My friend Cherilyn, sent me a present for my birthday, belated. It arrived today. It's the most brilliant and creative thing I've seen in a while. Background: Cherilyn has a doctorate in history and used to draw and edit military maps for a living. And she fixes motorcycles, builds computers, is a judo champion, and she quilts impressively. She's pretty cool stuff.
The photos are lame because I took them with my iPhone because I was too impatient to get my camera.
It's called Natasha Insula: The Yle of Natasha. It is fashioned after an old Scottish map.
The rivers are named for my children, with the largest one being my son and the littlest being my youngest daughter. The mountain is named after my husband. I have blanked out all their names, however.
On here we have (more photos below):
Aspiration Bay -- which covers all my scholastic aspirations and other such goals
Camp Creativity
Æstuarium Analyticus -- because I'm an analytical person
Beggar's End estate
Tears' Retreat
Blogger's Bog
Hope Harbour -- although it's not spelled with a U
Inspiration Inlet
Book Nook estate
Flight of Fancy -- where the windmill is, cute
Reinvention Range
Loch (Lake) Temple
Loch Baptism
Business Bend
Pleasure Peak
Poet's Corner castle
Pen Haven
Heart's Keep fortress
Dreamy Draw river
Unsettled Wood
Plain of Joy
Valley of Travail
The Nunry
Nature's Rest wood
a sea monster
It's absolutely amazing. It's general enough to not become outdated. It's much more detailed and lovely than what the pictures depict. The ship has Canada flags, even though Canada technically didn't exist in the era after which the map was patterned. :-)
I cried.
It's a wonderful idea for a gift for someone. I would like to make some for my children.
I think Cherilyn should make these for a part-time gig but they would cost a few hundred, I'm guessing. If anyone is interested in commissioning something from her, email me.
Daily Gratitudes
My present and friendship with Cherilyn. She's a soft place to fall, tough when I need it and gentle the rest of the time. She's very analytical, happy to dissect issues and principles until there's nothing left to be said, helping me figure out what I believe in life.
I woke up with a pinched nerve in my back. The pain is now nearly gone so I can take the kids out later.
Meeting new people who are lovely for many reasons.
I can afford to frame Cherilyn's drawing/painting and I can afford nutritional supplements to help me with my allergies.
Vince made me laugh last night. Check it out. You'll have to click on it to make it big enough. He said it was an homage to this blog post. Hint: check out the green text. That's what I see when someone does a Google search in their browser toolbar while on my blog's page.
I've had a dream for a while and this seems a good occasion to try to make it happen. I mean, if my 30th birthday isn't enough to manipulate people, I might have to get cancer or something.
Please don't make me have to stoop to cancer, people. I'm already losing my hair for no good reason.
Okay, so I have a lot of friends who are artists. I have a couple of pieces of art from friends (this one from my friend Sarah Sharratt, from grade 7 or 8, with the loveliest inscription on the back) and I've always thought how lovely it would be to have a piece of art from all my friends. Jude and I collect art and what can be more special than art from people you love?
So, then today my friend Georgia sent a Facebook message to all her friends asking them to give her a birthday present for her April 13th birthday: a story about themselves. WHAT A GREAT IDEA! Well, I'd love that. But, what I'd love more is...
...for people to artistically render a story about themselves, or about whatever they want, or about nothing, in a 5X7 work of art that they have themselves made. Self-described artists or not, wouldn't that be GREAT?!
Then I thought, why not extend the solicitation to blog readers? (If you're surprised at my shamelessness, um, you haven't been paying close enough attention. ;-)
Acrylic, oil, watercolour, pencil drawing, pastels, computer graphic-made, photography. It will go in my home's "art
gallery" above my stairs that currently has only one piece of art.
(Because everything is spread throughout my home.) I was thinking of
mounting them on a piece of glossy plywood.
Abstract or not. Stick figure or not. Picture or just words. Original or a pseudo-copy of some famous work of art, or something from Etsy. (See the link to my favourite items on Etsy, on the right? Scroll further down. There you go. There are some lovely abstract works in there that would not be too hard to emulate.)
Be sure to sign your name on it, in a legible way.
Ideally, you would attach on the back some info about the piece and yourself. An email address so I can thank you would be smart.
There's no deadline.
As for where to mail it, I'm not going to give my address on the internet. So, a couple of friends offered me their P.O. boxes to use and I chose the one in Alberta because shipping it to me will be less expensive than say, from Ontario.
So, they can be shipped to:
Natasha Loewen c/o J. Lybbert P.O. Box 1037 Glenwood AB T0K 2R0 Canada
Thank you, in advance!
Daily Gratitudes
Have I mentioned enough times that my husband is flying my best friend from Spain to see me for my birthday? And I'm picking her up tomorrow? And we're going to art shows?
And that the three of us are going to see Date Night on Thursday?
And that she and I are going to the temple on Friday if I can find a babysitter?
And we're going to Banff?
And I willed the snow away and it feels pretty warm out, actually?
Shortly after I joined Facebook a woman contacted me saying that we had a lot of things in common and could we be Facebook friends. I must have had more things about myself public then or something. I don't remember exactly how she knew certain things about me. I uncharacteristically said yes, because she was intelligent and sounded normal and lovely. I am such a good judge of character.
Karen lives not too far from me, as it turns out, and yet we've only chatted on the phone. I really must visit her soon. In the meantime, we've become friends through Facebook and blogging.
I really, really like her. Which is why I feel like a jerk for not spending more time with her.
Then she offered to knit me a hat or scarf. She took up knitting about a year ago (?) and has been knitting and crocheting like gangbusters. She's very good. I don't know why she offered to make me a hat. Maybe she likes me or something.
A free hat crocheted out of love by an internet friend? DUH. I said yes.
She asked what colours I wanted and asked me to measure my head. I told her mossy greens and such and um, never got around to measuring my head. I couldn't find my tape measure (which, coincidentally or ironically I found today, after I opened my package from her).
In the package was the following:
Here we have a cute little measuring tape (ha ha) and coasters with 50's images of a mom on the phone saying of the kids in the background, "I child-proofed my house but they still got in." Very funny. I have purchased cards in this exact same genre of humour, so Karen pegged me well. (I made the photo small because I don't want you to read the card just yet.)
Then we have the crocheted hat, which is darker than I expected but perfectly matches my dark hair and green eyes. I love the flower addition:
But then we have this card with a most fitting quote and Karen, I cried when I read it. I loved it. Thank you so much. I have decided to make myself a bulletin board for my room to pin to it cards and such that I've received that touch me and make me feel loved. Your card will always be on display somewhere in my house, throughout my life. I read this and felt your compassion and it was so quietly given, like it was no big deal for you.
I have a mad love affair with the internet. This is why.
Sara causes me physical pain with no real effort. As she recounts her life stories and her endless mishaps, I use up my laughter until wheezing is all I have left to offer. (See video at end of post.) My stomach aches, the bones in my skull, right behind my ears, ache. I think she likes telling me stories because I laugh so easily and I always know that every story I tell to her will be the best version of that story because I know that I've got the perfect audience-- she'll laugh every time and at all the right places. It's awesome.
She's the kind of person who, when she needs a room mate, agrees to let a strange man she's never seen, a man from China who doesn't speak English well and thinks that porcupines are monkeys, live with her, after one inquiring phone call. You know there's going to be all sorts of hilarious stories after a crazy decision like that.
Sara's the kind of person who puts a photo of a laughing man, a friend of hers, sitting on her toilet, pants down, as her Facebook profile photo.
She's the kind of person who, if you were getting your breasts reduced, would make you a Bye Bye Boobies cake with a perfect basket weave finish.
She ice fishes. She coaches girls hockey. She was on a women's hockey team that won first place for all of Ontario, our most populous province. She plays on a baseball team. She does dragon boat races. She's just so damn cool.
All I remember about our OAC (Ontario grade 13) Geography class is laughing with Sara and Oak. I can't point out Uganda on a map in under 30 seconds and I'm pretty sure that's Sara's fault.
While I was the high school floater, (friendly with anyone on a good day, ambivalent on a bad day, cliquey with no one, chums with the teachers) and thus frequently looked upon with suspicion, Sara was popular with the cool girls and with the OHL hockey players. However she didn't hesitate to be my friend. Well, maybe she hesitated, I don't know. But in all my weirdness, she didn't judge me. She's the only friend I still have from high school.
Since I've had children, Sara's been the only friend I have had without children. Most childless people don't want to listen on the phone for an hour about your kids. Sara did. She would ask for more. Then she would follow up, with equal excitement and love, stories from her nieces. If I were rich and could to afford to fly her out, Sara is who I would choose to watch our kids while we took off to Europe for two weeks, having complete confidence that when I returned, the kids would want to trade me in for her.
She doesn't judge people harshly. She doesn't sweat the small stuff. She lives and lets live. She finds the humour in it all.
Some of my favourite stories from Sara:
The time she was so rushed getting ready for work that she made it all the way to the elevator of her office building before realising that the bag that she carefully drove to work and carried to the elevator contained not her lunch or some other useful accessory, but rather a bag of cat poop from when she changed the litter box that morning. I don't know about you but I have a sweeping rule in my life to love people who innocently carry around tied up grocery bags of cat poop.
She spent a whole psych class at university keeping track of the many different coats of a guy she named Armando. "He never made a mistake," she says incredulously.
She almost got framed for hitting a guy on a bike with her car. I needed resuscitation after she told me this story. It's funny to read but even funnier to hear her say it.
She once locked herself out of her house in nothing but her housecoat from when she was 11, that didn't adequately cover both her tush and her breasts at the same time. She had to go down the street to someone's house and phone her dad, make him leave work and bring her a spare key to her house.
She's a very smart person, in the gifted program at school when she was a kid, but she doesn't care about proving how smart she is. She doesn't mind sharing the funny things she does to bring a smile and a laugh to other people's faces. This is why she has more friends than anyone I know-- both men and women. She is pure joy to know. She doesn't put on airs; she gives everyone a chance; she goes out of her way to help out her friends and is moved to compassion for strangers. You can tell her anything and she'll tell you anything.
I have said for years that one day I will write a play of Sara's life, or a book. I begged to her write a blog. She finally did. It's a wonderful read: adorable, approachable, funny, thoughtful, endearing.
Sara wonders what people think of when they think of her. Or as she put it: "Isn't it funny to think about what people think about when they think about you?"
This is what I think of when I think about you, Sara. I think you're like ketchup. Everyone likes ketchup for something. Everyone needs a little ketchup in their life, on their fries or to ruin Kraft Dinner. I don't really like ketchup all that much but some people put it on everything. I know this from a Shopping Bags episode. This analogy is going awry.
Just about anyone would love Sara, just like most people love ketchup. I think Jude would love Sara and that's why I've chosen her for his back-up wife, in case I should die.
Sara is 30 years old today.
I wish I could be there to party with her on her birthday. But there will be many more birthdays to celebrate together because she will always be in my life.
You should pop over to her blog and make her acquaintance. She'll make you her friend and I don't mind sharing.
Sara, I love you hugely. Gigantically. You are a treasure to all who know you. You are a blessing to your family, to your nieces. You are perceptive and wise. You are unfailing. You're a confidant. You have made so many of my days better and you have helped make me who I am but only the good parts. All the bad parts I blame my parents for. Ha.
Happy, happy birthday, beautiful.
Note: Every link in this post is worth reading. You might laugh tears like I did:
Jude and I went out for Indian food tonight which reminded me of my friends in Wales and just before we left the car to enter the restaurant, CBC radio was doing a piece on the Celtic genes of the Welsh, Irish and Scottish. I got all sentimental and my eyes teared up.
I am thankful for Indian food. I am thankful for money to eat at restaurants. I am thankful to be able to afford to travel.
Furthermore, in no particular order I'm thankful...
... to have a babysitter who is trustworthy, enthusiastic, and who loves to talk with and play with our children. I have never once wondered if she snoops through my stuff like I did when I babysat as a teen. I don't worry that she's stealing anything or yelling at our kids. Our kids listen to her because they are exceptionally well-behaved kids (I attribute most of that to LUCK) but also because they love and respect her. Tears are literally coming to my eyes thinking of how grateful I am for her.
41 No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned;
42
By kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile--
I'm thankful that he walks the dog and takes such good care of us all.
...to have a son and one so gifted and sensitive. I would have had a very difficult time handling a hyper boy like a lot of little boys seem to be. I'm thankful God didn't challenge me on that. I love that Montana is developing a sense of humour that can hopefully weather some storms of the heart. I think we're going to be good friends when he grows up.
...for three daughters who are thoughtful, sweet, smart, assertive, and fun. I'm looking forward to my kids being teenagers.
...for some of the loveliest people on earth as my friends. I can think of five people who have loved me intensely and pretty much unconditionally, teaching me that I can love that way too. Three of these people, in particular, have loved me despite evidence of craziness, impatience, neediness, hypocrisy, lostness, made up wordage, and have changed me for the better. I would be a lesser person were it not for their forgiveness and patience and gushy love.
...for available health care. I keep hearing stories of people who were denied health insurance for the stupidest, evilest reasons and I love that I have never had much by way of complaint of our health care system. I never give it a thought or a care! One woman emailed me a story today about how she was without health care for 18 months, for no good reason, and how she had to opt for a $10,000 deductible at another point, just so she could afford any coverage. I get to spend my money on hair dye and super expensive health food and overpriced international shipping because I don't spend thousands a month on health care. After reading her story I felt like should never complain about anything ever again.
...for hair conditioner because without it, I'd just have pixie hair.
...for friends who send me music they think I'll love and I usually do.
...to have television and to occasionally get lost in a show or movie. What a luxury.
...for loud rain storms.
...for a fireplace on a cold day.
...for handmade gifts.
...for being a better person, overall, than I was five years ago.
...for a digital camera. It's not great but it does the job and it's such a luxury.
...artsy people who care about near-lost arts: embroidery, letter writing, beautiful handwriting, knitting.
...for people who take the time to learn acoustic guitar so people like me can have something beautiful and soulful and relaxing to listen to.
...for not having to shower everyday because my hair is dry and I don't sweat much and usually when I do, I don't smell.
...also, for flushable wet wipes. One of the best inventions of the past ten years.
...for reliable vehicles that we own outright and will drive to the death.
...for little tools like nail cutters and tweezers and band-aids and pony tail holders and other such small inventions that make life easier and cleaner.
Oh, and I dyed my hair darker because the bleaching has caused major breakage. I'm thankful that it turned out not bad for $15. What a great era in which to live. Never has vanity been easier.
This was a fun little project for John, Sarah, Caitlyn, and I. It's my friend Louise's 39th birthday... in an hour. On the 10th. It's already the 10th where she is. We wanted her to know how much she is loved. Check it out and offer your well wishes! Meet a really cool person, here. (My kids and I sing Happy Birthday en français in a video there.)
I was lying in bed just now, thinking. Always thinking. Often not a good idea, that thinking thing. I was listening to Kate Rusby again, though I said I wouldn't because she can be a bit of a downer. Turns out she's only a downer when I'm already down. When I'm happyish, she is just serene.
I was thinking of this book I could write. I have a story I could write that would be so compelling, so fascinating, so complicated, so rich with imagery and language, with themes on love and God and devotion and faith and growth and how the people we become are not always the people we plan to become.
I have no doubt that it would be published, and as I was sitting there on Oprah's stage, discussing my book, with Jude in the audience, Oprah commented on how my eyes sparkled as I gazed at him, smiling. She invited him to come sit with us on the stage. He was very shy and a bit awkward. He doesn't like to be the focus of attention. Even when I read his court transcripts I can see the shyness in my mind's eye. Maybe that's why he does so darn well; he comes off as intelligent and just a bit awkward enough to seem genuine. He's believable, through and through.
So, there he is on stage with Oprah and I, and my mind is swirling with thoughts of how Life takes you by surprise and how much this man has changed over the years and how privileged I am to be a witness to his life and his evolution. Then for him to suggest that it's because of me.... Well. You can see why my eyes would be sparkling. Thems would be tears, you see.
It is shameful how much I thought I knew ten years ago but titillating to realise that I can be slapped in the face with told-you-so's. I hear the echo in my mind of people before me telling me I didn't know as much as I thought I did. I thought I knew what I needed to know about marriage. I thought I could predict how things would unfold: Infatuation would die down and a comfortable love would take over. I thought it would be as straightforward as that, as if marriage could be summed up in one sentence. The arrogance of trying to sum up any significant hunk of Life in one sentence can only be justified if that sentence is, "[Blank] defies single sentence summations."
I've spent a lot of time in the past couple of months, thinking about marriage and talking with Jude and friends about marriage. What does it really mean to cleave unto someone? The level of cleaving the Lord wants from us-- what does it look like and is it really possible in this life? It seems premature to suggest any answer after only 10 years of marriage.
I've got this inkling that ten more years from now I will be able to say that it is possible to cleave unto each other fully but that it can only come about when we learn to respect the distance between us and our partners. For true oneness to occur, we'll have to eliminate pride, jealousy, and the desire to control, and do it all within the bounds God has set for us. Hmmm. Tricky? We'll see. A theory I can only prove by testing it. I'll get back to you in a decade with the preliminary findings.
My friend Louise shared this quote with me a while back, from Rilke:
"The
point of marriage is not to create a quick commonality by tearing down
all boundaries; on the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each
partner appoints the other to be the guardian of his solitude,
and thus they show each other the greatest possible trust. A merging of
two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a
hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of
their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is
accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist,
a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed
in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of
always seeing each other as a whole."
Beautiful, huh? This quote rang true for both Jude and I. We need it. We are so different from each other that if we insisted on a total cleaving, a complete merging, we would actually be driven apart, sure that something was wrong with us once we realised that our ragged-edged puzzle pieces don't match.
I've spent ten years trying to jam this puzzle together into a work of semi-respectable art that combines God's vision and Hollywood's vision of what a marriage should be. Aside from honouring fidelity and being helpmeets to each other, God doesn't say a whole lot about what a marriage should look like. God, through scriptures and living prophets, gives us some basic ideas, but I'm starting to realise that those ideas are merely paint pots from which we paint our own landscapes. As for Hollywood-- pffft.
I've spent so many hours and days wishing Jude was more like me. Interestingly, he has not done the same thing. A few days ago, I came across a record I made of something he wrote to me over a year ago:
"I love you so much. I miss you and the children every
day I come to work. Some days I could almost cry (except, of course, I
am a man, so I do not).
Natasha, you make poetry mean something. You put
life into music and life into what would otherwise be the mere duty of
existence. You make Love worth protecting and a family out of a group
of children and a motley husband.
Natasha, you breathe spirit into soul and feeling
into touch. The water from your well shall always satisfy. You are the
wonder that all metaphors fail, the gift that can be opened everyday.
There
are days when I am forced to pause, when I am struck by the fact that
you are my wife. You are a dream I get to touch, a future unfolding before me, a fantastic, mysterious and challenging encounter of womanhood
as it should be. I love your cheer, your courage and determination. I
love your smile and the life that makes that smile an insight into our
eternal origins. May the next nine years be better, as growth-filled
and as warming."
I am such an asshat.
I've assumed it's because I'm so worthy of emulation that he admires me. I've thought that he needs to catch up to me and become more full of life. But really, he is stunning and awe-inspiring in his own right. He's not like me or even like some of my favourite people. He is more staid than passionate. He does not listen to sad music to get in touch with his inner Sad. He does not enjoy arty flicks that demand concentration and interpretation. He does not love all kinds of poetry. He does not understand how I can love a woman, romantically. He has not always loved me the way I wanted him to.
But while my eyes were averted in frustration, Jude was busy loving me the way I needed him to. He truly is the caretaker of my life.
He's helped me realise that I should not feel so bad about being high-maintenance and putting him through the ringer, as I rarely do it on purpose. He says I am, "....a fantastic, mysterious and challenging encounter of womanhood
as it should be" and I find that I'm starting to believe him.
Without our honesty and without our struggles (usually MY struggles) we would not know just how exquisite a lover he is. (I mean that non-sexually, although... you know.) Without our differences and the straining between us to understand and respect them, we would not be the people we are and I think we're pretty special.
It's almost... almost as if the Lord knew what he was doing when he put us together. Hmmm. He gave a young woman full of passion, need, hurt and a tendency to over-think and to over-love to a strong man, who has, perhaps, an over-ability to control his emotions. A man who is not prone to flightiness. He commits, he works. He is this giant of gold, strong but malleable, with his arms outstretched holding everyone up. And me, being prone to too much emotion, anxiety and panic, I cracked him open and found that he does bleed. The man of gold bleeds. Incredible, right? He cries. And he's the better for it.
I give him life and he makes it possible for me to live. Unlikely an accident, this pairing.
So, as I'm sitting on that stage, talking to Oprah, my eyes sparkling with tears, I'm thinking of how strong he is. Forget the fact that he's cleaned up my strawberry puke. Forget that he's wiped my butt during labour. Forget that he held our daughter's head and caught her body as I delivered her into the world, in our living room. Those are merely symbols of something greater.
He has let me be honest with him, promising a safe place to fall. He has let me share so much of myself with so many without worrying about what people will think of him. He lets me have the tenderest of feelings for people dear to me, without insecurity. He has nurtured love between me and his children and honoured my mothering at every single turn. He has handed me his heart with trust that I'll keep it beating, with maybe just a twinge of hesitancy because, dude-- hearts are not supposed to be dripping outside our body cavities, you know; Love sometimes contradicts all our natural instincts.
My eyes sparkle because I look at him and see the personification of so many philosophies of Love. It takes a real man to understand and exemplify Rilke.
I don't think I can bring myself to write this story, worthy of the New York Times bestseller list and appearances on Oprah. Some things are so special and sacred and to risk people failing to understand is too painful. Maybe one day I won't mind.
Until then, the caretaker of my life can be the caretaker of my stories. He's teaching me to trust.
I'm inexplicably sunnier and more level-headed today. Extra sleep? A good random day in my cycle? I didn't do anything to "give it to the Lord". Not that giving anything to the Lord is a bad idea. Just, you know, not everything is because we're not being spiritual enough.
Strangers who care enough to be commenters. (Not a criticism of people who don't comment. Just a stand-alone note of appreciation.)
Kid art.
I managed to write this post despite interruptions every 1-6 minutes. I'm not exaggerating.
I have tried to think of what to say and anything I come up with sounds stupid. I want to say thank you for all the lovely comments. I want to say thanks for reading stuff that I write! I want to say thank you for sharing your thoughts and your time with me and other people who are interested in what you have to say. Whatever I think to say either sounds bored or over-emphatic.
I made a video in part because a friend told me that I'm a bit intimidating in print and I come off really different in video (better, I assume). Want proof that I'm not at all intimidating? Watch this video. I sound kinda dumb.
Also I wanted to show that you really do inspire me to emotion over the words you write and the pats on the back you give.
And then THAT makes me feel dumb, in a way, because it's not like I write best-selling books. It's not like I'm a politician or anyone who makes a difference in the world that can be pointed to (outside my obviously tangible family). I just write a blog. Whoopdeedoo. It's not even a really popular blog! LOL. But I'm not being self-deprecating. I'm just being honest. I think what I write is important to me and might be important to my family one day and I'm sure there are a few people who have found something that was meaningful to them (like my friend Christina who realised from reading here that our lives have many parallels and it's always nice to relate to someone, especially someone you actually know). But I have no delusions of grandeur here. It's just a little blog and I say the word "blog" with a bit of embarrassment, actually.
At the same time, I share some of my most personal thoughts and feelings and you read them because you care for whatever reason (many of you are real life friends I love more than I can say). And then you sometimes tell me that I've done a good job writing-- me, the girl with a high school education. You even tell me you love me.
I hope you know that I would be so happy if people read what I have to say and shared their thoughts and didn't tell me how great I am. I don't want anyone to think that I write because I want you to gush at me. I don't. I hope for laughs some days-- yes. Sometimes, if I'm feeling nervous and insecure, I do hope for some really good feedback. But I mostly write because I must; it's my thinking process.
At the same time, it does mean a lot to me, your gushiness. I don't want to sound ungrateful because hey-- I do need love. We all do. It's nice.
ARggggh. Everything I want to say sounds stupid or self-important AND stupid.
And here's a video to further embarrass me. How many times can a person say UM in a 7 minute video?! (I don't know how people do this for a living.)
Thanks.
P.S. You know how I said in the video that I'm okay with the way I am, for the most part? And remember that blog post a couple of Sundays ago that was really depressing and low? Well, that was an off day. But you knew that, right? ;-)
I want to know you. You as you are now... today. Not your perfect online persona.
I want your honest emotions to what I write. Do not look to other commenters to gauge your own response. Are you them? No. You're you. You don't have to agree with them. You don't have to agree with me.
I take time to write the things I write here. There's forethought, there's editing, there's purposeful posting. Sometimes I have to go back and re-edit.
You, however, are the reader. You're allowed your immediate response. You have no JOB here. This isn't a private country club with rules to obey. There's no role you have to play. I don't seek you out so you can pet my ego. I don't need you to tell me I'm wonderful or a good writer or a good mom. I LIKE MYSELF THE WAY I AM. Even when I complain about all my imperfections-- I'm down with myself overall. Because I'm becoming something and that's good enough.
You help me to know how my thoughts and my writing affect a variety of people. You help me see into the hearts and minds of people who are not me. You do that just by being yourself. And it helps me be a better person.
I love that you're women and men, moms and dads, single people, married people, childless people, Mormons, atheists, Baptists, non-denominational, former Amish, gay, bisexual, straight, liberals, conservatives, grandparents and teenagers, bloggers and not, real life friends and complete strangers. I love that you leave lengthy comments-- it suggests that I gave you a lot to think about! I love that you feel comfortable sharing your opinions even when we don't agree. I love it when you take me to task on something I've written (ahem, Heidi and Sara).
What if you're PMSing? I don't care.
What if you're extremely depressed, just want someone to listen to you, and your comment to the post has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you? LOVELY.
I don't like it when people use my God's name in vain. I cringe when I read it and I hope that out of respect for my religious devotion that you'll refrain. But I'm not going to tell you what to do, just as I wouldn't in real life. If it's simply an honest reflection of who you are and where you stand, your comment stands too. I don't get to censor the whole world and I won't censor you here. For my readers who get upset over other commenters' language: This is the world we live in. We have to share it with people who aren't like us. If you withdraw yourself from them because you don't like their behaviour, you'll never be able to offer a different example of living, will you? Think of the people Christ chummed around with from time to time.
I know the difference between an attack upon my opinions and ideas and behaviour and an attack upon myself, so don't worry about me taking things personally. Be passionate! Be exasperated!
If I think you're actively trying to attack ME, then I'll just delete your comments and ban you if I must. I've not had to do that but I do know how. This is supposed to be a dialogue. If the dialogue completely disappears, there's no point.
If you're the type of person who's a cad, you might want to not be a cad, for your own sake. But don't change on my account. Your personality has nothing to do with me. Who am I to dictate your behaviour??
Don't apologize either for leaving too many comments. No one HAS to read them. If other readers want to skip past your comments, they can.
In other words: I HAVE NO STUPID COMMENTING POLICY. This isn't the temple. This isn't kindergarten. This isn't your work place. It's just a freakin' blog. And it's for everyone.
Just be you. And I'll just be me. We'll be the way we are and it will be good enough for now.
Daily Gratitudes
This morning Lulu woke up, put up three fingers and said to Jude, "I had four sleeps!" Very cute and a nice way for me to wake up. You may have heard that I'm not a morning person.
I got some really, really kind emails today.
My children are healthy.
I think Jude's work schedule this week is lighter.
How many times can I really rave about my comfy bed?
I have friends who've had babies who've quietly expressed disappointment over how alone and unaided they felt after the births. I think they expected people to just know that they needed help and they were afraid to ask because they didn't want to put anyone out.
I've been thinking of this during this past week as I've been receiving much assistance and love from my friends.
Think of how often women don't say what they really mean or feel or need.
Women are notorious for hoping their menfolk will read their minds-- to know what they want for their birthdays, to know to comfort them when they need it, to know how to touch them. Women think, If he really knew me, if he really cared, he'd know what I want. Women want romance and romance is less romantic when it's choreographed by the person seeking the romance.
Women are notorious for not wanting honest answers to their questions about how their jeans look on their rears, how their new hairstyles look, and if they should leave or if they should stay. Generally, when women ask a question like this, they want affirmation. If a woman asks you what you think of her new haircut and you stammer and your face gives away your horror, she will forgive you if you lie to her. Just don't be honest with your words.
Women don't ask for the help they need. (It's a recent phenomenon for women to even admit publicly that motherhood is a struggle.) Working moms put in more housekeeping and childcare hours than men, still. We expect ourselves to organize the smash birthday parties and the memorable Christmases, and keep the house and family schedule organized and do the dirty cleaning jobs, even if we work full- or part-time outside the house, while our husbands don't share these expectations. LDS women have a formal program designed to take care of each woman in the church: The Visiting Teaching Program. Each month our visiting teachers come and at some point they usually ask if there's anything they can help with. I'd wager a guess that 99% of the time, women say no, even if they were crying their eyes out half an hour before their visiting teachers came.
We don't share how many hours we slaved over those cakes or cleaned every square inch of the house before guests came for dinner. We like to pretend that we can do it all, with grace and ease, like Martha Stewart.
It's all self-esteem related, I fear: If you really love me, I won't have to ask.
I do believe the time will come when women will feel comfortable admitting their faults to each other instead of competing for Prettiest, Smartest, Most Talented, Most Likely To Succeed in class. The time will come when women will recognize the true sisterhood they share, and this Ms. Universe pageant that subverts true intimacy amongst us will wane, hopefully enough to not be worth mentioning.
May I recommend a starting point?
Let's ask for help when we need it and not actively strive to cover up our short comings. Let's treat ourselves the way we'd want our daughters to treat themselves. Let's set the example for them.
You see, I've been going through a tough time for a year, off and on and recently I broke down. I had no choice but to ask for help because I literally could not mother any more and I'm still struggling, unable to function under any stress. I shared my struggles on my blog and to my mom friends whose children go to school with my children.
I was a bit shocked at the response. So many moms told me about things they'd done that were similar to my recent fumbles. One mom told me that when she was a child her mom left her standing on a corner in an Alberta town, waiting to be picked up. The mom drove all the way home, 45 minutes away, before she realized she forgot her daughter. The daughter said to me that she didn't even know her mom had forgotten her. She just happily waited, knowing her mom would come back, thinking she got busy in a store or something.
Two other friends have told me about times when they forgot their own children in neighboring towns. One friend told me about the time she forgot her daughter at a sewing lesson and she had to be tracked down in a meeting in a high school gym, where the entire gym of parents heard a school official say that my friend left her daughter at a lesson. (These stories were prompted by me saying that I forgot my daughter at her piano lesson.)
I would not have heard these stories if I didn't share my own and boy, do they bring me relief. IT'S NOT JUST ME.
Sure, that's what mommy blogs are about: reaching out to each other in solidarity. But imagine what would happen to our close-to-home relationships if we were as authentic and humble as we are online. For one thing, blog friends don't come to your house and wash dishes.
In a little more than a week's time, here's the help I've received:
Mary Z. made us cookies and muffins
Patty brought us muffins
Elizabeth, a mom of a young baby, offered to organize meals and help for us; offered to watch our children and she gave me a choice of meals we would like and I chose chicken cordon bleu. Can't wait.
Mary W. came to lend us her vacuum (just another thing of ours broken), and cleaned my whole kitchen. She took my children to her home and made cookies with them. She watched my children so I could take Izzy to the vet.
Shelley tidied up my basement; played with my children; took me to the temple; made us a ham, potato, veggie, pasta with meatballs dinner, with cookies; gave me a reflexology treatment (and she's better than the masseuse I paid to do this); and helped my son with cub badges.
Jen L. came to fold my laundry, keep me company, watched my children so I could walk my dog, helped my daughter with her Brownie badges.
Pam cleaned my house. She relieved Mary from watching the kids while I was at the vet. She's also been my go-to counselor and reminds me to take my vitamins and supplements.
Ryanna brought us a taco salad supper.
Debbie brought us a lasagna, salad, garlic bread supper with homemade cookies and asked me if I've thought of getting tested for thyroid disease because she's noticed how down I've been. (She wanted to ask earlier but didn't want to be intrusive. Hilarious. She now knows that she can ask me anything and that yes, indeed, I've had three blood tests and one urine test.)
Rhonda brought Daisy home from school, diffused frankincense to calm me down, and listened to me without any apparent judgment.
JQ checked in lots, listened to me for at least an hour this afternoon, and will be letting us use her washer and dryer since our washing machine flooded our laundry room today (and our furnace and damaged some ceiling in the basement bathroom. Have I mentioned our house is only one year old?) and we have tons of soaking wet towels and clothes. (She doesn't know yet that she's helping us this way.) And she, the writer and journalist, told me today that my blog was "very good" and she's a tough critic. She sure picked a good time to tell me that-- I needed that boost, since blogging is one of the few things I've had energy to do in months.
Gayle sent me a link to a church video that she thought would help, as well as some very generous and kind words.
Lisa offered me her apartment in Peace River to escape to while she's gone.
Jane invited me to her house on St. Joseph's Island in Ontario, where I could relax and heal via her aunt's help.
MANY people said they were praying for me.
MANY people have kept asking how I'm doing and I know that's their way of reaching out.
Do you think any of that would have happened if I wasn't so honest about how I was doing? No. AND I HAVE NEVER FELT SO MUCH LOVE AND CONCERN IN MY LIFE.
While the above help was most needed, my friend Katie touched me the most with the following poem she wrote. I just had to share it, log it here for posterity, as it's one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever done for me.
She's Changing the World by Katie
I know this great girl her name is Natasha but because I'm American I sound it like Aw-Shaw. It seemed to me once that she knew it all then she started a blog and spoke of her falls. She's human all right and a mighty good one You will hear of her plight - it's at the tip of her tongue.
She's got her opinions, they are yours for the taking. She'll tell you her plans On NOT baby-making. She'll tell you her woes, Her trials and frights, But best of all she shares Her favourite delights.
She takes so much in - the fan base, the stats, the number of followers, the gems and the brats. The starry-eyed wanna be lovers, beware! This girl has more on her plate than one lone woman can bear.
She cooks like a gourmet, and crafts like Martha to boot, she takes care of four kids, and a dog that eats poop! It's not like she's God (yet), so give her some room, some space, some fresh air, a dust pan and broom!
She'll go to her hideout and sweep out the sadness, clear out the cobwebs and let go of the madness. She'll go and she'll read, and she'll paint, and she'll pray, and when she emerges it will be a new day.
Her spark is apparent, her gifts are tremendous, her Being is honest, and simply stupendous! So, keep your eye on this girl, who is my friend I call N, she's changing the world, don't you know it? Amen.
I laughed when I read this, until I got to the line "so give her some room" at which point I burst into very loud sobbing. I had needed to cry, wanted to cry but been unable to. Katie got me there. And it STILL makes me cry. I can't tell you how much this poem touched me and solidified Katie's place in my heart. Every time I read it I am humbled and moved and grateful.
I'm extremely, extremely blessed to have such wonderful friends and local church members who really know what it means to be members of The Relief Society of God.
It's also been a blessing to receive so many emails and blog comments saying such generously kind things. My own sister left me this comment a few months back and you can't know how much I treasure it greater than all my worldly goods:
"You know, I like you more and more and more each year. You're still a hundred times smarter than me but it doesn't feel like you are superior anymore. I'm always in awe at some of the things you say because it just makes me realize how much you have evolved into a beautiful person and this post made me cry. Thanks for that."
(Okay, first of all, it needs be said that she's exaggerating. She's very smart but doesn't give herself enough credit because she hasn't been loved nearly as much as she deserves.) The fact that my sister, who would know, says I've evolved, that I AM becoming something better means that I really am doing okay. I may feel like I'm inflicting myself upon my kids and my husband and my children's teachers, but my sister says I'm a beautiful person. I might think that I'm horribly flawed, seriously damaged, hopelessly obnoxious sometimes, but my sister says I'm a beautiful person.
She probably wouldn't have been able to see how I've changed were it not for my blog. Real life doesn't give me the same opportunity to explain myself and share myself.
I would not feel so blessed and so loved if it were not for my blog, if it were not for Twitter, if it were not for telling everyone outright that I NEED HELP.
So, my valentine message for you is to love yourself by letting other people love you, the real you, the flawed you. Tell the people around you exactly what you need. Telepathy is an uncommon talent these days. Transparency is the new normal-- embrace it, maybe even via blogging.
Look at how it's blessed my life.
Daily Gratitudes
Monday is Family Day. A holiday.
Izzy probably won't die.
Jennifer is coming to visit JQ this week and I'm looking forward to turning her into a real life friend instead of a Facebook friend-of-a-friend friend.
We still have electricity, at least.
Extended warranties I was wise enough to buy, knowing my bad karma with electronic things.
P.S. You might think it uncooth of me to name people who have helped because it might make people who were unable to help feel bad. The only reason I did that was because it got tedious and was awkward to read when it said, "One friend... another friend... another friend... someone else...". People do what they can. Everyone has their reasons for helping or not and to different degrees. It's nothing to feel bad about. I'm truly grateful for all the service I've been given.
Jude and I have been married for ten years, today. I realize that's not 40 or 50 or anything. But I have reason to suspect that certain family members didn't think we'd make it this far. We married when I was 18, almost 19-- something I'd never want my own kids to do but I was just so fortuitous as to be pushed to grow up WAY to fast. Jude was 34.
You know how after a passage of time, people always say, "Wow, that just went by in the blink of an eye" or "It feels like yesterday"? I CAN'T SAY THAT AND NOT BREAK ONE OF THE TEN COMMANDMENTS.
It feels like ten years. And is that so bad?
I'm glad for all the lessons I've learned the hard way. I believe that probably nothing affords us a better opportunity to become more Christlike than marriage and having children.
Of course I'm grateful for the joys, the companionship, the laughter late at night, the inside jokes and all that obvious stuff.
But I'm increasingly more grateful for the hard times too. I wouldn't want to go through them again, mind you. It's just that my husband is his best when I'm at my worst. Not always, but overall. How he endured so many years of deep, chemical depression from me... I will never understand because I am not that patient. I can't relate. Sure, he tried to fix me, many times and offered dumb solutions when all I wanted was a body to sob into-- someone to pick me up and rock me... but I, in his position, would have demanded change. "Go get help! You need medication! Let's try these herbs!" I don't know how to endure someone else's pain. I don't know how to watch that. Jude does it for a living, literally.
Being so close to someone and watching them live and interact with the world can be a revelation or a frustration, depending upon expectations.
This man has taught me a lot: Patience, diplomacy, honesty, the superiority of his Boy Scout can opener, the musical genius (cough) of Jimmy Buffett, the joy of a good cheeseburger... Okay, that's all I can think of but I'm sure there's more and I'm just too flawed to remember.
These lessons were sometimes hard to hear amid the screaming in my head over my frustration that he was not more like me. Because when people are very different, marriage can be hard. Or, when people are the same marriage can be hard. Really, marriage is just hard, okay? Maybe not always but at some point.
What do you think, Jude? How did we make it this far amidst all the stresses and challenges?
Jude's Turn.
I am a saint.
Just kidding.
Part of the reason we made it ten years was your tolerance for my faults which I deluded myself into thinking I didn't have. While we have a large number of dissimilarities, I think we've learned that we have some common values: how we raise our children, our feelings about the gospel of Jesus Christ, the importance of our health.
When we got married, I knew it wasn't going to be easy, in part because of our age difference. There were a number of experiences we did not have in common.
But what I didn't know was how much I would learn from you, including, and especially, the importance of one's emotional health. I never thought I would learn quite so much about wisdom and about being Christlike, from you.
[Okay, I have to interject here.]
Me: What do you mean? You didn't think I had a shot of being much of anything wise or Christlike when we married? What the hay?
Jude: NO. When we got married, I knew you were beautiful and intelligent and full of potential to be a great mother. I had no idea how much I needed you and how much you could do for me.
Me: I knew. I'm attracted to fix-it projects, remember? And I saw you as someone who needed a lot of love and care. I had planned to be soooo domestic, always cooking for you and giving you massages and such. I guess that didn't work out so swell.
Jude: Well, if you're going to compare me to a '74 Chevy, I'm still sitting in the back yard, rusting away.
Me: No, you're not. You've simply been disassembled and I haven't assembled you yet. If you're good, I put in a new part. If you're bad, I'll stick some FORD parts in you.
Jude: (laughs)
Me: In all seriousness, I love you. You are a gem above men. I'm profoundly blessed. I knew at the time that I was making a good decision-- or I was pretty sure, anyway-- but I couldn't know why. I couldn't know that you'd be there to hold me up on the toilet when I was stuck in transition labour with our son. I couldn't know that you wouldn't be upset at me when I backed into a truck at night, right before Christmas, and we had to pay $1500 out of pocket. I never would have guessed that'd you'd refuse to let me pick up the dog poop and that I'd have to do it out of disobedience, under the cover of you-not-being-here, if I wanted to do it at all. I would have been embarrassed if I would have known in advance how many times you'd clean up my vomit because you say I shouldn't have to. I would have felt indebted in advance for all the times you let me sleep in because I have this chronic disorder where I need more sleep than Tutankhamen in order to function. I'm pretty relieved that you've become better looking over the years. I love that you cook and do dishes and fold laundry and take out the garbage and clean the kitty litter and yes, I'm aware that many men are not so giving in this regard. I love how perfectly you fit into the curve of my back and the crook of my knees as you spoon me to sleep. Thank you for being patient through all of the phases so far. I'll try to win the lottery for you. Okay?
Jude: How do I say that all my greatest expectations of you have been surpassed? How do I say that after ten years, I love you more than I thought I could have? I feel like I'm living my life inside a grander plan for which I'm ultimately the beneficiary and not the giver. Watching you live your life with me being a part of it, is like walking through the Louvre and knowing art, in a world surrounded by gaudy Crayola.
Me: You've said more lovely words lately than I could ever reciprocate. Don't feel like you need to create a verbal devotional masterpiece of love for me. Your adoration is apparent every day and every Sunday you bring me breakfast in bed. YOU are the masterpiece. You are worth more, just as you are, than any amount of money, any number of admirers, any number of vacation days or whistles on the street.
Thank you for reinventing my life. (And the Louvre, huh? That's a comment worth engraving on my palm.)
(Okay, so I could have done better by your lips. And by the way, "our age difference" is barely noticeable to me. I can't think of one instance where it's been relevant.)
First of all, I urge you to watch this video. This video almost sums up how I feel about gay marriage. There are a couple arguments he makes that I think are not solid but the gist of what he is saying is how I feel and I really appreciate the emotion with which he delivers it because I feel just as emotional about this issue.
Mormons are taking the heat in the aftermath of the Prop 8 vote but many Mormons have been conflicted over this issue. I am one of them.
On the one hand, I believe that marriage is GOD'S institution. Even in its civil state, it is a covenant given to man by God. It is not for man to edit God's laws, period. And a lot of people believe that. Millions and millions, not all of them Mormon. And nothing that anyone says is likely to change their minds, so opponents should find some way to disagree peaceably for all our sakes.
On the other hand, just because gay people call themselves married, just because the law of the land allows them to do so, doesn't mean God is going to recognize it. And then isn't that between them and God? If people insist on doing something God doesn't approve of, how is that MY responsibility or business?? Is calling themselves married any worse than having gay sex?
Oh, but then there's that argument about how gay marriage devalues the sanctity of marriage. Can someone please explain how it does that? How does anyone else's view of marriage affect your view of your own marriage? If Bob and Joe's marriage makes you view your own marriage as less sacred, isn't that your own fault for letting your view be altered? How can anyone else force you to feel a certain way?
My marriage is between God, Jude and myself. How anyone else gets married has nothing to do with my marriage. Period. OH MY HECK, HOW IS THAT NOT THE END OF THAT ARGUMENT?!
While I do believe it's a sin to redefine marriage, I don't believe that enabling other people to do that is a sin on my head. If they are so determined, I say let them be and stop this war. If it were a sin to vote No on Prop 8, our church leaders would have come out and said that, else they let us commit sin. Buuuut... they didn't. Therefore, it's not a sin. I think that's a reasonable assumption, don't you?
(Don't you love the way I'm telling you how you should agree with me, making it hard/awkward to disagree with me? Ya, I'm not trying to do that. I'm just annoyed and passionate about this and this is how I talk in such circumstances. Feel free to disagree if you think you have an intelligent point to make-- it fosters understanding.)
Many parents are worried that schools will now start teaching (have already been in some places, actually) that homosexuality is an appropriate lifestyle choice. They are worried that normalizing something they believe to be a grievous sin will increase the chances that their children will experiment upon that. This worry is not silly, in my opinion. Doesn't it seem like masturbation is much more common now than back when kids were told they'd grow hair on their palms or go blind? Masturbation is taught in schools as a normal activity and now it's a part of common conversation within tv shows. I bet more women use vibrators unabashedly now than ten years ago. Because normalizing something IS going to increase the likelihood that it will take place.
However. Experimentation and defining oneself as "gay" are different. I really don't think you can make a gay person by teaching them in school, here and there, that some people are gay and they get married. Premarital sex is taught in schools too, if not within curriculum at least by example from youth. Evolution is taught in schools and that can throw a serious wrench into accepting Creationism, and therefore the existence of God. Do we shelter our kids from all of this, though? No, we encourage them to study and pray and make their own decisions, weighing all facts, faith, and alternatives. Latter-day Saints believe strongly in education, not sheltering.
The problem, as I see it, is that when we learn about something for the first time, we compare everything we hear afterward to our first lesson or impression. If someone in authority teaches my son that homosexuality is okay, he may very well look upon my subsequent lessons on the subject with skepticism. If this is possible, the solution is obvious: Be the first to bring up the discussion. Set the standard, as the parent.
What about legalized gay marriage ushering in the forcing of churches performing gay marriages? Isn't it inevitable that our church would be forced to marry gay Mormons?
COME ON. Think about that. Didn't people just vote to keep gay marriage illegal? Didn't that work? Is the democratic process going to suddenly change or fail simply because civil marriages are made legal? In the US, religious freedoms are protected under the constitution. I know that the worry is that gay activists will make the argument that THEIR constitutional rights are being infringed, forcing churches to marry them. But that's a fear with little foundation. The foundation of the United States is religious. Most Americans are religious. There is NO WAY that American Christians would let that take place. Most Mormons who voted No on Prop 8 would not vote yes for gay temple marriages. A line will be drawn there. We have to have faith in that and not act preemptively out of fear.
I don't understand why people like (seemingly) Laura Brotherson think that by not actively trying to dictate the decisions of others (gay marriage) that we're condoning their decisions.I've complained many times about this attitude in the LDS church, and elsewhere, that if we don't voice our opinions on every wrong thing that we're implying we think those wrong things are right. THIS IS NOT LOGICAL. It is an emotional reaction. We don't need to decry every evil thing, nearly every chance we get. When it comes to decisions that adults make that affect their lives alone, we DO need to be tolerant and compassionate! We don't need to believe it's okay. We don't need to say it's okay when asked. I don't even believe we need to vote that it's okay. If we start with tolerance and compassion as a base for communication, it may present an opportunity later to share our views, maybe even influencing behaviour.
In the post after this one, I would like to discuss the hate that is being directed towards Mormons right now, particularly in Salt Lake City and California.But first, I want to share some thoughts here about homosexuality, in general.
Firstly, the only agreement that scientists have come to regarding the cause of homosexuality is that there's no one cause. It is thought that some people are predisposed to being gay, like they are being alcoholics or depressed. Then different life experiences can create these strong inclinations. Having a bad relationship with either parent, having a non-present parent (ex. deadbeat dad) or being sexually abused as a child, can all play a role. This is the case with every gay person I know, except one. (I would totally link to studies right now if I had the links on this laptop but they're on my frozen Acer laptop.)
The point is, same sex attraction is not anyone's fault. Our prophets have said this, too. We do believe that it can be overcome for some people and many gay people have attested to this. This infuriates the gay community because they think it's like saying there's something wrong with homosexuality, as if it's a mental illness or something. But if people want to overcome those urges, whose business is that of anyone else's?
That being said, there are many people who have tried to overcome who find it impossible and that struggle is breaking their spirits. If someone dies a smoker who's been trying to quit for years, will they go to "Hell", just because they didn't succeed in quitting? I don't think so. Likewise, I don't believe that people who have tried to live a straight lifestyle, who've wished and prayed to feel straight but came up short, will go to "Hell". Living gay can't be an automatic ticket to eternal condemnation for everyone because we are told that the Lord looks at our hearts and our efforts, far more than we mortals would.
I urge you, plead with you, to please read this comment from a gay Mormon. It is the most earnest, heartfelt, honest, thing I've ever read from a member of the church who truly believes that the LDS church is God's one true church, but who has reconciled himself to living a gay lifestyle. It is the fourth comment down. I can't comprehend how anyone can read this and not feel that he is being honest in saying that he's tried his best. I know how compassionate I feel toward him; isn't God's grace and compassion so much greater than mine?
The sin of a homosexual act is not the same thing as sex outside of marriage or adultery. Gay people are not faced with choosing sex now or later (after marriage). They are not faced with choosing between one person or another. They are faced with choosing between an intimate, sexual, and completely spiritual in every way, relationship like straight people get to have, or none at all... ever!
If you have no personal experience with that kind of profound loneliness, I don't think you are in a position to judge. If you have no experience with that kind of identity earthquake, I think you should stay out of it inasmuch as possible.
I can't help but think that if my kid was gay and had so much angst that he or she wanted to kill him or herself, I'd rather they give in to love. I know that just because I feel that way as a parent, doesn't mean that the Lord feels that way. But I think it's very possible that he does. It's very possible that the Lord thinks of how he has our whole lives to work with us on our issues and if we go and off ourselves, that really complicates things.
For some gay people, this is how profound their pain is: Death or Sin.
And while it's our church leaders' jobs to teach sweeping correct principles, is it possible that this "gay mormon actor" did receive comfort from the Lord when he decided to have a homosexual relationship? Is it possible that the Lord, knowing how hard this man tried, knowing that he did everything his church leaders asked of him, even reparative therapy, knowing that he just might lose his entire will to live, sent his child a message of "I love you. It's okay. I will always love you. I don't condone what you are doing because it's not a part of my eternal plan for you but I understand and we will work it out. I will work on you. I will be here for you and help you. We'll figure this out."??
Only he and God know the answer to that.
I hear church members all the time say things like, "I feel sympathy for gay people. It must be hard." But I don't think they really "get it". I don't think many of them CAN "get it". I think there's room for even more compassion and comprehension. I don't think some people try hard enough. Because there's always a "but" at the end of that offering of sympathy. "....But, it's just so wrong/gross/weird." Why must there be a "but"? It's as if church members think that if, in conversation with other members, they don't say all the things they disagree with, people might wonder if they're kind of gay themselves! I've had this thought. Like, if I'm too understanding, people might wonder if I swing both ways.
Enough with that small-minded, self-conscious stupidity. Let empathy stand on its own two feet without leaning on moral outrage to protect ego. Empathy and moral outrage do not need to occupy the same moment. They each have their place in time.
Stay tuned for the next post about Prop 8 and the violence and hatred being directed towards Mormons....
(If you want to comment and you think your comment will be super long and you have your own blog, consider posting your comment to your blog while leaving a little comment here directing us to your post. If some of my thoughts are very different from how you've thought of things in the past, may I humbly suggest you think about what I've said for a bit, mull it over, rather than responding with a kneejerk reaction.)
Jude, after the song was done: Aside from the whiny "you're always right, I'm an idiot" bit in the beginning, it's nice.
Me: What are you talking about? He says, "If you could read my mind you'd say Baby, you were right and I don't want to fight anymore." He could be saying that SHE would say that.
Jude: Suuure.
Me: It's a good song. I don't know why you object to its sweetness. You've been sweet on occasion, saying similar things. Why is it so bad when Jack does-- because he's not Jimmy Buffett?
Jude: Well, he's not. ....You just think Jack is hot.
Me: Not really, no. I don't think of him that way. ....But he DOES own my soul.
Jude: Well, if you're comfortable with a mere mortal owning your soul....
Me: You know, I totally am.
As I was watching some live videos on YouTube, however, I thought... maybe I do think of him like that. Just a little.
In all seriousness, I would easily spend $2000 on front row tickets to a Jack Johnson concert. It's definitely a life dream. He makes my cells quiver, literally. He soothes me. He makes me feel like I've had a scalp massage. I would cry throughout a concert; I cry just watching the live videos!! As far as musicians go, he's perfect. Perfect for me, at least. He's probably my generation's James Taylor. I predict he will enjoy the same kind of long-term success, if not more.
I love James Taylor too. But my favourite musicians are ranked kind of like this:
Jack Johnson
James Taylor, Foy Vance, Van Morrison Donovan Frankenreiter, Amos Lee, Jason Mraz, Animal Liberation Orchestra
And those are the first few.
Jude just apologized to me for not being more sensitive today regarding the Jack Johnson song. Because he's working on not expressing impatient disdain for the things that are important to me.
"Sometimes I forget how much you love him. While I love Jimmy Buffett's music, I don't love HIM. You love Jack the person."
"Well, not really. I mean, he's a good person. He has a ton of heart and little ego. But I don't think of him that way. Like, if I HAD to be married to him, I could probably come around to
the idea. I'd get used to it. But I'd make him sing EVERYTHING he had
to say. He would not be allowed to merely talk. If he tried just
talking to me, I'd cry out in panic, "What are you trying to DO to me?
Do you want me to wither and die? SING, boy, sing."
One of my most favourite people in the world is Cathy Patterson. Cathy is funny, strong, moral, ambitious, intelligent, warm, and pretty non-judgmental. I used to consider Cathy my best friend. We spoke many times a day, about our businesses, about our kids, about Grey's Anatomy-- important stuff.
Then, last Halloween she phoned with devastating news I somehow already knew (I'll never understand how I knew and it haunts me): her boy Callum had died at more than 8 months gestation. And the next day, November 1st, Cathy birthed Callum, her stunningly beautiful newborn who would never feel her kiss.
The pain and depression I experienced for her was so bad that it horrifies my soul and my heart to know it was nothing compared to what she has endured for one year, with no answers. No clue as to how this happened, after tests and soul-searching.
Cathy and I have not talked much this year. I would read her blog and then leave comments from my heart, with the best of intentions that sometimes came up way short of "getting it". She didn't need me and my misunderstandings. She needed women who knew exactly how she felt. She found wonderful, much-needed support through blogging. NO ONE SHOULD SAY THAT THESE ONLINE FRIENDSHIPS WE FORM ARE NOT "REAL". They are real for me, real for Cathy and they can be anyone's daily salvation, if necessary.
We emailed occasionally. I phoned a few times and she didn't pick up.
Then a couple of days after school started, Lulu was playing with the phone. I heard a "Hello?" I pulled the phone out of Lulu's hands and said hello back. "Who is this?" I asked. "Cathy," she said. My mind raced. I had just finished posting something on my blog about being sexually abused as a kid and the real name of my aunt in the post is "Cathy". I was afraid my mom read my blog and then contacted Cathy about it and she had phoned me. And as ridiculously unlikely as that was, I guess I thought it was more likely than Cathy answering her phone! :-)
In order to phone her, Lulu had to press the address button, then scroll down to Cathy's number, then press Talk. Someone please explain to me how that happened because it sounds impossible to me.
Cathy answered. My dear Cathy.
It was wonderful to talk to her again. Surreal that one year has gone by already. It's been so hard on her and I've been unable to do nothing to help which I find more frustrating than I can possibly describe.
Now, Cathy is trying to do something to help this cause of stillbirth research. Hardly anything is done to find out why babies die for no apparent reason in utero. So much money has been put into figuring out the causes of SIDS but more babies die from stillbirth. It makes me wonder: Are babies valued more after they get to live for a bit? I hope not because that would be ridiculous. Moms know the babies they grow.
Cathy had a fantastic sling business. (Yes, that's me on the home page.) She made, I dare say, the best slings on the market: very stylish, very thick and solid, very practical. But in the aftermath of her loss, she was unable or unwilling to maintain the business herself. She gifted it to the loving and very capable hands of Cheryl.
Cheryl is making a beautiful, sophisticated sling and donating all proceeds to stillbirth research in Callum's name. It's so generous of Cheryl, a busy mom to donate her time like that.
If you've been looking for a baby sling for wearing your baby or you need a baby shower gift, please consider this sling.
My dear friend Cathy is agnostic, but I'm not. I ask for your prayers on her behalf. Please pray for answers, hope, and peace for her and her family.
I did not link to her blog because I worry that my readers might try to offer her religious explanations or-- Heaven forbid-- say something like, "He's in a better place" as if being with his mom would not be best? If not, why have any of us lived?
I don't know any readers who would say or do that but I can't say I know everyone who doesn't comment.
And if anyone hurt Cathy, I'd have to verbally kick their guts.
Daily Gratitudes
1. I'm married to a dog man with a big heart. 2. I've never lost a child although I almost wish I had so I could really be there for Cathy. 3. Halloween is over.
4. Sleeping in. 5. My friend Mary for babysitting my kids today so we could surprise them with a dog.
My stunningly beautiful friend Pam (nope, not that one, the other one-- from Boston) made and sent me this hip t-shirt as a giftie and it arrived on Friday. Yay! Pam is such a doll and I regret that we don't live next to each other as we would totally be best friends if we did. And so would our beautiful daughters. (We each have three daughters who are around the same ages!)
Pam runs an Etsy shop called i love plum with cute, cute fabric appliqued children's wear. I love the creamy chocolatey colour she chose for my shirt. And I loved all the little tags and wrapping she used, to throw some love into it like she does with everything. Her husband is so lucky, man, and I hope he realizes it. She is a prize-- a goddess of a woman with all sorts of domestic talents, a great personality and sense of humour and striking looks to boot. Or, to kiss, I imagine. ("To boot"-- what does that mean, really?)
Here are some photos:
MWAH! Thanks, Pam!! I love it and will treasure it, treating it as well as I do my best laundry and not the stuff that I let languish with stains to be treated ONE DAY or the stuff that hangs out at the floor of my bedroom closet because I'm so lazy. Thank you for taking the time to make me something. I love you! ♥
4. Go white water rafting again. Maybe a girlfriend getaway.
5. Visit New York City for two weeks.
6. Build a self-sustaining healthy house on a plot of land large enough to have a big, gorgeous dog that never poops close to home, some sheep, a big garden, and fruit trees but close enough to other people that if someone came to murder us, there would be people to hear the gunshots.
7. Publish a work of mostly fiction. Change the names and details of people I know such that they really have no idea I'm writing about them, the fools.
8. Go to art school.
9. Own a log cabin on a lake where you're allowed to shoot people if they seadoo. Because that's two sports in one: Cottaging and Target Practice.
10. Compost with worms.
11. Finish knitting Montana's baby blanket.
12. Travel Europe and Russia with Jude.
13. Throw a neighborhood carnival block party, raising money for a family in need or other worthy cause.
14. Somehow make international adoption easier. Get airlines to give free airfare to people who are picking up their international adoptive children.
15. Learn pottery.
16. See May Erlewine play live.
17. Visit Art Institute of Chicago.
18. Learn to really sing.
19. Go scuba diving somewhere really colourful and take photos. And live to develop them.
20. Go horseback riding again.
21. Make pesto from scratch.
22. Make a stuffed salmon encased in pastry that's cut to look like a salmon.
23. Learn to really, properly swim.
24. Have an all-girlfriend canoeing-camping trip with someone who can play guitar. Woman with the longest leg hair the next day doesn't have to paddle back.
25. Memorize all the best Scrabble words and tactics.
26. Send my boy on a mission abroad and have him come home a man, in one piece.
27. Lead some kind of teen counseling sessions-- maybe for sexually abused girls?
28. Develop all my online photos with journaling comments before I abandon Facebook.
29. Live in Venice, Italy for a few months.
30. Grow peonies.
31. Learn to can my own fruits and veggies and then actually do it.
32. Visit Vancouver.
33. Visit the Salt Lake Temple.
34. Roll down grassy green hills in Ireland.
35. Catch some fireflies again. Then let them go.
36. Catch some frogs. Then let them go.
37. Get my braces off. Celebrate by rubbing bread and carrots and salmon all over my teeth and then making out with Jude.
38. Get into really fantastic shape. Feel strong and healthy.
39. Become buddies with Jennifer Garner and Gwyneth Paltrow. We would totally mesh.
40. Replace my husband's suits.
41. Write a song and sing it/play it for Jude.
42. Be in the chorus of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat.
43. Finish reading War and Peace by Tolstoy.
44. Read The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens.
45. Start rollerblading.
46. See a ghost or an angel. Anyone from another realm will do.
47. See Prairie Home Companion live.
48. See Jack Johnson play from the front row someplace intimate.
49. See Cathy achieve her dreams, however that happens.
50. Be so rich that I can give away money and help all the time to people who need it.
51. Buy a much nicer camera.
52. See Les Miserables live.
53. Learn Photoshop.
54. Get this house finished.
55. Enjoy grass and tree ownership again.
56. Visit the Great Wall of China and leave my name on it somewhere.
57. Become fluent in French.
58. Learn basic Italian.
59. Become fluent in sign language.
60. Become a pretty good chess player.
61. Memorize more jokes.
62. Remember history studied and study more.
63. Become more charitable in my heart.
64. Have an Etsy store.
65. Visit London, bump into Jude Law and have him quickly fall in love with me then turn him away because I'm married and Mormon enough to care that I'm married, which will only make him love me all the more, of course.
66. Design my own house blueprints.
67. Teach Daisy to read and watch her silently devour books.
68. Be in a musical/play with Daisy.
69. Take a hot air balloon ride only for a mile and only about 100 feet in the air because that's just crazy to risk your life like that.
70. Never visit Disneyland or Disneyworld. Ha!
71. Make healthy cookies I actually love. For my grandkids.
72. Learn how to break dance. Or at least do that move where you support your body just on your hands tucked under your belly? That move.
73. Hold a hand stand for at least five seconds.
74. Do a back flip. With a belt on. Tied to the ceiling.
75. Hear James Taylor play live.
76. Become friends with Rosie O'Donnell.
77. Be able to roll in a kayak.
78. Adopt some older children when my kids are older or be a foster parent.
79. Have some of my poetry published. Under a different name.
80. Have a butler's pantry right off my kitchen and have it extremely organized at all times.
81. Raise my children to be nonjudgmental, kind, good, humble, open-minded but critical thinkers. And happy.
82. Teach Lulu to read.
83. Swim in an Italian grotto.
84. Host a dinner under a large canopy-like tree, with candle lanterns.
85. Be able to do one pull-up.
86. Find casual jeans that I love that don't get all stretched out after five minutes, don't gap at the waist, aren't 34" inseam, and don't have too-high pockets.
87. See my sister happy and well-off in B.C.
88. Meet my all of my virtual friends. (Have now met almost all.)
89. Teach my girls hand clapping games.
90. Sleep in a hammock in Hawaii with mellow island beat music playing and with the waves splashing in the background.
91. Go seashell hunting near the Bay of Fundy.
92. Take a cottage vacation alone where I can read, and paint, and write and sleep for 13 hours straight.
93. Be mortgage and debt-free.
94. Get Lasik eye surgery.
95. Hire a housecleaner and have her over twice a week FOREVER.
96. Since my house will be so clean: Have fresh flowers year-round.
97. Learn to juggle.
98. Join Toastmasters.
99. Learn to cook Indian.
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