falling into grace

"This is not the way my life was supposed to be. This was not part of the plan." Hearts ache for what has been done, those things we cannot change. Those things we did not plan.

Small shoulders sag under the weight. How did this happen? How could this be? I was so careful in my plans.

A wet piece of paper holding up a bowling ball, this is how ones life can feel at times. What happens when the paper tears and the ball is dropped? Where do we fall? When the pain is too much, what then? At first glance it appears that we have fallen right from grace.

But such is not the case. In fact it is the self-constructed pedestal of pride from which we have fallen - and it hurts . . .

The son, not quite a man, but no longer just a boy, fishes with his father. They bait the hook, attach the lure. The trap is set. Then father teaches son all about lures. To entice is their purpose. To entice is also his, that one who truly fell from grace and wants to drag us down with him, bound with flaxen cords. "There are different kinds", he says, "For different fish like different things. But his tackle box is full, and he knows which lure to use." Beware the deceiver.

A fish is dropped between the planks of the dock, left there to die by someone else who could not be bothered - that life, so seemingly insignificant. It is only a flounder, after-all. Trapped between wood and styrofoam, unable to save itself. But the son sees purpose. His line is put down the crack in hopes that the fish will bite and then be pulled to safety. It will not take the bait. Doesn't it know we are trying to help? No. For this is the plan of the father of all lies. The lure is not safe, we have learned this. We have been burned in the past. We would rather risk the unknown than to take that lure. Sometimes something that looks like hurt is actually help. And sometimes we do not even see it anymore. Hopelessness can be so blinding.

There are many lessons for us to learn. The lessons of forgivness and tolerance and love, pure love - these are not easy lessons to learn. 

We pray for what we know, for those things we can easily understand, but God's ways are not always familiar. He takes us through depths we never asked to go. He knows what we can do, and how the seemily insurmountable task it is to be done. When fog clouds our vision, only He can see through. He shows us the way because He is the way. Some parts of us may have to die in order to make place for something so much better to live and grow.

It is at times such as these when someone so much stronger than ourselves must pull on that board - that cross and those nails - lifting it free from its hold over us. And a hand reaches down. It wraps around us, warm and strong and secure. That flounder is literally scooped up - up out of the pit - and placed back into living waters.

The Son sees purpose.

Even in this.

Even for me.

This is Christ's mission. This is what He came to earth to do, this is why He bids us to come unto Him. He is the fisher of men. He came to rescue all us flounders stuck in deep mire, unable to free ourselves. No matter the cause. Maybe we jumped in. Maybe we took the bait and bit that lure, only to be cast aside by the one who would leave us for dead. Maybe we were placed in the cracks through the actions of others. And now we cannot see the way for the way seems impossible. How will we ever get out? Can there really be one mighty enough to save?

No one can come unto the Father except by the Son.

Because there is no "supposed to be". We have only what we are given. That is all we have to work with. And all our "supposed to be's" no longer matter. It is not what was supposed to be, it is simply what is. And when tough times come bringing pain and sorrow with them, and we want to shudder and shrink from the weight of it all, we would do well to remember that we will not be left to flounder. Even when we are a fish out of water and breathing burns like fire, their is hope of rescue.

The fisher of men does not use lures. He will not bind, but sets us free. Back to sea we swim to carry on in our mission and purpose. We are lifted out of sin, out of temptations snare, even out of heartache that threatens destruction of all hope. And we fall into grace. One more soul is saved.

measuring up

I half listened to children and husband today as they talked at me, a caged bird wandering around in the dark recesses of her own mind. I wanted to lock myself away. I wanted peace and quiet. I moved furniture around the house as if somehow that external shift would shift the inner workings of self, only to add to the confusion. Nothing felt right. Where did this all begin? 

"She is slow, awkward. She doesn't participate. She doesn't fit in. She can't keep up." I was dumb. Those words, like searing summer sun to the tender, parched sprout of my 4 year old self, spoken by a person most adore - the Kindergarten teacher. Those words, or more so the lack of believing, the limited vision of one who should have been a blessing, turned harshest critic, formed my basic belief, the foundation someone else poured for me, upon which I built my house of straw. They became the tape that would play time and again in my mind. That was my introduction to life outside the home and the beginning of my educational experience. Over the years I would become conversant with soul aches such as this.

Those old wounds fester. They have never fully healed. Those scars are my place of default. They are where my mind retreats. No matter how much good I do, it will never be enough, and so I run faster, I push harder. I am abundant with weakness. And I hate it.

We don't talk about this, my parents and I. Among many other memories on that long list of unmentionables it is not brought up often, and when it is, I shrug it away as if no big deal. I don't go there. It is too painful. I try to preserve my heart as well as my parent's. I know that unrelenting ache when one of my children hurts. So it goes down, for my sake and theirs. Down into that deep cellar, where all pain gets stored, buried under these 30 years of experiences. Hidden away for none to see, especially me. Maybe if I forget it is there, it will be as if it actually never happened. I will heap more and more on top of those dusty boxes. I hide them away. I reject the pain. It sears hot.

My dad asked me not long ago if I chose to homeschool because of........

That is as far as he had to get. I knew where he was headed. I know that path well. I walk it day by day. 

The question.... Do I home school, at least partially, because of my experiences in the public school system? 
The answer.... YES. 

The scab is ripped off, and I am left to feel things I buried long ago. Did I really think one could escape such pain? These words that formed my basic beliefs, did I actually think I could outrun them? The fear lies not in the words alone, but the worry, what if they were right about me?

The tape plays - Thirteen. She walks into the girls bathroom and discovers her name among foul words written for all to see in thick black. She is cast aside by those she called friend, mocked and discarded. She wanders halls amid whispers and cold shoulders. She fears today might just be the day those threats leave her bloody and bruised. Teacher, after teacher, after teacher sees only broken, unusable bits of what is left from what was once girl. She packs more and more boxes and pushes them down and locks the door. But when it all becomes too much, she wishes she could just cease to be.

Like dead fish floating to the top, always floating back to the top, I curse those memories. I will them away. I do not see them for what they are, mere words. It was I who gave them power, each time I buried them, each time I pushed them down, I told myself that they were true, over and over. I can see now that their continuous reappearance is actually a gift. They will not go until I set them free, and I cannot set them free until I acknowledge that they are there, real and raw. I cannot move forward, not really, until those fears have been looked at in the face and that little girl is allowed to weep for what was lost and baggage that was carried for too long by shoulders too small to bear such burdens for so many years.

He, knowing the weight of such things, presents me with this 'gift' over and over. And over and over I push it away. I am not ready. Its repulsive appearance offends. I do not want it. Take it back. Take it right away.

I am learning, very slowly, that He does not offer bad gifts.

A heart that yearns to hold loved ones close and allow them in, cannot, because she is juggling too many boxes, taped up tight. She must not risk discovery. She will not be hurt again. And so she fakes competence. She pretends she is strong. She works hard to disprove that demon which holds her bound to a lonely existence, where no one is really friend, most especially herself. She blogs. And she feels like a fraud. She has so far to go. Do they know that her words are not sermons to the masses, but sacred prayers of self-discovery to that one heart that aches to be healed, her own?

Where do I fit in?

I read this and the flood gates are thrown open wide with realization:

"If the word 'inspiration' is to have any meaning, it must mean that the writer is writing something that he does not wholly understand." T. S. Elliot

I write. I find healing and hope in the words that these fingers type. Like the pearls strung on a silken strand, I string words. I do not always know what I am going to type when I sit here. But the words always come. He is trying to teach me. He is trying to heal me. He is giving me the tools I need. Could it be that we can write words come from Him that we don't even fully understand, yet understanding comes as our fingers type? These words wrap as bandages.

This is the gift I reject. Healing. I must acknowledge, accept. I must, so that I can ask Him to heal those old wounds. Wounds leave scars, like the scars on His hands. They remind us of those fiery furnace moments, the ones too valuable to forget. How could I have not seen it sooner? These are the stepping stones that will bring me father along the path, deeper into understanding, closer to Him. I prefer to imagine my path much prettier that it actually is. I omit those things I will away. Yet, those are the very things that have brought me here, to this place. I cannot forget, or I forget the help, the hope, the healing. I forget His hand in all things. I harden heart where flesh should be made soft.

I have, for so many years been trying to climb these prison walls of self doubt, seeded in a young, tender heart. They took root, and never weeded out, have dug deep in soft flesh. I did not realize that instead of burying memories I was burying myself alive, box by box.

The straw house built upon faulty foundation must be brought down in order for it to be built up again according to the master architect's design. Brick by brick, on firm foundation, laid gently in soft mortar. Time will set that mortar until it becomes a part of me. I must trust. These are the trials He knew I would face, and for a greater purpose in Him I have been asked to endure. I cannot live life in-between exiled memories.

He has felt my pain. He knows my losses. And I ache for that. But there is hope. And I wait for inspiration. It will come, it always does. I need to be willing and honest and listen. I need to open those hidden closets and let Him in, even there, into that dark, ugly place. And I will be made whole, better than whole, I will be made, from those thousand broken pieces, into a window of beautiful stained glass, for He knows what to do with shards. And He will fit me in. I will fit in. I do fit in, into the hands of my wee ones, clinging to me, as I cling to them. I fit into the heart of my husband as he loves without limits. I fit into this house that I keep for the care of my family. I fit into this skin that is wrinkling with wear. And I fit into the hollow of His hands. This suffering, did it bring me even here? I am filled to over-flowing. The mortar of one more brick sets.

tick, tick, tick

I find myself wishing for more time. More time for myself, without taking away any from them. I hurry faster, maybe in this way, since I cannot add minutes to the clock or hours to my life, maybe I will somehow be able to pack more into that which I already have. Until my tank runs empty. I forgot to fill it up. And so on it spins, like clothes in the spin cycle, all the moisture is being pulled from me.

I read chapter 4 of this book a friend placed in my hand..... I understand. And yet, I wonder why I didn't see it before. 

"Being in a hurry. Getting to the next thing without fully entering the thing in front of me. I cannot think of a single advantage I've ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken and missed things, tens of thousands, lie in the wake of all the rushing... Through all that haste I thought I was making up time. It turns out I was throwing it away." 

Mark Buchanan - excerpt from 'One Thousand Gifts' by Ann Voskamp

I do not need more time. I need less hurry, less running, less get-up-and-go. I need perspective. Sometimes the answer could be simply that I need to do less with the time I have, and be present in the moment. But the phone will ring again, and someone will have to be somewhere, and there will always be another deadline to meet - that is part of this life too. How I meld the two, there-in lies the challenge.

Hurry will have to happen, but it must not a way by which I orchestrate my life. It does not have to be the rule I live. It can be the exception.

So, I take those moments for myself. I need them. I let go the guilt that I am not with them. I fill back up, and then I am ready when I step back in, even when chaos crumbles at the front door.

I am realizing that when I do less I feel more. Wouldn't it be better to do a few things really well, than a thousand things mediocre? I also need to be aware that there will be seasons of my life. I do not want to rush through to summer realizing I have missed my spring, while children grew. Don't rush. Enjoy. There will be plenty of time for all that I want to do, or, maybe, there won't. Maybe if I slow down enough to listen to God, He will direct my ways. His way for me can become my will. And then, in that sense, I will have used this time doing all that I was created to do. Isn't that enough?

So this day, I wrap tight my arms around every child and challenge that comes my way. This is my life, there are lessons to be learned, and joy to be felt right here, right now. I mustn't step on tippy toe looking above and beyond my very life. I need to live it.

just one moment

I had one of those moments today - As I drove down a smooth and winding road, sun shining, sky blue. The leaves falling from their once safe perches upon the tree, drifting, floating all around me.

Beautiful.

And I realized, once again, that this is what this thing we call life is all made up of...moments. Lots of little moments, patched together like some rag quilt passed down through the generations, each piece a piece of us. These memories that make up our earthly experience, I take the bad with the good. I have to, that is the only way it is offered. I cling to the good memeories. They are a strength helping me find my way through those more difficult times. And, somehow, as the quilt is assembled, I begin to see the beauty in those bad moments as well. When they are sewn in with and between the prettier patches, they take on a new appearance. I no longer have to shun them - humble and threadbare . I begin to see the vision a little clearer.

Let my quilt fill up with many of these moments, the precious gifts given to me by a God who knows my name. This moment is just for me. He knows how the whirlwind of falling leaves warms my heart, tells me He is here. And the memory of those moments can be recalled whenever I need them most. The times I feel out of control, lost, alone, out of grace. He will bestow His grace upon me in all my days, in every one of my 'moments'. God is good. He is there in the amber leaves that blow about me.

My heart is wrapped in that quilt, started long ago, the one I sew day by day. Together with Him, we will weave these things into the great masterpiece that is this life....but just a few moments. He is in them all. This quilt, the only offering I have at the end, to pass down, and to offer up, to generations that follow and the Lord who is on high. The one who gave me the material for my quilt. I return it to Him, hopefully having done with those patches the very best that I could.

light

I found her the other day. 

Her name is Ann Voskamp. I read her writing. I am one of thousands who will. 

She calls me back to Him.

I have made this new schedule for school, and things have been going really well. I have felt so pleased with myself. Aren't I clever!? Things go well, so long as things go according to "the schedule". Otherwise, I begin to feel lost. I begin to feel behind. I begin to lose the joy. Then I look up, through the window and God gently whispers through the sunshine in the leaves of my favorite tree, "You are missing it. You are missing the point." 

There is a place for schedules, order is good, even commanded. But there is more. The more that is missed in the activity of the making and keeping of schedules. The more that goes unnoticed as I plan my life, this life, this gift from Him. There is so much more than I could ever plan. I go through days wishing for more. I have everything, how could I want for more? I want to use this life to make a difference. Don't most people? But, truly, I feel it in my very core, I was sent here to do something that only I, Shelli, can do. How will I ever find out what that is? Why am I here? I know why in the grand scheme of things. I know some of my purposes and I do not dismiss then as small or insignificant, but still, there is something wanting. 

Could it be that He is trying to show me? Could it be that I am just to busy to see? Through the schedules and all the activities, all the things that must be done in order to simply keep order, the sunlight dances through the leaves and He tells me that He is there. He is there in the sunlight. He is there in the words of others. He is there just when I need Him most, He will never abandon. He steps in like that sunlight through those leaves. He does not blow me over as would a storm. He will not burst through my door. He will dance through the cracks of my life, the soft spots of my heart, and if I will notice Him, He will bless me with that which He has been trying to bestow. Whenever I feel lost or lonely, He is never far behind. He comes in the shape of a friend, sometimes new, sometimes well known. He is there is their goodness, in the faith, and in their hopes for me and my success, if I will take notice of every good thing that He is, and is in. 

Slow down, is His message. Notice all that I have given you. Be grateful for the moments, of trial and tribute.

There is so much to do, there is no time to be. 

And then I remember another commandment, Be still.....

Opening your heart, your hands, and your home to all he has to offer, and in return, offer up thanks - that is Ann's message. This is a gift to ourselves - the place we will find peace. If we could change the means, how would that change the end? If we could pick a different path, one with a few less bumps, then would everything be different? And the truth is that yes, it would. But would it be better? Sometimes, for those of us who have gone through a trail on the list of unimaginables, we could tend to think so. But we cannot see the big picture. How could we ever orchestrate our lives from down in the audience? How could we ever tell if what we had in mind would have been better in the long run? Why do I have to go through these trials, we can ask ourselves. The answer is simple, though not always understandable. Because He is in charge, because this life is a time to be tested. Because He knows better, and thankfully so. He can see what we cannot. Through whatever He has to offer can we be grateful? Through the ugly and sad, not only the good? There is so much to be learned. That is where he would have us grow, but NOT where he would have us stay. 

He is here, in the kitchen, as children squabble, and I am weary. This is a chance for me to practice patience and long-suffering. It provides those much needed opportunities for me to teach, as would the master, those life lessons we (myself and my children), for some reason, need repeated over and over, until the natural man gives way to the light of Christ, and we become closer to that being God created, after the image of Himself. 

Open your eyes. This is what the sunlight tells me this morning. Open your eyes to all around you. Find the goodness in the ugly. Give thanks for all. Here is where you will be led to your greater purpose. How did I ever expect to find it in my schedules? It is not there. It is in everyday. I, alone, can do something everyday that will make a lasting difference. Slow down....... and listen to the child who points out the simple wonder of the birds in the trees gathering up berries. Slow down....... and play a game with that child who is growing up faster than my heart would have him do. Slow down..... and see. Notice what is around you. Put down your list and let go of the schedule and follow my lead. Then, and only then, when I have learned these lessons of stillness, silence, acceptance, and thanksgiving, can I hope to be lead to those opportunities He will give me for greatness. There is a plan. But I will miss it if I don't follow an agenda greater than my own. And when my vision is blurred once again, with all the have-to's I will be grateful for His voice and His hand in the world around me, calling me back, as he did through his daughter Ann, to a better way of living, a life filled with gratitude, in all things.

Below are just a few of my favorite pieces of Ann's writing, which you can find on her blog.

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2012/10/when-youre-feeling-a-bit-lost-how-to-find-your-way-back-to-joy/

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2012/10/the-therapy-that-calms-the-heart/

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2012/07/how-to-make-any-relationship-better/

a cup of comfort

Today has been one of those days. Ones when you silently pray that no one will come knocking at your door. A day filled with mess and chaos, and guilt. I have a list longer than I would ever be able to complete. Clean the chicken coop, gerbil house, and hedgehog cage, school the children, do the dishes (from last night and the day before), piano lessons, cut the boys hair, return e-mails and phone calls, comfort the crying toddler, bandage the bleeding wound, keep the house in some sort of order, break up fights while speaking kindly, drive here, drop off this, do that, read those, plan for this, shop for that, pay the bills, and on and on and on. My laundry is exploding out of the hamper. I have over due library books, and they're incurring late charges!! My toilets are disgusting and in desperate need of some attention. Not to even mention there is still dinner to make and Family Home Evening to execute. And I am to do this all with the grace and patience I expect myself to have.

For those who think my house is always tidy.......

Go ahead feel sorry for me, please. I do. These are the days when I wish most that I had an older sister. I wish I could ditch my responsibilities, and my guilt, pack up the kids and drive over to her house. She would let me sit on her sofa and vent. She would make me a cup of tea, and love my children, regardless of whether or not they were perfectly behaved or little rascals. She would snuggle them tight since I am empty, and her love would fill them and me back up again. She would put everything in perspective and let me know that it is going to be okay. She would tell me that all that stuff doesn't matter. I would not believe her, but I would welcome the words. She would insist I stay for dinner, and she would not go to any trouble for it. We would eat grill cheese, and laugh, and cry, and talk. She would give me a hug and send me home and tell me that if I needed anything I could give her a call.

But I don't have a sister.

Then I read this: "Jesus doesn't make up the difference. Jesus makes all the difference. Grace is not about filling gaps. It is about filling us. Jesus (fills) the whole space (between him and us). He paid our debt in full. He paid it all. It is finished. You have plenty to do, but it is not to fill that gap." Brad Wilcox, His Grace is Sufficient

So although I do not have an older sister, I do have an older brother. He is there for me. He will not fill my cup with tea, but he will fill my heart with comfort. And on days like this, when I need him most, he will not only fill me to the top, but to overflowing, if  I but ask and open up for him.

 There are still things to do, and I will feel overwhelmed at times, but the grace I expect from myself does not come from me, it comes from my Savior. When I feel as though I cannot wash one more dish, or smile encouragingly one more time, or utter one more word in softness, I will shed my tears, roll up my sleeves, and get to work. And just as the promise of spring brings with it a renewal of life, I will accept the promise of my Savior and let him fill, not just the gap, but the entire space around me with grace and love. I will push through that soil and become something beautiful.

giving thanks

I recently read an Ensign article entitled, "What Manner of Men and Women Ought Ye to Be?" This is one I will be reading again and again, as my family grows. 

"A sweet and obedient child will enroll a father or mother only in Parenting 101. If you are blessed with a child who tests your patience to the nth degree, you will be enrolled in Parenting 505. Rather than wonder what you might have done wrong in the premortal life to be so deserving, you might consider the more challenging child a blessing and opportunity to become more godlike yourself. With which child will your patience, long suffering, and other Christlike virtues most likely be tested, developed, and refined? Could it be possible that you need this child as much as this child needs you?"

This article is changing the way I look at things. I have never really considered the question of what I may have done premortally, but I have certainly questioned, what am I doing wrong or maybe not doing that causes this to be so hard? I have felt extra tested lately, and I feel like I am failing miserably. There is something I can learn from each trial, even as painful as they are to go through. My job is to find out what that is, learn it and try to be and do better than I did before. I need these trials, for reasons I cannot see. And when I fail I need to believe that, "Through His Atonement, He heals not only the transgressor, but He also heals the innocent who suffer because of those transgressions. As the innocent exercise faith in the Savior and in His Atonement and forgive the transgressor, they too can be healed."

I try hard, but often I miss the mark. When I fall short of being the parent that these children need, I hope that He will fill in the blanks and make up not only for my mistakes, but for my short comings as well. When I feel inadequate I am comforted by the words, "There is no sin or transgression, pain or sorrow, which is outside of the healing power of His Atonement". This Thanksgiving I am so very grateful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ, its power to heal and change lives, and the children, and the trials that I have been blessed with which are exactly what I need to be refined.

embracing unfamiliar {part 1}

I like to think of myself as a non judgemental person. A person who can get along with most other people. I was soon to learn that pride comes before the fall.

A little while ago I met someone. Almost upon introduction I made up my mind that I did not like her. I judged her. I formed an opinion of her by the first few words out of her mouth, and dismissed that she could have anything future to say that would change that opinion.

I am ashamed of this.

But it did not last very long before my heart softened and I was given a second chance, not by her, but by the sweetness of a Father in heaven who changes lives one heartbeat at a time. I made up my mind to treat her with respect and civility, and at least meet her with a smile no matter what was returned. In this way I would feel better about myself. In this way I would be a Christian.

So every time after, I met her in this manner. But there was more to learn. God was not finished with me yet. This was not enough. You see a funny thing happens when you open your heart to acceptance. You cannot extend a sincere hand of friendship without charity filling your heart. It is now so obvious to me that what I perceived to be arrogance was not. It was simply a difference in social propriety. I now look upon her in a softer light. You learn that even the most prickly person has goodness in them. Sometimes you must look very hard, but it will be shown to you. I never intended to truly understand this woman. I simply decided to change my actions, but once this decision was made it changed my heart instead. This is where Christianity came into the equation. Not when I simply decided to act Christian to come off the better person. That was quite the opposite.

Then one evening she shared her day with me, something I had not expected. It had been a particularly challenging one for her. And I saw her for what she really is. None of us are the clothes we wear, the house we own, or the friends we claim. And we are certainly not the way we appear to others. We are children of God. He values and loves each and every person, and He asks the same from us.

She is every bit as human as I am. She has weaknesses, but she also has strengths. And there is something I can learn from her.

I would not want to be judged for good and forever by my weaknesses, nor by my worst days. I hope that people will be forgiving and gentle. I wish to be seen by my good points, not the bad. Everything I hope for myself I was unwilling to offer her. I had been the prickly one. I had been the one in need of charity. In the end it was I who changed, not her. And I am grateful for it. I pray that next time I will be able to see more clearly from the start and never deny myself the friendships that may await and the lessons that I can learn from those who may appear upon first impression to have the least to give.

through my window

It is a sunny Sunday afternoon and I am doing the dishes. I see my 2 year old (in her nightgown that she has changed herself into after church, clutching her baby doll) outside with my 10 year old son, taking her by the hand and leading her along, pausing in patience to show her all the wonders we tend to over look as we grow up. My heart is suddenly filled with hope....

I wonder more than my share if my children will be okay. I worry that I cannot give them what I would be able to give them if I wasn't so divided. I feel badly some days that they get such a tattered and tired mom. Then I see the tenderness so freely given from a boy of 10 to a girl of 2, and it is cemented in my heart that this family is a gift, not a burden, to all involved. How else would these attributes be developed. My children will have to make more sacrifices than some, whether it be time with mom and dad, not being able to take each and every extra-curricular activity they would like, or not having a room of their own. They will have to learn to share, how to resolve conflict, how to cope with stress and noise and people who are of a very different personality. Their patience, as well as mine, will be tested, but their charity will expand. There are lessons they will only learn from being a part of a family. There are gifts and talents to be gained and developed through life with so many siblings. Where I lack they begin and they will give to each other a special kind of love that will fill in all the empty spaces I cannot fill to overflowing. And everything will be okay.

At the end of more days than not I feel that I have accomplished nothing. I somehow dismiss all the hours I didn't have time to sit down. When will changing a diaper, bathing a baby, reading a story, wiping a tear, or doing the laundry be enough to qualify as "something". These things that seem so mundane are the things a family is built on.

I do not have more burdens than you, neither do I have less. I am not more or less abundantly blessed. We must stop comparing ourselves and our families to an impossible picture of perfection. We all have weaknesses, not 1 of us is perfect, no matter how it may appear from the outside. We all have trials. This post could be about anything. You may not have 5 kids, and feel like you don't relate. This is not about having 5 children - this is about a personal struggle I have of feelings of inadequacy that is brought about by my fear that I cannot give enough to so many children. I do not regret this choice, not ever, but I do wonder if I am up for the task. This may not be your trial, but you will have your share, and we need to somehow come to the understanding that this is the process through which we grow and learn and become more like our Savior Jesus Christ. On days I don't make it into the shower, on days that I hope no one comes knocking at the door, on days that I feel like I simply don't have it in me, I am shown a way. I am lovingly brought back by very small and simple means to a remembrance that no matter what my trials - I am blessed.

Next time I feel like I didn't get anything done, I will look around at my children and try not to focus on the fight, but the resolution and the lesson that comes with that, not at the dirty dishes but the fact that I had food to feed my family. I will not dismiss the story reading or the diaper changing or the laundry folding as nothing of worth, but as the means by which a family is raised. Everyday THAT is what I am spending my time doing, and that takes a woman of faith, however feeble that faith may seem, in her Heavenly Father that He does and will continue to provide a way for miracles to happen in a heart that is so small and eyes that cannot see what He can see - an end that is beautifully brought about by the little nothings we do each and every day. At times when we do not believe we can do it, He knows we can. He knows what is best for us, and He will provide a way. There is something to be learned in all things. Even if we cannot see it, just believing this can help us through. We do not always need to understand why, we just need to believe that He has faith in us that we can do it. Whatever "it" is. When someone asks you what you did today and you feel like you have nothing to show to account for the hours, please say at least in your heart, "I am raising a family, 1 day at a time!"

         The Invisible Woman by Nicole Johnson

"It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, 'Who is that with you, young fella?' 'Nobody,' he shrugged. Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, 'Oh my goodness, nobody?'

I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family - like 'Turn the TV down, please' - and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, 'Would someone turn the TV down?' Nothing.

Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, 'I'm ready to go when you are.' He just kept right on talking.

That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone can see me.

I'm invisible. It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I'm invisible.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.' I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.

She's going... she's going... she's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: 'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'

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

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

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

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.'

That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're gonna love it there.'

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

God sees the invisbile mom!"

end of quote

after the rain

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As we all gathered together in the living room this morning for conference, the children spread out on the carpet, coloring their booklets and quietly playing. Usually I take notes so that I don't forget what was said. I did not do this today. I was feeling sick and tired, so I just sat and listened and watched and felt. I listened - as 1 of the children shared with me that she had just received the answer to a question she had asked her Heavenly Father in prayer that very morning. I watched - as a tender moment passed between 2 of my children. And I felt my heart swell. My 1st instinct was to go and get the camera so that I could document and, of course, blog. Then the thought came to my mind, "just cherish." I recalled the scripture from Luke 2: 19, "But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart." So I have no pictures to show you and no words to tell. But I offer my humble, simple, feeble testimony that these moments do not last forever. Even though we sometimes feel that days are long and nights too short - these moments pass more quickly than we can always understand. But I will never forget the impression that was made on my mind and in my heart. These are the rainbows between the storms - the promises of something better than I am able to see. A glimpse of hopes fulfilled that I have for my life and the lives of my children. Some things are for sharing and some things are for me and me alone, given by the grace of God to buoy me up and recall whenever I have need.