Sometimes I show up at church with a bunch of baggage: stuff at home, stress of inadequacies, feeling sapped. While I know people are looking for healing, love and acceptance, it can feel so hard to get to church with all my munchkins...let alone smile at anyone or even just smile in general!
This last Sunday, as I walked down the hall and through my mind rushed all the people whose names I had forgotten, all those things I hadn't done and the ways people should and could despise me, --thoughts that usually cause me to shrink within myself--another thought drifted into my consciousness: "Think rice, Mary...love the rice."
I did. I pictured those silly little jars of clean rice marked "love" and transferred that love to every person I passed. It is crazy how something so small can make such a difference. All of a sudden I was seeing people I loved and it was easy to smile. I felt such joy, such gladness at simply being there with people I loved. Sometimes I get so pre-occupied with all the stupid and offensive things that I say or the ways what I say could be taken, I get caught up in a little ball of stress that doesn't want to say or do anything with anyone. This jar thing has been miraculous at helping me. It is amazing how when you just feel love for others, your pre-occupation with self and your own limitations disappear.
Jars of rice. Seeing people with love...pure, unmerited, unearned love...love that doesn't need to be merited, love that doesn't need to be earned.
You know something? I have been doing the same thing when looking at myself in the mirror in the morning too, and that has been kind of crazy. I am becoming more and more okay with myself, who I am and what I do. I am human. I make mistakes, but I am also lovable and happy and kind. I try really hard and I do love people. Silly how our deep love and concern for others can take a twisted turn and become a burden and a challenge. The pure love we can direct at others through this process of just visualizing love is beautiful.
Maybe this love we feel is the gift spoken of in Moroni 7, just after the passage on "charity":
Wherefore, my beloved brethren, apray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are truebfollowers of his Son, Jesus Christ; that ye may become the sons of God; that when he shall appear we shall cbe like him, for we shall see him as he is; that we may have this hope; that we may be dpurified even as he is pure. Amen.
I woke up a couple Sundays ago thinking about how much I love my kids.
You know, there is something about kids that makes them so lovable, despite their obvious "shortcomings": picking their nose, not washing their hands, not speaking "correctly," unique clothing styles, needing naps :). As I thought about this more, this "unconditional love" people generally show toward children, I realized we don't really consider them "shortcomings" when they are little...we just realize that there are certain things they haven't figured out yet and give them latitude (for the most part). We just love and support them and figure that they will "get it" eventually.
But somehow we have put a time-limit to how long we can tolerate this learning process. When adults--or even older teenagers--exhibit weaknesses (bodily noises, grooming patterns, behavioral peculiarities, deficiencies in education or experience), they are no longer cute. Somehow, we stop loving the person quite as completely as we would a child in that same state and we judge. "Surely," we think, "they should have learned this by now."
Why is that?
This realization has caused me to consider more deeply the admonition to "be as little children"; perhaps it could be extended to loving others completely, not "in spite of their weaknesses" but not even seeing their weaknesses?
45 And acharity suffereth long, and is bkind, and cenvieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily dprovoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
46 Wherefore, my beloved brethren, if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth. Wherefore, cleave unto charity, which is the greatest of all, for all things must fail—
47 But acharity is the pure blove of Christ, and it endurethcforever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.
It is so easy to be comfortable around children. They accept you for who you are. They forgive quickly. Their needs are met simply. Their thought processes about others is not complicated. We could learn so much from children: to be more like them and to love others as they do. Let's stop putting a time-limit on when people should be "done" progressing, stop making a point at which our incomplete learning is now a short-coming.
Now, perhaps the hardest part is allowing this extended learning period for ourselves? "I just haven't got it yet" sounds a lot better than "this is a weakness I have" or "I am just so stupid! Everyone else..."
One of the most powerful moments in "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader" is missing in the movie.
It is the part where Eustace changes from a dragon into a boy...with the significant help of Aslan. If you will remember, Eustace was turned into a dragon after succumbing to greed and putting on a magic circlet on his arm. He is miserable as he realizes this selfish, sinful choice has possibly separated him from humankind forever. He cries himself to sleep one night, resigned to this awful fate and then has the following experience. This is in his words as he retells it to his friends:
“Then the lion said — but I don’t know if it spoke — You will have to let me undress you. I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you, but I was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.
“The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was jut the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. You know — if you’ve ever picked the scab of a sore place. It hurts like billy-oh but it is such fun to see it coming away.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” said Edmund.
“Well, he peeled the beastly stuff right off – just as I thought I’d done it myself the other three times, only they hadn’t hurt – and there it was lying on the grass, only ever so much thicker, and darker, and more knobbly-looking than the others had been. And there was I smooth and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been. Then he caught hold of me – I didn’t like that much for I was very tender underneath now that I’d no skin on — and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but only for a moment. After that it became perfectly delicious and as soon as I started swimming and splashing I found that all the pain had gone from my arm. And then I saw why. I’d turned into a boy again. . . .”
I read these books several times in my youth and the imagery of this scene has always remained with me, the painful peeling off of layers to the tender, smooth, delicious self.
Through the past few months, as I have struggled with facing the probing question "what lack I yet?" and God's merciful yet often painful answers, to my mind has come this image: “The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was jut the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. You know — if you’ve ever picked the scab of a sore place. It hurts like billy-oh but it is such fun to see it coming away.”
The process has been painful--it hurts like "billy-oh!"--but has been such fun to see it coming away. I am still peeling and know I have far to go to be like my Savior, but the layers underneath are looking beautiful. I am so grateful for my Savior who is doing the peeling...who knows just how much I can handle and who sends me refreshment to restore me through the mercy and forgiveness of Him and others around me, others whom I have hurt or offended. I pray He will remain with me to shape me into the tender, new creature that is His.
It has been quite a learning curve these last few days. This "what lack I yet" personal question to God has had some pretty deep answers:
-I need to treat my husband not only as my friend, but as a real person...not a wall to lash out at when things go wrong.
-I need to start treating my oldest son more consistently as an adult.
-I need to be still.
I see my children move around, in constant motion, and have felt to ask them to learn the art of stillness. However, yesterday, I started seeing myself reflected in their busy motions. We need to be more still. My children need it. I need to stop planning things for a while, stop getting our family in motion to do, do, do. I am not that kind of person that necessarily enjoys busy-ness, but I feel compelled to do it as I see many needs around me and the many desires of my children to do different things.
As I have reflectively observed myself and my intentions, I find that I do seek to be busy, equating busy with valuable, with productive, with "being my best." It is true that I am busy doing awesome and meaningful things. However, the lesson right now seems to be to learn stillness. To learn gentleness. To learn quiet: quiet of spirit.
I have seen that I am really a gentle person underneath all those layers of brusque-ness and initiative and drive. Maybe I have felt that I have had to fight this gentle person within to be what God wants me to be. Maybe I am wrong...maybe.
"What is the point?" This question has been at the forefront of my thoughts lately, and I almost feel myself going through my days as a third-party observer as I ponder the point and direction of my days. My musings about time go ever onward or ever deeper...I am not sure which. Time. God exists outside of our human limitation of 24 hours, and yet He has us live with this limitation. Why? I wonder if it is because when we are resurrected and eternally progressing, without the limitation of time constraints, we need to have already established what is important...what are we going to be doing with that existence: that Time without Time. No 24 hour cycle. No minute to minute demands. No schedule? Maybe that is part of what this life is all about: to help us decide what matters most. To allow us to feel, through trial and error, what makes us happy and what would we do with our limitless existence? I have been thinking about this as I schedule a day full of items...and miss the mark with much of the timings. How much does it matter, I wonder. How "structured" do I need to be? As a homeschooling mom, I have a lot of autonomy. While the burden of stewardship over my children's education is ever-present, I am at my own discretion as to how to best conduct it. I have been experimenting with being strict with time and with being looser in my strictness with my schedules...to no satisfaction. I am afraid the "times and seasons" rule still applies and, as my dear Quinn would put it, I must decide that on a case by case situation. I always have a loose structure of my time, something in my homeschooling circles called "Structure Time, not Content": I schedule basic breakfast time, morning ideas, lunch time, afternoon quiet time and ideas, dinner time, and any officially scheduled items in the day. Some of my children panic when they wake up and see nothing on the board for the day...or, worst yet, the schedule from four day ago still up on it. But I digress... What is the point? What is the most important thing for my kids to learn? What is my role in all of this? Am I a home-improvement expert? Am I a homeschooling goddess that spends her day from sun-up to sun-down teaching and inspiring my children? Am I an environment creator, producing amazing and healthy meals and protecting the spirituality of our home? Do I schedule meaningful field trips? Do we invite others to join us, to bless and be blessed by us or do we cherish quiet times alone? I am sensing a pattern in all of this as I write this. I am too much an "all or nothing" kind of gal. I like to "pre-program" my life: make the decision for the week on Sunday and then move forward on automatic pilot. Maybe this is because of the barrage of suggestions, questions and comments that I get from my darlin's all day long :).
I also continually toss around in my mind "good, better, best": evaluating and then second-guessing every stinkin' choice I make with my day...and it gets exhausting!
The other day, as I stood up from one task, doubting my choice in doing it and over-analyzing the next one, I berated myself for most likely not doing enough.
"Father!" I cried out. "I cannot do this any more!!! I am so tired of feeling like I am not enough! Like I am already behind and can never do enough! Please help me and tell me what to do next!!"
I stopped. I listened.
"What if I told you that you have already done everything I wanted you to do for the day, Mary?"
Shock.
It was only 12:30 pm. What?
"Mary. You have already done everything I wanted you to do for the day. The rest of the day is yours."
I broke down, in tears, as peace washed over me...a hugely unreal and unusual feeling for me.
This experience has really made me wonder how much of my "frantic doing" is necessary and how much God really wants me to do. I feel more and more that He wants me to chose, to figure things out, to start making those awesome decisions of how I will create and how I will spend my time and who I want to become. And then enjoy it :).
Whatever it is, I have been really considering what I should be engaged in doing, how I should be thinking, serving and loving. Tonight, I had a little "music therapy" while I pondered in a deliciously quiet house...and fed my adorably pudgy little six month old his evening dosage of solids. I included the songs just in case someone else could benefit from my "line-up."
I was having a hard time with loving someone and realized that I needed to love them for them...and show them true charity..."what love really means." Is this not what I want for myself? What does that kind of love look like? This is a huge part of why we are on this earth. Relationships. Helping others come to Christ. Really loving, accepting, and helping others on this earth to fulfill their destiny...and just feeling loved.
What would I do tomorrow if I knew that I was dying?
Cool thing: I don't think I would change anything...makes me think.
I am having a "picnic" with my little girls, playing Monopoly with my "middles," taking a walk with my girls and babies after lunch, enjoying St. Lucia's Day courtesy of Avot (her last time before her mission...darn it and good all at the same time!). Friends are coming over for dinner...which they are bringing, and my husband works at home so I get to see my best friend all day long. I have an adorable baby, kids to snuggle and a house that keeps me warm and dry and in which we are making progress (drywall almost done in the dining room!). Lek just finished his ACT and has big plans for mission and college, just completing an awesome and inspiring talk in church today.
The Goob makes me laugh...and everyone else. (After that episode above...you know, the crying one? He came bounding up, going on about some delightful Drew-ish thing or another and then saw my face. He stopped mid-word and his blue eyes widened, "What's wrong?!" The dramatic pause of it all made me burst out laughing. "Oh, I am so sorry! What did I do?!" he apologized. I just kept laughing. Love that guy.)
Liliputian nurtures and loves me and everyone around her, Pipalicious is just delicious, Hava is a warm, snuggly bundle of joy, Papaya brings life and light to everything, not to mention her ability to play longer with her baby brother than any Energizer Bunny, and Spooner is just a doll.
Heaven, right? Why am I still grumpy sometimes? Is it enough to just sit and enjoy this bounty? What about all those Christmas cards--spreading love and joy, those last-minute presents I haven't finished, the messes, the laundry, the dishes...the poor, the needy, the dear ones that are suffering all around me?
Enough, Mary. Back to calm :).
I can only imagine...what it would be like. It really puts everything in perspective.
I am living. Every day. It means something: to sit, to snuggle, to love, to reach out, to share, to weep, to laugh. I am living. And one for my little angel in heaven:
Good night, my friends and family. Thanks for bringing beauty to my life. If for nothing else, I am looking forward to heaven when I get to sit down with all of you and "catch up." :)
Yesterday morning, I began the day by listening to my "conference talk of the week," an idea I got from a friend at church. As the talk I had selected finished, I was still working in the kitchen and my hands were busy so I went onto the next one,..and then the next one.
Elder Bednar's voice, that calm and powerful voice, began to speak about his brethren who had died, paying loving tribute to them. He then brought up the concern of many that our Church is led by old men. His response was thoughr-provoking:
President Hinckley [said], “Isn’t it wonderful to have a man of maturity at the head, a man of judgment who isn’t blown about by every wind of doctrine?” (broadcast on Apr. 7, 1996)...
Several years ago I spent a Sunday afternoon with Elder Hales in his home as he was recovering from a serious illness. We discussed our families, our quorum responsibilities, and important experiences.
At one point I asked Elder Hales, “You have been a successful husband, father, athlete, pilot, business executive, and Church leader. What lessons have you learned as you have grown older and been constrained by decreased physical capacity?”
Elder Hales paused for a moment and responded, “When you cannot do what you have always done, then you only do what matters most.”
I was struck by the simplicity and comprehensiveness of his answer. My beloved apostolic associate shared with me a lesson of a lifetime—a lesson learned through the crucible of physical suffering and spiritual searching.
The limitations that are the natural consequence of advancing age can in fact become remarkable sources of spiritual learning and insight.The very factors many may believe limit the effectiveness of these servants can become some of their greatest strengths. Physical restrictions can expand vision. Limited stamina can clarify priorities. Inability to do many things can direct focus to a few things of greatest importance.
Yesterday, I was faced with so many of the limitations that I face:
-many demands on my time and attention
-a idealistic vision of what I want to happen for my children and homeschooling and continuous inability to do it all, however well-meaning, inspired or necessary I feel it may be
-exhaustion from being up some of the night with a teething baby
-children who have dreams and visions of their own that don't always coincide with mine at the moment
...basically not enough time and energy to do "it all." Yah. Go figure. Maybe this sounds familiar?
Bednar's words floated around in my head as I busily and earnestly went through my day, trying to stop and meet a need here and meet a need there in my quest to "get it done."
In the evening, Liliputian came up to me and cheerfully said, "Should we start packing for the Moores' house (our Thanksgiving destination)?"
"No!" I snapped abruptly. "We are out of time. I have spent all day trying to help and work and now we simply don't have enough time." She walked away, crest-fallen.
Now my Lily is a treasure, one who takes care of others and (for the most part) works hard at her many stewardships. She is soft in her answers, loving in her support of those who are hurt in our home, and one who continually reaches out to me to make my perceived burdens lighter. My answer (and attitude!) were utterly unfair to her. But I didn't leave it at that! I went into her later and continued to dump on her my grown-up frustrations with my limited time and ability, my intuitive guilty recognition that, somehow, I had missed the point of Bednar's message making me upset...and I was taking it out on her sensitive twelve-year old heart.
Seeing her tear-rimmed eyes at scriptures later that night touched me to the quick, and I strove to heal what I had hurt. Loving soul that she is, she forgave me, but I could still see lingering doubts as to her self-worth and value in my eyes.
As I sat up nursing my baby in those precious, reflective nighttime hours later that night, my thoughts wandered back to Bednar's message. What was truly important? Or, to rephrase Elder Hales poignant statement:
“When you cannot do what you [would like to get done], ...what matters most?”
The Spirit gently whispered, "What matters most is to nurture your children. Not make pies. Not make rolls. Not rearrange and paint and clean the house. You will always have something more to do. I gave you endless possibility of what you could do with your time so that you could discover and practice at and learn what truly matters most.
"You can use those activities as canvases to include your children in, to teach them and spend time with them and inspire them. But they, your children are the reason why you are doing it. And when you are doing it at their expense, you are not doing 'what matters most.'
Last night as I lay awake after nursing the baby at 2 am, my mind exploded with ideas about the next day, upcoming events and other odds and ends. Fabulous ideas. Ideas that often disappear by morning.
Yet, as soon as I wake up, I seem to lack that clarity, that focus, that vision.
There is something about those midnight hours that are time-less for me, that allow me to step outside of the weight of driving accountability for how I spend each minute...a weight that often creates anxiety within myself as I obsess over the "good, better, best" of each moment.
I don't like obsessing, I don't like anxiety. I like the calm stillness, the peace within that I feel in the middle of the night that steps outside of the whirlwind advance of daytime hours.
Hmmm...want to figure out how to do that. Daily magnesium supplements has definitely helped. :)
Perhaps I got my answer yesterday as I listened to 2 Nephi 9 during the "organizing" hours before church. Jacob goes over the span of the world's existence, from the opening powerful scenes of creation to the wind-up victory of Christ and God over the world. Trust in God. Trust in His power. We know the end and that should give us hope that as we put our trust, our faith, our focus on Him and how He would have us live our lives, we can know the end will be amazing.
Isn't that why I stew and fret? Fearing that by some action today I may set in motion destructive sequences in the future? If I act with charity, submissiveness and faith, the outcome will be for the best, even if "the best" doesn't look like I initially thought it would. Perhaps we need to not only trust before we take action, but, having moved forward trusting God, we can trust that the outcome was what it needed to be.
Why isn't it easy to trust in the surest thing, surest power, surest course ever proven...
As I have been trying to apply the "rice jar" experiment I mentioned a couple of days ago, I find myself in a frustrating situation with someone, realize my feelings toward them are generating "bad rice," picture white rice inside of them, love the rice, and then insert their face.
Crazy? Perhaps. But it is amazing how it changes my focus, motives and thoughts.
I have been pondering why in the world this would work and I think I got it: the only way to love a jar of rice is unconditionally. It gives nothing back and will show no immediate gratitude or response to your love. The love you give it is from the heart and has to be genuine because there is no feedback to know if you are doing it "right" and certainly no one to impress.
Try it. It is crazy. But sometimes crazy is all we have left to try in a relationship.
And, if we use this method, we are truly loving someone for themselves. It is what love really means.
Good question, eh? Perhaps it is not the typical question a father or mother may ask themselves. How about a teacher, mentor or grandparent? Still no? Maybe it should be.
It is now one that I ask myself every day and almost every time I have one of those moments of choice as a parent: how should I respond?
Why in the world would I be asking myself this reflective question about bacterial growth and grains? Let me just say that it is one of God's most unusual yet powerful answers, and it came in response to a question I asked on Sunday.
That question? How can I help my sweet Papaya, my beautiful five-year old daughter. I have been struggling with my little Papaya. She has been lashing out severely, extremely, violently. I have heard the phrase "oppositional defiance disorder" and that seems to fit, although I tend to shy away from generic labels. I have tried many things but it seemed she was still struggling.
And as I held her and watched her on Sunday, I had a flash of insight. My little girl was battling, not me and the rest of the world like it appeared, but she was really battling something within her. She was hurting; she was crying out for help. Her little five year old brain just didn't know how to communicate it. Later that night, as I sat awake nursing little Zsa, I wept. I wept for my little girl as I saw that we as a family were all lined up against her in many ways, prepared to fight back, prepared to protect ourselves and our belongings, prepared to be strong in response to whatever she threw at us.
And there she was, precious little soul, facing this army of family, friends and community who were all armed and ready to fight. Sure, "fight" may be a strong word, but it seems to fit. Even if we were "seeking what was best for her," we had labeled her without words, identifying her difficult and often disturbing behavior as "just Papaya."
And her mother was at the forefront, battle gear ready.
As the tears flowed, I humbly opened up my heart to my Father and pled with Him, pled with Him so that I may know how I could reach her and help her. His answer was to spend every possible waking moment with her, watching her, loving her, helping her, and to ask the rest of the family to pray for her.
Remember the rice? I will get to it, I promise.
The next morning, I spread the word gently. "Please pray for Papaya. She is little. She is hurting and she is scared. Don't worry about changing how you treat her. Just pray for her." Even that petition, just to pray for one of our number that was suffering, has softened the attitude and language towards her from her siblings. Just pray for her.
As I continued along, seeing glimmers of improvement and thinking of ways I could help Papaya, I still felt a little helpless in moving forward. On Tuesday morning, almost as an afterthought, Avot brought up a video that a friend had shared with her that Avot felt applied to what we had watched and discussed for devotional: the rice experiment.
Just looking for this experiment online brought up example after example of people who, like me, probably thought "Really??"
As my skepticism battled with the "evidence" before me, I thought, Why not? Why not believe it enough to accept that how I think about something (or someone!) affects them? I knew that was true.
Months ago I was really struggling with one of my children. They were bitter, battling and antagonistic...and so was I. No matter what my husband and I did, we weren't reaching them. The child was dark and I felt dark too. The child was aggressively anti-everything we had to do and say. Many times I wondered, what in the world am I doing wrong? And, even as I knew I loved this child, I was at war with them and sometimes in those desperate moments many parents experience wished either they or I would leave so that the battle would be "over." It was horrendous.
As I prayed for what I should do one frustrating night, I had one of those flashes of insight. My child was hurt. My child was tired. My child was bruised. My child was suffering. And they needed my love. What?! How could I show love and still be the strong parent I felt like I needed to be? It felt so fake sometimes and this child could see through fake. And yet...God opened to me a glimpse of how He saw my child and my heart was overwhelmed with love. I knew that I needed to change my thought processes from battle-mode to "see the genius and beauty"-mode. I knew, deep down, that my child's emotional life, their future life, depended a great deal upon my choice at that moment.
How to do this? Flash of insight. Inspiration. I started by buying a notebook.
I opened to the first page and wrote down: "You were born for greatness and I see it everyday. Today I saw it as you..." Then, I wrote down something that I saw that was good in that child's behavior. Everyday, I would write down on a new, dated page, "You were born for greatness and I see it everyday. Today I saw it as you..." and then follow it with a new specific observation. Some days it was very, very hard. We still fought. We still didn't see eye to eye. Sometimes I wrote a lot and sometimes I wrote one line. But it was always true. And it was always every day. Every once in a while I would miss a day, but I always went back and wrote down something for that day.
Over time I would see him leave it out where I could find it easily in the dark, or see some pages turned back from where I had left it. No matter how hard the day had been, I would find it. It was never mentioned. Never discussed.
One notebook became two. One was lost during one of the many moves we experienced earlier this year so I bought another one. When the other one was found, I went back to the first and finished up that one then continued on the new one.
Every day.
I saw some softening, some glances of pondering: Does she really mean it?
My mind went back to this experience when I saw the moldy rice video. Through some additional challenging times for us all, my husband and I continued to imperfectly love and reach out and our child continued to imperfectly try to make things work at home. However, over this time I had seen that my attitude toward the child had become not one of "Oh no, what are they going to do next? How should I prepare for the next battle? The next challenge?" to "I know they will get it eventually; I just need to keep loving, praying and hoping; they are awesome and I love them so much!"
The miracle was the softening of my own heart.
So when I saw the rice experiment, I decided to accept it as a truth, because my application of that truth has already changed my family and my parenting. As I looked at little Papaya, I saw the years since our move to Hungary when her assertive, confident behavior began, the years full of thoughts of darkness, frustration, anger and even (horribly!) moments of hate directed at this spunky little body. Hate at what I felt she was making me become, when I knew it was me. Hate at myself and my behavior and thoughts that I directed at her. I thought of the rice.
I thought of how I looked at her when I was upset. How did that lady look at her jars, the one labeled "hate," the other labeled "love"? I thought of the rice.
Yesterday, as she thrashed and yelled in my arms, I directed thoughts of love at her.
When she threw toys and ran away from me, I directed thoughts of love at her.
Late last night as she finally dropped off to sleep, I directed thoughts of love at her.
Since then, I have taken so many moments with my children to think thoughts of love their direction, shaping their "rice," their hearts, with their mother's love. And do you know something? I am less abrupt, less forceful, less coercive, less demanding, less critical already. It is hard to feel despair and criticism when you are directing thoughts full of pure love emotion to them.
Imagine the jar. Imagine what someone would have to do to the jar to "give love." Look, talk gently, think love to it. Seems corny but, hey! What are the fruits?Is there any possible way that doing this to our children, our spouses, our friends would produce a negative outcome?
Not that I can think of.
So what if it did make a difference and the only thing we had to change was how we directed our thoughts?
For the last 36 hours I have been looking at my children as jars of cooked rice, and I may say, as Robert Frost did in his poem, that this has made all the difference.
...and I am not talking about pinning a corsage onto the internal organ of our body. :)
I am referring to the phrase Peter uses in 1 Peter 3 when speaking to wives (although the application would obviously bless us all):
3. [Your] adorning let it not be that outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, and of putting on apparel;
4. But let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.
So how do we adorn our hearts?
What a beautiful and deep image...would love some feedback below and I will muse about this concept as well.
Get this ugliness out. I am frustrated
this morning because it feels like every step forward I try to take I
run into all sorts of complications:
-make breakfast: have to wash the bowl first
-read my scriptures: the garbage has to be run out to the curb before the garbage man gets here at 7 am
-ponder: the baby boys need diaper changes
-write in my journal to vent: the kids are fighting up where the baby is sleeping
-try
to start a new, private blog/journal to download "garbage"...getting
out those negative, probably unreal emotions, blaming and frustrations
per Kirk Duncan's advice: have no idea how to operate wordpress.com.
Whatever!
My
mind wanders to my scripture reading I WAS able to get in: "Thy waste
places will blossom." Feeling pretty wasted. Grateful for the Spirit
that is now descending to help me find peace in the middle of garbage. Crazy! Glad I was able to get in what I got in and that God's power is truly enough to make these waste places (my emotional place!) blossom...how He does it is beyond me.
Moving forward. Time to go and do what I can with laundry on the kitchen table, 2 year old playing with toilet in the bathroom and three little girls who seem to need, need, need. Breakfast must happen soon or emotions will erupt!
My mind is awash with different emotions. Part of me is soooo excited that I have countertops! And then there is that ugly negative side of me: the whining side :(. "But what about the sink?! It is not hooked up yet!"
Really?!
I am quite frankly getting a little tired of hearing myself whine. I am sure Quinn is, but he just smiles, hugs me, and gives up even more of what non-existent "free-time" he has to work on anything he can in the kitchen, which inevitably means going to the store for more parts or trying things one way and then another.
So I took a minute and just looked at my counter-tops, my kitchen, my beautiful new kitchen and realized something. As happy as I am to have a place to prepare food, store it and clean it up without doing it over dirt, it is not a happiness that is deep in my soul.
Maybe that is my problem. I am seeking for external indicators to make me deeply happy and that will never work.
On the other hand, when Papaya was flying off the handle last night after I turned off the videos they were watching, I took her gently in my arms and soothed her. I opened up a book to read to the little ones at night which I haven't done for a few days and instead of putting Spooner in bed, I set him on my lap and snuggled while I read, "Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are?" I smiled as the words of the book reminded me of all the blessings I have. I did get tired and grumpy when Baby Zsa was up most of the night and I did the semi-comatose nursing, but as I looked at my beautiful sleeping Papaya and Spooner, my soul warmed with that deep, true happiness that reaches everywhere.
What is it about human interaction and service that can do that? Crazy. These little ones also fill it deeply. As I called my dear friend Angie and we discussed Thanksgiving plans, she brought up how wonderful that it will be to have little ones around. Yes, they can be noisy and mischevious, we both agreed, but there is something about having them around that makes holidays and life in general just a little sweeter and more magical.
Another thought that I brought up with Quinn last night was "what is the difference between contentment and complacency"? I have been doing the vision board of Kirk Duncan and an interesting side effect for me: I find myself seeing more of the beauty in my life. I want to just be content. I want to slow down the moments, enjoy the snuggles, smile at my kids more and see their faces light up with the knowledge that in the moment, their mother loves them. It is amazing to see the effect of geniunely shown love...and it's ugly opposite of selfishly driven scorn and harsh judgement. Unfortunately I have seen both, both the lighting of the eyes and the crushed spirit following unjust or overly harsh or critical chastisement.
Back to the issue, though: at what point does contentment become complacency and how do I determine which is which? Sigh. I know the answer :). Follow the Spirit. Why "sigh," Mary!! You will know it is true and you will recognize when to act on it.
More of a rambling entry, I suppose, but if anyone has any thoughts or responses to my musings, I would welcome them!
The other day, we were driving around on some errand and I took a moment to really look at the beautiful barns, fields and forests of this beautiful upstate New York area. Once again, it took my breath away. But how often do I acknowledge or even get think about it? Do I forget or does it become less beautiful?
When we are surrounded by beauty and blessings, we tend to get used to them, to take them for granted. As I thought about this, I realized that perhaps this is one of the advantages of trials, deprivations, tribulations...it makes us appreciate the beauty and peace of what was "normal."
If we truly lived in beauty all the time, would we acknowledge it? Would it take our breath away after the 100th morning of waking up to it? Or would we take it for granted and still find ways to be discontent and ungrateful?
I do.
These thoughts sent my head spinning into new directions: how blessed my life is with healthy children, a husband that not only is faithful to me but honors and respects me, a roof over my head, food to eat, clean air to breathe, water to drink, friends who smile when they see me, fingers that work, hair that is thick and curly...yes! It may seem crazy, but how many times do we miss the things that arebeautiful in our life because we are so preoccupied with our expanding waistlines, our missing countertops, the unfinished floor, the arguing, our busy schedules,...the many things we don't have and think we should have?
What would we do with all that beauty, if we had truly beautiful, perfect lives all of the time? Would we see it? Do we see it now?
Maybe God really knows what He is doing when He saves beauty for the moments that matter most...or maybe He is waiting for us to acknowledge the beauty that he has already placed in our lives. Hmmm...
...and sometimes the greatest beauty is found in the heart of a trial...
or in the heart of a friend's sorrow as you mourn together or grow together to a deeper level of friendship on the other side of a storm...
I did. I pictured those silly little jars of clean rice marked "love" and transferred that love to every person I passed. It is crazy how something so small can make such a difference. All of a sudden I was seeing people I loved and it was easy to smile. I felt such joy, such gladness at simply being there with people I loved. Sometimes I get so pre-occupied with all the stupid and offensive things that I say or the ways what I say could be taken, I get caught up in a little ball of stress that doesn't want to say or do anything with anyone. This jar thing has been miraculous at helping me. It is amazing how when you just feel love for others, your pre-occupation with self and your own limitations disappear.
