Thankful Tree

Every Monday night this November, during Family Home Evening, we added leaves to our Thankful Tree. We weren't allowed to do any repeats so it was fun to go beyond the traditional things that usually come to mind when you are thinking about gratitude.

 

We made our tree out of a brown paper grocery sack and then cut out our leaves using this template. 

 

Some of my favorite leaves included:
Jesus
My Bed
Curtains
Arizona
Dad (I'm pretty sure I didn't make the cut)

This was such a fun activity to help us focus on the amazing things we have.

Thankful

When we walked out to get in the car to take Abby to preschool this morning, the automatic lock wouldn't work. So, I opened the car door with the key. Crazy, I know. Pretty sure I haven't done that since 1995. (I actually have no idea when opening your car door with a button became the norm.) Then, when I went to put the key in the ignition, the car wouldn't start. Awesome. I really wanted Abby to be at school today. There was fall break last week and we missed a day the week before that when we were in California. We had made birthday treats for her to bring and her tuition was due. I ran inside, grabbed the double stroller and the Bjorn and loaded up the troops. I was grumpy all the way there. I was frazzled. I hate when things don't go as planned and I really hate being late. After dropping her off, about 20 minutes late, I started to relax a bit and think about my blessings instead of my problems.

Last night, for Family Home Evening, we started a thankful tree. We each wrote a few things we were thankful for and put them on our tree. Later in the evening, I was thinking about other things I was grateful for and one of my first thoughts was our car. As I was walking home, I remembered that thought and laughed to myself. You become really grateful for you car when you can't use it. So, I decided to be grateful that we've never had problems with our car in the four years we've had it. And then, the ball really started rolling. I'm grateful that we have the means to send Abby to preschool. I'm thankful to be blessed with my wonderful children when there are so many who aren't. I'm grateful for good health, that I could walk to preschool. I'm grateful for patient children who didn't whine when things weren't going according to plan I'm grateful...I'm grateful...I'm grateful.

One of my favorite quotes says, "Gratitude turns what we have into enough." When I choose to focus on all that I have, I realize how unbelievably blessed I am.

So today, I choose to be thankful!

The Way You Make Me Feel

Last night, I was on the treadmill doing a fast walk, ready to wrap up my workout. Michael Jackson's The Way You Make Me Feel came on the ipod and it gave me the motivation to crank up the speed one last time and really make the workout count. I pictured myself as the girl in Center Stage, dancing to this song in front of a giant audience in her underwear (not that I would dance in front of an audience in my underwear but I think you get the point). Thanks MJ, for giving me the kick in the pants I needed. If it had been any other song to come on, I probably would have called it quits!

Perspective

Sorry for the downer of a post yesterday. I just needed to vent. It was a hard day. Probably my hardest day as a mother of three. Today has been similar in a lot of ways. Grant isn't napping well. The girls are pushing each others buttons. There are chores to be done. The main difference about today is my perspective. I have tried to focus on the eternal nature of my family. Instead of dwelling on the less than stellar behavior of my children, I am thinking about the deep love I have for them. Instead of raising my voice, I am staying calm. Does this mean my girls don't bicker or bug each other? No. But they do it less and I am a lot more happy. Instead of getting so frustrated with Grant, I am focusing on the fact that he is just a baby and that he's not perfect.

I know I will have more days like yesterday. I know my life will be filled with different challenges as my children go through different phases of life. I just hope I can keep an eternal perspective--to think of mothering as a calling and not a job.

On Motherhood

I wish there was somebody to take a picture of me at Target the other day. I was pushing the giant triple cart, carrying/dragging two 30 gallon storage containers that wouldn't fit in my cart while attempting to try on shoes. At the end of my shopping trip, I had to hand the dressing room attendant a stack of clothes that I wanted to try on because 2/3 kids were crying and it was just time to go. I was frustrated that things weren't going the way I wanted. It's hard enough to get out of the house. But then, it hit me like a ton of bricks:

This is your life.
This is the life you wanted.
When you chose to be a mom, you chose to make sacrifices--like not getting new clothes and not getting to do things how and when you want.

I felt adequately chastised. Despite what it feels like sometimes, my children aren't trying to torture me. They aren't out to sabotage my wardrobe. They're just kids, being kids.

Being a mom is tough. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar! But, being a mom is rewarding beyond description. My children bring me more joy then I ever thought possible.

It's not always easy but it is always, always worth it.

Mommy Wars

I just read an article that talks about the fight between the stay-at-home mom and the working mom.

http://momastery.com/blog/2013/02/04/friendly-fire-3/

The author has done both and talks about the guilt that comes from both decisions. My favorite quote reads:

“Did you go to all three of those college classes just so you could clean the kitchen and play Candy Land all day? And how is it that you don’t even do those things very well? Can you concentrate on nothing? Look at this mess! A good mom would clean more and play less. Also, a good mom would clean less and play more. Also a good mom would clean more and play more and quit emailing altogether. Additionally, I’ve been meaning to ask if you’re sure you feel comfortable spending so much money when you don’t even make any."

I find myself having a similar internal discussion all the time.

The conclusion I've come to is this, None of us is doing it right and yet, we're all doing it right, for us, right now.

Merry Christmas

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day was never one of my favorite Christmas songs until I learned this beautiful story behind it. The song truly has a powerful message:

1. I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

2. I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along th’unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

3. And in despair I bowed my head:
“There is no peace on earth,” I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

4. Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men.”

5. Till, ringing, singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men!

Good Moms V. Great Moms

Good moms teach their kids to clean up the messes they make. Great moms clean up the messes by themselves sometimes so the kids can play with daddy.

Good moms say "no" when their child asks for candy at the store. Great moms say "yes" sometimes.

Good moms put on music for their kids to dance. Great moms get up and dance along.

Good moms teach their kids to eat the meal that has been prepared for them. Great moms notice that sometimes their kids really just don't like what you made and make exceptions.

Good moms put their kids down for bed on time. Great moms let their kids stay up late sometimes.

Good moms hold to their decisions. Great moves cave in, occasionally.

Good moms encourage their kids to be creative and imaginative. Great moms participate in creativity and get involved in imaginary worlds.

Good moms expect straight As. Great moms understand that nobody is perfect.

Good moms make healthy, balanced meals. Great moms make chocolate chip pancakes for dinner sometimes.

Good moms discipline their children. Great moms show mercy.

Good moms are happy and positive. Great moms are sad sometimes because life isn't always happy and positive.

Good moms teach their children to read. Great moms keep reading to their children, even after they know how.

Good moms ask about their childrens' friends. Great moms know their childrens' friends.

Good moms take their kids to the park. Great moms get off the bench and play at the park.

Good moms teach their kids how to take care of themselves--to grow up. Great moms take their big kids in their arms and rock them and let them be a baby sometimes.

Good moms tell their children how to be good people. Great moms show their children how to be good people.

It's nice to be a good mom but it's even better to be a great mom.

Bring On the Rain

I was in bed this morning, deciding if I was ready to get up and face the day, when I heard the rain start to fall. The lyrics of this song came into my mind:

Another day has almost come and gone,
Can't imagine what else could go wrong.
Sometimes I'd like to hide away somewhere and lock the door.
A single battle lost but not the war.

'Cause tomorrow's another day
and I'm thirsty anyway
So bring on the rain.

It's almost like the hard times circle 'round.
A couple of drops and they all start comin' down.
Yeah, I might feel defeated,
I might hang my head,
I might be barely breathing, but I'm not dead.

No, cause tomorrow's another day,
and I'm thirsty anyway,
So bring on the rain.

No I'm not gonna let it get me down.
I'm not gonna cry,
and I'm not gonna lose any sleep tonight.

'Cause tomorrow's another day,
and I am not afraid,
so bring on the rain.

Tomorrow's another day,
and I'm thirsty anyway,
so bring on the rain.

No I'm not gonna let get me down,
I'm not gonna cry.
so bring on the rain.

Bring on the rain.
Bring on the rain.
I felt empowered and decided to get up. As soon as I got into the bathroom, Abby came in to report that Clara just puked, a lot. Bring on the rain...

Loss

This week, our family experienced a devastating tragedy. I've debated writing about it, but as I've looked online for insight into situations like mine, I haven't been able to find a lot of information. So, I hope that in sharing my story, I might help someone feel a little more at ease.

On May 17, we were scheduled to go in for our 20-week ultrasound. We were beyond excited to find out the gender of our baby and to start preparing for his or her arrival. Before the ultrasound appointment, we had scheduled my regular OB visit. Both offices are a bit of a drive in the same direction so we figured we'd check them both off our list on Sam's day off from school. We dropped the girls off with a friend and went to our appointment.

I didn't know who the appointment was with and I was excited to find out it was Dr. Cadieux. She is our favorite doctor--the one who delivered Clara. We started chatting about our exciting appointment that day as she began the routine examinations. As she was using the Doppler to hear the baby's heartbeat, she kept hearing my heartbeat loud and clear. I was a bit concerned when she decided to turn on the ultrasound machine to check things out. As soon as she started looking around, Sam and I both could tell that something was wrong. We couldn't see the little pulsing heart and the baby wasn't moving. She confirmed our fears but told us to head over to the other office with the nicer ultrasound equipment to make sure.

Sam and I sat and cried together for a few minutes before heading to the car. We sat quietly during the ten minute drive. When we arrived at the other office, they were ready for us and took us back immediately. The ultrasound tech took some measurements and scanned around a bit. She told us that she couldn't find a heartbeat and that she would send the doctor in. He came in to tell us that the baby measured at about 18 weeks. He said that second trimester pregnancy loss is very uncommon and is usually associated with a chromosomal abnormality. This final confirmation was devastating.

We went to pick up our girls. Our wonderful friend who was watching them rallied our other friends together as soon as she heard the news. There has been a lot of sad things going on among our group of friends and it's amazing to have the support of wonderful people--even those facing tragedies worse than yours.

When Abby got into the car, she asked, "How did it go?" I told her it didn't go good and that our baby had died. She started to cry and it broke my heart. I didn't expect my three-and-a-half year old to understand as well as she did. Later she asked if it was a girl and I told her I didn't know. When we got home we snuggled up together on the couch to watch a movie.

We have received an outpouring of love for which I am very grateful. We have a garden of flowers in our house and have had meals delivered each night since the news came. We have had phone calls, e-mails, texts and visitors. It is in these moments that my emotions are strongest. I feel so incredibly blessed to have so much love in my life.

We have been doing as well as can be expected--better maybe. I have actually been surprised by my own strength. We have been faced with a lot of facts and decisions we weren't prepared to make and we are dealing with each of these things the best way we know how.

Tomorrow, I will go to the hospital to deliver the baby. I will receive pitocin and pain medication, just like a traditional induction. This is the part that is scary and unknown. 18 weeks is kind of on the border of miscarriage and stillbirth. The definition of stillbirth is a baby who is born deceased at a time when life would normally have been sustainable. With advances in science and technology, this time frame is earlier and earlier. That being said, most of the information I can find on delivery is about women further in gestation.

Depending on how things go, I plan to write about it, if only to help someone else facing a similar situation.

During this challenging time, I feel so much love for my family, especially for Sam. He has been so amazing, taking time off from school and taking the girls on little outings to give me time to be alone. Above all, I am thankful for my Savior. I know His love is giving me the strength to push forward when I'm not sure if I can.

Kairos

If you are a mom, and you haven't read this article yet, do it now! It might just change your life (or a least give you a little bit of perspective.)

The Truth About Santa

A few weeks ago, a friend asked, as her facebook status, How did you find out the truth about Santa?

Several people had commented. Despite the years that have passed, everyone can remember how it happened.

I remember my moment very distinctly. I had received a new bike for Christmas--from Santa. As tradition went, I headed over to my next-door-neighbors' house to check out their loot. When their mom asked me what I got for Christmas, I told her I got a bike. Her response, "Oh yeah, I saw your parents bring that home." I can still feel the disappointment. Being a pretty late believer, I had my suspicions but it was still devastating to know the truth.

Sadly, my poor husband never remembers believing in Santa. By the time he came around, the magic was lost--one of the sad disadvantages of being the youngest of 8 children.

We were kind of at odds about the Santa situation. Should we perpetuate the myth? Should we detract from the true meaning of Christmas? I tried to explain that Santa was more than the presents. He brings a joy to Christmas that can't be replicated. When I found out the truth, a part of me, a part of my childlike innocence died.

I saw this letter (maybe you've seen it floating around the internet) and it touched my heart. This is what Santa is all about.

Dear Lucy,

Thank you for your letter. You asked a very good question: “Are you Santa?”

I know you’ve wanted the answer to this question for a long time, and I’ve had to give it careful thought to know just what to say.

The answer is no. I am not Santa. There is no one Santa.

I am the person who fills your stockings with presents, though. I also choose and wrap the presents under the tree, the same way my mom did for me, and the same way her mom did for her. (And yes, Daddy helps, too.)

I imagine you will someday do this for your children, and I know you will love seeing them run down the stairs on Christmas morning. You will love seeing them sit under the tree, their small faces lit with Christmas lights.

This won’t make you Santa, though.

Santa is bigger than any person, and his work has gone on longer than any of us have lived. What he does is simple, but it is powerful. He teaches children how to have belief in something they can’t see or touch.

It’s a big job, and it’s an important one. Throughout your life, you will need this capacity to believe: in yourself, in your friends, in your talents and in your family. You’ll also need to believe in things you can’t measure or even hold in your hand. Here, I am talking about love, that great power that will light your life from the inside out, even during its darkest, coldest moments.

Santa is a teacher, and I have been his student, and now you know the secret of how he gets down all those chimneys on Christmas Eve: he has help from all the people whose hearts he’s filled with joy.

With full hearts, people like Daddy and me take our turns helping Santa do a job that would otherwise be impossible.

So, no. I am not Santa. Santa is love and magic and hope and happiness. I’m on his team, and now you are, too.

I love you and I always will.

Mama
http://www.cozi.com/live-simply/truth-about-santa

Is it Enough?

I was reading to Abby from The Friend magazine today and we read a story called The Gift.

The story talks about a little girl, Sofia, who's family in quarantined after several of their farm animals die suddenly. Nobody is allowed to come to or leave their farm. When Christmas comes, they don't have any presents, decorations or special food for a nice meal.

Sofia's older brother surprises the family by setting up a beautiful nativity scene in the woods near their farm.

Sofia is touched by the beauty of this special surprise from her brother...

"And suddenly Sofia knew that it was [a Merry Christmas]. There would be no presents, no tree, and no special dinner. But there would always be the precious gift of the Savior. And that was enough."

I got emotional reading these words. We celebrate Christmas to remind us about the gift of the Savior but is the knowledge of this wonderful gift enough to make Christmas special?

Of course, there is nothing wrong with decorating our homes, visiting Santa, baking goodies and giving gifts. Sometimes though, we get so caught up in all of that that we forget what Christmas is really about.

I hope the knowledge of the precious gift of the Savior may bring all of us joy during this holiday season.

Some days...

Some days I want to wake up whenever I feel like it.

Some days I want to wipe nobody's bum but my own.

Some days I want to eat a meal without little fingers picking off of my plate.

Some days I want to go to Target or the mall and stay there as long as I want.

Some days I want to watch only shows starring actual human beings.

Some days I want to sit on the couch and read all day.

Some days I want to lay out in the sunshine and fall asleep.

Some days I want to go for a walk without hefting the double stroller down the stairs.

Some days I want to clean the living room and have it stay that way for more than five minutes.

Some days I want to do something spontaneous with my husband.


And on those days, I have to remind myself that I hoped and prayed for these beautiful children.

I have to remember how incomplete my life was before they came along.

I have to look at their smiles and delight in their hugs and know that I will never find greater happiness than I do in being a mother.

Only What You Can Handle

A few weeks ago, a couple of my friends were over for a play date. As the kiddos were running wild, we got to talking about our children and their varying personalities. One of my friends was feeling particularly exasperated with her toddler--a feeling I'm sure every parent experiences many, many times during the course of their child's life, even when they are should be "all grown up." As I comiserated with her, I found myself reciting the (probably overused) adage "Heavenly Father only gives us the children or the trials (which are oftentimes synonymous) we can handle." To be honest with you, I used to hate this phrase. I feel like people always tell you that like it's supposed to make the trials easier, like you should be dealing with the problem with a cheery disposition because you must be so strong to have to be dealing with it. My friend responded, "But I can't handle it!" And then, like a ton of bricks, it hit me. Nobody says, "Heavenly Father only gives us the trials we can handle easily." No! Because if they were easy they wouldn't be trials. This realization has helped me to find comfort in adversity. Does this mean I face my problems with a cheery dispostition? Not usually. But even when I'm crying or gritting my teeth or pulling my hair out and even when I think I'm at the end of my rope, I realize that I'm not. Because even if it's only in a very small way, I'm handling it. And before I know it, the trial has passed and the truthfulness of that phrase rings clear. I made it, I handled it and I'm better because of it.

So, to my dear friend, and to anyone reading this, I remind you--Heavenly Father only gives you the trials you can handle. You may have to lock your toddler (or yourself) in a room. You will probably feel like you are at the end of your rope but you're not. Things will get better, they always do.

Invisible Mom

A friend posted this on her blog and I loved it so much I just had to share it.

Invisible Mothers

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store.

Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'

Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I'm invisible - The invisible Mom.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more.

"Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?"

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?'

I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?'

I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.'

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well.

It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.' It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription:
'To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.'

And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.
The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime
because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're gonna love it there.'

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Parenting

It seems to me that as parents we are constantly teetering between wanting our kids to grow up and trying, desperately, to keep them tiny. When really, what we should be doing is enjoying them exactly as they are.

There is a recent trend in parenting, a concerted effort to make our kids grow up--infant potty training, teach your baby to read, preschool for three-year-olds. We want them to walk sooner, talk earlier, read and write and balance the checkbook before they even start kindergarten.

At the same time, we want them to cuddle all day, fall asleep in our arms and remain innocent--so, we shield them from any danger that could present itself.

I try to imagine what kids were like 200 years ago. In a lot of ways, they were mature beyond their years. Responsibilities and expectations were given. Children helped more and worked harder. At the same time, I think they retained their childlike innocence a lot longer. When they weren't working, they were playing--really playing. Not watching t.v. No Angry Birds (though I'm certain there were activities involving birds and shooting--boys will be boys.) Just imaginative, active playing.

Now, it's naive to think that kids, even 200 years ago, didn't have struggles. There has always been gossip and bullying, lust and jealously but it has never been so easy do to these things and there has never been a means by which to indulge in these behaviors anonymously.

I worry about my kids--that they will learn things they should never learn, that they will act ways they should never act. It's terrifying. Sometimes I want to lock them away, throw away the t.v. and the computer and just let them be little for as long as I possibly can. But alas, as Abby has informed me numerous times, they have to grow up.

I want to do my best to enjoy my children exactly as they are. No more wishing away the baby days and then longing for them when they are past. And in enjoying them as they are, I can be that much more in tune with their needs--to protect them from things they should never see and to guide them through situations they must face.

The Way to Live

I've always loved this quote, attributed to Mother Teresa:

People are often unreasonable, irrational and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

I always feel more joy when I am living my life to please myself, my family and most importantly, my Heavenly Father. When we worry what other people are going to think of our actions, it often stifles our willingness to be better, to reach out and to grow. Like this quote says, no matter what we do, it will never be enough to impress everyone. So, why don't we stop trying? Easier said than done, I know, but why don't we all work on it together...

The Road Not Taken

I often find myself thinking about this quote, which President Thomas S. Monson, prophet of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, has used in several of his addresses:

"In Lewis Carroll’s classic Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Alice finds herself coming to a crossroads with two paths before her, each stretching onward but in opposite directions. She is confronted by the Cheshire Cat, of whom she asks, “Which path shall I take?”

The cat answers: “That depends where you want to go. If you do not know where you want to go, it doesn’t really matter which path you take!”"

I feel as though I've always felt fairly certain of where I want to go and, therefore, which path I need to take. And, when I reflect on my life, and the path I have travelled, I think of Robert Frost's poem, The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
and sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
and having perhaps the better claim
because it was grassy and wanted wear;
though as for that, the passing there
had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
in leaves no feet had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less travelled by,
and that has made all the difference

I think about my friends from my teenage years, those with whom I felt the deepest connection with, and I can't help but realize how different our lives have become. There is no telling who's life is "better" or "more fulfilling" as we are all on a different journey. But, it is amazing to see how far apart we can become as we each choose a different way to go.

Some people are surprised about the path I have chosen. Some feel that I am wasting my talents spending my time in the home rather than in the work place. But, as I am about to bring another child into this world, my confidence in my path is even more solidified. I was born to be a mother and I know that as my journey comes to an end, I will look back without regret.

The road less travelled by is perfect and beautiful and there's nowhere I would rather be.

Everybody Leaves...

Now, if you're really awesome, you know that "Everybody Leaves" is kind of a catchphrase of Peyton from One Tree Hill (my not-so-guilty pleasure). Now, Peyton has a tragic life, but I always thought her attitude was still overly negative and super depressing. But, in the past week, I've been thinking a lot about the idea of "leaving" and I've come to the realization that our lives are kind of all about leaving.

We start out with a big one--leaving our Heavenly Father and the total security that comes with living in the presence of our Creator.

Then, our life has a constant theme...friends move, loved ones die, we move away from our families. Eventually, everybody leaves.

If you look back on all of the people who have left you and the ones you have left, it can leave you feeling kind of empty, like there is really nobody who you can rely on. But, there is somebody who will never leave you. We all have a Savior that loves us. He's been through all of our pains and sorrows and He will never leave us. That knowledge has been such a comfort to me throughout my life.

I am so grateful to know that when I leave this world, I will get to return to my Heavenly Father and have that total security again. I will be with my family and friends and none of them will ever leave me again!

Note: This post didn't end up being what I intended it to be but it ended up being exactly what I needed it to be. Thanks for "listening."