and worthless manner."

On the clatter of children

As a single woman, I've become unrealistically and unnecessarily dependent on silence. It's because I'm selfish sometimes. I think, "My brain can only handle this homework assignment if I have utter and total silence so that I can concentrate on it."

I sell my brain short. I also sell the Spirit short too. I forget that even in the noise and craziness of the world, thinking clearly is still an option. God won't abandon me because it's loud around me. We need quiet time to think and ponder. This is certainly true, and it's true that we need to search for and create that quiet time to have more intimate moments with the Spirit and with ourselves. But this need not happen at the expense of those people around us who need to share a space with us.

When I break out of my silent studying, I come to the Erying Science Center on campus, which is filled with little science demonstrations. Today as usual, the building was filled with second graders clanking ropes, weighing space matter, and generally enjoying their lunch. Rather than distracting, it was cleansing and clearing.

As part of my studying, I read a small snippet about how Americans have a sense of space, rather than one of place. We are not rooted in our surroundings, but instead fix our focus on what is outside of just where we are, riveting on a horizon and a future before us. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not. I feel this endearment and this desire in my heart for the clatter of children around me, but I get nervous when it comes too close. I shouldn't be. God sanctifies us in close conditions of sound, silence, and heart beats. 

Go dinos, go: Agatha and I make friends for real this time

This web comic used to stress me out. I've been reading it over the past week, though and I think this strip is the one where I finally connected with it. I recommend skipping back a few and checking it out.

There's a party in Agrabah!

Disclaimer: I drew this heart in the sand, since I'm sentimental.

Just last week, my best friend, MaBeth posted these simple lines on her blog: "Want some happy news? Well, here you go. . . . We're engaged! And he's the best." (Some standardization of punctuation has occurred. I'm an editor, you know.)

I am still in awe about how much life stands behind those fourteen words. And I mean "life" rather literally. Why? Well, in one form or another, they have been dating for eight years! A really long time by almost anyone's standard. I've been around for at least seven of those years, and it even feels like a long time to me! (You know how time in your own life passes so quickly? Well, this did, but it still feels long.) I offer these pictures as proof of how we've aged.

I'm tempted to want a hard rule about how long people should or shouldn't date, but I realize that there is no easy rule. Everyone is so different, and everyone needs something slightly different.

More generally though, there is one rule: Love needs time. I've heard this idea expressed in many ways, but I've never encountered an explanation as beautiful, bright, and straight-forward as this one by Marvin J. Ashton. Some of my favorite parts follow, but you can also read the entire thing here.

"Love demands action if it is to be continuing. Love is a process. Love is not a declaration. Love is not an announcement. Love is not a passing fancy. Love is not an expediency. Love is not a convenience. 'If ye love me, keep my commandments' and 'If ye love me feed my sheep' are God-given proclamations that should remind us we can often best show our love through the processes of feeding and keeping. . . ."

Can you handle the meta?

"Feeding is more than providing food. No man can effectively live by bread alone. Feeding is the providing by love adequate nourishment for the entire man, physically, mentally, morally, and spiritually. Keeping is a process of care, consideration, and kindness appropriately blended with discipline, example, and concern. . . ."

"When were you last fed by a family member or friend? When were you last given nourishment for growth and ideas, plans, sorting of the day, sharing of fun, recreation, sorrow, anxiety, concern, and meditation? These ingredients can only be shared by someone who loves and cares. Have you ever gone to extend sympathy and comfort in moments of death and trial, only to come away fed by the faith and trust of the loving bereaved? Certainly the best way for us to show our love in keeping and feeding is by taking the time to prove it hour by hour and day by day. Our expressions of love and comfort are empty if our actions don’t match. God loves us to continue. Our neighbors and families love us if we will but follow through with sustaining support and self-sharing. True love is as eternal as life itself. Who is to say the joys of eternity are not wrapped up in continuous feeding, keeping, and caring? We need not weary in well-doing when we understand God’s purposes and his children.

"Undoubtedly our Heavenly Father tires of expressions of love in words only. He has made it clear through his prophets and his word that his ways are ways of commitment, and not conversation. He prefers performance over lip service. We show our true love for him in proportion to our keeping his words and the processes of feeding."

Continuing, keeping, and feeding. These words are more beautiful than any "I love you."

Didn't catch the cultural reference in my title? Oh, fine. You can start your repentance at 1:13, but the whole thing is still worth your time.

The very first snow

I have never written a blog post about snow before now. If I had written one last year, this is probably what it would say: Today it snowed. I walked out the door—late per usual—and wondered what was so wrong with the world that it would decide to pour down cold, dangerous, icy, gross snow. Ugh.

(And that's the nicer version of the anger that would have been going on in my head over snow.)

A switch has flipped since then though. Last Friday, I donned Super's red snow hat and walked out the door. The sky was light in that pre-snow shade of grey, and it was warm outside. I knew this would mean the first snow was about to show itself in some format. And snow it did. Nothing major—just a white dust for the cars and roofs tops that left the grass still yellowed green. At some point, it turned more to rain than anything fluffy or white.

The concept of snow hasn't changed; it still makes me cold, still makes the roads icy, still turns the sidewalks into freezing rivers, still makes my socks wet, still makes my world look different. But it no longer makes me sad.

This year it's beautiful, and I'm going to welcome it—and try not to let my welcome wear out by January.

In our church meeting last week, one of the speakers asked why life seems so hard, why our trials seem to outnumber our blessings. Then he answered his own question, "Because we have ungrateful hearts." Could it in fact be true that by being grateful life could be easier, richer, happier?

The snow proves it true for me. It drifts in and recolors my world, bringing its warm front before the downpour, but this time, it's calm and bright.

The French may disagree, but I believe in capitalizing Tuesday

Today is Tuesday. Let's think about that, since I keep thinking about what it means to be in a Tuesday.

Even the word itself sounds curious, like the possessive form of the infinitive verb, "To's day." Who would a Tuesday belong to?

Or a better question: who wants to own a Tuesday? Does anyone ever rejoice in the promise Tuesday holds? Could Tuesday ever approximate the way we wake up on a Saturday and relish the possibility of free time? Can we jump out of bed on a Tuesday as if it were a Monday and we are well prepared for the week? Is there a sense of relief to be found in Tuesday like the relief that comes with the dawning of Friday?

I think the answer to these questions is no. Tuesdays simply aren't like other days.

Could Tuesday really be the plainest day of the week? If nothing exciting were allowed to happen on a Tuesday, that would amount to one-seventh of our lives being spent in more nothingness that we previously imagined we were spending. 

But, I doubt Tuesday is a day for nothing. Rather, Tuesday is a day for the unexpected, a day to be filled, a day to change everything, and a day to become something different. Extraordinary events need ordinary days to come up during. What a great space Tuesday is for that kind of thing.

Surely God did not make the days to be just arbitrary divisions. He purposed them for wise things. I like to think that Elder Wirthlin would agree that our days mean something, and Tuesdays come in all degrees.