Perspective on Corona Virus Craziness - Is it possible to find joy?

Hehehe. I’m a little chagrined to admit that the woman who would like to write a book about Laughter and Lemons has not been laughing much in the past week. COVID-19 social distancing precautions have this extrovert feeling more than a little glum.

I was looking over the cards where I’ve written goals for the year in five separate categories, and the top goal on my Spiritual goals card struck me as really being a challenge during these strange pandemic times. It says, “Radiate joy at home, at work, at play – be a SUNBEAM!”

Let me tell you, I have not been radiating joy. Last night when Hubby was scrolling through channels trying to find something to watch unrelated to the corona virus, his options were slim. And why is that? Because sports, in all their forms, have basically been cancelled. Hah! Which made me laugh out loud. You see, in normal times I put up with Hubby’s sports watching but feel just a wee bit resentful. And now that he’d really like something distracting to watch, there’s not even sports. Double hah!

And, yes, I was sitting there beside him on the couch when I started to laugh. And, yes, I told him exactly why I was laughing at him. Clearly I have a long way to go before being able to credibly advise others on how to find happiness amidst the struggles of life.

Or maybe it just means that I’m 100% human and can offer a sincere and heart-felt perspective on just how hard it is to be cheery when times are tough. I’m going with that second option.

Here’s today’s plan – set my next round of 10-day goals around the single yearly goal of being a sunbeam that I listed above. The question is, what are the things I do daily that enable me to feel joy?

I’m in the process of brainstorming. Will you brainstorm too? I’d be VERY interested to know what you do that sparks joy. (And, yes, Marie Kondo’s tidying techniques definitely give me a boost.)

My "Finding Joy as a Young Mother" talk

When I first heard that I’d been asked to give a talk on finding joy as a young mother, I immediately went and bought me some Joy. (Displays a large bottle of lemon Joy dish detergent). Don’t you wish that you could really just buy joy off the shelf at the grocery store? But you can’t. Joy can’t be bought, it has to be lived.

Joy is not the same as happiness. Not the same as fun and excitement. I like to think of happiness, fun and excitement as the things that make you smile, but joy being the things that make you weep, or “happy cry” as my mother used to call it.

Bruce R. McConkie, in Mormon Doctrine, wrote this under joy:
“Men are that they might have joy.” (2 Nephi 2:25) That is, the very purpose of man’s creation is to enable him to gain joy; it is the object and end of existence…. Here in mortality men gain joy only by obedience to gospel law, the gospel itself being the “good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.” (Luke 2:10) … Joy is a gift of the spirit. It comes from the Holy Ghost….

Joy has everything to do with believing and following the teachings of Jesus Christ. Jesus makes joy possible. As a mother, we’ll all make mistakes, but through the teachings of Jesus Christ and his sacrifice and atonement for us, we can repent, be forgiven, and rise above our natural tendencies to experience JOY.

What can we do to live so that we can have the influence of the Holy Ghost in our lives? (Possible answers given from the audience: Keep the commandments / Attend church meetings / Family Home Evening / Family & Personal Scripture study / Personal & Family Prayer)

These answers are often called the Sunday School answers, the Seminary answers, some would even call them trite answers. But I want to testify that they’re only trite answers until they become TRIED answers.

Here’s my best tip for making family home evenings a habit – focus on the treat. Little ones don’t have much of an attention span, but they do love treats. Enjoy a nice gospel-centered discussion/lesson while everyone enjoys a treat.

Family scripture study is harder because it’s every day. We started out using the gospel art kit available through Church Distribution, talking about a different picture each night. But with our oldest in kindergarten, we soon felt that we needed to be reading right from the scriptures. So, each night we’d gather in the family room, our oldest was six, and the girls were 3 and 18 months. Most nights we only got through a couple verses before we’d lost their attention. (Children’s maximum attention span is their age in minutes.) We wondered if anything was sinking in. It certainly didn’t seem to be. But then I went to a parent/teacher conference with our son’s kindergarten teacher. She told me about how they’d been reading the book, “The Rainbow Fish.” She asked the class what it meant to have pride. My son raised his hand. “It means you’re stiff necked,” he said. And that’s when I knew that our efforts weren’t wasted, that it was sinking in.

A component of joy is contentment. It’s hard to find joy if you’re not content. There’s a big reason why it’s difficult to be content. 2 Nephi 2:11 says, “For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things.” Which means that Satan has plots and plans to keep us from being content and finding joy. Women of our generation have been told that we can have it all, do it all, be it all. We also live in the information age where the world would have us compare ourselves to others, and the images are everywhere: magazines, television, internet.

Hence, my new motto: Dream Simple. (I shared excerpts from this blog entry.)

Even men can struggle with contentment. In Alma 29 Alma writes about his struggle. He starts off by saying, “Oh that I were an angel and could have the wish of my heart. . . .” He then goes on to describe how he would cry repentance and spread the gospel with angelic zeal. But then he comes back to reality in verses 3 and 6:
Verse3: “but behold,… I do sin in my wish; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted me.”
Verse 6:“Why should I desire more than to perform the work to which I have been called?”

Finding contentment and joy is possible when you know and do the Lord’s will in your life. What have you been called to do? Make it a matter of fasting and prayer. A good place to start is with your own patriarchal blessing. To get the big picture, I recommend reading, “I am a Mother” by Jane Clayson Johnson. She makes a strong case for motherhood being the most important job in the world.

I’ve found that even when I’m trying to follow the teachings of Jesus, and doing the Lord’s will, I can still struggle with contentment. Keeping a gratitude journal and a dozen other journals has been one of the best ways for me to find joy. President Spencer W. Kimball, himself a keeper of journals, said:

“Those who keep a book of remembrance are more likely to keep the Lord in remembrance in their daily lives. Journals are a way of counting our blessings and of leaving an inventory of these blessings for our posterity.” (Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1982], 349.

The great thing about gratitude journals is that you can share them with your children now. They don’t need to wait to read them until you’re dead.
(I shared a few entries from my gratitude journal and the steno notebooks I’ve kept on each child.)

There are a multitude of ways to keep a journal. Do what works for you. Some examples include: blogging, scrapbooking, keeping a journal on your computer, or even just keeping a really detailed checkbook register. There’d be no writing checks or using debit cards if you didn’t receive lots of blessings!

I really like the advice given by Sister Marjorie Hinkley. She said, “As you create a home, don’t get distracted with a lot of things that have no meaning for you or your family. Don’t dwell on your failures, but think about your successes. Have joy in your home. Have joy in your children. Have joy in your husband. Be grateful for the journey.”

Keep the big picture in mind. I’d like to share a quote that helps me do just that. In 1909 H.M. Bareham wrote something that was later quoted by Elder Spencer W. Kimball in April Conference of 1960. This quote has been around a long time because its truths are timeless:

“In 1809 men were following with bated breath the march of Napoleon and waiting with feverish impatience for news of the wars. And all the while in their homes babies were being born. Who could think about babies? Everyone was thinking about battles…. Yet which of the battles of 1809 mattered more than the babies of 1809? We fancy God can manage His world only with great battalions, when all the time He is doing it with beautiful babies…. When a wrong wants righting, or a truth wants preaching, or a continent wants discovering, God sends a baby into the world to do it. While most of the thousands of precious infants born every hour will never be known outside their neighborhoods, there are great souls being born who will rise above their surroundings…. One mother gives us a Shakespeare, another a Michelangelo, and another an Abraham Lincoln…. When clouds of error need dissipating and spiritual darkness needs penetrating and heavens need opening, a little infant is born.”

I am grateful for the infants born in this world whose lives have brought me joy. I’m grateful for Jesus Christ, for Joseph Smith, for the missionaries who first brought the gospel to my ancestors in England and Denmark. Our children may not grow up to be presidents of the United States, but chances are they will be missionaries. And we are missionaries, and there’s not a more important place to share the gospel than in our homes. Doctrine and Covenants 18:15 says, “And if it so be that ye should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!”

Being a mom is hard work, but it is important work, a work whose benefits and joys will extend into the eternities.

A Few of My Favorite Things

The following are a few things that I have really been enjoying lately.

Newly Found Blog: Does This Blog Make Us Look Fat?Kiki and Greta take dieting humor to a whole new level. You have to love the women who post these photos under "Who Writes DTBMULF?"















Low Carb Dessert: 1 c. frozen raspberries, 1/2 c. half and half, 1 packet of Splenda Mix these together and eat slowly. Yum, yum, and more yum!


Foundation Make-up: Covergirl's Advanced Radiance Age-defying Compact Makeup. It's fabulous!













Facial Cleaners and Moisturizers: Baby oil gel to remove mascara and eye-makeup. Baby wash for cleansing my face (I also use it in the shower as a body wash.) Cetaphil Moisturizing Cream. Even my teenage son likes the Cetaphil cream. Because it doesn't have added fragrance, it's perfect for the whole family! Best of all, these products are all inexpensive compared to other facial products -- and they work BETTER!

Clothing Store: Deseret Industries -- second-hand heaven. Click on the link to see just how much good this operation does around the world.

Low-Carb Breakfast: Two medium beefsteak tomatoes sliced thick and spread out on a blue speckled enamaleware plate topped with three eggs over-easy. And because we grow the tomatoes and have our own chickens, it's organic and practically FREE!

What can faith do for mothers?

A deadbolt at the top of the door.

Leaving a planning meeting for the young women’s organization that I’m now a part of, I saw the well-planned means to prevent young children from escaping outside without the knowledge of their parents. But our hostess doesn’t have children yet, a fact I remembered just before opening my mouth to comment on the clever home design. My words might have pricked a heart already tender and still recovering from two failed attempts to adopt a precious newborn.

Precious. A word I’ve been thinking about a lot in light of my friend’s situation. As my own children head back to school, I’m using her clever deadbolt as a touchstone to help me ponder the sweetness of children, my own included.

I am a sap. I freely admit it. Sometimes I’m tough-nosed and stern, grumpy even. Other days I’m goofy, talkative and playful. But ever since my youngest headed off to a full day of school, I get sentimental and mushy at the start of each new school year. The truth is, I miss my kids when they’re gone to school.

Last night as I was saying my bedtime prayer, I thought of my friend’s deadbolt and asked the Lord to comfort and strengthen her, to grant the mother-desires of her heart. I also prayed that He would help me feel gratitude instead of loneliness this year. As I got up off my knees, I felt hope and peace. I could envision myself going about my daily activities in contentment.

This morning I walked my youngest daughter to school and met her new teacher. As I left the elementary school, eager, smiling children surged all around me. The building buzzed with their energy and excitement. Again I thought of my friend and her longing to mother a child.

Faith can move mountains. What can faith do for mothers? In The Book of Mormon, Ether 12:19 states, “And there were many whose faith was so exceedingly strong … [they] saw with their eyes the things which they had beheld with an eye of faith.”

I cannot know the number of friends and family who are exercising faith along with my friend and her husband. I can, however, add my own faith and prayers. And share the tender mercies of a loving Heavenly Father who gave me eyes of faith to see a young mother with a child in her arms reaching up to deadbolt her door to keep a rambunctious son from escaping.

What I Saw This Morning

A three minute walk down the lane, and this is what I can enjoy.
Barn swallows on the electrical wire.
A dew-splashed flower from Lou's collection.
Anne raspberries (yellow variety) that are sweeter than the sun. (That handful went straight to my mouth!)
Our leghorn hens are laying golden-yolked eggs.
Belly Acre Farm bug controll on the loose.

Ramblings on art, ancestors and recognition

There was a new columnist in my local paper this morning. And he was good. Really good. I actually laughed right out loud. I didn’t want to like his column, but I just couldn’t help myself.

Now, you may wonder why I didn’t want to like his column. Only because I’ve been turned down twice now as a columnist for that newspaper. Apparently they don’t like my style. Or my subject matter. Or just me.

As I was reading today’s new columnist I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps it’s best if I just give up my dream of ever becoming a paid writer. Because, here’s the thing -- for every genre that I aspire to write, there’s already someone else writing it. And often writing it better than I could.

I spent a little time today in Park City strolling along old Main Street. I stopped in at a handful of art galleries and oogled the art. Beautiful paintings, quirky sculptures, dazzling detail – some of it beyond words of description. I examined a few pieces up close. My mind whirled thinking about the time behind each brushstroke, each color. A part of me even wanted to be an artist, wanted to capture beauty to share with an appreciative audience.

Back at home, I picked raspberries. While wading through green prickly branches for perfectly ripe fruit, my mind wandered. I thought about the art I’d seen and wondered what I’d buy if money weren’t a consideration. Then I began thinking about the people who could afford to purchase art. Actually, I had to use my imagination, as I don’t actually know many people who own or collect fine art.

That little nugget of noodling led me to contemplate people I do know. Family. As the berries in my bucket began accumulating, I acknowledged my roots. Teachers. Farmers. Quilters. Homemakers. I come from what I like to call Pioneer Stock.

I thought about my grandmas, great and great-great, and the berries they must have picked, the garden produce they must have canned. They didn’t have the means to purchase fine art or the time to create it. Instead, they spent their time working to care for their families. The artifacts they left behind run along utilitarian lines: a worn and faded double wedding ring quilt, an old potato masher with a well-used wooden handle, a mason jar lifter with calcium deposits on the metal from years of removing canned produce from hard water.

And now, back to how all this relates to my dreams for recognition. Yipes. That is exactly the word that describes what I seem always to be looking for . . . RECOGNITION.

I guess I used to get it through good grades, through academic achievement. And that’s probably why writing a self-syndicated column from 1997 to 2000 helped to keep my emotional boat afloat. I was getting a little recognition in the form of reader feedback and small but concrete paychecks.

There is something in my personality that craves, maybe even needs recognition. Is that weird?

I’m left wondering if I’ll forever be part of an appreciative audience and never the performer. Are other performers driven to seek the limelight?

Switching gears now, stay with me.

Ways that I currently get recognition:
Being a witch at the Pumpkin Walk and cackling. (Bless the Burt kids. They never tire of hearing me cackle. )

Teaching Sunday school.

Hosting parties.

Hmmmm. I guess that’s about it. But are there other ways I can “perform” and get my recognition fix?

Yeah. I’m volunteering to help the student council at Loula Belle’s middle school. When I’m goofy with the kids and they respond, that feels good. And writing the skits they’ll do for “Character Counts” might fit the bill too. And maybe I could tell my hubby and kids that I have unfulfilled performance yearnings. Maybe they’d consent to being an appreciative audience. Hey, even just being an attentive audience would be fine. (Better than the eye rolls that I currently get.)

And what about the retirement home where my grandma lives? Maybe I could play the piano for them to sing along with. I probably can’t commit to doing it every week, but how about once a month? Or every-other month?

We'll see.

Ever feel like you've prepped your whole life for something else?

I was reading a comment my friend left on another blog where she wrote, "Sometime I feel like I've prepped my whole life for something else." I've had those same feelings. Still have then, in fact.

I grew up as a fairly typical over-achiever. Valedictorian in high school. One of the top three English graduates at USU in 1994. And I bought into the whole notion that a woman could be anything. Do anything. Really have it all. And what have I become? An at-home mom. (I don't like the term "Stay-at-home" Mom. It sounds like a command for a dog.)

For three years I wrote a self-syndicated parenting column. It kept my emotional boat afloat while my kids were tiny. But eventually it began to pull me away from them. Plus I had un-diagnosed depression. Talk about miserable.

Even this past year, with my kids all in school, I've wondered what I should be doing. (Why is it that we as LDS women give ourselves so many "shoulds?") Anyway, I made it a matter of prayer, fasting and study. And I found out that humble as it is, the Lord needs me right here in the home. Not only that, I learned that I need to be content too. (Big sigh. I'm still working on that.)

When some girlfriends and I got together for lunch a few weeks ago, I asked them if their lives are what they expected them to be. All three said, "Yes. Why, what did you expect?"

I guess I expected to be famous. Important. A best-selling author. And I expected parenting to be easier. After all, wasn't I easy to raise? (Don't answer that, Mom.)

My question for my friends was, "How did you know not to have out-of-control expectations for yourselves?" Their answer: we always planned on staying home with our kids.

Now that I've had a bit more time to noodle over their responses, I've noticed that they have one big thing in common -- their mothers stayed at home.

Mine, on the other hand, was a working mom. Something that I think really is a calling for her. She's done an excellent job raising us and teaching many other kids as well. I guess I always planned on following in her footsteps. (She's famous at the Middle School where she teaches, gives motivational talks to women's groups, and turns anything and everything into an excuse to have fun.) I never stopped to think that what's been good for her might not be right for me.

So, here I am at the homefront. As the days and weeks go by I'm getting better at being a content at-home mom. I'm even learning to stop pestering the Lord to see if the time is right to alter my occupation.

In preparing a Sunday school lesson I came across an excerpt from Lucy Mack Smith's History of Joseph Smith. She had recorded the whole experience of Martin Harris losing the first 116 pages of manuscript for the Book of Mormon. She quoted Joseph as saying, "I should have been satisfied with the first answer which I received from the Lord." It really struck home for me. Ever since then I've been trying to be satisfied with what I've been called to do.

Just lately I've developed a new way to look at the lumps and bumps of life. The way I see it husbands, children, in-laws, housework even -- all help to knock off the rough edges of our emerging character. Not an easy process, and one that won't be done in this lifetime, but every little bit that's knocked off gets us closer and closer to being a beautiful, carefully crafted diamond.

So, just think, we're no longer the black little bit of coal that we were when we came into this world. Look at your wedding ring and envision your own bright future!

I figure that the Lord's not done with me yet. I've yet to put my big mouth to some serious work for Him. I just gotta remember to keep my expectations in check. But is that like telling someone not to dream? 'Cause I don't ever want to stop dreaming. Stop creating possibilities that might someday involve me.

What do you think?

Life Lessons Learned from Canning . . .

It's that time of year again. Time to dust off the canner and wash up the Kerr jars. The garden is in overdrive, and we can't eat it all fresh.

First of all, let me just say that I do not look forward to canning. I even wrote myself a note in my cooking/garden journal. It's dated February 2007 and says, "In the winter you never wish that you had canned less produce." I guess that I was enjoying the bounty that we'd bottled and wanted to pre-empt my natural tendency toward giving produce away instead of canning it. It's too early to be sure, but I think my note just may help this year.

I guess you could say that when it comes to canning, I make mountains out of mole hills. I build the job of food preservation up to be monumental -- heavy on the mental. In early spring gardening and canning sound great. In March when my hubby was thumbing through seed catalogs, I specifically requested that he buy cucumber seeds that would be good for eating and pickling. When it came time for planting, I told him to plant three hills so that I’d have plenty to pickle, but by the time the first few cukes were ready to eat, my desire to can them had evaporated.

My hubby made the mistake of asking me when I was going to actually start making pickles. I gave him "the look", a lecture about him having too many expectations for me, and the romance in our marriage went right out the window. Canning and cuddling don't mix.

But that was weeks ago, and as I write this I'm happy to report that we have 21 pints of dill pickles down on the basement shelves. And strangely, it wasn't that hard. Nothing like I'd imagined it to be.

As the last pints were processing in the hot water bath, I found myself ruminating about the possible parallels between canning and life. Here's what my recent bit of canning has taught me:

1. Most things aren't as difficult as you think they're going to be.

2. Many hands make light work. Instead of canning pickles alone (and feeling sorry for myself), I asked my husband to help. It went great! We enjoyed quality time canning. Never thought I’d say that, but there you have it. When my husband isn’t handy, I’m going to include my kids. But for the really involved canning, only a good canning buddy will do. (Look out Linda, I’ve got out the canner!)

3. Don’t leave out the sugar! Last year Linda and I tried something new. We made applesauce without any added sugar. I like it, my kids tolerate it, but it doesn’t store well. I bet a third of the bottles I bring up from the basement have started growing mold right at the top. And the bottles are perfectly sealed. I’ve begun to think that families, like applesauce need a little sugar (laughter, fun, goofiness) to keep them properly preserved. Take the sweet stuff away, and just like applesauce, family life goes South.

4. Sugar goes with salt. I did fresh-packed cucumber pickles, and the main ingredients for the hot liquid you pour over them are water, vinegar, sugar and salt. I guess I was a little surprised by the ratio of sugar to salt. I mean, you expect pickles to be salty, but my recipe called for more sugar than salt. That got me thinking. I figure that salt could be a metaphor for tears/sadness and sweat/work. The hard facts of life. And what I learned from making pickles is that you don’t have to take the lumps and bumps of life straight. A little bit of sugar does help the medicine go down. Work is important, but you can mix in a little fun with it too. Pain and sadness are inevitable, but nowhere is it written that you can’t try to laugh. (Side note: My neighbor is fighting cancer and has taken some low blows. At one point she was on oxygen and a feeding tube. On the day they were able to take off the oxygen she exclaimed, “Look! I’ve got one nostril with nothing to do.”)

5. You can’t rush time. Because we’re at a high altitude I had to add 10 minutes onto my pickle processing time. And according to the experts at the county extention office, time is important. You have to keep the water boiling for all of the allotted minutes. Life is no different. There’s no need to rush. Bad situations will soon end. Good times come and go too. So enjoy the present!

There you have it. Life lessons I learned from canning.

How to be comfortable in your own skin

Isn't that a great title for a blog entry? Have you ever felt a bit uncomfortable in your own skin? (Have you noticed that I like to ask questions? The delivery nurse when I was born said of me, "She looks like she wants to ask a question.") I wish that I had all the answers instead of constantly coming up with all the questions. But hey, maybe then I wouldn't be me.

Anyway, today I found day-changing encouragement in the waiting room of a local oil lube / state inspection place. I picked up the February 2007 issue of Real Simple even though I'd brought Gone with the Wind for my reading material and came across an article entitled, "Dare to be different," by Gail Blanke. She's the life coach for Real Simple magazine, and while I've been ambivalent about life coaches in the past, Gail had great advice on staying true to yourself.

Gail writes, "Most of us are afraid to be controversial, or even too intensely who we are. We're like lemonade with too much water in it and too few lemons. We dilute our 'flavor' so we won't offend anyone. And, in the process, we give away our power, the essence of who we are that makes us unique and unforgettable."

A few paragraphs later I got the extra encouragement that I needed. She said, "Truth is, the world belongs not to the one who fits in but to the one who stands out. In music, art, architecture, entertainment, literature, politics, and business, it's the maverick, the one who gets 'carried away,' who wins the day. OK, so you may not want to rule the world or win public office or even be the next American Idol. But to get whatever is it you do want, the principle is the same: Be unabashedly yourself."

Gail Blanke maintains that, "... if enough people love you, the one's who don't, don't matter." While that's a nice sentiment, I'm not sure I subscribe to it. I'm still affected by loved ones opinions of me.

Finding Contentment With Help from the Scriptures

Our Relief Society lesson last Sunday was on scripture study. While reading the lesson I realized that my personal scripture study has been lacking. One sister in my ward suggested that for more meaningful scripture study it’s often helpful to pick a topic and look up the scriptures relating to it. Seeing as how I’m constantly struggling with contentment, I chose it as my topic. Here are a few references and how I’ve learned from them.

1 Timothy 6:6-8 “But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we carry nothing out. And having food and raiment let us be therewith content.”

In other words, don’t focus on material things. Be grateful for what you have. Having food and clothing is enough to be content with. In the food category, I enjoy Dannon Light ‘n Fit yogurt, crisp gala apples, crunchy carrot sticks with fat free ranch dip. And about raiment. Just this morning I realized that I get to wear my favorite clothes every day – jeans and tennis shoes.

When I find myself making mental lists of what it would be nice to have (new furniture, high- speed internet, a dog crate), I’ve found it helpful to repeat a simplified version of verse seven to myself – “you can’t take it with you.”


Jeremiah 29:7 “And seek the peace of the city whither I have caused you to be carried away captives, and pray unto the Lord for it: for in the peace thereof shall ye have peace.”

A little background information first: Jeremiah is a prophet to the Israelites during their captivity in Babylon. In prior verses he was instructing them to build houses, plant gardens, and marry and raise families. So what verse seven is saying is . . . make the best of a challenging situation. And because the world we live in is often referred to as Babylon, we can follow Jeremiah’s advice too. I liked how he said, “pray unto the Lord for [peace].” I learned that contentment and peace are worth praying for.

At the end of verse six, Jeremiah gives an explanation of why it’s important for the Israelites to make the most of their challenging circumstances . . . “that ye may be increased there, and not diminished.” Can’t we say that about ourselves too? When we go about our lives in peace -- building houses, planting gardens, raising families – aren’t we increasing? But doing the same things in a spirit of discontent – keeping up with the Joneses or Jones-itis, as I like to call it –
causes us to feel diminished. And if we go into debt to feed our discontent, we can literally become diminished -- spiritually and financially bankrupt.


Alma 29:3,6 “... for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me.... Why should I desire more than to perform the work to which I have been called?”

Like Alma who wanted to cry repentance with angelic zeal, I too have some grandiose desires. Mine run along the lines of . . . write books to captivate and energize young readers. . . speak at EFY retreats and inspire youth to greatness . . . publish a book for women that helps them feel better about themselves. Those are the things that I dream of doing, but yard work, laundry, and running errands seem to eat all my time. Reading verse six, where it says, “Why should I desire more than to perform the work to which I have been called?” made me wonder if I’ve been called to do house work.

I decided to find out. First, I sat down with my patriarchal blessing and a sheet of paper. I read through my blessing and wrote down anything that it gave me instruction to do. Next I read through a journal where I write down spiritual impressions. I looked for instances where I felt like I’d received answer to prayer on what direction to take in my life. Finally, I compiled the two lists into one.

I won’t share the entire list of what I’m called to do, but here are some highlights:

bear children and be a content at-home mom

write about my experience with depression

serve my family

be a partner to my husband

be happy and cheerful

develop and enlarge my talents for my benefit, the benefit of my family, and the benefit of others.

As I read the entry “serve my family” I felt something. I think it was the Spirit trying to tell me that the things I do to serve my family, the things that seem to eat up all my time, are actually important. For just a moment, it’s as if I saw my daily tasks as the Lord sees them – necessary jobs that accompany raising his children.

Seeing things as the Lord sees them as helped me feel better about my life. I've begun to realize that the things I do as a mother to serve my family are part of my life’s calling, and instead of discounting them, thinking that they don’t count in the grand scheme of things, I need to recognize them for what they are and be content to perform the work – yes, even house work – that I’ve been called to do.

In Search of Contentment

I don’t know about you, but I have a problem feeling content. And I’m beginning to think that it’s part of our American culture. We hear again and again about the American dream. Own a home. Start a new and successful company. Climb the corporate ladder. Be at the top of your class. Focus on productivity. Be all that you can be.

I’ve lived my entire life striving for perfection -- reaching for the American dream. I was the valedictorian of my high school class, one of the top three English graduates in 1994 when I graduated from college. Because I’ve chosen a career as a family manager, I often wonder if I’m doing enough, being enough. I tell myself that I should have a successful writing career in addition to my job as an at home mom. And I often berate myself about my homemaking skills. Because all my children are in school, I should have spotless mirrors, vacuum lines across the
carpet, clean windows, and perfectly prepared and balanced dinners every night. Sigh.

In my quest for a happier life, I’m getting professional counseling. My therapist has pointed out that I’ll feel happier if I can appreciate what I have. Keeping a gratitude journal is one way to acknowledge the haves instead of the have-nots. Another thing I’m trying to do is to acknowledge my pampered lifestyle.

Take this morning, for instance. I’m not sure why, but I was in the mood to listen to opera as I got ready for the day. “The Worlds Greatest Arias” played as I showered and put on makeup. I began thinking about Mozart and the royals who could afford to have him perform for them. That’s when I realized that, hey, Mozart plays for me any time I want him to. Sure, it may be a CD recording, but digital technology is probably as good or better than what some listeners heard at a live performance hundreds of years ago.

I’m a big fan of books and movies like, Emma, Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Wurthering Heights . . . you get the idea. I’ve imagined what it must be like to have nothing to occupy my time except making social calls, sketching, riding horses, preparing menus for the staff to prepare, attending balls. I’ve even gone so far as to put myself as the heroine in the setting of my favorite books and movies. Coming back to the realities of my own hum-drum life always seems anti-climatic.

When moments like this morning happen, however, I’m amazed to realize that my life is as pampered as the lives of my favorite heroines – maybe even more so. For example, I enjoy central heating. I also have a large jacuzzi tub with lumbar jets. When I get the whim to soak in the bath, I don’t have to summon servants to heat water and fill my tub. I simply turn a knob. Two water heaters in my basement are my servants. Very efficient servants, I might add.

This fall my dad took me and my brothers hunting at a local pheasant farm. We trudged through the frost-covered fields as his dog locked onto the scent of a pheasant hiding in the underbrush. Up flew a large rooster. We raised our guns and locked onto the bird. Boom! Boom! It fell to the ground. And for some reason my mind flashed to a scene from Pride and Prejudice (the six-hour version) of Mr. Darcy hunting as his servants pounded the undergrowth with sticks to flush
up game fowl.

I remember thinking, “I’m more spoiled than Mr. Darcy.” I hadn’t even paid for the privilege of shooting the day’s game, my dad treated us. I even used one of his guns. And we’d arrived for the hunt in style -- a club cab 4x4 pick-up truck with power windows, heating, and satellite radio. As the other hunters spread out along the ditch bank, I began to contemplate the ways in which my upbringing was perhaps more privileged than Elizabeth Bennett’s.

For starters, I got to go hunting with the men. I bet Elizabeth didn’t. Our family had horses and 10 acres of land – probably less acreage than the Bennetts, but still a large estate by today’s standards. We may not have had carriages, but we owned both a car and a truck. And although I never spent the summer in London, I did travel to Centerville most summers to spend a week of fun and sun with my cousins. We also took trips to National Parks, hiked into the Wind River wilderness, and played at Disneyland. They didn’t even have amusement parks in Elizabeth Bennett’s day. What does that say about the time in which we live?

My counselor advised me to adopt the following motto:

Use it up,
Wear it out,
Make do
Or do without.

I can’t say that I follow it perfectly yet, but I’m beginning to see its benefits. When I’m not trying to remind myself what I want to buy next (furniture, a new computer, a new bed spread), I’m more at peace. Using what I have instead of acquiring more frees up a lot of time. Time to spend reading instead of shopping. Time to spend with friends instead of poring over glossy mail order catalogs. Time to spend laughing at comics with my kids instead of trolling the aisles of Wal-Mart listening to them whine for treats.

Contentment remains elusive. I’m not there yet, but I can see it on the horizon.

A New Appreciation for Working Mothers

Note: I wrote this on September 12, 2006 but was unable to post it then due to computer problems.

For a week and a half I found out what it’s like to work full time outside the home. And I must say that I have a whole new appreciation for working mothers. But the best part is my family has a whole new appreciation for me!

A couple weeks ago my friend Linda and I started working at our local university’s bookstore during the first week and a half of the new semester. They call it Rush. I call it insanity!

For the first three days I was on my feet from 8 A.M. until 5 P.M. except for a half hour lunch break. And in the first day I helped over 2,000 customers. By the end of the day I was bushed, beat, exhausted.

After the second day I was ready to call it quits, but I’d made a commitment. I decided to stick it out. Meanwhile, my girls were getting themselves off to school, and everyone in our family arrived home before I did. (Mind you, this has advantages. I figured that with my husband getting home first, that meant he was in charge of dinner. It worked about 50% of the time.)

After my second day of full time employment, we were sitting as a family around the dinner table. Bug, my 12-year-old, was complaining about my not being home for homework questions after school. Loula Belle, age 10, and Beans, age 7, both piped up that getting out the door on their own pretty much stunk. Curious as to how much they were really missing me, I asked, "But what if I got a job like this one? We could go to Disneyland again."

"No!" they all shouted in unison.

Wow. They like me more than Disneyland. I never would have guessed.

Now that Rush is over, I’ve been home full time for a week. Yes, I miss greeting and talking with customers. (It’s a little lonely to have an empty house to myself all day.) I miss having supervisors praise and compliment my work. (Alas, once I started resuming my usual jobs, my kids went back to not noticing what’s getting done.) I suppose I even miss getting a paycheck, but not enough to go back.

I am grateful, however, that I had a brief employment opportunity. I learned that my family really does appreciate what I do as a stay-at-home mom. I learned that working eight hours a day and then coming home to the ususal list of home jobs zapped all my energy. Sometimes I’d come home from work and just collapse on the couch for a snooze. Who knew working full time was so exhausting?

I also learned that I’m blessed. Blessed to have the freedom and flexibility to stay home. Blessed to have a husband who works his tail end off to provide for our family. Blessed, spoiled, and utterly thankful to have learned that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side of the employment equation.

Making the World a Better Place -- One Fridge at a Time

Some days I wonder if my life will have meaning after I'm gone. Will it have added up to something commendable, worthwhile, interesting at least?

And then on other days I clean my fridge and know that my efforts are not all for naught. The little things really do matter.

How, you ask, can cleaning the fridge give life greater meaning? Easy. I let it remind me that I have a life.

For starters, my fridge hasn’t been cleaned since we moved into our home in February of 2004. Sure, I did clean up the strawberry topping that leaked from the cake for Lou Bellle’s after-baptism lunch. And I have wiped up seepage from defrosting chicken, spilt milk, and stray catsup. I can’t say, however, that my fridge was clean, exactly.

As I emptied its contents onto the kitchen counter, I recalled the other tasks that had kept me occupied – that had kept me from cleaning the fridge sooner. Here is a partial list: planning a yard, consulting on sprinkler placement, being my girls’s soccer coach, preparing Sunday school lessons, doing laundry, playing basketball, shopping, cooking, working as a second grade reading aide, walking with friends, walking without friends, hiking in the mountains, vacationing at Disneyland, keeping a journal, visiting grandmas, riding my bike, even filling water balloons.

I’d say that my priorities are just about right. Cleaning the fridge isn’t more important than living.

Even the contents of my fridge tell a tale. For one thing, there’s not a lot in there. As my brother, Drew, once said, "Wow, your fridge is . . . er . . . bright!" The reason – we have a 12-year-old boy. He’s a bottomless pit! Keeping him fed has become more challenging of late. Here it is barely past the middle of the month, and I’ve already way overspent our food budget! I think we’ll be testing the contents of our year’s supply this month. Sigh.

And finally, isn’t the outside of a fridge more important than the inside anyway? School lunch menus, shopping lists, children’s artwork, photos of cousins, clipped comics, even a magnet listing the number for poison control. (Do you think my husband was trying to tell me something when he posted the magnet on the fridge?)

All in all, cleaning the fridge helped me see the bigger picture. Certainly is feels good to look inside the gleaming fridge, but contemplating what goes on outside the fridge feels even better. The little things I seem to spend so much time on really do matter. Life, my life, makes a difference.

I am me, you be you

In today’s entry I’m trying to capture a bit of what makes me me. For instance, there is something in my personality that is driven to share – to connect with others – to help others feel better about themselves.

So much of myself is my thoughts. They are who I am, what I am, and I enjoy, even need, to spend time sharing them with others. I thrive on feedback – on finding some topic that resonates with others.

In this blog and in my life my message is: Don’t try to be like me. Don’t try to be like anyone else either. Be yourself. Find out what you are about – what floats your boat. Part of that process includes spiritual introspection. The Lord sees you as you are and as you can become. Ask him to let you see a glimpse of yourself as He sees you. I feel the most fulfilled when I know that I’m about my Father’s business. And believe me, it’s not all drudgery.

For instance, I have a habit of striking up conversations with people in checkout lines. I may not share the Good News of the gospel, but I try to brighten their day, make them smile, or simply make them grateful that they aren’t looney.

Just today I was shopping with my friend Linda. We were at Sam’s Club, and I saw a woman working a demo for soap and some other personal hygiene item (couldn’t quite tell what it was.) I said to Linda, "That’s got to be challenging to demo soap. Do you walk up to a man and say, ‘Excuse me, but you really need this soap’? If it was me, I’d be tempted to use some in the shower at home and come to work the next day and say, ‘Ma’am, which armpit scent do you prefer? Tropical Mist or Spring Clean?" Or, I’d use the soap on one armpit, and nothing on the other. I could ask customers, "Notice how this armpit smells nice and clean, but this one, on the other hand . . ."

Linda laughed as I raised my arm to expose the pit. She was, however, surprised when I gave the same pitch to the young man behind the check register. Fortunately he had a good sense of humor.

That’s me – making people laugh in the checkout line. It’s part of the way that I spread joy. Or nuttiness, or whatever. But I think people appreciate a little levity every once in a while, and I’m happy to provide it.

I, like you, defy categorization. I am more than the sum of my parts. I love chickens. I yearn to return to Japan to visit my host family. I speak fluent pig-latin and even put it under "language" on a job application once. (I got the job.) I love my pickup truck. My musical tastes run the gambit from opera and classical to country and rock. I’ve probably strained at a gnat and swallowed a camel at least a couple of times.

You get the picture.

I'm Not Your Slave, I'm your Mother

From the Trenches
I'm Not Your Slave


During the course of the day I assume many different roles: Laurie Laundress, Clara Cook, Ella Entertainer, Betty Book-Reader, even Nellie Nag. On one particularly trying morning, I seemed to be Polly Put-it-away more than usual. After depositing my son's pajamas in his drawer one too many days in a row, I turned to him and said, "You need to put your own pajamas away. I'm not your slave!"

"What's a slave?" he asked. "A slave," I explained, "is someone who has to work but doesn't get paid for it." This simplistic answer seemed to satisfy his curiosity while summing up my own feelings.

The rest of the morning I worked like a slave--or at least I felt like one. I cleared off the breakfast table and grumbled. I loaded the dishwasher, wiped the counters, and swept the floor. Even while dressing my daughter and changing her diaper I remained mopey. I think the only thing I took pleasure in that morning was my shower. And that was interrupted half-way through by both kids pounding on the bathroom door. They were thirsty.

After putting my daughter down for her afternoon nap and quietly slipping out of her room, I turned around. There in the hall was my son, holding a handful of coins, pennies mostly, that he'd collected from his grandparents. "Here," he said, giving them to me. "Now you're not a slave."

I thought about it for a minute and decided he was right. For a total of 13 cents, he bought my freedom.

Reviewing the morning's activities, I realized that my feelings of self-pity had affected more than just my attitude. By considering myself a slave, I had unwittingly cast my children as the loathsome taskmasters. How much of my resentment for my work-load had been carried over to them? Not much, I hope.

So now that I'm emancipated, how do I go about my day? Reality is that I still have all of the same jobs to do. How do I keep from feeling like a slave?

For starters, I've begun think of myself as a volunteer. Together with my husband, I made a conscious decision to have a family. You could say that I volunteered to be a mother. On days when motherhood is a bit more than I bargained for, I find it helpful to remind myself that I chose this lifestyle.

Another way to feel liberated hinges upon service. Who has the time to ladle soup at the local soup kitchen? We all do. Only we have to stop thinking of the soup kitchen in strictly traditional terms. Why not think of it as our own homes? The very things that can make us feel like a slave--doing laundry, cleaning toilets, picking up toys--when viewed from another perspective, can be acts of service.

Of course now that I'm beginning to get the hang of home-based volunteerism, my son has other ideas for me. Just the other night as I was sorting the last pair of socks, he approached, more coins in hand. "Take these," he urged. Once I was holding them he said, "Now come with me. I need help picking up my room."