tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55514667225291272352023-06-15T13:03:50.518-08:00Mindful Serenity<br><br><br><br><b>Never accepting mediocrity ~ Questioning the status quo</b><br>Improving my corner of the universe one day at a time.Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.comBlogger910125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-30632773528662360742017-10-08T21:47:00.001-08:002017-10-08T21:47:33.698-08:00Authentically MeMy last two years have been an interesting journey for me. I guess the journey has been longer than that, but the last 21 months certainly have been heightened, if that makes sense.<br />
<br />
21 months ago I renounced the culture I was raised in. I don’t know how to express the significance of that except to say that, even as a 34 year old woman who is a solid ENTJ and usually falls on the bold side of things, I was <i>scared to tell my parents</i>. It took me four months to tell my family. I was feeling so much happier and freer and better than I had in years, but I was afraid to share it.<br />
<br />
When I finally did tell them THAT was freeing too. And in the months that followed I’ve felt increasingly comfortable with letting my authentic self show.<br />
<br />
There are things I’m still a little private about...but for the first time in my life I feel allowed to figure out who I am—not just who I’m supposed to be—and more than that I am learning to feel comfortable letting others see that me.<br />
<br />
I had a fascinating conversation with my therapist about a year ago about three photographs.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nW12A7s644A/WdsAId7Ul3I/AAAAAAAAE4c/F5F81Qj5ODIlJFG7wiFZ2Zsp6TprMsrAQCLcBGAs/s1600/JoShaw%2BPrints%2B38.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nW12A7s644A/WdsAId7Ul3I/AAAAAAAAE4c/F5F81Qj5ODIlJFG7wiFZ2Zsp6TprMsrAQCLcBGAs/s400/JoShaw%2BPrints%2B38.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This was taken during a family reunion, where my entire family came to Alaska for a week with us. This was the first time I'd seen them all since 'coming out heathen' as it were, and I'd had a lot of anxiety about it.<br />
<br />
We'd hired a photographer for a session to get pictures of the whole group. We'd taken family by family, all the grandkids, all the boys, all the girls...and then we gathered the siblings. We all lined up and took what one might call a 'normal' photo, and then for some reason I got it into my head that we should all get on each other's backs. I'm the oldest and when I suggested it (while grabbing my brother and pulling him onto my back) they all just sort of did it within a matter of moments...and this photo resulted. In those few moments I felt something between us that I hadn't felt since childhood. (That's funny to say, because we weren't even all children at the same time, but it's how I felt.) I don't know how to describe it except to say that it was a feeling of camaraderie and knowing that we all had each other's backs.<br />
<br />
This was a moment where I felt unfiltered family, and it shows on my face.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L5ymB49z228/Wdr1qZfNQUI/AAAAAAAAE3s/7bnL1UXu3sc40-kVhjdihhqnfwI02BLUACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_3558.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L5ymB49z228/Wdr1qZfNQUI/AAAAAAAAE3s/7bnL1UXu3sc40-kVhjdihhqnfwI02BLUACLcBGAs/s320/IMG_3558.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That unfiltered feeling shows in this photo from a few days later. We were on a hike, we were hot, sweaty, tired, and trying to keep continually moving because if anyone stood still the bugs would swarm. I've been self conscious about close-ups of my smile for years because my teeth aren't quite straight, so I normally keep my mouth closed.<br />
<br />
But my little guy was cuddly as I carried him out (I carried kids the whole hike, but switched out which one many times. Yay babywearing!) So on impulse I snapped a selfie. And in that moment--in spite of feeling a little bit miserable--I felt genuinely happy. And it shows. That wasn't something I'd seen much of in my photos from the prior few years, and it wasn't until I saw this one that I realized what had been missing.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rW5H89PQQlI/Wdr2BOnyBgI/AAAAAAAAE3w/3D86yIDfDEw7XSJiM_AMRPnyroJMMEkSgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_4477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rW5H89PQQlI/Wdr2BOnyBgI/AAAAAAAAE3w/3D86yIDfDEw7XSJiM_AMRPnyroJMMEkSgCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_4477.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Finally, last fall I went to a fancy fundraiser with my husband. I tried on a dozen gowns at the consignment store, and bought a nice short-sleeved one that was flattering...but this one just stayed in my head. Finally, just a day or two before the fundraiser, I went back to the consignment store and it was still there so I got it.<br />
<br />
This was the first time I'd ever worn something strapless, and not only doing it but then sharing the photos publically on facebook was definitely something new. Mormons have an easily recognizeable dress code (based upon the temple undergarments which cover significantly more than 'worldly underwear'), and this gown blatantly doesn't meet it. I hadn't hidden my exit from the church but I hadn't really announced it to anyone except my family, so I knew that sharing this photo was going to 'out' me to many people.<br />
<br />
Part of me really wanted to share this photo and part of me about had a panic attack...but I finally posted it.<br />
<br />
And you know what happened?<br />
<br />
Comment after comment after comment about how lovely the gown was, how good I looked, and how happy I looked. Not a single negative comment. In that moment, I felt accepted for me. Not because I fit within some mold or matched some expectation, but just because I was a person who picked a pretty, sparkly dress that matched my eyes, and who looked nice in it.<br />
<br />
That felt so good. ☺<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
This authenticity thing is certainly much broader than clothing choices or body acceptance, but that's been an important part of it because it's bringing my outside to match my inside. I'm not opposed to modesty at all, but I think a person should be able to be comfortable in their body--not ashamed of it--and that is a journey I've had to take. Taking ownership of my body has been an important part of my authenticity.<br />
<br />
18 months before that strapless gown I'd taken two pictures but only shared one.<br />
Wanna guess which one?<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> Look at those scandalous double-pierced ears--which I'd had done just hours earlier. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And those bare 'porn shoulders' tsk tsk.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
This week I did something else new: I've been wearing strappy tank tops to
exercise in for a few years, and after a while I started wearing them to/from class without always taking a shirt or jacket to cover myself en-route. I happen to think I have very nice shoulders, and I wasn't willing to feel guilty about it anymore. I started making friends with my cleavage too, instead of hating it and fighting it, and that spared me a lot of grief.<br />
<br />
Recently I've been taking a pole fitness class. I wore yoga pants/capri leggings the first couple of times, but discovered that I needed my legs bare to above the knee because the fabric gets in the way of holding on to the pole. So I got a pair of shorts that are shorter than anything I've ever owned. After several times of covering them up to/from class, this week I just went to class. (Yes, folks, I went in public with all this skin hanging out. How scandalous.)<br />
<br />
And you know what? This time I didn't have anxiety over it. That feels pretty good. <br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Hello world. This is me. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just me, myself. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
No more filters.</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<br />Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-71260161919173697212017-04-16T14:19:00.000-08:002017-04-16T14:37:02.053-08:00Christian<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I carried this phrase as a mantra for many years. As a Mormon I knew that there were lots of things said about my faith--including that we weren't Christian. Since I most certainly <i>was</i> Christian by every definition in the book, I tried really hard to show my beliefs through my behavior, so that I would always be 'convictable.'<br />
<br />
I remember one day when I was 17 I was talking with a group of associates at community college, and said something about being Mormon. One of them said "Well, I've always heard that Mormons aren't Christian, but you clearly are, so I guess those other people were wrong." <br />
(Convictable? Yep.) <br />
<br />
Now, today, I find myself contemplating this question from the other side.<br />
<br />
I do not consider myself Christian anymore. I've left Mormonism and fall somewhere in the complexity of athiest/eclectic Pagan. But even though my theological beliefs have changed, my way of living really has not. I don't believe in Jesus as God or Savior, but I do believe that the teachings to love one another, forgive, and care for others are good moral value and I do follow them. In other words, I'm pretty sure I'm still 'convictable' even though now that conviction would be incorrect.<br />
<br />
And it's got me thinking.<br />
<br />
I think that "christian" and "Christ-ian" are not the same thing.<br />
<br />
I mean, yes, in the literal meaning of the word, a Christ-ian is a believer in Christ-as-Savior. <br />
But in the common cultural use, as in "that wasn't a very christian way to handle that situation," nobody is asking--or even caring--about the beliefs of the person in question. They are simply focusing on behavior.<i> And in that sense, a lot of non-Christ-ians are some of the most 'christian' people I know.</i><br />
<br />
So go ahead and convict me of being christian. (You'll probably want to convict me of being a witch too while you're at it...just sayin...) Neither label is technically accurate, but I also don't mind either one.Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-60766785076609253172017-03-05T19:01:00.001-09:002017-03-05T19:01:49.378-09:00The Edges of LifeWhen Wolf was small we noticed that he had an inclination toward violent play (as many little boys do). So we taught him the law of the jungle: one may only kill for two reasons, either for food, or to avoid being killed yourself. (This may have slightly backfired when, at five years old, he asked if we could please shoot--and eat--a songbird in the front yard, and I had to explain that it was too small to provide enough meat to be worth eating. He was terribly disappointed.) But I digress.<br />
<br />
For the last two years we have been raising chickens. We are in it for the eggs, and we have quite a flock of happy ladies.<br />
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We knew that eventually they'd get too old to lay anymore, and we agreed
from the start that when that time came we would kill them and eat them
(or--since an old bird is tough and isn't great eating--put them in the
crockpot to make soup or dog meals etc). However this last summer it
became evident that one of our spring babies was growing up to be...not a girl.
And so we had to face the prospect of slaughtering sooner than we had
anticipated. I named him King Louie, because he strutted around, crowed a lot, and was destined to lose his head.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">King Louie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>(At this point you may be realizing that this post deals with slaughtering animals. If that bothers you feel free to stop reading. One photo shows blood but isn't graphic. I do discribe the process but it's not overly gory, and I share because the experience overall has been significant and poignant, so I hope you'll read on.)</i><br />
<br />
<br />
We had no use for a roo. He eats food, he harrasses the ladies, we don't need fertilized eggs since we're eating them all anyway, and he doesn't need to defend the flock since we have that covered. So in October I sent a message to my friend who has butchered birds before, and asked if I could come over and she could teach me how. She was willing so we set a date.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bear greeting the turkeys.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Hubby didn't happen to be available that weekend, and neither was Wolf, so I piled the younger boys into the truck and took them to my friend's house. She had a turkey that was destined for Thanksgiving dinner and the plan was to take care of Louie and her bird at the same time. Turkeys are big and strong and have to be wrestled a bit, so she'd invited another friend (also with experience) to come and help. All of us had young kids there, and we invited them to watch or help if they wanted to, but also told them that they didn't have to if they didn't want to. I feel like
it's healthy to be part of the process though if you're going to be a
meat eater, and to be conscientious of where our food comes from. (Bear opted to watch us kill the turkey and Eagle helped with plucking it.)<br />
<br />
I
was so glad that I slaughtered with these ladies though, because the
first thing they both said to Louie as I got him out of the kennel was
"thank you" and then I held him while one of them slit his throat, and as she
did she was saying "thank you Louie" to him again.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was a deeply
respectful process.</span> </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The place where we took Louie's life.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I somewhat expected to have a moment where I wanted
to back out, but I never did. I didn't wield the blades but I helped
hold both birds, helped with the plucking, and I cleaned out Louie's
insides. We saved some of the feathers from both birds too--I don't know
what I want to do with them but they are beautiful and I feel strongly
about utilizing as many parts as we can. One of the ladies kept commenting about
how clean Louie was so that made me feel pretty good about how we keep
our flock. :)<br />
<br />
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It wasn't until afterward, when I was packing up and
getting ready to come home, that I realized that Samhain was that weekend. That's the old observance of final harvest. (There's a grain harvest
observance in August, a fruits/vegetables harvest observance in
September, and the November observance is for harvesting animals.) I'm
sure you know that Halloween has origins in the traditions about Nov 1
being the new year, and the old year dies on the 31st which is why the
veil is thin between life and death and ghosts roam etc. Dia De Los
Muertos as well as other ancestor-remembering traditions are celebrated
at this time, and it all ties into the recognition of death as part of
life, which I think is important even if I've never really been into any
of those celebrations. This year we ate Louie on that day. It seemed fitting.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~~~~~~</div>
<br />
<br />
But the story isn't over. Because literally the night that I got home from killing Louie, I heard a crow from the coop.<br />
<br />
And that's when we realized there was another roo. <br />
<br />
I have to explain a bigger story here. We bought chicks in the spring from a local farm store. But in the summer one of our adult hens (from the year before) got broody. So we got her a few fertilized eggs to sit on, and she hatched three babies. So these babies were four months younger than the spring ones, hadn't reached their adult appearance yet, and thus we hadn't realized that one of them was a roo.<br />
<br />
Until we took Louie out of the coop, and realized that he hadn't been the only one crowing.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGjzZbW1b0E/WLzIm5In5sI/AAAAAAAAE2I/KN1t9DJyApAU1PVL9dnEbyYg8RHWP9DvgCLcB/s1600/IMG_3309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGjzZbW1b0E/WLzIm5In5sI/AAAAAAAAE2I/KN1t9DJyApAU1PVL9dnEbyYg8RHWP9DvgCLcB/s320/IMG_3309.JPG" width="240" /></a>But back to the broody hen: I was checking on her daily, and I was the first to see the tiny fluffy babies when they hatched. I was even there during one of the hatchings--I watched the mama turn this way and that, continually shifting her weight and position and slowly turning a full circle until a third little voice started cheeping with the other two. It was the first time I had ever been present for a non-human birth, and I felt something similar to the births of my siblings or children.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The longer I live, the more I realize that the edges of life are sacred, on both sides.</i></span><br />
<br />
The transition between life and non-life is an important time, regardless of what you believe is before and/or after it. And regardless of whether the being involved is human.<br />
<br />
We gave Chanticleer time to reach maturity of course, but this week his time was up. I had hoped to wait until the snow melted so that we could do it outside, but we've had a lot of snow this winter and finally we decided to just do it in the garage.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chanticleer </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This time it was just myself and Hubby. I opened the door of the little kennel we'd put him in and carefully
grabbed his feet with one hand and around his body with the other. He
flapped and wiggled a bit, but quickly calmed. I adjusted my grip to make sure it was secure. <br />
Since Hubby hadn't done it before, he asked to hold the bird and have me wield the knife. I had expected this, and had had several months to anticipate doing it, but in the process of getting Chanticleer out some part of me had thought and hoped that maybe it wouldn't be me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Because here is the thing about taking a life: it is easier to do if you can distance yourself from what you are doing (indeed, the farm kills I had seen in my youth seemed to be of this sort). I certainly understand the inclination to dissociate onself from the act of taking a life.<i> But I think that it is important--even vital--to get ones head INTO the space of what is happening, rather than out of it. </i><span style="font-size: small;">The end of a sentient life--as with the beginning of one--should be a mindful thing. </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And it was. </span><br />
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As my husband held Chanticleer's body and feet, I pulled our sharpest knife from its sheath and circled around to face the bird. I gently took his head in my hand, feeling his neck to make sure I would make my cut at the right place. I looked him in the eye. He looked at me for a moment, and then his eye slid shut, as though he knew what was coming; as though he were resigned to it, and knew that he was filling the measure of his creation. I pulled the knife across his neck quick and deep. His death was almost instant.<br />
We quickly tipped him in a large bucket as he bled out, continuing to hold him as his body spasmed a few times. It's disconcerting to feel a body move when you know it's dead, and I had the fleeting fear that perhaps I hadn't done my job right and he was still alive and suffering... But he was not. I did my job properly.<br />
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And that is my biggest takeaway from all of this: how to do the job properly. It's not that I've learned how to hold a bird to kill it, or where to put the knife, or that I've learned how to make sure the blood doesn't make a mess, or that I know how to pluck it quickly and cleanly and how to get the guts out. I think the most important lesson in all of this is that life matters, and that whether I am ushering someone into it or out of it, I will always do it with mindfulness and respect for the life in question. <br />
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<br />Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-14090542022431126412016-03-25T23:52:00.000-08:002016-03-25T23:53:10.858-08:00Holding Space<i>This may be a difficult post for some to read, but it's one that has been percolating in my mind for a few days and one that I needed to write. Writing helps me sort through my thoughts, and this was something I needed to sort. So I hope you won't mind reading. </i><br />
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In both birthwork and bereavement work we often do something we refer to as "holding space." It means that there is not anything particular we are doing or saying (sometimes not anything we <i>can</i> do or say) in the situation, but we stand as sentinel over the space. We protect the peace, the calm, the energy, the emotions, and the simple right to feel.<br />
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Over the years I have held space for grieving mothers: sometimes in
person but more often in virtual space, via phone or instant messages
with someone geographically distant but emotionally close. Similarly I have held space for friends and family members as they labor through the delivery of a child or through any difficult time.<br />
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I have also held space for my children on many occasions; holding a small one on my lap and surrounding him with the calm of my arms and my breathing, and giving him permission to feel what he feels, and also giving my support in getting through it.<br />
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In recent days I have come to recognize the need--and value--for holding space in another way.<br />
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My paternal grandfather's health declined sharply a few months ago. He moved in with my aunt so that she could help care for him, and we have all been aware that he would not live much longer. Early last week we learned that he had stopped eating, so we knew to count time in days.<br />
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Meanwhile, my maternal grandmother has been dealing with multiple health issues for many years, and in the last few years her hospital stays have increased in frequency, duration, and complexity. A couple of weeks ago she entered the hospital, and within a few days it became apparent that this time was more severe than others had been. Last Thursday her doctor said she probably had a week left.<br />
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Last Friday my grandfather passed away. His funeral was on Wednesday.<br />
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On Tuesday my grandmother came home under hospice care, to spend her last few days with her spouse in the home they had built and lived in together. My mother was there with her, and said that grandma sat at the window and looked out at the trees that they had planted and raised together, and seemed to be at peace. She had some good hours, and got to spend her 58th anniversary in the arms of her sweetheart and with family by her side. Today she passed on. <br />
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I had neither the money nor the scheduling flexibility to visit my grandparents in their final days, nor have it now to attend their funerals. I think they will not mind, seeing as how funerals are for the living rather than the deceased. I had time to send letters, call and communicate my love, and I am grateful for the time we had to do that. Now their spirits are free of the worn out bodies that had held them back, and all I can do is hold space.<br />
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This is a different kind of space-holding from what I have done before. My grandparents are no longer here, and do not need me to hold the space for them; instead I must hold it for myself. I must allow myself to feel--whatever I feel--without judgment or guilt. I can hold their memories, carrying them onward by sharing them with my family. I must allow myself to be quiet, to rest, to think, to cry, and to be not-my-best-or-brightest at some things for a while. I must also allow myself to laugh and play and carry on, because the cycles of life continue always.<br />
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<br />Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-79807182515796783732016-01-31T12:00:00.001-09:002016-01-31T12:00:47.094-09:00Choosing My PeaceWe all make choices every day. Some are bigger, some are smaller, some have long-term consequences and many do not. Sometimes we make smart and thoughtful choices, sometimes impulsive ones. Eventually, our lives (and our selves) become the sum of our choices.<br />
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Sometimes we make a choice that seems like a good idea at the time, but which soon reveals itself to have been a poor one for whatever reason. I recently made a choice which I felt strongly was the best thing out of my options. I am not exaggerating when I say that within a few days I began to feel physically ill over it. I pondered the situation and the choice. I counseled with my husband (who can be a goofball sometimes, but is also thoughtful and wise and often can see perspectives I hadn't thought of). Over the course of a couple of weeks I concluded that the decision I had made--which I thought I had made so carefully--was a poor one. I forgave myself and made a new decision. Almost instantly I was flooded with inner peace, and felt certain that this new decision was the best thing for me and my family. It is fraught with complications of its own (complications I might have avoided with the original choice), but the peace and serenity I have over this decision give me certainty that it is better.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PALFCxWCwq0/Vpswlkz2HXI/AAAAAAAAEV0/1-qOAQ-jDuA/s1600/1937203_1284128144935629_6942432329501021559_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PALFCxWCwq0/Vpswlkz2HXI/AAAAAAAAEV0/1-qOAQ-jDuA/s320/1937203_1284128144935629_6942432329501021559_n.jpg" width="229" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In my experience getting sufficient peace<br />
can make up for a lack of
sleep;<br />
but no amount of sleep<br />
can make up for a lack of peace </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We all make mistakes, probably every day. Some are bigger than others. Some have bigger consequences than others. But in almost every case we can take steps to undo those mistakes, or to repair the consequences of those non-ideal choices. We can apologize--to ourselves as well as to others--for the choices we've made. And we can make new choices. Choices that are better for us or our families or communities or whatever is applicable. Life is a pretty transient state. We can fix a whole lot of things if we are willing to be humble enough to say "I was wrong" and "I'm a work in progress" and then change tracks and do something different.<br />
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I realize I'm "vagueblogging" here, and that is intentional. I don't want this to be a commentary about me and my choices, but more of a musing about the bigger picture. (Remember when this blog used to be "Musings of Mommy Bee"?!) I am hoping that these thoughts will be helpful to someone else contemplating choices that lie ahead (or behind) and that they will be able to apply them in some useful manner.<br />
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Take care of yourself. </div>
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Trust your feelings. </div>
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Be honest and authentic with yourself and with others. </div>
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Don't be afraid to say NO to things that bring you down instead of lift you up. </div>
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Don't be afraid to say YES to the things that sustain you, </div>
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even if they were not the things you expected.
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Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-49262160079271471802015-12-13T17:09:00.000-09:002015-12-13T18:27:44.584-09:00Finding My Place<br>
Today was the fourth annual "wear pants to church day."<br>
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I know, I can hear you saying "she hasn't blogged in almost two years, and now she's back to blog about <i>this</i>?" Yeah, I am. And if that bothers you, well I guess you know where I will tell you to stick it, right? Because (in case you're new here or something) I don't see a point in beating around the bush. If you don't like what I write, feel free to go read something else. Nobody is making you stay.<br>
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But if you are here, and reading, I thought maybe you'd like to know some of my thoughts about why I do this, and what it means to me.</div>
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I participated the <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2013/12/god-hath-not-given-us-spirit-of-fear.html">first </a>year, and the <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2013/12/i-claim-you.html">second</a>, and if you are scratching your head and trying to figure out what on earth I am talking about, please go read the posts that I wrote about those two days. I didn't participate last year, actually, because I didn't attend church on that day. I don't remember why. I do know that I wore pants on the first day I attended my ward here in Kenai, and no one batted an eye that day (just as they did not today). No one minds here.<br>
And it's not as if wearing pants is dressing down. (In fact, due to my body deciding that metabolism is <i>not a thing we do</i> <i>anymore </i>these last few years, I've had to rebuild much of my wardrobe, and actually my 'best dressed' mostly IS pants because it's my work wardrobe. But I digress.) This year my sister lives with me, so she joined in.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The obligatory 'pants picture'</td></tr>
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The point of pants day is to stand up in a visual representation of fulfilling the calling--the covenant--to love. To comfort those who need comfort. To be a light for those in darkness. To say loudly and clearly to everyone <i>"I am here, I accept you as you are, and I claim you as my sister or brother."</i><br>
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Over the last few years my relationship with the church has changed. I've written about it here on and off under the tag 'my faith journey.' I know my journey is troubling to most of my family and probably to some of my friends. Others of my friends are supportive and even wholly understanding as they travel or have traveled journeys of their own. I don't know that I have figured out everything, but today I made some decisions. </div>
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Let me try a metaphor. It may help.</div>
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<i>Water sustains life; it can also kill you. It all depends on the specifics of who you are and the situation of the water around you. </i></div>
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<i>They always say that if you see someone drowning, you should not go out to them. You should keep yourself safe, and toss a life preserver or something to them. You should never jump into the water with them. </i></div>
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<i>But what if that person is a tiny child who is not able to understand about grabbing onto the life preserver? Or what if you are are a lifeguard. Then you are supposed to jump into the water, because you are able to be safe even as you save that person who literally needed you to be right there. </i></div>
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<i>Some people cannot jump into the water safely. We do not blame them for the fact that they cannot swim, or have not been trained for this task. They do what they can from the shore.</i></div>
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<i>Some people <u><b>can </b></u>jump into the water safely. And therefore it seems to me that perhaps they have a responsibility--a moral obligation--to do so.</i></div>
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With that in mind, I return to my story:</div>
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Within Mormonism I am disenfranchised now more than ever. My spouse is
no longer a member of the church. My children prefer to stay home with
dad. I, myself, have only attended sporadically for the last year or so.
It was a sabbatical, I suppose. Time I needed for pondering over many
things. </div>
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It has been a long time since I felt like I got much out of my relationship with the church. I have felt like it was a very one-sided relationship, where I gave and gave and gave, and was asked to give always more, but was not receiving even the little that I had been promised (peace, hope, support, or inspiration). I could find those things in other places--and I did--but it was not coming from church sources. So I took a break. I stopped giving so much. I took care of myself.</div>
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I work in behavioral health, and when someone is in a one-sided relationship like that, the typical advice would be to move on. Leave it behind. Find someone or something that gives to you as much as you give to it. So, naturally, this is something I have contemplated.</div>
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It is not something I am choosing at this time.</div>
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Remember the part of the story about having a moral obligation to go into the water if you are able to do so safely?</div>
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The
Mormon church is flawed. There are imperfect people and beyond that
there are policies in place within the organization which are hurtful and damaging. I will be
honest and say that I do not believe in the literalness or infallibility
of many things which I once did. But I also do not forget that this is my
heritage and my culture. That doesn't go away, even when I am deeply
troubled by some of the things happening right now. </div>
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I am also aware of many people who <b><i>do</i> </b>believe in literalness and infallibility, and who are hurting (even to the point of suicidality) at the situations they find themselves in because of it. That is where the metaphor comes in. Because there are some people who cannot swim in the waters of Mormonism safely, even at the same time as there are those who need it to sustain life. Some people will choose to exit the water (with or without help) and they have every right to do so. Some people need the water, even though they are literally dying by being in it. </div>
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And here is me. I can swim these waters. I may no longer feel the need for them as I once did, but I am safe within them nonetheless. I can help others learn to swim (or get safely to shore, if they prefer). I can do it safely and without judgment toward those others, regardless of which path they choose.</div>
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<a href="http://papersashay.com/product/rainbow-hands-pendant-brown-hands/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="http://papersashay.com/product/rainbow-hands-pendant-brown-hands/" border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hE4gvYf--0g/Vm4gIgQKErI/AAAAAAAAEUs/feElfFdITfM/s200/rainbowhands_brown-300x388.jpg" width="154"></a>I can be what I have always been--what I have always felt called to be--a teacher, a healer, a helper. I can be that person who makes the comment in sunday school that was inclusive instead of exclusionary, or the comment that makes everyone think instead of just repeating the status quo. (I've always done that; might as well carry on!) I can be that person who has the knowledge and credibility of being an insider, but who also boldly wears <a href="http://papersashay.com/product/rainbow-hands-pendant-brown-hands/">this necklace</a> week after week, or who wears pants to church, thus establishing myself as someone who is not entrenched in habit or closed-minded. I can be a safe space for those who feel they are drowning, or for those watching others drown and not knowing how to help.</div>
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I do not know what the future holds or where I may go next, but this is where I choose to be now. So perhaps it is not accurate to say that I am finding my place, but rather to say that I am choosing my place. <br>
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Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-14746084846619905122015-12-13T14:40:00.000-09:002015-12-13T14:41:35.229-09:00I'm Still Here<div style="text-align: left;">
Hi, it's been a while, I know. I haven't posted here in nearly two years because my life has moved into a new season and I simply don't have the time. But I will catch you up a little on my life these last 21 months, and at least tell you where I've gone.</div>
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I finished graduate school in August of 2014 and shortly thereafter began working full time in behavioral health as a case manager. I enjoy it and (at the risk of sounding not humble--which is fair because I'm not) I will add that I am really darn good at what I do. With that said, work now consumes 40 or 45 hours of my week, and when I am home I try to put my attention and energy toward my family.</div>
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Also in the spring/summer of 2014 my depression reared its head again. It has done this periodically over my life, but certain spells are worse than others. This time however there was something that helped. It was unexpected, but it was the right thing at the right time and has made an enormous difference in my life: <i>Glee</i>. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XeJgtSZ2Nbg/Vm375gYQ-4I/AAAAAAAAETY/ArSHRm-ImBw/s1600/glee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="134" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XeJgtSZ2Nbg/Vm375gYQ-4I/AAAAAAAAETY/ArSHRm-ImBw/s200/glee.jpg" width="200"></a>Yes, I do mean the TV show. I had started watching the episodes on Netflix that spring, and yes it's a cheesy dramedy and sometimes the writing is terrible, but the musical and dance performances are amazing. And more than any of that, Glee reminded me of something: It reminded me of my own love for music and dance. Somewhere along the way I had forgotten how much those things mean to me. Somewhere along the way I had stopped singing and dancing around the house (or anywhere else). I had gotten so busy with the many things I had to do that I had forgotten what it was that drove me to major in theater only a decade ago. </div>
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I started singing again. I downloaded music and I started singing along with it. I had fallen out of touch with the arts so gradually that I hadn't realized how far I had moved. But now I sing again. I dance again. I feel more (dare I say it) glee than I did for years.</div>
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The other thing that Glee did for me--or helped me to do for myself--was writing fiction. For years I've said that I'm a good writer, and a good storyteller, but that I didn't feel that I had any original stories to tell. (So much for writing a bestselling novel, right?) But then with Glee--because it was impacting me so significantly, and because I wanted <i>more</i> of it--I learned about the phenomenon that is fanfiction. And lest you be too judgmental (because I was too at first), I will clarify: Fanfiction is original stories--sometimes really impressive ones--that just happen to borrow characters. But do you know how helpful it is to be able to practice writing with borrowed characters? Without having to create everything from the ground up? Did you further know that authors do it all the time? Shakespeare hardly wrote anything original, and how many novels or movies are "based on" or "inspired by" another story? Yeah, so everybody writes fanfic. And, for me, Glee fanfic was a gateway. Reading it was a gateway to writing it, which in turn was a gateway to something else... Because dabbling around with borrowed characters gave me confidence to build my own. And now I'm writing my own fiction (working on two different novels actually). The practice with fanfic helped me build up my writing chops--I can write longer things than I ever used to. It also gave me the chance to get feedback on my writing from readers and other writers, and that's invaluable (and good for the self-esteem too).</div>
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So the time that used to go to writing nonfiction (blog posts and then grad school essays) has now turned to fiction. I plan to submit my novels for publishing when I finish them, but I also know that now I'm not going to stop writing either. Writing (along with dancing, music, and knitting) are my antidepressants, and they are working pretty well so I'm sticking with them.</div>
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At first I felt silly, saying that a TV show had changed my life. (Sounds crazy, no?!) But it did, and it does, and I'm better off for it. And you know, I'm not going to be shy about saying it either. Because maybe it will help someone else.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-owhxqX57c7Y/Vm4B8W0Fc3I/AAAAAAAAETo/CCW0ZmB6Z34/s640/blogger-image-810902047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-owhxqX57c7Y/Vm4B8W0Fc3I/AAAAAAAAETo/CCW0ZmB6Z34/s640/blogger-image-810902047.jpg"></a></div><br></div>
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So no, I haven't written here on the blog in a long time. The truth is that I don't know how often I will write here in the future either. I am spending more time in the real world and less in the digital one. I do still see comments that are left, here, and I will reply to them and to emails. I'm also on facebook fairly regularly. I don't know how much I will post here, but I am not going to take it down because I believe that the archive here can be useful to others. I know it is useful for me: both as a reference, and as a reminder of where I've come.</div>
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Shalom.</div>
Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-73164974785420579752014-03-23T12:08:00.000-08:002014-03-26T18:41:37.320-08:00Being an InstrumentWhen I was first married there was a series of visiting teaching messages (for the women of the church to share with one another during monthly visits) that were centered around the theme of being steadfast and immoveable. I remember one lesson in particular which had the title of "being an instrument in the hands of God by being steadfast and immoveable." I talked with the other woman I was with about the idea, and she said that it confused her. How could someone do anything if they were being immoveable? So I shared what had come to me when I read it. A sculptor, potter, painter, or writer needs a tool (chisel, brush, pen, etc) that will not move on its own. The artist needs a tool that will be reliable and still, so that s/he can guide it and have it go where s/he wants. If the painter's brush droops the paint will get in the wrong place. If the potter's tool bends then the clay will not be crafted in the way s/he wanted it to be. <br />
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In order to be a tool in the Lord's hands, our job is to be available, and to be steady, but not to try to do everything ourselves. <br />
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Somewhere in my late teens I started singing in church. Or rather, I'd been singing musical numbers in church for years, but somewhere in my late teens I got up the confidence to start singing solos. I liked singing, I liked performing, but I also have always known that singing in church is not a performance or a recital. Singing in church is about bringing the Spirit into the space. And so before I sang I always prayed that I could be a conduit for the spirit. That the Lord would use me and my voice to speak to the members of the congregation. <br />
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It has always worked. </div>
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Recently I moved to a new city and a new congregation. I had called ahead to find out when and where church meetings were, and so someone had my name...and even before I had moved the compassionate service leader Sister J had called me. She is a woman of generous size and spirit, who knows everyone's business and everyone's needs (because she calls and asks) and then she doesn't take no for an answer in taking care of people. Two weeks after my arrival she called me again, to see how we were getting settled in, and whether we needed anything. She apologized that she had not called sooner, but explained that she had been called upon to help arrange a very unexpected funeral and that that had consumed much of her time. She mentioned, almost in passing, that the one thing she still needed was a musical number, and that she was not sure what she would do for that. I responded instinctively, almost without thought. "If you can find an accompanist, I can sing."</div>
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"I can play," Sister J said. "Is 'How Great Thou Art' ok?" <br />
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And with that it was decided. I was going to sing at a stranger's funeral. Now truth be told, this was not the first nor even the second time I have sung at a funeral where I did not know the deceased; but it was the first time where I really did not know anyone.<br />
Especially in the context of this funeral, where a young father had died unexpectedly, I knew the grief at this funeral would be extra acute, and that music is a powerful medium. I felt awkward and I felt pressure and nervousness that I have not felt about church music in a long time. </div>
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When I was rehearsing with Sister J, she started singing along at one point. Then she apologized. "I got caught up in it," she said, "this song moves me so much. I don't mean to steal your thunder if I start singing along at the funeral."<br />
"Singing in church is never about thunder" I replied. <br />
She hesitated, as though she had not thought about it that way. "You're right," she responded, "it's not." </div>
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The rehearsal was ok, but particularly with the high note at the end I felt like I was not singing it very well. I knew this funeral was important for all the family who would be bidding a premature farewell to their son, brother, and father, so for a day and a half I did what I always do. I prayed that I could be a conduit for The Spirit...but something still felt off. I couldn't quite place it, but I knew that what needed to come through me at this gathering was not like most meetings. <br />
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As I pulled into the parking lot with ten minutes to go until the funeral, I still felt shaky. I took the key out of the ignition, bowed my head, and murmured one last prayer...and the words came to me <i>"Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace."</i><br />
An instrument of peace. That was precisely what I needed to be. Calm came over me.<br />
So I prayed St. Francis' phrase over and over as I walked into the chapel. When my turn came I walked up to the podium and started to sing...and then I gripped onto the side of the podium and just held on as the music poured through me with the words and notes all where they should be. <br />
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
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An instrument is a still thing. I played the flute for a couple of years as a tween, and I can tell you that no matter how shiny that flute was, it couldn't do anything unless I held it, pressed the keys, and gave it my breath.<br />
Yesterday I was an instrument with endless potential but little possibility except in the hands and with the breath of Someone else. <br />
I am grateful for the opportunity, and touched by the experience. Because as much as I (hope I) gave the family the peace they needed yesterday, my own soul was filled too.</div>
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Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-72451086535865090582014-03-11T14:40:00.000-08:002014-03-11T14:41:05.655-08:00Winter Gear StorageI am currently adjusting our family of five into living in an apartment that is a little under 1000 square feet. We were already pretty minimalist about our possessions after several major moves and having to fit everything into storage. However one thing I'm still refining is fitting everything into a small space AND still being able to find what we need.<br />
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One thing we need pretty often is winter gear such as mittens, hats, scarves, and so on. The thing about this type of gear is that when a four-year-old goes out to play in the snow, his mittens get wet, so when he wants to play two hours later, he needs a second set of mittens... this makes for lots of mittens. Not to mention things like "cold weather" gear or "I'll be outside for 15 minutes" gear versus "obscenely cold weather" gear or "I'm going fishing in twenty-below" gear. <br />
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Needless to say, there is a lot of this type of gear around our house. And for the last three or four years it has basically all just ended up in a plastic bin or box... lots of harried looking for the other mitten in the set, lots of "but I need the other hat because this one is <i>his</i>" and so on. <br />
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Then inspiration struck. <br />
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$11 and five minutes of effort later we have everything where we can see it. Mittens are paired with their mates, scarves, hats, earmuffs, and everything is easy to reach.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oZzQMbfBMdU/Ux-P9_H5-3I/AAAAAAAAEG4/DU2qWZfQOyo/s1600/closet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oZzQMbfBMdU/Ux-P9_H5-3I/AAAAAAAAEG4/DU2qWZfQOyo/s1600/closet.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Most of these seem to be "over the door" style organizers. If you have a regular closet door, perfect! Or maybe you can hang it on the back of your entry door. If not, three little nails and a little wall space (as I did here) works pretty easily too. <br />
<br />Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-5748388723091708162014-03-11T11:07:00.000-08:002014-03-11T11:07:03.362-08:00Greene's "Plan B" in the TrenchesA few years ago I wrote a <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2009/06/explosive-child-by-ross-w-greene.html">review of Ross Greene's "The Explosive Child"</a> and in that I explained about Plan B. (Yeah folks, this is a parenting post, not a birth control one.)<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Dr Greene discusses 3 plans: Plans A, B, and C.<br /><b>Plan A</b> is where the <span style="font-weight: bold;">A</span>dult
forces his will on the child...<br /><b>Plan C</b> is where the adult capitulates and just lets the <span style="font-weight: bold;">C</span>hild do what he pleases...<br /><b>Plan
B</b> is to utilize what Dr Greene calls "collaborative problem solving"
(CPS) to find solutions that will solve the concerns of <span style="font-weight: bold;">B</span>oth adult and child.</i></blockquote>
This last weekend I had a chance to use collaborative problem solving to find a Plan B with my thirteen-year old Wolf. <br />The scenario was thus: I have established a household policy that food and drink (with the exception of closeable water bottles) remains in the kitchen/dining area. More especially, food is definitely not allowed in bedrooms. Wolf is well aware of this policy, and breaks it repeatedly. (I only catch him actually eating in his room occasionally, but there are often empty wrappers or crumbs in his room, so the evidence is obvious. And this has been going on since he was four. When he was little I tried to focus on teaching him better, as he got older I started punishing...the behavior has never changed.) Of course in addition to breaking the rule, he also is sneaky about it so as to be able to get away with it, so he's adding deceit to disobedience, and sometimes lying on top of the whole pile. Last week he did that (lying on top of it all) and I lost my temper at him. I decided it was time to step back and bust out some CPS about this.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">oh look, he's not the only one!</td></tr>
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CPS can be hard for a parent, because it means that *I* have to be willing to compromise too. But it's also a recognition that I can still get what is most important to me, while still giving my kid a chance to have something that is important to him, <i>and</i> give him some practice in collaboration, problem solving, and compromise. (Yes I like and still use the Oxford comma, bite me!)<br />
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I began by clearing the air about my outburst the other night. I asked him why he'd lied to me, and if he'd really thought he could get away with it. He said no, he was pretty sure I knew, but he knew that lying would get yelling, whereas if he had only gotten caught with the soda can--and not lied about it--then he would have gotten a lecture. He just wanted it over fast so he chose lying/yelling. <br /><br />Ummmmm.<br /><br /><b>My concern</b><br />Alright. So, I had already considered my position, and I knew my most important concern in this conflict. I am concerned about mess. I don't want crumbs, or spills, or sticky spots, or wrappers, or garbage in his room. I'm concerned about it attracting insects or vermin partly, but I also just think it's really gross to have crumbs in your bed and wrappers on the floor.<br />
<b>His concern</b><br />
Wolf considered, and concluded that he really only wants to eat in his room when he is playing games on his computer because he doesn't want to be interrupted. (The computer is only a few months old so I don't know what his excuse was for the last nine years, but we'll work with this for now and re-evaluate as necessary.) He has no problems leaving his room for a snack when he's supposed to be doing homework! But he plays some online real-time games with his cousin or other friends, and if he's absent from the game for five or ten minutes his character could get booted off the server. <br /><b>Our collaborative compromise</b><br />
I will get him a garbage can for his bedroom--he hasn't had one, but promises to utilize it if one is present. He will handle emptying it as well. <br />He is considering purchasing an anti-tipping or spill-proof cup (with his own money) to use in his room.<br />He has to ask an adult before taking a snack--to ensure that the food he wants isn't earmarked for something, or that dinner isn't imminent, or that sort of thing.<br />With those criteria met, he may take food to his room when gaming. This may be a weekends-only thing, or (depending on his homework load) an after-homework thing.<br />
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<br />
When I raised the point of having to have homework done before playing, he asked if we could adjust that a little "perhaps one late assignment per week?" I gave him a full-blown stink eye and told him I wasn't going to go for that idea. Then I nudged him to articulate his desire in a different way, and he was able to explain that after six hours at school he just wants a little break before diving into the homework. Now THAT I can support. His school day lets out at 2:30, so we've agreed that he has to get started on homework by 4. (Of course, if he is really eager to get to his games, he may change his mind about this schedule, because I'm still thinking no games before homework...but maybe that will be another Plan B for us to play with.)Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-41343301362608010482014-01-18T07:33:00.000-09:002014-01-18T23:43:13.088-09:00The Proper Fit<span style="font-style: italic;">(Public Service Warning--for my two male readers, go ahead and invite your wives to read this post, but it probably won't hold much interest for you... I certainly don't mind if you read it, but it's one of those extra-girly sorts of posts, so proceed at your own risk. ☺ )</span><br />
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<br />
Over Christmas break I had a professional bra fitting.<br />
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Can I just say wow, and I wish I'd done it years ago?!<br />
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For the last *ahem* years I've always carefully followed the measuring directions, and for all these years I've been getting bras that more or less fit...some more, some less... Two bras of the same size would fit differently, and I had a hard time judging how well a particular style might fit until I actually tried it on. The problem is that I wore a size that is not carried on most store racks--I have a small band but a large cup and it's difficult to find a bra in my size, let alone enough options to be able to choose the one that fits the best. For most of my life I have bought bras via catalogs because that was the only place I could find my size, and as I said, some fit, but some did not. The problem with catalog ordering of course is that if you decide to send back the bra, then you have to wait weeks to get a new one, not to mention that the new one may or may not fit any better...<br />
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Four years ago I went to Victoria's Secret and had a bra fitting there, and they told me that I had been wearing the correct size all along (but gave me some help with finding styles/fabric types that would be better for my particular breast shape). I was so proud of myself, look, I've been wearing the right size all along... They say that 80% of women wear the wrong bra size, but look at me, I wasn't one of them!<br />
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Except that I was.<br />
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I was resigned to the idea that no busty lady bra fits the way that the smaller size bras fit on the models in the pictures. I was resigned to the idea that bras simply aren't comfortable if you're busty. I accepted that busty ladies just can't get anything that really supports or really stops the bounce...<br />
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I was wrong. <br />
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In the last few months I've been introduced to a few things by a few friends. They pointed me to places like <a href="http://www.simplyyours.co.uk/shop/page?pageId=3100&cm_sp=BYSfreeformat-_-underwearexpert-_-brafitprobs">this</a> (photos) and <a href="http://www.boosaurus.com/2012/02/bra-fitting-five-signs-of-poor-fit.html">this</a> (photos) and <a href="http://www.divinecaroline.com/fashion/don%E2%80%99t-be-boob-six-indicators-ill-fitting-bra">this </a>(good explanations but no photos) which illustrate what a bad fitting bra looks like...and I realized that I had multiple symptoms of bad-fitting-bra syndrome. <br />
Then they sent me <a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Measure-Your-Bra-Size">here</a>, and said to <a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Measure-Your-Bra-Size">try fitting method 2</a>. You see, the method that many of us have been using for measuring was developed in a time when bras were made of stiff fabrics (rather than the stretchy ones we have now). The method simply isn't accurate anymore. The correct method is to measure your ribcage under your bust, and then use that number (add 1 if it's odd), but <i>do not add 4-5 inches!</i> Then lean over so that your torso is parallel to the floor, and measure around your unrestrained breasts and see how far they hang. Then take the difference between those two measurements. When I re-measured with this new method, "my size" went down two band sizes and up five (<i>five</i>!) cup sizes.Yes, I had a small band and large cup to begin with: now that status was exponentially increased. <br />
At <a href="http://www.figleaves.com/uk/fitting-room/bra-calculator/">this site</a> you begin by entering the current bra size you wear, and then answer some questions about fit (where the underwire lies, how far the band pulls out, etc), and it will tell you what your correct size should be. The answer it gave me was the same as the measuring method on that last site.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.herroom.com/fantasie-fl2831-jana-underwire-bra-with-side-support.shtml"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cMNaU-cYZpI/UtuOQPiSnnI/AAAAAAAAEFM/3N-FALubCck/s1600/fantasie-fan001-fl2831-gsz.jpg" height="200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="183" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.herroom.com/fantasie-fl2831-jana-underwire-bra-with-side-support.shtml">Fantasie bra "jana" goes up to K cups</a></td></tr>
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So then I found a boutique that actually carried my size. (It's hard to find places that carry J cups, but they do exist. Larger than G is pretty much only made in Europe so you'll have to find a place that imports. Use the methods above to get a good estimate of your size and then find a boutique that says they have that size...<i><b>don't risk doing a fitting at a place that doesn't carry your size!!!</b></i>)<br />
These import stores will be expensive. There's no way around that. I tried on six different bras in my size (yes, those two sites above had given me the correct size). I also tried on a few that were one band size or cup size over, just to make sure. Of the six, only one really fit well. Even among bras from the same company, different styles fit differently. I confess this made me a little nervous about ordering additional bras online... and it's definitely a reason to get a proper in-person fitting. <br />
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I paid $68 for that bra that fit. (Yes this means I'm still wearing some that don't fit
right because buying new bras is going to take a little time to
afford...). $60-70+ is a pretty common price for these imported bras, however if you're a really busty person you're going to run into that same price range in most places online as well (and there will be shipping to boot). So you might as well go to a brick and mortar store where you can try things on.<br />
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Places that are good for fittings: Nordstroms, Dillards, and import boutiques. <br />
Places that are not good for fittings: anyplace with a limited size range in stock (including Victoria Secret). Basically if they don't carry bands from 28-48, and cups from A-J (or at least A-G if you're not so busty), then don't waste your time there. <br />
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Always remember:<br />
<i>If anything gapes, or pokes, or bulges, then it's not a good bra for you. Period. Try a different one. Bra shopping may not seem like fun, but having the right bra can make you so much more comfortable that it's worth it to get a good one.</i><br />
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Finally, because I know not everyone is willing to pay those prices, and I know that not everyone HAS to pay those prices because not everyone has the sizing issues that I do, I will mention some places I like to actually buy bras. It's true, they are online/catalog sources, so yes, there is that risk of ordering a bra that doesn't fit well and needing to exchange it. However, at least for me, having a professional in-person fitting has taught me what features and fabrics to look for, as well as obviously what my correct size is. So I hope in the future I will have a lot more 'hits' and a lot fewer 'misses' even with catalog ordering. Because it's awfully hard to find my size on the rack, and when I do there aren't many choices and/or they're really expensive.<a href="http://www.herroom.com/"><br /></a><br />
<ul><a href="http://www.herroom.com/">
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<li><a href="http://www.herroom.com/">HerRoom</a> has an excellent style guide section where you can enter information about your breast shape and size (there are drawings, not photos to refer to) and it will give you recommendations about what styles will suit you. They also have a full range of sizes, including those good import brands. Fantasie is the brand of the bra that I liked best at the boutique. (<a href="http://www.frysauceandgrits.com/2013/11/bra-guide-how-to-identify-your-breast.html">This blog post</a> also has some guides of what styles suit what shapes, including photos comparing.)</li>
<li><a href="http://www.marksandspencer.com/Lingerie-Nightwear-Womens/b/43233030?ie=UTF8&intid=gnav_Lingerie&pf_rd_r=0PEADZNFS6QME3MTRPAJ&pf_rd_m=A2BO0OYVBKIQJM&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_i=42967030&pf_rd_p=257503947&pf_rd_s=global-top-8">Marks and Spencer</a> is a UK store (as opposed to a US Store with european brands). You will pay a bit in shipping, however the bra prices are significantly lower than most of the import places I've seen ($30-40 rather than $60+). So in the long run I think the prices are better. They make their own products, rather than carrying other brands, however their quality is highly recommended and I plan to try them out. If you buy internationally, be sure to check the size correlations, because US sizing and UK or French sizing are all different! More info on that <a href="http://www.frysauceandgrits.com/2013/09/bra-guide-sizing.html">here</a>.</li>
<li><a href="http://www.onehanesplace.com/">OneHanesPlace</a> is an outlet catalog--wide selection of name brand regular bras, very good prices, up to DD and some F</li>
<li><a href="http://www.lanebryant.com/cacique-plus-size-sexy-bras-intimate-apparel/bras-view-all/4043c4044/index.cat?zfSR=1&zfPT=bra&zfO=0&zfL=15#">Lane Bryant's Cacique</a> line of bras have some nice larger cups (although they don't go into bands smaller than 36). In bands over 40 they go up to J, though the smaller band sizes stop at G. They also routinely run "buy 2 get 2 free" sales, bringing the average price per bra down to $20 or so (if you buy 4). They carry a really wide variety of colors and styles though, which can be nice for someone wanting to stay away from the 'granny bra' look.</li>
<li><a href="http://www.birthandbaby.com/">Birth&Baby</a> nursing bras (I posted about them <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2008/04/very-best-nursing-bras.html">here</a>). Also, <a href="http://www.frysauceandgrits.com/2013/12/ultimate-guide-to-finding-perfect.html">this site</a> has some additional info on getting a proper size nursing bra (and has some brand recommendations).</li>
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There are several more sites out there that carry the size range imports, such as <a href="http://www.figleaves.com/">Fig Leaves</a> or <a href="http://bravissimo.com/">Bravissimo</a>, however I have not checked them out yet.<br />
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Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-11505082028748351632014-01-11T14:25:00.000-09:002014-01-28T14:15:43.832-09:00Rising WaterThis morning I was browsing pinterest and this photo caught my eye:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.polopixel.com/2014/01/glacier-national-park-montana-united.html" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="http://www.polopixel.com/2014/01/glacier-national-park-montana-united.html" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TnyrpLATt6E/UtHDvMKXEsI/AAAAAAAAEE4/P9foCsyAIJ8/s1600/Jason-Savage.jpg" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.polopixel.com/2014/01/glacier-national-park-montana-united.html">Pebble Shore Lake in Glacier National Park, Montana, United States. </a></div>
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<a href="http://www.polopixel.com/2014/01/glacier-national-park-montana-united.html">Photo by Jason Savage.</a></div>
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It got me to thinking about rocks; specifically about wet rocks...<br />
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More than once I've sat on the shore of a body of water and noticed how different a rock can look when it's wet as compared to when it's dry.<br />
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In every case, the change I have observed is that the wet rock is prettier. Its natural features of stripes or speckles or color variation (or even just its natural color) are enhanced and given definition by the presence of water. <br />
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When they are dry, the rocks all look more or less alike, but when they are wet they are unique. <br />
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My husband found a large pretty stone in a river last summer and wanted to bring it home for our garden, but once it dried out it became quite dull. He has actually decided that he'd like to put some kind of lacquer on it so that it will maintain its 'wet' look even when not submerged. Because it's a better or more appealing rock when it is paired with water.<br />
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Water is, in many senses, the antithesis of stone. Stone is simple, solid, stable, and more or less immoveable. Water is fluid and flowing, changeable, and sensitive to its surroundings.<br />
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The only way for a rock to maintain the beauty of the water is for it to be submersed repeatedly or at length. In other words, <i>it is immersion in opposition that creates the beauty.</i><br />
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In longer spans of time water can change rock even more, by shaping and smoothing it through gradual erosion. I realize the metaphor here isn't perfect, but I did at least want to give a nod to the idea that it's not just about beauty or definition.<br />
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The point is that opposition, though unpleasant or even painful in the moment, can be beneficial or improving in the longer run. It can show us the best version of ourselves. It pushes us through the changes that refine us.Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-1612316581895385252013-12-26T13:09:00.000-09:002013-12-26T13:09:00.555-09:00Homemade "Poopourri"First things first: If you have never heard of poopourri, please take a moment to watch this, ok?<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ZKLnhuzh9uY?rel=0" width="560"></iframe><br />
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Now that you know what it is, I will just say that it works, and is a real savior of a product for a household with only one bathroom!<br />
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However, it is $10 per 2oz bottle, and that struck us being a smidge on the spendy side. So we did a little research into whether we could create our own. (Do take a minute to look at the official website and note the <a href="http://www.poopourri.com/product-cat/women/#PooPourriOriginal">amusing names for their various scent combinations</a> though, they are hilarious!)<br />
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Test 1: putting a few drops of plain essential oil into the toilet DOES do the job. However the bottles can be a little messy or easy to spill, and it did seem like it gave more oil than we really needed...which makes me mildly concerned about pipes and so on. <br />
Verdict: functional but not ideal<br />
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Test 2: witch hazel with essential oil. This works fabulously!<br />
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We used 4 oz bottles, filled them most of the way with witch hazel, and then added 20-25 drops of essential oil. (If you do a different size, just use 7-8 drops oil per oz of witch hazel.) You can add any oil you like, whatever scent combinations you find appealing. We did one with equal parts grapefruit and lime, and one with about 15 drops orange and 8 drops clove, and one with close to equal parts fir and juniper which my Hubby thinks smells just like a christmas tree. <br />
Each oz is good for 75ish uses, depending on how much you use, so the whole bottle is 300 uses, give or take. <br />
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And, the best part was that this recipe cost us about $4-5 per bottle (depending on the oils), and that included the glass bottles! So that's 1/4 the cost of the commercial stuff (half the price per bottle x double the bottle size). Alaska is not the cheapest of places either, so I imagine that in some parts of the country would be even cheaper. <br />
<br />Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-29664335156878177292013-12-15T13:19:00.002-09:002013-12-15T13:22:34.952-09:00I Claim You<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6EODh864WXg/Uq4TV_on7XI/AAAAAAAAEDo/_EnSyRTJLGc/s1600/pants2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6EODh864WXg/Uq4TV_on7XI/AAAAAAAAEDo/_EnSyRTJLGc/s200/pants2.jpg" width="200" /></a>I vividly remember the day that I listened to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ltdcN1T0Vo">Joanna Brooks' speech at the 2011 Mormon Stories Conference in SLC</a>. She talked about her Mormon
heritage, and then about how many different kinds of people there are
who have Mormonism in their bones. She celebrated the diversity, and then said loudly and passionately "We Claim You!"<br />
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At the time I was feeling quite awkward about my relationship with the LDS church. My husband had disaffiliated from Mormonism just a few months before, and I suddenly found how disenfranchised I felt now that I was in a "part-member home" and had "no priesthood in the home." The kids saw daddy staying home from church and they didn't want to go either. I found myself often going to church alone. I found myself missing church more than I ever would have in my youth. My husband's faith transition had been happening simultaneously with my own, but our conclusions had been different: he was done with it, but I could not be. Mormonism is in my bones. I'm not the same kind of Mormon as I once was though. For so many reasons I cannot return to the safe, sweet way I used to live. <br />
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Being an outsider is nothing new though. I have always been an outsider. As a kid I was homeschooled. Now I'm a hearty supporter of homeschooling, but it made me an outsider at church because I was the only one.<br /><br />And I realized that we make many kinds of outsiders.<br />
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And here's the thing. A lot of people have looked at the PANTS event and concluded that it is about female ordination. Or that it is about LGBTQ something or other (because of the suffragette purple I suppose). Or that it's about feminism in general. Or trying to attract attention and create contention. Or trying to put down women who wear dresses or are satisfied with the status quo. Or about trying to prove a point. <br />
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I will grant that last one. It IS about trying to prove a point: It is about proving that we believe that love is bigger than judgment. It is about saying to all those outsiders WE CLAIM YOU and we love you and we count you among our brothers and sisters.<br />
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<ul>
<li>To the young person who is homeschooled and always feels left out; I claim you.</li>
<li>To the one who is 'weird'; I claim you.</li>
<li>To the one who is whispered about behind his or her back; I claim you and promise those whispers will never come from me.</li>
<li>To the one who is overweight; I love you.</li>
<li>To the one dealing with an eating disorder; I love you. </li>
<li>To the one who has ever felt awkward because your clothes were 'wrong' or 'not stylish' or 'uncool'; I claim you and I understand. </li>
<li>To the sister who is disenfranchised because she is unmarried, divorced, or otherwise "does not have the priesthood in her home"; I claim you and support you</li>
<li>To the sister who wants children but cannot have them; I love you, I understand you, and I support you more than you realize.</li>
<li>To the sister who does not want children; I claim you and respect your choice.</li>
<li>To the sexual abuse survivor; I accept you, love you, and do not blame you for what happened to you.</li>
<li>To the one who is the only member in her or his household; I claim you and support you.</li>
<li>To the one who is struggling to find her or his place in the church; I claim you and I am your sister no matter what. </li>
<li>To the one who has been so hurt that you cannot bear to come to church anymore; I claim you and I love you.</li>
<li>To the one who wears pants to church because the weather is cold, because you have small children or a calling in the nursery, because you play the organ in church, because you have a health condition, because you don't have a dress, or simply because you feel more comfortable or confident in pants; I claim you, I support you, and I stand with you this year and <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2012/12/we-are-all-enlisted.html">last</a> <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2013/12/god-hath-not-given-us-spirit-of-fear.html">year</a> and every year.</li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7VRJtS-NlHw/Uq4Tif1e5hI/AAAAAAAAED4/E_zw7p1Mm6o/s1600/IMG_0930%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7VRJtS-NlHw/Uq4Tif1e5hI/AAAAAAAAED4/E_zw7p1Mm6o/s320/IMG_0930%5B1%5D.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pants for church in 2013</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zl7RqUGkALs/Uq4TekIN7AI/AAAAAAAAEDw/ZUDzSNmXX_Q/s1600/IMG_0933%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zl7RqUGkALs/Uq4TekIN7AI/AAAAAAAAEDw/ZUDzSNmXX_Q/s320/IMG_0933%5B1%5D.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is me actually 'in church' today via conference call. Cuz that's how it is in the Alaskan bush.</td></tr>
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<br />Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-69059832440016425892013-12-14T13:07:00.000-09:002013-12-15T13:13:08.918-09:00God Hath Not Given Us the Spirit of FearLast year, on December 16, women around the world joined in <a href="http://pantstochurch.com/">wearing pants to church</a>. I had mixed feelings about it. I supported the idea of feminists <i>doing</i> something instead of just talking about it, but I had been more in the mood for a letter writing campaign or something. But pants was the choice and so I supported it. I still had mixed feelings about wearing pants myself, but I decided to go with it because I remembered having felt judgmental towards pants-wearers in the past, and decided that it was worthwhile to take a conscious stance against judgmentalism. As I said <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2012/12/we-are-all-enlisted.html">then</a>:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I have never ever worn pants to church. It so happens that I love wearing dresses and skirts, and often wear them on weekdays. I don't particularly want to wear pants to church. BUT, I will be doing so because of this experience. I will be wearing pants to church to be an example to my children that I really do believe that "the lord looketh on the heart [rather than the outward appearance]." I believe in walking the talk. Is wearing pants to church a big deal? No. Will this single event bring about any of the other changes that the All Enlisted movement is hoping for? Not really. But we hope that it will help people to take a look at themselves and their socio-cultural prejudices, and take the opportunity to practice a little non-judgment.</i></blockquote>
Wow, I had no idea what would follow. Dozens of people (family and friends and total strangers all in chorus) told me that wearing pants was a total non-issue, and that there was no point. Then they told me that I shouldn't do it because it was a point of contention and that contention is of the Devil. Aside from being confused about how pants-wearing can be simultaneously a non-issue and a point of contention, my attention came sharply into focus on two points.<br />
<ol>
<li>All the contention came from outside the pants-wearing group. (This seemed to prove that it was NOT a non-issue.)</li>
<li>I was scared to wear pants to church. </li>
</ol>
Scared!! Of wearing pants!! Wow was that a realization. Especially with the knowledge that I was living in a tiny branch in rural Alaska where frankly nobody would care what I wore so long as I showed up. But I was doubly nervous about it because I was supposed to sing in church on that day, and in a congregation of 15 that meets in a room the size of a typical primary room... my pants would be as bold as could be. <br /><br />But then a scripture came to mind. "God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind" (2 Timothy 1:7). I remembered that fear is the opposite of faith. I remembered the reasons why I supported this whole idea. And on Sunday, December 16, 2012, thirty miles above the Arctic Circle at <a href="http://www.wunderground.com/history/airport/PAOT/2012/12/16/DailyHistory.html">-16 Fahrenheit</a>, I wore pants to church.<br /><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a3HIq9PtB1U/Uq4TlrKMNnI/AAAAAAAAEEE/WGaCqtwaHPE/s1600/P1010012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a3HIq9PtB1U/Uq4TlrKMNnI/AAAAAAAAEEE/WGaCqtwaHPE/s320/P1010012.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The blouse had pink and purple embroidery so I had my purple too</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Can you what happened? Absolutely nothing. I sang in church. In my pants. People told me how well I sang. No one said a word about the pants. Because it was a complete non-issue for all of them.<br /><br />Except that it was not a non-issue for me. I practiced faith over fear, and love over judgment. And I will do it again.<br />
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<br />Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-9559824267643516332013-12-06T10:53:00.001-09:002013-12-06T10:53:14.273-09:00Warrior for PeaceNelson Mandela died this week. In response, the interwebs have lit up with quotes and (in our graphic-heavy culture) memes featuring quotes. Yesterday as I saw my facebook feed fill up with these images and quotes I was struck by something.<br />
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Do you see it? Do you see the pattern? Warrior, conquer, victory, front lines, weapon... A man famous for his efforts toward peace is constantly using the language of war. And for good reason.<br />
As <a href="http://hassibah.tumblr.com/post/69113306517/class-snuggle-his-body-isnt-even-cold-yet-and">another blogge</a>r put it<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>News outlets around the Western world are hurrying to publish obituaries
that celebrate his electoral victory while erasing the protracted and
fierce guerrilla struggle that he and his party were forced to fight in
order to make that victory possible. Don’t let racist, imperialist
liberalism co-opt the legacy of another radical. <b>Nelson Mandela used
peaceful means when he could, and violent means when he couldn’t. For
this, during his life they called him a terrorist, and after his death
they’ll call him a pacifist</b> — all to neutralize the revolutionary
potential of his legacy, and the lessons to be drawn from it.</i></blockquote>
As Mandela himself explained<br />
<i>"I followed the Gandhian strategy for as long as I could, but then there
came a point in our struggle when the brute force of the oppressor
could no longer be countered through passive resistance alone...</i><i>Force is the only language the imperialists can hear, and no country became free without some sort of violence."</i><br />
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As a man who loved and wanted peace, Mandala also had the wisdom to recognize that there are times when conflict and force are necessary. He spoke of using sabotage rather than outright attacks whenever he could, in order to preserve human life whenever possible. But he did not hesitate to do what needed to be done to achieve the goals he had in mind. <i> </i><br />
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This man of peace was a warrior, because he made the choices to do what had to be done in order to effectively get the results he wanted. Now I'm not saying that most of us will ever face a time where physical violence is the appropriate approach, but there is a time for talking and gentle civil disobedience, but there is also a time for confrontation and outright rebellion. I always advocate using the gentlest measure that will accomplish the task at hand, but if persuasion has no effect then yes, there is a time for action. <br />
Women in this country asked for the right to vote for twenty years. Then they stood in front of the White House with signs that threw the president's words back in his teeth, Alice Paul handcuffed herself to the White House fence, and she and others went to jail and participated in hunger strikes because they were willing to become martyrs if needbe. Not all confrontation has to be violent, but it is confrontation nonetheless, and can be powerful in places where gentle persuasion was not. Discussion is GOOD and sometimes it is effective (and when it is, hallelujah). But action is also GOOD and even aggressive action has a place when other means are unsuccessful.<br />
Over time some things improve, but do not be so complacent as to think that the world is perfect yet. There are battles still to be fought; are you willing to stand and participate?<br />
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And for good measure, a few final thoughts from a man who should be remembered for both aspects: his desire for peace and equality, AND his willingness to stand up and literally fight to achieve those goals.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hiJRE25r-3I/UqIiyr0XJjI/AAAAAAAAECA/IPpoc9N1F8k/s1600/Nelson+Mandela++Quotes_www.ActivatingThoughts.blogspot+(11).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hiJRE25r-3I/UqIiyr0XJjI/AAAAAAAAECA/IPpoc9N1F8k/s320/Nelson+Mandela++Quotes_www.ActivatingThoughts.blogspot+(11).jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<i>“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed, citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”(Margaret Mead)</i><br />
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Do not be blind to your own privilege. Prejudice is everywhere, and that is a battle that can be won more effectively in individual hearts than in legislative chambers.<br />
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Love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite. </div>
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<br />Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-92014999048060159172013-11-10T11:48:00.000-09:002013-11-10T11:48:02.871-09:00"Loving God More than We Love The World"I'm teaching the lesson in Relief Society (the women's organization) in church today. Here is the outline of my lesson. The lesson from the manual is <a href="https://www.lds.org/manual/teachings-of-presidents-of-the-church-lorenzo-snow/chapter-21-loving-god-more-than-we-love-the-world?lang=eng">here</a>. My thanks to <a href="http://www.the-exponent.com/relief-society-lesson-21-loving-god-more-than-we-love-the-world/">The Exponent</a> for their ideas about the lesson as well (I used several of them).<br />
<br />
The parts in <b>bold </b>are the section headings from the manual. The parts in <i>italics </i>are the questions I asked of the class (and the parts [in brackets] following them are answers I anticipate, or the direction I will guide the discussion into if needed]. Quoted things are indented.<br />
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<br />
<br />
The title of this lesson is <b>“Loving God more than we love the world”</b><br />
<br />
I want to begin by defining what it is to love God, and then move into what it is to love the world.<br />
<br />
In October 2012 conference Elder Holland told the story of the eleven remaining apostles immediately after Christ’s death and resurrection. They were not sure what they should do now that Christ was not there, so they returned to their fishing boats. Christ came to them on the beach and told them that they should not be still fishing, because they should be changed because of their time with Him. This is when He asks Peter “do you love me” and Peter says yes he does. Jesus tells him “if you love me, feed my sheep.”<br />
<br />
[quoting from<a href="https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2012/10/the-first-great-commandment"> his talk</a>]<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
My beloved brothers and sisters, I am not certain just what our experience will be on Judgment Day, but I will be very surprised if at some point in that conversation, God does not ask us exactly what Christ asked Peter: “Did you love me?” I think He will want to know if in our very mortal, very inadequate, and sometimes childish grasp of things, did we at least understand one commandment, the first and greatest commandment of them all—“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind.” And if at such a moment we can stammer out, “Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee,” then He may remind us that the crowning characteristic of love is always loyalty.<br />
“If ye love me, keep my commandments,” Jesus said. So we have neighbors to bless, children to protect, the poor to lift up, and the truth to defend. We have wrongs to make right, truths to share, and good to do. In short, we have a life of devoted discipleship to give in demonstrating our love of the Lord. We can’t quit and we can’t go back. After an encounter with the living Son of the living God, nothing is ever again to be as it was before. The Crucifixion, Atonement, and Resurrection of Jesus Christ mark the beginning of a Christian life, not the end of it. It was this truth, this reality, that allowed a handful of Galilean fishermen-turned-again-Apostles without “a single synagogue or sword” to leave those nets a second time and go on to shape the history of the world in which we now live. </blockquote>
<br />
I have often noticed that basically every commandment we have, from the ten commandments on down, falls into one of the “two great commandments” of loving God and loving our neighbor as ourselves.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When we are afraid, we pull back from life. When we love, we open to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement, and acceptance. We need to learn to love ourselves first, in all our glory and our imperfections. If we cannot love ourselves, we cannot fully open to our ability to love others or our potential to create. All hopes for a better world rest in the fearlessness and open-hearted vision of people who embrace life.” ~ John Lennon </blockquote>
We’ve been told that faith is the opposite of fear, and also that it drives it out. I like this comparison of faith and love, because it goes right along with the idea that if we have the faith to love God, then we’ll show it in fearless love of others.<br />
<br />
God shows us an example of unconditional love, forgiving us our faults and offering support in our struggles. Julian of Norwich was an early Christian mystic and she said “If there is anywhere on earth a lover of God who is always kept safe, I know nothing of it, for it was not shown to me. But this was shown: that in falling and rising again we are always kept in that same precious love.”<br />
<br />
As our Heavenly Parents love us, so we are to show our love in return by serving our neighbor. And who is our neighbor? In the story of the Good Samaritan the neighbor was simply someone who was there, who was willing and able to help, regardless of religious, political, or economic differences.<br />
<br />
<i>What acts does Elder Holland suggest we perform to show our love for God? </i><br />
[neighbors to bless, children to protect, the poor to lift up, truth to defend, wrongs to make right, truths to share, and good to do. In short, we have a life of devoted discipleship]<br />
<br />
<i>How do you show love for God in your daily acts? </i><br />
<br />
[Going back to faith and love over fear…<a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2010/12/christmas-eve-miracles.html">my story of picking up the old man on Christmas Eve</a> if there is time]<br />
<br />
Christ says that when we do something for another person—ANY other person—then we are doing it for Him. When we clothe the naked, feed the hungry, mourn with those that mourn and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, we are loving God.<br />
<br />
Most of us have probably heard the <a href="https://www.lds.org/ensign/1974/12/small-acts-of-service">quote </a>from President Kimball “God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs. Therefore, it is vital that we serve each other.”<br />
<br />
I really like the way that Mother Theresa put it “I’m a little pencil in the hand of a writing God, who is sending a love letter to the world.”<br />
<i>Do you ever feel like God’s little pencil? In what ways? </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>When people allow worldliness to pervade their minds and hearts, they turn their backs on eternal principles. </b><br />
<br />
Now that we’ve established what it looks like to love God, let’s move on to what it is to love the world.<br />
<br />
In this lesson, President Snow discusses a time in church history where many people had powerful spiritual experiences during the dedication of the Kirtland Temple, including prophesying, speaking in tongues, and seeing and hearing angels. Shortly afterward there was a great deal of speculation—financial risk-taking—going on in the area. Many of the church members got involved in it, and divisions and contention came among them because of it. At every level people were leaving the church, even including several of the apostles, all because their focus on personal gain—or potential personal gain—was the center of their focus and they stopped remembering the Lord.<br />
<br />
<i>So what do we mean when we talk about “worldliness” or loving the world? </i><br />
<i>How did it happen then? How can it happen to us now? </i><br />
<br />
From the manual:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The god of the world is the gold and the silver. The world worships this god. It is all-powerful to them, though they might not be willing to acknowledge it. Now, it is designed, in the providence of God, that the Latter-day Saints should show whether they have so far advanced in the knowledge, in the wisdom and in the power of God that they cannot be overcome by the god of the world. We must come to that point. We have also got to reach another standard, a higher plane: we have got to love God more than we love the world, more than we love gold or silver, and love our neighbor as ourselves. </blockquote>
<i>Can someone do their callings, pay their tithing, read their scriptures, come to meetings every week and still succumb to worldliness?</i><br />
[Obviously yes]<br />
<i>Are there people outside the church who are loving and serving and doing good in the world?</i><br />
[Obviously yes]<br />
<br />
<b>We have covenanted to separate ourselves from worldliness and devote ourselves to the kingdom of God. </b><br />
<br />
From the manual:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I thank God that in these times of corruption and wickedness in the world, we have holy and righteous men and women who can devote those superior talents which God has bestowed upon them to His praise and glory. And I might say further, that there are thousands of virtuous and honorable men and women, whom the Lord has gathered out from the nations, that are also willing to devote their time and talents to aid in accomplishing the work of God in the interest of His children. </blockquote>
<i>How do you avoid worldliness in your daily life? </i><br />
<i>How can we help others do so?</i><br />
[working long hours instead of spending time with family or other loved ones, focusing on social status, overconsumption of worldly goods, vanity, intolerance of other cultures, religions, political positions, _________]<br />
<br />
From <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/6.19-21,%2024#17">Matthew 6</a>:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
19 Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal:<br />
20 But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:<br />
21 For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.<br />
24 No [one] can serve two masters. </blockquote>
<br />
<b>We follow the Savior’s example when we refuse to trade the glories of eternity for the riches of the world.</b><br />
<br />
From the manual:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Now let me ask the question, Who [does] possess anything, who can really and truly call any of this world’s goods [her] own? I do not presume to, I am merely a steward over a very little, and unto God I am held accountable for its use and disposition…
Who shall say that the rich, or those that possess many talents, have any better hope or prospect to inherit these blessings than the poor, or those who have but one talent? As I understand it, [one person] who lives according to the law of the Gospel, and is honest and faithful in his [or her] calling, that [person] is just as eligible to the receiving of these and all the blessings of the New and Everlasting Covenant as any other [person]. </blockquote>
I think sometimes we have a hard time translating Jesus’ example to a modern context. He walked around the desert healing people and telling stories, but we have jobs and kids and laundry to do. However there is a modern day person who I think does an amazing job of following the Savior’s example and that is Pope Francis. I’m hoping that you have seen some of the <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/nov/08/pope-francis-kisses-disfigured-man">many articles</a> about him. He may not heal people or feed them by the thousand, but he does talk with them, pray with them, and hug them. He made the Vatican get rid of the expensive mercedes and since then he’s been using inexpensive and used vehicles. He keeps setting aside the extravagant things, and instead spending his time and energy with people, especially those who are poor, sick, disabled, disfigured, or otherwise disenfranchised.<br />
<br />
From <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/25.34-40#32">Matthew 25</a><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
34 Then shall the King say unto them…Come, ye blessed, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:<br />
35 For I was hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:<br />
36 Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.<br />
37 Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?<br />
38 When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?<br />
39 Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?<br />
40 And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me.</blockquote>
<i>What can we do to make sure we are loving God more than the world?</i><br />
<br />
My testimony that serving others makes us happy. Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-21383651997758100352013-10-19T15:56:00.001-08:002014-01-18T23:47:20.140-09:00Taking Up Space<br />
I saw this today, and thought "yes, this. This is why I claim the name of feminist. Because the difference in experience matters. Because a person should not have to live in fear or pain simply by virtue of what's between their legs. Because a life lived in fear is a life half-lived."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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Also, although I very much see this happening on a cultural and societal
level, I am very grateful to have grown up in a home where it did not
really happen on a familial level. A family where I always knew that I
could go and do and be whatever I dreamed. A family where mother had the math degree and father taught school so that he could have summers off to go hiking and globetrotting. A place where egalitarianism
was standard enough that I had been on my own for ten years before I
could even recognize the continuing need for feminism in the rest of the
world.<br />
<br />
So go forth my sisters (and my brothers). Speak the truths you know. Don't be ashamed to speak the unpopular or taboo truths. Do what your gut tells you is important. Be a rebel if you need to be. Take up your space. <br />
<br />
(here is the transcript, in case you have trouble with the video...but it is worth listening, because she speaks it well.)<br />
<br />
<i>Across from me at the kitchen table my mother smiles over red wine that she drinks out of a measuring glass. </i><br />
<i>She says she doesn't deprive herself, but I've learned to find nuance in every movement of her fork and every crinkle in her brow as she offers me the uneaten pieces on her plate. I realize that she only eats dinner when I suggest it. </i><br />
<i>I wonder what she does when I'm not there to do so.</i><br />
<i>Maybe this is why my house feels bigger each time I return. As she shrinks, the space around her seems increasingly vast. </i><br />
<i>She wanes while my father waxes. <br />His stomach has grown round with wine, late nights, oysters, poetry, a new girlfriend who was overweight as a teenager but my dad reports "now she's crazy about fruit." </i><br />
<i>It was the same with his parents. </i><br />
<i>As my grandmother became frail and angular her husband swelled to red round cheeks, rotund stomach, and I wonder if my lineage is one of women shrinking. Making space for the entrance of men in their lives. Not knowing how to fill it back up once they leave. </i><br />
<i>I have been taught accommodation. </i><br />
<i>My brother never thinks before he speaks. I have been taught to filter. "How can anyone have a relationship to food?" he asks, laughing, as I eat the black bean soup I chose for its lack of carbs.</i><br />
<i>I want to say we come from difference Jonas. </i><br />
<i>You have been taught to grow out. I have been taught to grow in. </i><br />
<i>You learned from our father how to emit, how to produce, how to roll each thought off your tongue with confidence. You used to lose your voice every other week from shouting so much. </i><br />
<i>I learned to absorb. </i><br />
<i>I took lessons from my mother in creating space around myself. I learned to read the knots in her forehead while the guys went out for oysters. And I never meant to replicate her, but spend enough time sitting across from someone and you pick up their habits. </i><br />
<i>That's why women in my family have been shrinking for decades. </i><br />
<i>We all learned it from each other. The way each generation taught the next how to knit, weaving silence in between the threads which I can still feel as I walk through this ever growing house. Skin itching, picking up all the habits my mother unwittingly dropped like bits of crumpled paper from her pocket on her countless trips from bedroom to kitchen to bedroom again. Nights I hear her creep down to eat plain yogurt in the dark. A fugitive stealing calories to which she does not feel entitled. Deciding how many bites is too many; how much space she deserves to occupy. </i><br />
<i>Watching the struggle I either mimic or hate her, and I don't want to do either anymore. But the burden of this house has followed me across the country. I asked five questions in genetics class today and all of them started with the word "sorry..."<br />I don't know the capstone requirements for the sociology major because I spent the whole meeting deciding whether or not I could have another piece of pizza. A circular obsession I never wanted, but inheritance is accidental. </i><br />
<i>Still staring at me with wine-soaked lips from across the kitchen table. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i> </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-32469346748182145032013-08-17T21:56:00.001-08:002013-08-17T21:56:47.229-08:00Living Like Hydrangeas<div style="text-align: left;">
This summer we visited my husband's aunt (along with many other friends and family members) during our summer vacation. On the way into her home I saw a beautiful hydrangea and had to snap a picture.</div>
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On the way out of the house I noticed that same hydrangea, now with the sun shining on it. It looked so different, yet still so beautiful in a new way, that I took another picture.</div>
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<img alt="" class="p3-insert-all aligncenter" height="333" src="http://theamethystnetwork.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/IMG_0532.jpg" title="IMG_0532" width="445" /> </div>
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Three days and two hundred miles later I saw another hydrangea in a yard near my parents house. It was a brilliant, vivid blue, quite different from the pinky-purple of the one at our aunt's house.<br />
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Here is the thing about hydrangeas: like any flower, they may look different in one lighting or another. But hydrangeas do something more. They bloom in different colors depending on the soil where they are planted. In acidic soil, the flowers are blue, in more alkaline soil, they will be pink. And they come in a dozen shades in between too. It is not a matter of different strains of the flower either, because if you don't like the shade of your hydrangea you can amend the soil and get it to change color. I have been attracted to hydrangeas ever since I learned this about them.<br />
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Why am I sharing this here when you could look it up in any <a href="http://www.bhg.com/gardening/plant-dictionary/shrub/hydrangea/">plant encyclopedia</a>? Well, aside from the excuse to post some pretty pictures, I do actually have a good reason for discussing hydrangeas.<br />
Like these flowers--like any flower--we do not really have a choice about where we are planted, or about what experiences we will have in our lives. In some lights or circumstances we will appear one way, and in other lights or circumstances we will look different. But hydrangeas are something special because of how they react specifically to the soil where they are planted. Some plants will die if their soil is too acidic or too alkaline, but hydrangeas simply adjust. They take what they are given and become a new kind of beautiful.<br />
I think we all have the potential to be like hydrangeas. Initially we may mourn when we realize that we cannot be the same as someone else's kind of beautiful, or someone else's kind of happy. But our life experiences--where we are planted--don't allow us to be the same as those who grow in other soil. Ours is to work with the soil we have, and to realize that we have our own beauty, our own goodness, our own kind of loveliness. We should not be jealous because we are different, we should be proud because we have bloomed where we were planted.Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-23034276538894497642013-06-08T20:05:00.001-08:002013-06-08T20:06:01.579-08:00On raising children<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Do not try to control your children. </i></div>
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<i>Instead, listen to them, </i></div>
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<i>help them to learn the gospel, </i></div>
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<i>inspire them, </i></div>
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<i>and lead them toward eternal life. </i></div>
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<i>You are God’s agents in the care of children </i></div>
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<i>He has entrusted to you. </i></div>
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<i>Let His divine influence remain in your hearts </i></div>
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<i>as you </i></div>
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<i>teach and persuade. </i></div>
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<i>~Russell M. Nelson</i></div>
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I'm pretty sure I've said <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2010/06/gentle-discipline-laying-it-out.html">things</a> <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2009/09/consistent-vs-reliable.html">like</a> <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/p/my-parenting-philosophy.html">this</a> <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2009/03/concerning-spanking-starting-on-my-path.html">before</a>. <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2009/06/compliance-vs-cooperation.html">Over </a>and <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2013/04/agency-and-obedience-internal-and.html">over </a>and <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2009/04/patronizing-parenting.html">over</a>. But Elder Nelson says it pretty. :)<i> </i></div>
Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-53663262650741487792013-04-15T00:00:00.004-08:002013-04-15T00:01:08.127-08:00Agency and Obedience: internal and external control"Obedience is the first law of Heaven." I heard this so often growing up that I was sure it was scripture until about fifteen minutes ago when I actually <a href="http://theboard.byu.edu/questions/20804/">looked it up</a>. It seems that a couple of well-know church leaders said it, and at least one non-LDS philosopher said it before either of them.<br />
I was an extremely compliant young person. The notion of obedience as the most important thing in the universe did not phase me...<i>until</i> I considered it in light of some other oft-repeated tenants of the faith:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>For behold, it is not meet that I should command in all things; for he that is compelled in all things, the same is a slothful and not a wise servant; wherefore he receiveth no reward. Verily I say, men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness. [<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/58.26-27?lang=eng#24">Doc & Cov 58: 26-27</a>]</i></blockquote>
<br />
Wait, did I read that right? Someone who obeys "in all things" is still "slothful and not wise" and "receiveth no reward" because he did not "do many things of his own free will"? Because that is what it looks like to me. If we are simply compliant in all things, without learning to be independent and proactive, then we are not where God wants us to be.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>And the Messiah cometh in the fulness of time, that he may redeem the
children of men from the fall. And because that they are redeemed from
the fall they have become free forever, knowing good from evil; to act
for themselves and not to be acted upon...<span class="verse"> </span>Wherefore, men are free to choose liberty and eternal life, [or] to choose captivity and death [<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/2-ne/2.26-27?lang=eng#24">2 Nephi 2:26-27</a>] </i></blockquote>
In the great council in Heaven there were two plans, one which would force compliance so that every person would definitely return to God, and one which promised freedom of choice for every individual. Which one did God choose? Choice. Free will. Self control.<br />
<br />
It is important to note that "self control" means actively controlling oneself. It doesn't always mean that you're making the choices that someone else thinks you should. But it does mean that you are making your own choices.<br />
<br />
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~~~~~~~~~ </div>
<br />
<br />
Swedenborg (he was that other philosopher I mentioned earlier) suggested that obedience is the "first" law in that it is the most basic (as opposed to the most important). It is a building block. Without argument, obedience is a useful way to build healthy and righteous habits. But there comes a point where each individual needs to be able to evaluate a new situation and know how to make a choice about it, <i>without</i> the support of pre-designated rules.<br />
<br />
Some people, when they reach adulthood, are still looking for someone to
control them. They feel safer with a high fence of rules all around
them. They look for rules in philosophies or advice books. Religious
leaders and scripture give delightfully long lists of rules to follow.
But is this really self-control? Or is it still deferring to someone
else to control you? I would argue that it is the latter.<br />
<br />
But, but, but, WAIT! I hear you saying, When there are rules, you choose whether or not to obey them. So even with rules you still have agency. You still can choose whether to obey or not!<br />
<br />
Yes and no.<br />
<br />
Studies consistently show that children who are heavily controlled by their parents grow up without much self-control. In fact, these overly-controlled children can be just as out-of-control as the kids who are neglected. (When they grow up, some of them continue seeking outside sources to control them, and others cut loose all over the place. I argue that neither is very healthy.) What children--and the rest of us--need is to have some guidance in how to make decisions ourselves. We need to develop our own ethical guidelines and moral values; we cannot just have someone else's thrust upon us. We can use those other rules and values as guide to forming our own, but ultimately we <i>do need</i> to form our own.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<i>he that is compelled in all things is a slothful and not a wise servant"</i></blockquote>
<br />
So it is not just a matter of choosing to obey or not. It is a matter of forming our own internal source of guidance, rather than relying on an external one.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~~~~~~ </div>
<br />
Some people have a remarkable sense of direction. Blindfold them, put them
anywhere, spin them around, and then let them go...and they can point
north or find their way home without any assistance from anyone. Other people can only do that if there are familiar landmarks or geographic features to rely on. Some people will point every which way
unless the have a GPS in their hand to show them which way is
actually north. Some people can have a GPS in their hand, be looking at it, and still end up pointing somewhere vaguely southwest...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KpfUd1WRwq8/UWuy9XQpomI/AAAAAAAADwk/kqm6waQHl-E/s1600/51q0R7HwB7L._SX300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KpfUd1WRwq8/UWuy9XQpomI/AAAAAAAADwk/kqm6waQHl-E/s200/51q0R7HwB7L._SX300_.jpg" width="200" /></a>Life is a little like that.The GPS is a useful tool (if you know how to use it!), and it can help you get oriented in unfamiliar territory. If it is just a GPS, then all it can do is tell you where you are, but offers no help in where to go next. Many newer GPS systems have directional programs in them that may be able to give you the directions to get home. On the other hand, if you rely wholly on that GPS, it may send you on an indirect or inconvenient route--in other words, a route that is not good for you. Is it a functional route? Sure, probably. But it's someone else's idea of the best route, and it may or may not be appropriate for you.<br />
<br />
Ultimately, we need to learn to read the map ourselves, to read the street signs ourselves, to trust our guts, and figure things out <i>ourselves</i>. It is not wrong to have maps, guides, or rules to help you find your way. But it is very problematic to rely on them so totally that you are unable to function independently.<br />
<br />
And it is very problematic to raise our children with so many rules that their only options are compliance or defiance, and not true agency. Of course we are bound to give them some rules (I vote for as few as possible) in order to help
them develop some good habits. But I think that guidelines (such as
"respect yourself and others") are more useful than strings of specific
rules ("don't hit your brother, don't sass your mother, do your homework
on time, don't put the cat in the dishwasher, turn the lights off when
you leave a room, clean up your own messes and don't leave them for
someone else," etc etc etc...) More general guidelines leave room for
personal interpretation and understanding, and demand individual thought
and commitment to the behavior choice. Of course these things adjust
with age, but even a three year old can understand the idea of <a href="http://brightonwoman.blogspot.com/2010/02/r-e-s-p-e-c-t.html">"respect" </a>a lot better than most parents would probably give him credit for. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RAEni1aNmcI/UWuy8Q4Bt1I/AAAAAAAADwU/GdjVl6FvWoc/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RAEni1aNmcI/UWuy8Q4Bt1I/AAAAAAAADwU/GdjVl6FvWoc/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>you may choose one</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-43597787854956015322013-04-02T20:22:00.002-08:002013-04-02T20:22:49.082-08:00Bedtime StoriesBear likes us to tell him stories at bedtime. (He's six. Three-year-old Eagle usually wants a song, but Bear always wants stories.) He does enjoy listening to stories on CD (the Magic Tree House ones are favorites), and he does like books, but most of all he likes told stories, and he especially likes new ones. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-R1gBRzo2ZhM/UVuoyrubnXI/AAAAAAAADvk/o0rX2OsZ4Ls/s1600/the-500-hats-of-bartholomew-cubbins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-R1gBRzo2ZhM/UVuoyrubnXI/AAAAAAAADvk/o0rX2OsZ4Ls/s200/the-500-hats-of-bartholomew-cubbins.jpg" width="146" /></a>I have long-since exhausted the easy-to-remember ones, the common fairy tales, and the simple poems. I have never been good at making up stories (Hubby has told the boys a whole series of "Sir Reginald" stories which he makes up with apparent ease, but I do not have that gift.) Then I began telling the less familiar stories, some of the more obscure fairy tales, and trying to remember books I read as a child but have not seen in years. One such nearly-forgotten book is Bartholomew Cubbins. Actually, it's two books: "The 500 hats of Bartholomew Cubbins" and "Bartholomew and the Oobleck." They are Dr Seuss books, and I enjoyed them as a kid, and thought that Bear might too.<br />
<br />
So I tried to tell him the stories.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cAOwcPDjrj0/UVuoyeTGnAI/AAAAAAAADvg/t5jHmKet7IA/s1600/oobleck+image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cAOwcPDjrj0/UVuoyeTGnAI/AAAAAAAADvg/t5jHmKet7IA/s200/oobleck+image.jpg" width="141" /></a>Only it's been at least 18 years since I cracked either book, and I fear I have forgotten more than a little. As I told the stories, I regularly got to places where I said "um, I kinda forget what comes next..." so then I made up bits which may or may not resemble the original story.<br />
<br />
The next night, Bear said "Mom, I want the stories of Bartholomy Covins again!"<br />
<br />
Of course he did. <br />
<br />
And the night after that, and the night after that...<br />
<br />
The day after that I emailed my dad. Grandpas are good at reading stories, and he was agreeable to helping a tired mommy and the story-hungry grandson.<br />
<br />
I remember one Christmas, when I was perhaps 11, my grandparents bought us a book of fairy tales. It had elaborate illustrations and was a beautiful book. With the book was a cassette tape of Grandma and Grandpa reading the stories from the book. We listened to that tape over and over and over...there are phrases which I still hear in Grandma's voice or Grandpa's voice, and I can't think of any of the stories without thinking of them.<br />
<br />
Of course we don't use cassette players so much now, but digital options have simplified both the recording and sharing processes. Today I got an email with .wav files of two stories, recorded in my father's voice. We may live 2500 miles away from Grandma and Grandpa, but they can still read bedtime stories to my boys. (And I no longer have to wrack my brain trying to remember the details of books I haven't seen in two decades!)<br />
<br />
May I suggest, for anyone who has beloved little ones who live far away (or even not so far away), that you record some stories for them. Send the books along if you like too, but definitely read them stories. Parents who are tired of the same three books all the time could make recordings too, but I really think that stories from grandparents are invaluable. And the digital copies won't wear out the way that old cassette tape did. Make some mp3s, burn a CD, share stories across generations. ☺<br />
<br />Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-56507077913922001462013-03-26T11:09:00.001-08:002013-03-26T11:11:57.766-08:00The law of the land: considering same-sex marriage<br />
Today my facebook wall is covered with these:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bphm_Al1_vY/UVHkRL9MQJI/AAAAAAAADvA/UxtSE2k39lQ/s1600/562188_10200332001876387_341520171_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bphm_Al1_vY/UVHkRL9MQJI/AAAAAAAADvA/UxtSE2k39lQ/s200/562188_10200332001876387_341520171_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
Today the Supreme Court will decide whether same sex marriage is legal in this country.<br />
<br />
In recent years, the equals symbol has been used by the marriage equality movement and those who support it. I am told that representing it in red is indicative of this movement being about love.<br />
<br />
I have been raised my entire life with the teaching that homosexual behavior is wrong. That is a moral stance adopted by more than a few religions, and I believe that these religions are entitled to it.<br />
<br />
I also believe there is a reason for the separation of church and state. Our founding fathers were spiritual men and I think they were inspired men, but most were not actually religious. They objected to state religion because they saw how it had been abused in Europe. They felt strongly that government and religion need to operate independently. I agree with them.<br />
<br />
There are times when government and religion agree on issues (such as murder), and there are times when they disagree. When they disagree, each should function in their own sphere. Government establishes what is legal in the temporal world, while religion declares what is acceptable in the spiritual one. In this imperfect world, it is inevitable that they will not always be in perfect alignment. Marriage equality is one such issue. I believe that government has a duty to interfere with things like underage marriages (because by legal definition the underage party is not able to give consent). I believe that government has a duty to interfere in cases of abuse of spouse or child. I do not believe that government has a duty--or even a right--to legislate or vote on the non-abusive relationships of consenting adults.<br />
<br />
Ironically, just over a century ago my religion fought hard for the right to polygamous marriages. Sixty years ago many states had laws against interracial marriages. I do not think it was right for the government to interfere at those times. I do not think it is right for them to interfere now. The constitution says that people should have equal rights under the law. The only logical constitutional conclusion that I see for the Supreme Court today is to legalize marriage for any pair of consenting adults. No religious group will be obligated to perform religious rites for these couples unless they want to (and I'm sure that many will not). No religious group even has to allow these couples to be part of their sects (and again, I'm sure that many will not). But I also think that no group (religious or otherwise) has a right to overrule the constitutional rights of anyone else. (Writing as someone from within a faith group that has had our rights stomped on, I feel very very strongly about this.)<br />
<br />
As my friend eloquently put it:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
As homosexuals couldn't possibly do <i>anything </i>to desecrate the institution of marriage that hetereosexuals haven't been doing for <i>millenia</i>, I cannot support the notion that marriage equality is going to destroy it.
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
As "traditional marriage" has very often historically meant as a transfer of property from one man (the bride's father) to another (the groom), sometimes based on affection but often based on convenience, politics, economics, or the need for another generation, I cannot support the notion that our modern ideal of marriage union largely based on love should exclude consenting adults. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I think the rift between the exclusive and the inclusive will cause more damage to society than marriage equality. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I can't support that it's bad for children when lesbian homes have a 0% rate of reported abuse, where 1 in 4 children in heterosexual homes report abuse. <a href="http://bit.ly/aOkzC3">http://bit.ly/aOkzC3</a> I cannot look at my friends' long-sought daughter and think she will be disadvantaged for having two amazing mothers.
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I hope that when Justices go to make a decision, the Constitution alone becomes their Bible. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I am a straight ally.</i></blockquote>
I have heard people speak with great emotion on this issue. I have heard appeals about love, about physical ambiguity, about moral imperatives... Ultimately, the thing that speaks the most loudly to me is logic. And while I do feel some conflict over how to reconcile these opinions personally in my religious context, I do not feel any conflict over what I think the law of the land should be.<br />
<br />
I know these statements will probably be troubling for some of those nearest me (particularly my family). I hope they can be understanding of my attempts to reconcile my thoughts on this matter. Honestly, I hadn't planned to say anything about this today. As I said, my facebook wall is covered with little red equals, but I had no intention of joining them because I simply did not want to engage in the conflict. I was going to stand quietly on the side. But Thomas Jefferson put it well when he noted that "All tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent." <br />
<br />
This is my conscience. I will speak it. <br />
<br />Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-8279756948664412342013-03-10T10:30:00.000-08:002013-03-10T10:30:01.074-08:00Speaking of Faith...<i>(My talk in church today)</i><br />
<br />
I admit, I have often thought it was a little cheesy to start with a dictionary
definition of something, but in this case I want to do just that, because there
are two sides of what ‘faith’ means, and those two sides are what I will be
talking about today.<br />
<br />
The first definition of faith is “<b>belief</b> in something for which there is no proof.” We <i>believe</i> things we have been taught. We <i>believe</i> that God is there, we <i>believe</i> that He hears our prayers. But we don’t have proof for any of it.<br />
The second definition of faith is “<span class="ssens">allegiance to duty or a </span>person, loyalty, fidelity<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/fidelity"></a></span> to one's promises, or sincerity
of intentions.” This <span class="ssens">can be summed up with the word <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">trust</b>. We may have faith—trust—in a
person or in a promise. When we speak in religious terms, we mean that we trust
that the things we have been taught about the gospel will happen the way we’ve
been taught.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KOYbi_SodZg/UTxegol7H4I/AAAAAAAADt0/8LFK3G8tqfo/s1600/do-have-faith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KOYbi_SodZg/UTxegol7H4I/AAAAAAAADt0/8LFK3G8tqfo/s200/do-have-faith.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">BELIEF<br />
</b><span class="ssens">The scriptures talk about some people having the
gift of faith, or of belief. For those people, it seems natural to be trusting
and believing. For many of us however it is not as simple. </span>Thomas
Aquinas, a Dominican priest in the 1200s, taught that faith is ‘midway between
knowledge and opinion.’ Faith resembles knowledge, Aquinas said, in so far as
faith carries conviction. But it’s not the same as knowledge because there
isn’t that physical proof.. <span class="ssens">Faith or belief becomes a choice
we make when our senses are not able to give us scientific evidence. As Paul
says “</span>we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7). If we had sight—if we had
proof—we would not need to believe, because we would know. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rsbIB2fBjvg/UTxegptBs5I/AAAAAAAADtw/3bvaZhQuXzY/s1600/trust.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rsbIB2fBjvg/UTxegptBs5I/AAAAAAAADtw/3bvaZhQuXzY/s200/trust.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">TRUST</b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The Greek word ‘pistus’ is the one that we
translate as ‘faith.’ But the literal translation of it is not belief, it is
trust. </span>“To
trust someone is to act on the assumption that he will do for you what he knows
that you want or need, even when the evidence gives some reason for supposing
that he may not and where there will be bad consequences if the assumption is
false” (<span class="ssens"><a href="http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/faith/">Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy</a></span>). Trust requires vulnerability, and
willingness to give up control to something or someone else.<span class="ssens"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens">While belief is in our heads, trust is
more in our actions. You may believe that parachutes work, but it is not until
you jump out of the plane with one that you have shown that you trust that that
parachute works. When we trust that the atonement has real power in our lives,
then we go through the process of repentance. When we trust that someone is
listening, then we say our prayers. In other words the belief side of our faith
guides the trust—or action—side of our faith. We believe, and we behave as
though we expect results. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">THE
CYCLE</b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Believing
and trusting are part of a cyclical process. It is our belief that leads us to
be willing to trust, but c<span class="ssens">hoosing to believe in the gospel in
the first place is in itself an act of trust. Thomas Aquinas said that faith
showed an orientation toward the divine. In other words, having faith doesn’t
mean that you have to know everything, but it shows that you are choosing to go
toward what you perceive as a good thing. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0YKAkRUF6YM/UTxeg6pZE5I/AAAAAAAADt8/ikBoexJ_U24/s1600/faith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0YKAkRUF6YM/UTxeg6pZE5I/AAAAAAAADt8/ikBoexJ_U24/s320/faith.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">THE
CHOICE</b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens">Terryl Givens is an LDS professor and
author who spoke at BYU a couple of years ago about faith. His speech was
titled <a href="http://speeches.byu.edu/?act=viewitem&id=1508">“Lighting out of Heaven” </a>and I will be quoting and summarizing ideas
from it for most of the rest of my talk. (italicized parts are quotes, the
other is summary)</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens">Some
things are easy to believe. Nobody has to ask you to believe in gravity,
because you have proof of it all around you. On the other hand, no amount of
money could make you genuinely believe that snow is green, again because you
have proof of the truth all around you. But God and the gospel are different,
because there seems to be evidence on both sides. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 303.75pt;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; tab-stops: 303.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It
would seem that among those who are committed to the scholarly pursuit of
knowledge and rational inquiry, faith is as often a casualty as it is a
product. The call to faith is a summons to engage the heart, to attune it to
resonate in sympathy with principles and values and ideals that we devoutly
hope are true, and to have reasonable but not certain grounds for believing
them to be true. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I am convinced that
there must be grounds for doubt as well as belief in order to render the choice
more truly a choice</b>—and, therefore, the more deliberate and laden with
personal vulnerability and investment. The option to believe must appear on our
personal horizon like the fruit of paradise, perched precariously between sets
of demands held in dynamic tension. One is, it would seem, always provided with
sufficient materials out of which to fashion a life of credible conviction or
dismissive denial. We are acted upon, in other words, by appeals to our
personal values, our yearnings, our fears, our appetites, and our egos. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What we choose to embrace, to be responsive
to, is the purest reflection of who we are and what we love.</b> That is why
faith, the choice to believe, is, in the final analysis, an action that is
positively laden with moral significance. </i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">[The gospel]
message [spreads] because millions of men and women have freely chosen to
believe. They [listened to] the opinions of doubters, and they gave a hearing
to the critics. They know Joseph was human and subject to err, but they sampled
[the gospel] and agreed [that the fruit was sweet]. They found reason to doubt,
and they found reason to believe. They chose to believe. </i></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">IN OUR
MINDS AND OUR HEARTS</b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens">As explained by the <a href="http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/faith/">Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy entry on faith</a>,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="uficommentbody"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Some
people understand faith as a kind of knowledge attended by a certainty that
excludes doubt. But f</i></span><span class="ssens"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">aith
cannot be all mental. The reformer Calvin said that faith-knowledge is not only
‘revealed to our minds’ but also ‘sealed upon our hearts’. In this model faith
will have an emotional as well as cognitive side. </i></span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens">Studying and s</span>cholarship
can create conditions under which faith can flourish, but they cannot create
faith itself.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">NOT
WITH CERTAINTY</b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens">(<a href="http://speeches.byu.edu/?act=viewitem&id=1508">Terryl Givens</a> again) </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens">If you
consider the average LDS testimony meeting, you will probably hear person after
person declare that they <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">know</i> things.
That they know that God lives or that they know that the Book of Mormon is
true. These messages of shared belief can be powerful for building community,
but this rhetoric of knowing can also have a downside. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It
can create the tragic impression that with certainty there is no room or need
for searching; and it can create discomfort and alienation on the part of those
who do not or cannot share in expressions of serene, unconflicted conviction. </i></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens">For those who are struggling with faith,
or who are new to it, our these statements of knowing can be hard to hear. How
can someone really know these things? The truth is that—at least in most
cases—they don’t really know. They have faith. They choose to believe, and to
trust, and to hope. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens">Alma says that faith exists when we
simply hope to believe, or want to believe. Choosing to believe, along with
trusting enough to act, is the backbone of faith. It is not certainty. Faith
has never been certainty. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Certainty that
excludes doubt is not faith. Therefore, faith necessarily includes doubts, or
questions. </b>
Lehi taught his son that "there
must needs be opposition in all things," and so it is with belief. If you
really care about your faith, about your spirituality, then you will have to
face a certain amount of conflict over it. Sometimes that conflict comes from
outside yourself, and sometimes from within. Sometimes it comes both
directions. Joseph Smith had conflict, he had questions and doubts. Almost
every revelation he had came as the result of a question he asked. A faithful
people must be a question-asking people. Unless you are one of the few with the
gift of faith, choosing belief probably means accepting unbelief as something
that you'll have to face repeatedly. And that's ok. Because when your
doubts cause you to question your faith, you can also use your faith to
question your doubts. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens"><b>MARCHING ON</b> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="ssens">Like Calvin said about faith being ‘revealed
to our minds’ and also ‘sealed upon our hearts,’ The Doctrine and Covenants
says that the Holy Ghost speaks to us in our minds AND our hearts. Faith includes
belief and action, and also doubt, and also feelings. A heart that believes—or even
that simply wants to believe—can sustain us even when our minds go through ups
and downs.
For many of us, the natural ups and downs—the doubts that come hand in hand with
belief—are scary things. Especially in the context of a church with so many
people around us saying that they <i>know. </i>I’m
sure we have all heard that faith is the opposite of fear, and that the two
cannot exist together, because each will cast out the other. 1 John 4:8 says
that “perfect <i>love</i> casts out fear,”
so then I begin to think about the love—or heart—aspect of faith. Paul taught
that “God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and
of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7). God
knows that we will have doubts, but he also tells us not to be afraid. Instead he
counsels us to rely on power, love, and a sound mind. Our desiring, trusting, believing,
learning, hoping, and pressing on in spite of doubts gives us the strength to
cast out fear and carry on.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have been
through my share of ups and downs in faith. Study has both built my faith and
poked holes in it. People around me have lifted me up at some times and dragged
me down at others. Sometimes fear has snuck in. Sometimes doubts or questions
cause me to hesitate or even withhold my trust for a time. But I still want to
believe, and the combination of my desire to believe and my willingness to
trust are the basis of my faith. I don’t have to <i>know</i> anything. I can have questions. I can hear arguments both for and against the gospel.
And then I can choose.
And I choose faith.
</span></div>
Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5551466722529127235.post-30802556429925973052013-02-27T12:18:00.002-09:002013-02-27T12:18:43.689-09:00Postpartum Anxiety. My Story.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q7D9rfITnFQ/US53MC_m3AI/AAAAAAAADtE/GVgU7xd9zW8/s1600/9726454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q7D9rfITnFQ/US53MC_m3AI/AAAAAAAADtE/GVgU7xd9zW8/s200/9726454.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"><i>I wrote this to be shared with <a href="http://www.mommatraumablog.com/">Momma Trauma</a>. I'm not sure how much of it she'll use there, or in what form, and I know I get different readership here anyway so I wanted to share the story here as well. I just discovered MT's site last week as part of The Amethyst Network's networking. Momma Trauma addresses pregnancy and birth-related traumas of all sorts, from loss to traumatic births to postpartum psychoses. </i></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Regular readers here will know that I
had been through several miscarriages prior to my first live birth. I
experienced a lot of depression during and after those, and credited it
to grief, although I knew that there could be chemical components to it
too. When I did realize I was going to carry to term with this one, I
was shocked to find that I was still depressed. I was depressed for most
of my pregnancy, in spite of being extremely excited that I was finally
going to have a baby. I anticipated that I might have postpartum
depression, and tried to have a support network in place just in case. </span><br id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[1]" /><span id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[2]">I
have a family background of depression, bipolar, anxiety attacks, and
even severe panic-induced breakdowns. But aside from the depression I
mentioned here, I had never experienced any of those things myself. I'd
never had an anxiety attack let alone chronic anxiety. </span><br id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[3]" /><br id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[4]" /><span id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[5]">When
my baby was born, I was jubilant. Our circumstances were actually
really bad, my husband was working two jobs because we were broke, and
it was the middle of winter. But I was not depressed. I was delighted to
have a baby.</span><br id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[6]" /><br id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[7]" /><span id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[8]">But
I was <i>terrified </i>of hurting him. I have eight younger siblings and had
been helping with babies for two decades before I had my own baby. I
knew how to handle diapers and baths and feedings and all those things,
and yet I still found myself feeling scared all the time. I was afraid
that he would stop breathing in his sleep. I was afraid that as I laid
him on the bed that his arm would twist under him and break as I set him
down. When I had him in the sling as I made dinner, I was afraid that
he would reach out and touch a pan or get cut on a knife or something
before I could prevent it. I was terrified that he would get badly hurt
and that it would be my fault. Not an accidental kind of fault, but a
totally preventable kind of fault. None of these were rational fears,
but they all ran around in my head on a daily basis. </span><br id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[9]" /><br id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[10]" /><span id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[11]">I
never told anyone. I assumed that I was paranoid about this baby
because of the years of miscarriages and the waiting for him. Of course I
was hyper-protective of this baby! And I could tell that they were
irrational fears, so I didn't tell anyone because I felt stupid for
having them. By the time he was about 6 months old they went away.</span><br id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[12]" /><br id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[13]" /><span id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[14]">Three
years later I had a second baby. I had not had difficulty conceiving or
carrying him. The delivery had been straightforward and good. But I had
experienced pregnancy depression again, and I had the postpartum fears
again. This time I couldn't justify it to myself, because I didn't have
the same set of circumstances coming in. I had HAD a baby before and
everything had been fine with him. I couldn't think of why I would feel
paranoid this time around, but I did. And it was the same
things...stopping breathing, breaking his arm...knives in the kitchen...</span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[14]"> </span><br id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[15]" /><span id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[16]">Sometimes
real things did happen. Like when he was 3 months old but had gotten
strong enough that he kicked so hard that he tipped his bouncer over. He
had been on the floor and was scared but not hurt. I was not much
distressed by this, I comforted him, and just accepted that he had
gotten too big for the bouncer and didn't use it anymore. But I was
still scared that I would hurt him somehow.</span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[16]"> </span><br id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[17]" /><span id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[18]">Again, when he was a few months old it faded.</span><br id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[19]" /><br id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[20]" /><span id=".reactRoot[26].[1][2][1]{comment162636343889215_469044}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[21]">That
baby was two when I listened to a podcast where a woman talked about
having had postpartum anxiety. I had never even heard of such a thing.
Her case had been so serious that she was institutionalized for several
weeks (away from her baby). I was grateful that my anxiety was not that
severe, but I also felt so validated in my experiences. I wished I had
told someone. I wished I had known what it was. Now that I know (and
it's only been a year that I've known) I have started telling people.
Nobody should have to deal with this kind alone. It's scary and
unnerving and it would have been nice to know that I wasn't crazy.</span></span></span>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01279308378287322473noreply@blogger.com2