Blessings of the Temple

As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I not only attend Sunday services each week (when we're not recovering from pneumonia, the stomach flu, and head colds, ahem...). But I also  strive to attend the Temple regularly. The Temple is a sacred space that is different from our church meetinghouses (chapels) where we hold Sunday worship services and other activities. The Temple is the House of the Lord. It is a place where we go to make sacred covenants, learn, pray, receive respite from a hectic world, and feel the special Spirit that can only be found within its holy walls. The feeling that comes over me when I walk into a Temple is like no other feeling I've ever experienced. It's almost tangible. When I go too long without it, I feel like something is missing. This brief video explains the difference between our church meetinghouses/chapels and Temples. Hear from worldwide members, as well as scholars and leaders of other faiths and denominations on the significance of the Temple. It's a worthwhile 6 minutes:


 

Peace and Purpose

I have been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for over 11 years now. Lots of people ask me why in the world would I join THIS church of all churches. This pretty much sums it up. It's a great 18 minutes. I recommend you take the time to watch:

Joy in the Journey

Some days I feel really sick. I have issues with food, and I can't eat a lot of the things I once loved and craved. It's worse now that I am pregnant. And not being able to have a treat can take its toll. But not knowing if the dinner you are eating is going to lay you out for two days is down right nerve racking. Some days, when I am feeling especially bad, I feel pretty downtrodden. I have little pity parties from time to time. I'm not super proud of it, but even after over three years of dealing with this, some days are just harder than others.

I've felt pretty crummy the past few days. So tonight I made myself a typical "healing" dinner (chicken, carrots, and rice—with a little BBQ sauce because I am pregnant and really wanted it). As I was eating, I decided to grab an old issue of the Ensign to read (the official magazine for the LDS Church). It contained articles from the November 2008 General Conference. I opened right up to the article, "Finding Joy in the Journey." I admit I cried through most of the article. If you haven't read it, whether you are LDS, or not, whether you are religious, or not, I suggest you give this one a go. There are universal truths to be found. (To read, watch, or listen to the article/talk, click HERE.)

One thing I took from the article is that even though I can't eat many delicious things without becoming really ill, I do have many other delicious things in my life that I can feast on.

I can revel in the gorgeous place that I live. I can treat myself with the sweet love of my husband and children. I can delight in the talents I've been given and enjoy. I can indulge in my great friendships. I can feast on the Word. And I am very grateful for that!

(After I was done with dinner, Maya ran up with a mini pinwheel. "Here you go, Mommy! You can blow the pinwheel!" Then the train went past our house. "Look! It's the TRRRRAIN!!" The sheer joy of it...)

Pants on fire!

There is the kind of "movement" going on in Utah right now (possibly elsewhere, but more so in Utah, I believe). And that is Wear Pants To Church Day (and more specifically these pants will be worn to sacrament meeting). For those of you who don't know about this (namely anyone who is not LDS, so most of my family, and maybe friends pre 2003), you had a normal Sunday without any drama (hopefully). Basically there is a group of feminist LDS women who are making a statement about gender equality. And today happened to be the day that they were taking it to the streets, so to speak, by wearing pants to church. Let it be said that I KNOW this is not supposed to be about the pants. I know what it's supposed to be about. But I just wanted to take the time to say a few things about a few other things I know. I know that the LDS Church doesn't have any official statement about whether or not we wear pants vs. a dress to church. Who cares, really. Again, I know it's not supposed to be about the pants. But with all this pants wearing, it kind of does become partly about the pants. This is a two-part response, and I am not including open comments below because frankly I am pretty tired of the contention some comment threads are causing. Here are my thoughts on all of this:

PART 1: The Pants (silly)

I wore pants to church a lot when I was investigating the Church. I wore them after I joined. They were nice, dressy, church appropriate pants. No one ever said a word about it to me. Ever. No looks or comments. Sometimes I wore a skirt. Sometimes I wore a dress. Again, no pressure on dress code (other than I knew to be respectfully modest). Everyone was just glad I was there! When I started to go to the Temple, I wore a dress or skirt. No one ever told me exactly what to wear to the Temple, either, other than to wear Sunday clothes. But my mentality was that if I was going to the House of the Lord, I had better look my best. For me, my best was a dress or skirt. It still is. Over time I haven't owned as many pairs of dress pants simply because I don't work in an office any more. I honestly love to wear skirts and dresses. I feel special. Wes gives me that "look" when I dress up. I also know that some women may feel that they are somehow being pressured to wear dresses. I have never felt that way, never seen any evidence of this, and was honestly pretty surprised by this. (I am not saying it couldn't/doesn't happen—the gospel is perfect, the people are not.) But there you have it. The pants.

PART 2: The Promise (serious)

When I joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints it was not a choice I took lightly. It was a road fraught with heartache and hard choices. But more than that, it was a choice that resonated in my very soul—one filled with faith, and truth, and the undeniable witness that I had received through intense prayer and personal revelation. I didn't care what anyone else had to say about it (in the Church or out). I knew I was on a very personal road. One that included me, my God, and my Savior. That's it. I learned new things, and I reaffirmed familiar things. With some of the newer items on the list, I had to gain a "testimony" of them (that means I had to pray and ponder and get a personal witness about something and decide if it was true for me). I didn't accept anything blindly when I joined the Church. I studied a lot. I wrestled with God. I asked whatever I wanted, no holds barred (which was encouraged). I cried. I was headstrong. I listened. I prayed some more. I softened to things that I could feel were true. I opened up and let the Holy Spirit teach me. It was wonderful, and painful, and personal. And it changed me.

I'll share an example: Keeping the Sabbath day holy. I decided mid-semester of my final year of graduate school to stop doing what I thought was a simple thing—homework on Sunday. This freaked everyone out, and all my teachers said completing a thesis on a 6-day work week schedule couldn't be done. Well, it happened, and I received the only award that year for Outstanding Graduate Student. I feel I was blessed because of the choices I was making. I still keep the Sabbath day holy. I've lived it in order to know that it benefits my life. It is the same with anything the Lord requires of me. If I am asked to make a commitment, I pray, and study, and ask about that requirement and receive an answer. And then that's my answer! I'm sticking to it. I don't care what anyone else does or says about it. It's between me, my God, and my Savior.

This also goes for my role as a woman. I've had many people ask me if my church tells me that I have to live my life a certain way. Other than loving and serving the Lord, the answer is no. It's all my choice. There may be aspects of my religion that I've been asked to observe. But I choose to do that because I see it bless my life. I've had others ask if I feel like there is gender inequality in my church. Again, I have to say no. I have never once been made to feel unequal in any way. In fact, if I can see an imbalance at all, I would say that things lean in favor of the ladies. Women and womanhood are revered and honored. And in terms of men holding the priesthood, here is my response to that (taken from my mormon.org profile):

My favorite answer to this question is something my husband likes to say, which has a sweet and honest sentiment: "Men need the priesthood so that they can be more like women." The priesthood is the authority to act in the name of God. This, for example, is used in ordinances such as baptism, or to give blessings of health and comfort. Women have innate qualities in our very nature which are essential to the balance of the Church. I have personal gifts as a woman that my husband doesn't have. I can serve in capacities that he cannot. In no way do I feel left out, or of less significance because I don't hold the priesthood. I have been given equally important blessings and abilities as a woman. Women have innumerable opportunities to serve and lead within the Church. Holding the priesthood does not equate to holding a position of power. Women are asked to serve within the church in many important capacities, including performing sacred Temple ordinances reserved only for women. The Relief Society is the global organization for women within the Church, and it is the largest women's organization in the world. Womanhood and motherhood are celebrated, respected, and honored. Women are considered equal in the Church, and there is no sexual discrimination. And while men administer the actions of the priesthood, both men and women receive the same blessings of the priesthood. Together, we are able to support and sustain each other.

As I sat in sacrament meeting today, I looked over at all the young men passing the sacrament (communion). And a clear, distinct thought came into my mind: These young men are learning how to serve us. They need this. Which brings me to the crux of this whole issue: The Sacrament. We go to sacrament meeting to renew our baptismal covenants. (A covenant is a sacred agreement between God and man, and there are promised blessings attached to these covenants. We take them pretty seriously.) When I take the sacrament, I promise to take on the name of Christ and always remember him, and to be a witness of God. In the Temple we also make sacred covenants. So in my mind it only makes sense that if I am going to be making a covenant every week, that I should show my respect for that ordinance. So I wear a skirt (yep, back to the pants thing). I dress my best because I want to show honor and respect to my Heavenly Father. I want to show that I take the sacrament seriously. I dress up because it takes thought and effort. It shows love. It shows that I care. And if pants are your Sunday best, wear the pants for goodness sakes. And if you don't have nice pants? Wear jeans. Just come.

I chose not to wear pants to church today. Not because I don't believe in women's equality. I do believe in that. I would fight for that. But I don't feel like that's something I personally need to fight for within my church. I have never felt out of place. I joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints because I feel at home here. I feel loved, and respected. I feel equal in the eyes of God. And when I enter the chapel every Sunday, I am not there to make a statement to my fellow worshipers. I am there to make a statement to my Heavenly Father.

Conciousness

I woke up to a blanket of new snow covering the ground. I love the snow, with its clean, quiet newness. But today has been an odd day. I am still in the sensitive emotional aftermath of yesterday's shooting, where I don't necessarily sit around crying, but I let everything get to me in over-exaggerated ways. I am mentally in a stand-still, thinking things through, trying to find answers to questions too quickly, contemplating the eternal, reminding myself that my family is safe. I find I am irrationally frustrated at the world around me. Finn brought me a lego "sandwich" that he asked me to separate. When I couldn't budge the center piece, I realized I was getting too worked up over it. I had to tell him I just wasn't strong enough to do it for him. "That's ok, Mama," he reminded me.

It didn't help that I slept too little and dreamed too much. My alarm went off early, while the light was still blue. I threw on my warmest sweater, and went to yoga for the first time in a month. I was stiff, out of practice, longing for an afternoon nap. I think my spirit feels this way when tragedy strikes, even if it is removed from my immediate existence. I feel out of my comfort zone, and I draw upon truths that I know will comfort me. But I am so used to general comfort in my life that I have to break in my emergency supply of strength. That sometimes takes a while to get used to. Answers come in their own time. Peace follows slowly.

Yesterday I read a quote first thing in the morning about getting your house in order. Oddly enough I had planned to reorganize the massive toy situation, while Wes had planned to secure some extra emergency essentials for our home. At the store, we wound up and down the aisles together, stocking up on medical supplies and longer-term food storage. Wes and I talked on and off about school security, and our frustration over what we could personally do to ensure our children's safety when they are away from us. Maya was a happy blur around us, delighting the sales associates and assessing the toy aisle (oblivious to the troubles of the world, as usual). With every well-thought-out item in our cart, my feelings of personal security and preparedness at home settled nicely into place. I traded my uneasiness over things out of my control for faith in the things that are within my control.

It was raining when we picked Finn up from school. Wes went in to his classroom to personally bring him back to the car (he's been sick and we didn't want him to stand out in the drizzly cold of the carpool crowd). Later the rain turned to snow as we left the kids with a babysitter for the first time since moving to Utah. We came home to two happy, safe kids, begging for us to stay out later. After putting the kids to bed in their own room (something they usually struggle with, but they obliged last night), I fell asleep mid-prayer for the families back east, while the white snow fell quietly, covering the dark earth.

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths. ~Proverbs 3:5-6

I know who I am

A bit of magic

We live in Heber City, UT. Heber has all the charm of a small town, all the perks of having world-class cities close by, and all the beauty you could imagine. Today I had the pleasure of seeing the mail come. I always assumed it was a regular mail truck that stopped at the end of the street every day around 3pm to load up the government-issued taupe mail boxes (you know, the ones that need keys to open). But nooooo. Today a tiny white car that looked like a cross between a Gremlin and a Traker pulled up. The driver was on the right hand side, and a spunky little person popped out to fill up the box. I went inside and proceeded to blog about it. As soon as I had opened my laptop, this spunky little person was ringing my doorbell with a package. She kinda looked like me (same age, same hair cut, same skinny jeans in boots). We both looked at each other and had a little chuckle. I am a sucker for any "around town" happenings that could be out of a children's book. In Burbank, the mail man would walk door-to-door and drop the mail through a slot. It landed on our floor with fluttering crash, and would scare our guests every time. But I thought it was charming.

One of the many things I love about Heber is that the weather changes daily (and often multiple times within the day). It's cold and rainy here today. The mountains have changed from red to rust and gold. One of my very favorite things in all the world is when the clouds spill over the mountains. It used to happen in El Paso (where I grew up with a mountain out our back window), and I would gaze up thinking I could almost touch them. Here in Heber they spill over those mountains ablaze from fall, hiding the tops, and then settle like a skirt at the base. It's magical.

Last night I was feeling a little "off." I opened a book on the shelf called Lectures on Faith. Here is what I just happened to turned to:

"In a world filled with uncertain outcomes and merely provisional commitments, only being true to covenants, only keeping faith, can lift the soul beyond the reach of doubt and worry and lead it to the source of perfect confidence which is God. Before us all lies a journey that began at our birth and will go on till our death. We live in the time between and act each day as best we can. Some days bring gladness; others force upon us heavy burdens. At times we may question how our path can lead to happiness or if our faith has reached its limit. We know that strength is gained in struggles; we wonder if we can survive on our own. But so long as we seek to do good, so long as we choose the right, deep within us our faith is working, and our hope still lives. Let us believe this. Let us then continue to act as duty bids. As we do, our faith will be sufficient, and our happiness will be assured." —Dennis F. Rasmussen

Maya learns a little bit about the nature of God (also known as good listening skills)

I have this pretty good track record of finding things when I lose them. It hasn't always been that way. I've had my fair share of lost treasures. But I now have a little secret that is almost so simple that it's not really a secret at all. I say a prayer. I learned this trick after I met Wes. I was not sure it would work the first time. But when it did, I wanted to try it again! And I am serious when I tell you that every single time I pray to find something, I find it (with the exception of one really valuable personal item that is just gone for good). Sometimes I find whatever is lost in a day or week. But it's always a mini thrill ride when I do say a prayer and then immediately know where to look—bingo! Now I don't want to go jinxing anything, but I seriously challenge you to try it. There's a trick, though. You have to listen after you say the prayer. A very little voice (or sometimes a loud voice) will tell you where to find it. OK, so it's not a voice, per se, but more of a feeling. But when that feeling speaks, I listen. Even when it's something as seemingly silly as a doll:

This week Maya lost a doll. Not surprising, seeing as we have a gazillion toys, and they all go missing on a rotating basis. But this was no ordinary doll. This was JESSE. Jesse, the reward for all of Maya's potty training hard work. Jesse, who Maya had endlessly pined for. So after a week of missing Jesse, Maya was in tears. Tonight a lightbulb went off. I asked Finn and Maya to kneel down and say a prayer with me. Now it should be said that I am not likely to kneel down in the middle of what I am doing and just burst into prayer in front of an audience (actually, that has never happened). And I could tell by the look on Finn's face that he was a bit leery of my spontaneous heavenly entreaty. All the better. This was going to work. The kids came over, and knelt with me on the living room rug (giving me odd sideways glances). We folded our arms, and I helped Maya say her own little prayer (a feat in and of itself). But she was desperate, and complied. We asked for Heavenly Father to please help Maya find Jesse. Maya pulled out all the stops, ending in a tearful Amen. This was golden. Then I asked Finn what he thought. With wide eyes he said, "Heavenly Father tells me it's behind the couch!" (chuckle...so cute) Alas, not behind the couch. "Heavenly Father tells me it's in the car!" (oh great, treasure hunt ensues) Not in the car. "Under the bed!" And as the fruitless search continued, I admittedly began to worry. I sent out a well-meaning warning to the heavens that if this didn't work, all of my spiritual credibility as a mom would be down the drain. Then I heard it—or felt it—the still small voice. In the ballet bag. Of course! Maya had taken Jesse to show her dance teacher last week. And just like that we found Jesse. Call it what you will—process of elimination, chance. But Maya knew what had really happened. She was so overwhelmed with the magic of the moment that she said another prayer thanking Heavenly Father right then and there. I was kind of bowled over. This was clearly a 5 star moment! I felt all warm and fuzzy. I was instilling the lifelong lesson that God hears our prayers and loves us! This would be a defining moment in their little lives! These are mothering moments that mothers dream of! Then Maya turned to me and said with renewed tears, "We no find Jesse HAT!!" Then stormed off in anger, locking herself in the bathroom. Lesson learned.

I know exactly what I'll be doing this weekend.

Ugh. I've been sick again. Is that all I post about? Sorry. I'll tell you something I'm excited for, though! Sitting around my house in my PJs with my family this weekend watching the 181st Semiannual General Conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (that's the church I attend, if you didn't know). So what IS General Conference? Basically members of the LDS church from around the world come together to be inspired, taught, and edified by our leaders. Since we don't live near the conference center in Salt Lake City, we'll be watching from our computers at home. It's broadcast online and on TV all over the world, and not just for members of the LDS church. The message is absolutely universal. And Conference always comes at a time when I really need to be uplifted, reassured, and loved. Good timing! If you want to learn more, visit HERE.

Last week was the General Relief Society conference session (aka "just for the ladies"). My favorite talk so far? Find it HERE. I can't wait for more...

Love Notes

I woke up to a love note on my bathroom mirror today. Wes is in the home stretch of graduate school at the American Film Institute (AFI). That equals a lot of long days for him on set, and a lot of long days for me at home. But there is an end in sight (at least until the next big project comes along...probably this summer). But it's nice to have a bit of him when I wake up, even if he has left hours before.

The other night I had a dream. I had just finished planting a very well-organized garden. (As as side note, I assure you that my green thumb is steadfastly brown, no matter my efforts. This year I've tried to outsmart it by planting succulents in pots. So far so good.) In the dream, I had planted the equivalent of square-foot gardening, but in little low-lying round pots, all on a grid. The plot was quite large, and I knew it would need lots of watering. But I was going to be away for awhile, and was really worried about my garden surviving. There was a man who lived nearby, but he had his own things to attend to. And I didn't want to ask him to worry about my garden, even though he was aware of my efforts. When I returned from my time away, I found my garden had not only survived, but had flourished!! Every pot was happily growing my carefully—and aesthetically—organized plants, all very green and lush. I have no idea what I planted. They ranged from small and dense little plants resembling ground cover, to tall ornamental grasses. But all were perfectly proportioned, watered, and trimmed. It was then that I had realized that the man, who I called the gardener at this point in my dream, had set up a drip system for my plants and cared for them while I was away. He had seen and appreciated my efforts, and didn't want them to die just because I was on temporary hiatus. He knew I would return to care for the garden. I was pleasantly surprised, happy, and grateful to him. That's where the dream ended—with me marveling at the perfection and beauty of the garden. The design was so perfect. It was just how a graphic designer would design her perfect green space. :)
It looked similar to this, but in beautiful glazed red pots. The grasses were taller, and it was in an open space with trees all around:
So of course I did what I always do when I have a dream I know has some significance. I speedily contacted sis-in-law Tiffany, who is very reliably wise when it comes to dreams, and has many resources to draw upon. Here was her response:
Here we have Lady Robinson's take:

"A dream of a garden in bloom is the absolute best and foretells spiritual satisfaction, domestic love, and financial security. What more is there!"


And then we have my other book by Klaus Vollmar. Klaus goes into it a little bit more:


"The garden is the place where our soul joins nature... a symbol of longing, fertility, and a rich love life. A place of harmony and relaxation... a place of protection. In ancient Egypt, the garden was always the symbol for woman."


To me, this is an indication of what a great gift your womanhood is, since all these foretold gifts revolve around your domestic abilities and spiritual abilities that are unique to being a woman. I would take it as a sign that your efforts to develop these gifts are not in vain, whether it be your [hobbies/talents], all the little things that you do for your children that you might think go unnoticed, and all the things you do to be a good wife. In other words, you are creating a beautiful garden where you may always go to find rest, protection, and relaxation. Even if this garden is an unseen one, it is there nonetheless.


I think there are some really great things in those interpretations. So what do I ultimately think the dream was? A love note.

Leave Nothing Behind But Goodness

 

 

 

The Light in the Middle of the Tunnel

Wes was recently recounting his past trips to Iceland. He marveled at the roads and methods of travel throughout the country. He described immense tunnels, boring miles into the earth, through the great mountains of untamed landscapes. Traveling through the belly of those sleeping giants was often long and lonely. Interspersed with lights to guide a driver through the quiet depths, there was no seeing the light at the end for a very long while, sometimes 30+ minutes at a time.

I tried to imagine what it might feel like to be planted surely in the middle of one of those tunnels, with no end in literal sight. Claustrophobic? Probably. Anxiety? Definitely! But Wes related the experience with only wonder and even respect. He marveled at the sheer ability to carve out a great path through the landscape, unseen by the outside world. I asked how he was able to travel through the black distance and still feel safe on those two-lane roads. "Oh, there are lights every so often." "How often?" I asked, a little doubtful. "You have to rely a lot on headlights." But then sure enough, just when it started feeling just a little too dark, another light in the tunnel would appear overhead.

 I'm in one of those tunnels right now. I don't think I'm the only one. And like a lot of our tunnels, it's not always apparent to the outside world. Still, we're motoring right along, a destination in mind, but not yet in sight. Actually, in our case we chose to drive into the tunnel. Anticipated it, even. We planned the trip, mapped it out as best we could, and headed out, realizing it might not be clear along the way. But we trusted, just the same.

So what do we do when we can't see the light at the end of the tunnel? Our own headlights are only going to get us part of the way there. We need the light in the middle of the tunnel.

As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints we have these things called The Articles of Faith. There are 13 of them. And while I am far from knowing them by heart, parts of them often pop into my head, especially mid-tunnel. Right now it's the last article, lucky #13:

"We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men; indeed, we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul—We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things." 


I think it's the "we hope all things" that keeps persisting. Faith and hope are part of the same whole, are they not?  Faith is to hope for things which are not seen, but which are true. And it's what makes it possible to do the endurance part of that article of faith. Sure, I might be able to make it through the tunnel without the light. But it would take me an awfully long time. I might come out the other end altered, and not for the better. Or I might succumb to despair within the tunnel. Or worse yet, turn back, abandoning and resenting the journey. I unabashedly need the light. It reminds me of THIS hymn:

 The Lord is my light;

He is my joy and my song.
By day and by night he leads,
He leads me along.

I still have a stretch of tunnel ahead of me. I don't know how much more is left. I can't see the mouth ahead, but soon the pinprick of light will start to wink at us. I know this because I hope it—I have faith in it. And while I am waiting, I'll remember that I still have a light with me in the tunnel overhead. And it won't let me down.

 

A similar tunnel in Norway, taken on a 13 second exposure.  

original source: National Geographic

"And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up."

I am a Mormon.

I haven't always been a Mormon. I bet a lot of you reading this right now knew me before I became a Mormon. Religion is such a taboo topic in our world today, isn't it? People aren't afraid to openly talk about things like sex, drugs, or spout off foul language like it's going out of style. But religion? Woah, woah, woah, we don't want to make anyone uncomfortable!

It's no secret that I am LDS. But it's also not something that always comes up in casual conversation. By no means am I afraid to talk about it. I will happily talk openly with anyone and everyone who wants to know about why I made this change in my life. And while I totally get that nobody wants religion pushed on them, many people who have a strong faith would like to share that with people they care about—because it's a source of so much joy in their lives.

I also think it's valuable and important to have a basic, open-minded understanding of world religions, and not make assumptions about any religion. Did you know that Mormons are members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints? Wait, which church? The official, and most appropriate name of the "Mormon" church is actually The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You read right. We are indeed Christians who believe in Jesus Christ. While the world generally knows us as Mormons (we won't be offended if you call us that), we will usually refer to ourselves as LDS (short for "Latter-day Saints").

Now, I do not intend to take up an entirely long (or longer) post going on and on about my religion, faith, and way of life. But I do have another web page dedicated to that. It's located on the new, revamped Mormon.org. I would highly encourage you to click over to my personal page. I address some very basic questions and topics about the Church—things that are of eternal importance to me. Things like how I live my faith, and why I joined the Church. It's a place to read and learn. No pressure. Just answers. Click on the button below to go to my page (or click on the "What We Believe" button in my sidebar).

While you're there, look around at some of the other profiles (especially on the main page). You might recognize a few people. You'd be surprised to find who is LDS, and you didn't even know it. There are people with profiles from all backgrounds, faiths (who have converted), and circumstances in life. I love how accessible and informative it all is.

I had the privilege of designing some of the newfangled blog buttons for Mormon.org, that you may have noticed in a few other LDS bloggers' sidebars. So if you happen to be a Mormon, too, make sure you fill out your own profile, and grab a button!

Or you can find the whole set of buttons without having to fill out a profile here:

Click on the buttons below to visit some of my favorite profiles from blogger friends of mine: 

 

What is your faith?

LDS buttons for blog
Mormon buttons for blog
Mormon blog buttons

Live what you love

I have this print hanging next to my bed. Lately I've been thinking about it, and what it means. At first thought, it's a given in our household. That kind of mentality inspired a career shift, brought us to California to live this summer, and hopefully means we'll live abroad one day. But living what you love is more than that. And I've been meaning to get to the bottom of it. Today it held my attention more than other days. Probably because it's the Christmas season, and hopefully we're all thinking about it a little more than usual. So in the spirit of the season, I thought I would share something I came across today.

I was reading one of the issues of our church's monthly publication, the Ensign. I opened it up randomly to a talk by one of our church leaders, Dieter F. Uchdorf, called "The Love of God." In this talk, he addresses the way we prioritize our lives. And, really, how we are living what we love. He says, "When we truly understand what it means to love as Jesus Christ loves us, the confusion clears and our priorities align. Our lives take on new meaning. Our relationship with our Heavenly Father becomes more profound."

Something else President Uchdorf said in his talk stood out to me. He was talking about the first great commandment: To "love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
"God the Eternal Father did not give that first great commandment because He needs us to love Him. His power and glory are not diminished should we disregard, deny, or even defile His name. His influence and dominion extend through time and space independent of our acceptance, approval, or admiration.

No, God does not need us to love Him. But oh, how we need to love God!

For what we love determines what we seek.

What we seek determines what we think and do.

What we think and do determines who we are—and who we will become.

Since the beginning of time, love has been the source of both the highest bliss and the heaviest burdens. At the heart of misery you will find the love of wrong things. And at the heart of joy, you will find the love of good things.

And the greatest of all good things is God."

"Live what you love" takes on a deeper meaning for me if I focus on this type of love. I move out of my small circle of day-to-day into something that is bigger than me. Hopefully during the holidays this year I can hang on to this message. Already I think I've done a bang-up job of avoiding the holiday rush at the malls, missing every single commercial on TV (thanks to Apple TV), and endeavoring to watch more movies like The Nativity Story with Finn. Isn't that always the goal? To have a quieter, more loving, meaningful holiday season? I've done most of my shopping online in order to avoid stores. I've even managed to make about half of my Christmas gifts, and purchase handmade half over again for the remaining. It has felt really good. Finn missed the entire lead-up from Thanksgiving to Christmas last year. We got home from the hospital with him only a couple of days before Christmas. So this year I am hoping it can be fun, special, and magical. Lots of Christmas carols. Promises of Granny and Grandad's big Christmas tree in Texas. Gifts for being such a good boy this year. The message of Christ's birth.

And love.

Motherhood: My Choice

Motherhood. I chose motherhood (I remember the moment I realized I was ready for it). I still choose it. I choose it willingly, happily, over other things that I could be doing. I choose not to work outside of the home, but stay at home and play. I choose to keep my home clean, beautiful, spiritual, and healthy. I choose to use every bit of education that I have pursued to benefit my children and myself.

I am so fortunate to be able to do this.

I also know what I gave up to do this. I gave up a well-paid, full time job as a graphic designer. I was good at that job. I am still good at that job. I gave up the ability to travel on a whim. To dine out when and wherever I want, at fancy places where double strollers can't fit. I liked to do those things. But I am happy to give them up for a while. I gave up a fancy working girl's wardrobe (or rather, packed it away in my closet for now). I gave up insensible foot wear (for the most part). I gave up a lot of sleep.

I gave up laziness. I gave up selfishness. I gave up the part of me that was happy to go through my life thinking only of my little world, for a new world that has opened up before me like none I could have imagined for myself.

It is my choice. No one else's. I choose this life, and I choose to love it. I choose the right. The right for me. For my children. And I know that I am blessed because of it.

You are the trip I did not take;
You are the pearls I cannot buy;
You are my blue Italian lake;
You are my piece of foreign sky.
(“To My Child,” quoted in Charles L. Wallis, ed., The Treasure Chest [1965], 54)

Happy Easter!

I love this painting for 4 reasons. I love that the Savior is appearing to Mary Magdalene first—a woman. I love the open tomb in the background—the empty tomb of the Resurrection. I love Mary's expression—I can feel the love pouring out of her. I love the blue sash around the Savior's waist and his kind demeanor—it holds personal significance. I had a dream 5 years ago. I sat with the Savior in a wide cave high above Jerusalem, overlooking the city. He wore a white robe and had a blue sash around his waist. The 12 apostles were at the mouth of the cave talking with each other. The Savior and I sat quietly. His arm was around me, and my head rested on his shoulder. I woke up with a feeling of overwhelming love. Seeing the blue sash in this painting reminds me of the personal relationship I have with Christ. He knows me. He remembers me. And I am so glad to remember him on this day—Easter—the day of his Resurrection.

About 6 years ago I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I have had a few people ask why we don't use the image of the cross to represent our church, or wear the crucifix around our necks. It's not that we don't recognize the significance of the crucifixion. We certainly do—as part of the fulfillment of the Atonement (along with the suffering in the Garden of Gethsemane). We, as Latter-Day Saints, celebrate the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. We recognize the Atonement in our lives. We give thanks for the life of Christ, and know that he still lives and loves us. I remember this every day. I am so grateful for this Easter season, and the message that it brings.

Visit HERE for a brief Easter message.