A Decision Made With His Aide

*Ha ha. I just realized my title rhymes.

I enjoy taking Malia to her dance class every Saturday morning for two reasons: the obvious, being that I love watching my adorable daughter run around in a tutu. The other is the fact that I get to enjoy adult conversation with the other moms. These women, although, come to think of it, I probably don't know any of their last names, have become a welcome social aspect of my week. We come from all different walks of life. Of the 5 of us who generally dominate the conversation, 2 of us are Caucasian, 1 is Hispanic, 1 is African American, and the other is Indian. 3 of them attend a popular Christian Church in the area. The other is an ex-Hindu who now claims to be agnostic. And I, of course, am LDS.

Aside from that, the other thing that I am also alone in is being a stay-at-home mom.

We talk about this a lot. Aside from "the agnostic" who absolutely loves her job, we all want to stay home with our kids, but I am the only one who claims to be able to make it work financially. ("making it work" is obviously a subjective perspective, of course).

A few weeks ago, we were talking about our career paths, and when it came to my "back story," the women seemed a little skeptical. I could sense they weren't quite sure a person would choose staying home over understudying the lead in a hit Broadway show in L.A. It also didn't help that I weigh (fill-in-the-blank) lbs. more now than I did at the peak of my performing age. And it also doesn't help that you're lucky if I even get out with any chap stick on, more or less, looking anything glamorous, to say the least.

People with talent... I should say, people with the talent to perform (everyone has talent of some kind), generally look a certain way, I've found. They usually keep up with the fashion trends; stay in good shape; overall, they keep their outward appearances appealing to the eye of a possible audience. Needless to say, on my average day, I just don't look the part.

But that's not the point of all of this (someday I will learn to mince less words... no I won't. Who am I kidding)?!

Last week, after a month of their prodding, I finally sang for them a small little ditty. And yes, it does feel weird to sing in intimate settings in front of a small group of friends. I much prefer a stage in front of thousands... that's normal, I promise.

They sat quietly for a minute and then one of them said, "Wow. I didn't expect you to be that good."

I was embarrassed, but pleasantly flattered.

Then another said, "Seriously. Why aren't you out there trying to get rich and famous? Your kids will understand someday. You don't want to sacrifice all that. I'm sure there's a way you can do both. "

I told them I knew I was doing what was best for my girls and that I was in the right place for me right now.

But, let me tell you - as often as I feel a little bummed once in a while about the supposed "sacrifice" I'm making to be home with my girls, I am grateful 1,000,000,000,000 times over that I have been blessed with the peace of mind knowing I am doing what's right for my babies. I don't credit myself with that... I don't profess to be some awesome woman who is totally at peace with her decisions. Not at all.

I credit God entirely. It's almost as if He has given some sort of shield to my heart so that, at those moments when certain questions arise again and again (as they always do), I am always overwhelmed with the peace I feel for making the decisions I've made up to this point. I thank God He has blessed me with that, because there ain't no way I'd be able to trudge through this without His calming influence.

Thanks for that , God.

Oh, and P.S. Thanks for these guys.

When Trials Become Blessings

Last night, I received a phone call from a newspaper reporter from my podunk hometown. Apparently, 3 of the 15 finalists for this "Wannabe Wicked" competition I'm doing are all from Apple Valley (where I grew up). The other 2 girls still live there. As he was asking me how I got involved in the competition, I was reminded once again of my experience with the show 2 years ago, when I was called back for Elphaba multiple times and found myself turning down any possible "opportunity" for the sake of being a mom to my wonderful Malia.

Some moms probably could've done both.

I am not one of those moms. Here's why -

Colic.

Colic. Colic. Colic.

Malia has been a joy to my life for 2 years now. But... she's 2 and a 1/2. There is a 1/2 a year of her life, at the beginning, where "joy" was the last thing I would've used to describe her. Harsh? Yeah - I know. But until/unless you've been there, you can't really understand.

But this post isn't about how hard colic made my life. I mean, I've dragged that through the mud and back... a few times. Besides, I don't think I need to talk about how crazy it was when pictures can be worth a thousand words:




Ah, the memories...

Last night as I was laying in bed, wide awake due to a wonderful head cold I've recently come down with and baby kicking me like Jackie Chan (so I had some chocolate... so what?) I was thinking back on how well Heavenly Father knows us. His allowing me to go through colic for as long as it was and as severe as Malia's case truly was, well, let's just say He knew exactly what I'd be learning from it.

I've decided to share the amazing blessings that came from the most tramautizing period of my life:

*I learned selflessness. My life was no longer about me. Of course, all mothers learn this lesson fairly quickly... but I think I was given the AP night school accelerated version of the class. All I wanted was to figure out how to improve Malia's life. My life was no longer a priority.

*David & I learned humility. It's amazing the horrendous things you are willing to say to someone you love when you have to do it at 3 in the morning in a voice loud enough to be heard over blood-curdling infant cries. We said sorry to each other... a lot.

*Being willing to apologize to a child. The multiple times I found myself apologizing to Malia for "letting her cry" and for looking at her with disdain and for desiring to physically do things (which I never did, mind you) were very enlightening to me as a parent. I hope I hold onto that perspective as she gets older. I want to be the kind of parent who is willing to step down from my place in order to say I'm sorry when it's necessary. I think children deserve that kind of honesty & humilty from a parent.

*Repentance. To this day I am still apologizing to God for the things I said to him in the wee hours of the night in my deepest, darkest anguish. But, the plus-side is... I think all the practice is making me good at it.

*Understanding what my purpose is. I had every intention of being a Broadway star. Even after Malia was born, I've pursued things briefly here & there. But I am always brought back to "ground zero," which is my little family. No amount of applause or fame could possibly compare to the fulfillment of being needed by my husband and child. There are days I lose that perspective, but I'll be darned if I don't always know it somewhere in the depths of my soul. It is so much better. I don't see it as a sacrifice at all... because I definitely have the better end of the deal. I am a wife & mother. Best. jobs. ever.

*I had to learn to take help. At this point, I want to give a shout-out to the most awesome ladies of the BEST ward in the UNIVERSE... Relief Society ladies of BYU 148th Wymount Ward 2005!!! Can I just say, they took my bitter rantings like a grain of salt. PLUS - they passed around a paper every week where they would sign up to take Malia for one hour every day so that I could find some semblance of peace in my life. I'm touched by it even just thinking about it, now. Those phenomenal sisters looked past my rugged, stubborn exterior and saw a desperate woman in need... a woman who is terrible at allowing people to help her do anything. I've always been far too independent for my own good. They wouldn't take no for an answer. Same time every day, a new sister would show up at my door and whisk the screaming child away. An hour later, they'd bring her back, Malia screaming at the top of her lungs, and the looks of pure apology on their faces were priceless. But they gave me a chance to miss my daughter. That one hour a day, I was given a chance to realize I did actually love her.

God really does know us...

Abandonment

This is my Easter blog. I know the title leads you to think, “Are you kidding me?! How morbid is that?!” But, trust me; it’s just a means to an end….

Now, this is going to get kind of deep, so if any of you hate spiritual topics or have a tendency to depress easily or just think I’m always too long-winded (which is quite possibly true) - I’d stop reading now. For the rest of you, carry on.

What does the Atonement mean to me?

Well – the answer to this question has changed at different points in my life. But I want to talk about what it has meant since Malia was born. Most of you are aware (because I talk about it too much) that Malia had colic for the first 6 months of her life. Ok. Wait. She didn’t just have colic. She had severe colic. The kind of colic that had the pediatrician patting me on the head and hugging me whenever we visited. The “screaming-24-7-never-sleeps-more-then-1/2-an-hour-even-at-night-won’t-somebody-muzzle-this-child” kind of colic.

Now, I am the first to admit, at the very least, she was an otherwise healthy, gorgeous child. Other then a brief bout with jaundice at the start, she was perfection. She had all her extremities, senses, and never spent a single night in the NICU. However, lest those who’ve experienced even 5 minutes of colic will disagree, I will say… it was THE hardest period in my life.

As proof of that superlative, I am now going to expose one of the weakest moments in my life. This is an excerpt of a journal entry from when Malia was about 4 months old (it has actually even been edited to protect me from, well, myself):

“I’m at the end of my rope. I haven’t slept in so long. I’ll be honest. I feel as if God has completely abandoned me... I have tried over and over again to practice faith in Him. I am doing everything on my own that I possibly can to help my child – and begging and pleading for Him to fill in the holes. But He refuses. I don’t know why. I am in so much emotional pain and my spirit has never been this weak… ever! ... Why does God just sit back?! I have been told a ridiculous number of times that I should trust my intuition, i.e., God’s inspiration, but I have none!"

What does this have to do with Easter?

When Jesus Christ walked on this earth, He knew things. What I mean is that the veil was so thin, if not even completely gone, for Him. However - there was one time He didn’t have that access… and it was the time He needed it the most. In Gethsemane, He suffered, He sobbed, and He was wracked with pain. You tell me that if there wasn’t one time the Savior desperately needed His Father, it was then. The irony? It was the one time Heavenly Father had to leave Him to Himself. But did the Savior ever accuse the Lord of abandoning Him? No. Of course not. The answer to that is obvious, right? So why is it we, having to suffer only a fraction of that, subject the Lord to such complaints and accusations when life is hard?

Now, we are only human, and I’ve had to remind myself many times since those dark nights, that I am imperfect. In dealing with the repentance process over some of the things I said to the Lord in those trying times, I have had to teach myself to be a little kinder to me…. to realize the Lord knows I was very tired and… well, very tired.

But now I want to speak as the parent, and no longer as the child. Instead of seeing God as my Father and feeling as if I’m a disobedient daughter, I want to talk about Him as a parent and what I can learn about Him now that I’m a parent. Malia is only 2, but I have already experienced those moments when I need to step back and let her make choices and grow and experience.

When she did have colic, the hardest part wasn’t the screaming itself… it was the fact that I could do absolutely. nothing. about it.

How hard must it’ve been when the Savior asked His Father to let the cup pass? And the Father had to sit back and allow things to happen to His own Son that we can’t even imagine? How hard was it for the Savior, who must’ve felt so abandoned? But, even more so, how hard must it have been for the Father to have to watch, in silence?

This Easter, remember all your blessings, and when trials arise, acknowledge that the Savior's death and resurrection are a perfect example of how He can empathize with those feelings. Remember that the Father is not abandoning you. He wants nothing more then to come to you, kiss it better, and send you on your merry way. However, He knows what’s best. He knows that suffering is a part of it. For as He watches you, He suffers too.

Be grateful He knows better.

RE: "The Audition"

I decided not to go.

So many of you were incredibly encouraging and there was even the occasional ego boost (thanks for that). Up until Sunday morning, which was the day of the audition, I still had no idea what I was going to do. I was even trying to figure out how to schedule in signing in, then driving back for Church, then putting Malia down for a nap and preparing & popping food in the fridge for David & Malia for dinner, and then heading back, hoping by then they'd be through with Equity auditions and starting in on Non-Equity.

Here's the beauty of Sundays:

Going to Church, I sat through a fairly average testimony meeting. However, amid the droning on of "story-monies" & "lecture-monies," there was a certain girl; someone I didn't know (we've only been in the ward for 2 months... gimme a break). She bore her testimony about the blessing the Church has been in her life as a member (she's just shy of a year... a convert at age 19). That is something those of us who've been members all our life take for granted. I mean, I have never been without the gospel. My "rebellious" phase consisted of a 2 month period during a summer where I watched a few R-rated movies and said a couple of swear words beyond my normal few... scandalous, I know. But it wasn't even her appreciation of the Gospel so much as it was her simple attitude of gratitude in general.

I am grateful God has given me the talents that I have. And I am even more grateful I receive the occasional validation of those talents. But the brief happiness I get from praise, applause, and the rare monetary compensation is nothing compared to the quiet joy I feel when Malia says, "Miss you" when I was only gone for 45 seconds to use the bathroom. Or those moments when Malia is in bed and I bring out chocolate chip cookies for David and he gives me the first real smile I've seen since he came home from a grueling work day.

A simple attitude of gratitude... especially for the simple things in life.

I am, by no means, ever going to be a "star." I have to accept this, graciously... and be okay with this. And count my multitude of other blessings. Yes, admittedly, that "what if" will be lingering, probably for the rest of my life. And in another year or two, I'll face the same dilemma, over and over again. But, ultimately, it's about perspective. And I know Heavenly Father couldn't care less if I ever pursued my professional performing dreams again. But He will care big time if I was there the night Malia had the flu and needed her Mommy more then anything. Or the night that David comes home after one of those days when he's just had it, and needs his companion to buoy him up. If my nights were, instead, filled with adoring fans and adulating applause, then the people who I'm most important to would lose out... just so I could have a few months of "what I want."

I don't want that.

Admittedly, I'll probably be looking for another opportunity like this in a year or so, but at least now I have this blog to refer back to & remind myself. Hopefully it will suffice enough to succor the craving.

...PLUS, David & I were just extended a calling that would kill David off if I wasn't going to be there 100% to perform it with him...

A Man of God who walked with men

My senior year of high school, I was asked to bear my testimony in my home ward. It was a basic testimony of all of the crucial elements of the Gospel. But then I made a statement that caused the congregation to roar with laughter. "I love President Hinckley. He's just so cute, I can't stand it! I want to pinch his cheeks."

I didn't think much of that statement until one of my Young Women Leaders approached me after Sacrament Meeting and asked, "Isn't that kind of, I don't know, blasphemous?"

I all of the sudden felt really embarrassed. My intentions were not meant to be sacrilegious or disrespectful in any way. I really did think he was adorable! And I meant it with the utmost of respect.

I don't really know how to put into words exactly what I felt for President Gordon B. Hinckley. The reason is because there was something I appreciated about him beyond his prophetic calling. There was a certain thing that drew me to him; I felt connected to him.

It was his sense of humor.

I remember sitting in a temple prep. class with David when we were engaged to be married and hearing the teacher say something scriptural about the inappropriateness of loud laughter. At that point, I knew I was doomed.

But the character of President Hinckley beyond and outside of his duties as God's mouthpiece and the Leader of the Church, was inspiring. For me, it meant that much more that he would playfully joke.... right over the sacred pulpit at General Conference. I was grateful that maybe I wasn't so bad. The greatest living man on the face of the earth had a funny bone as well. So maybe I was okay.

He was so much more then a Prophet to me. He was an example of someone who loved life and enjoyed life. Growing up, I knew that it must be okay somewhere to actually have fun in your life while also living the Gospel. I was convinced that it couldn't all be drab and dull. He was proof to me that I was right. I was relieved to think that while I had failings elsewhere, my humor and wit wasn't necessarily one of them.

I can't selfishly justify, however, that he should've stayed longer. It was his time. He had accomplished more then enough. And in my mind, I like to entertain the possibility that when he saw his precious Marjorie for the first time since her passing, that after a long and loving embrace, she glared at him and teased, "What took you so long?"

President Hinckley did so much for the Church. He built countless temples. He was an incredible force for missionary work. He utilized the media in a positive way for the reputation of the Church. He gushed over the youth and reminded them of their special calling. He showed devotion to women and mothers. He was tireless in his international efforts. He was the epitome of a man driven by the work of God.

But, for me, personally?

He made me feel okay about being me.

And for that, he will be forever missed.