Jan10

Day 7: No, Floor Touching, Faith, Motherhood, Friendship

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In the midst of all the fuss and bother of the year’s closing days (clearly, I started this eons ago, in 2019), it’s important to take a moment to be grateful for what we have, lest we focus too much on what we don’t. There is always lack in our lives, but there is ever and always a greater amount of wealth. Day 7 of the Gratitude Challenge requires I select five elements of wealth on which to pontificate. So…

~I have a well developed sense of “No.” It helps that I am not a “pleaser” personality. I can’t make everything all better for EVERYone, as that kind of power is well above my pay grade, and I don’t necessarily want to. Certainly, if I can lighten another’s burden, and it is within my ability, I absolutely will- this is not about serving and helping; this is about overextending oneself, or rather, saying “yes” to everything for fear of disappointing others. The long and short of my philosophy is this: I can’t be everything to all people, and I know my limits. Others’ limits may be broader, others’ may be narrower, but mine are mine, and my obligation is first to God, second to my family, and third to myself & my clients. Everyone and thing else- take a ticket. Maybe you’ll get lucky! Maybe.

~Floor touching? Yes, yes, it sounds rather gross, or like some strange, off-kilter, never-gets-seen-on-TV Olympic event. But for me, “palming the floor” is something I’ve always been able to do- even after 3 hamstring tears 3 years in a row (I have long arms; it helps!). It is a solitary sign of my continued flexibility, even if it isn’t as comfortable or easy to do as it was at 40, nor can I always do it early in the day. Nevertheless, it’s important to maintain “stretchiness,” and I’m grateful that despite injuries and age, I can still touch the floor.

~“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). The greatest blessing of my life has been the gift of faith. Despite evidences to the contrary at times in my late teens and early 20s, I have an abiding faith in God & my savior Jesus Christ. There have been difficulties with father-figures in my life, which I will not go into here, but suffice it to say that I stopped referring to anyone as my dad or father nearly two decades ago. Yet, I’ve never felt any animus towards my Heavenly Father; I’ve never sought a “divine feminine” or a heavenly mother to connect with over a father (although, as a latter day saint, I do believe we have a heavenly mother). It’s been quite the contrary, actually. To the core of my soul I know I have a Father in Heaven and that I am his daughter. No idea how or why belief is easy for me; I simply consider it my spiritual gift. And it’s one for which I am eternally grateful.

~Motherhood- not something I ever looked forward to as a child. I am the youngest of five kids, and I had nieces and nephews with whom I had to sit at the holiday kids’ table. Not cool. Hated it. My oldest siblings treated me like one of their kids more than like a little sister. Made me not like being a kid or hanging around kids. As such, I never babysat as a teenager. Couldn’t stand the noise and chaos of children (honestly, I still struggle with that!).

Though I married at 21, Blondie wasn’t born until I was 28, as it took years before I felt ready to be a mom, Gratefully, once I decided it was “time,” it didn’t take long for us to conceive. After that, it didn’t take long for me to determine I wanted to be a stay at home mom. A few months more, and I even decided to breast feed! In total, becoming a mom was a crazy, unexpected paradigm shift for me. And I loved it- hated pregnancy- but loved being a mom.

Fast forward to today, where I have a 20 year old wrapping college in April, then moving on to an internship or two, probably in the L.A. area. She is perusing a dream of working in the film industry, and I don’t expect her to be around our house by the end of 2020. Brownie is 17, and a handful. A very talented, hamstrung by head-issues, handful. She’s a whole lotta me and I pray she can get out of her own way in order to make it to Broadway, or at least close, some day.

Over the last two decades, I’ve laughed and cried through the ups and downs that children add to a life that can be every bit a roller coaster of emotion and a hodgepodge of experiences just in itself. I can see where kids can single-handedly destroy a moms’ feelings of self-esteem and accomplishment (I have cried in my closet, asking God if he sent my kids to the wrong mom); I can enjoy the moments when I’m called “the cool mom,” because of my innate silliness and lack of “helicopter parenting” genes which has so infected society; or I can pat myself lightly on the shoulder for the times my kids say ‘thank you’ for something I did (or didn’t) do that may make it easier for them to spread their wings when the time comes, and it will come.

Now that Blondie and Brownie are both so terribly close to being out of the nest, I probably spend too much time pondering my failings as a mom- things I didn’t do, require, or teach that I “should” have, and the list goes on forever ad infinitum. Still, the highs somehow make up for the lows, and I am grateful for the opportunity I have had to be a mother.

~Friendships have always been difficult for me. On the surface, I’m a somewhat extroverted introvert, drawing my energy from quiet alone time, but in my heart, too, is a sense of loneliness that only friends can fill. In all likelihood, this stems from not having strong relationships with my siblings, so I look to others to step into my void.

As a kid, my church family filled that hole admirably, and as an adult it is friends. But there’s a caveat. Yes, I have my own nuclear family, but because my extended family roots are so tenuous, numerous though they are, I ache to be a part of a larger family, or at least to be cherished almost as much as a family member by friends. My BFF & I are quite close, but I know I am not “family,” not in that truly intimate sense, even though Blondie considers her an aunt.

Beyond her, I find the emotional energy it takes to maintain friendships…draining at times. Granted there were some bonfire-type friendships over the years that left me with 3rd degree burns, but mostly, I just run so hard and fast most days that it’s hard to stop and invite others along; being at different life stages with those with whom you’d like to spend more time doesn’t make things any easier, either!

Still, it is clear to me that we are meant for others, we are social creatures- even the introverts…even the extroverted introverts. So, hard as friendships can be, they must be, and I have committed to dragging myself to more social engagements and inviting more people in, or rather out this year- out to lunch, out to dinner, out to a movie, because there are just too many people that I truly adore, but see far less often than I would like!

 

 

Nov23

Day 6: Trader Joe’s, Beautiful Skies, Talent, and Grace

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This thirty day challenge may end up being a one year effort to put fingers to keys! Nevertheless, here’s day 6!

  • Several weeks ago I was subcontracting for a gentleman who had an exceedingly difficult client ; and I’m not being hyberbolic in that description. In fact, I ended up walking out on the job. Left for lunch and didn’t return. Of course, I let the contractor know, and he understood completely. There really are people in the world who expect what feels like superhuman perfection from us. “Sorry, not sorry,” but I’m disinclined to play that game. Life really is too precious to compete with extra human or supernatural forces in order to please people who give so little grace to the Universe.Late in the afternoon of my second day there, I paused for lunch. In my area, there is only one relatively close Trader Joe’s, and we moved further from it when we bought a new house three years ago. Now, it’s a bit of a time luxury to go, but considering this client was giving me a headache with her “hospital corners” exactitude, I was grateful for the close proximity of a store I consider a happy place.

    Why is TJ’s a “happy place,” a respite from a storm? Isn’t is just another grocery store? No, not to this artistic soul. The music is a perfect mix of oldies tunes to which one can easily make a fool of oneself in front of ten other people doing the same. It’s almost like the old “I’m a Pepper! You’re a Pepper” Dr. Pepper ads! The light isn’t overbearing, but “just right;” the store colors and packaging are spot on for an artist- bright and crisp- with beautiful line art. The flowers at the entrance are welcoming, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a grumpy TJ’s employee. So, when an overbearing client is harshing my mellow in the most excruciating of ways, where else would I rather be within a 2 mile radius? Trader Joe’s it is!

  • Beautiful skies, particularly those near sunset, speak to my soul and whisper the lines from Alma 30:44 in the Book of Mormon:  The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator. 

    The majesty of massive cloud formations, the variety of colors filtering through the atmosphere, the miracle of light refraction seen in the manifestation of a multichromatic arc stretching across space- I cannot look at these things and deny the Creator of creation. There must be hundreds of cloud and sunset pictures on my phone from years of stopping to snap scenes that cause my heart to pound and words of gratitude to part my lips,”Thank you! Thank you for creating this just for us.”

   

  • I’ve often pondered the parable of the Talents from Matthew 25. Easily, one could interpret the Lord’s words to refer to finances or spiritual gifts. For my purposes here, I’m going with the latter and considering my artistic talent to be endowment. developing, increasing my talent hasn’t been my forte, though using what I have has been. With that, I’d say I’m like the second man in the parable, the guy who received two coins, then doubled them. He got a small, but adequate start. Image result for parable of the talentsNot so sad as to only get one coin worth of seed money, but not so respected as to get five. Have I doubled my coinage over my life time? No, I’ve still got work to do, but I am a problem solver, and I try to be realistic. As artists go, I’m good. Definitely not great, nor amazing, but in my very small sphere I do well. Figuring out where that sphere is, as it seems to keep bouncing away from me, is part of my problem (also known as ADHD). Nevertheless, there are those days when I finish a project or troubleshoot a situation at work, that a sense of gratitude overwhelms me, and I’m grateful for not burying those coins or giving up when the desire had my knees buckling.
  • Grace. Such a small word, but the whole of the eternities is contained therein. For my purposes, however, I’m not referring to the Grace Christ conferred upon us through his infinite Atonement, but rather the goodwill that we impart to one another when we acknowledge their good faith efforts in light of our own failings and limitations. As a fallible, imperfect human with limited sight, as a mother, a wife, a friend, and particularly as an #tinycontractor, I need Grace in abundant measure; when I’m doing my best, I need my efforts to be recognized, not praised, really, but at least noted…and likewise, I must do the same for others.Life is challenging! As a whole, there is no doubt that statement is true. Good days, bad days, moments in between where it feels all is falling to pieces, which often comes on the heels of all going swimmingly well! La vida est loco! Illness, kids, spouses, zigging when we should have zagged!

    Grace comes in when you pause to consider how your actions Image result for you never know what someone is going through mememight be affecting another- then you stop doing those things. Grace comes in when you’re disappointed with another, then you pause to consider what might be the root of your frustrations, and choose to give that person the benefit of the doubt. Grace comes in when someone is trying their best, but falling short of your expectations, and you take a second or two to reexamine your expectations. Grace comes in when you think of your own bad moments and how you wish others had treated you, then you chose to be kind in stead of pugnacious.

    Solo contracting is one of the most difficult things I’ve done in my 48 years. Success or failure is one one set of shoulders, and those shoulders are small and terribly human. I try to be careful about over promising, but I will admit to being the queen of “magical thinking” (read: I’m late, but no worries! I can drive 28 miles in 5 minutes!). By that I don’t mean I can’t deliver, but realistically, it IS going to take me longer than someone with a team or bigger, faster, sleeker equipment, and I’m likely to charge more because, like the local mom and pop store, I don’t make my profits by volume alone. With that, I’m so grateful when a client chooses me, despite those limitations; I’m even more grateful when they see those limitations and extend Grace when I’m “off” one day, and I need to rework something, or my family needs me, or I get a cold that puts me in bed or slows down my usually spastic self.

    May we all give and receive Grace in equal measure, one to another. Peace out!

 

Oct24

Have I Done Any Good in the World Today?

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Although, today I am to list three things for which I am grateful, the first is the only one that will get any lengthy discussion. In total, I am grateful for mentors, air conditioning, and Tempur pedic pillows & beds. The last two are pretty self-explanatory, don’t you think? I live in Houston, Texas, where summer lasts waaaaayyyyy the hell longer than it should and the humidity can be oppressive for nearly as long. We celebrate Mr. Carrier’s birthday down here (or we should)! Who is that, you ask? Check out this terrific video on “cold” to learn about this genius inventor. As for Tempur material… thank you, NASA for the research that lead to the development of this back-saving viscoelastic miracle. You rock! We had our first knock-off Tempur bed for 15 years, and just sprang for a new one. I can’t imagine sleeping on anything else long-term. Anytime we car travel, the Tempur pillows come, too. Now, about those mentors…

A hymn I have known since childhood entitled “Have I Done Any Good in the World Today,” has a first verse that reads:

Have I done any good in the world today?
Have I helped anyone in need?
Have I cheered up the sad and made someone feel glad?
If not, I have failed indeed.
Has anyone’s burden been lighter today
Because I was willing to share?
Have the sick and the weary been helped on their way?
When they needed my help was I there?

Mentors are or should be an important part of each of our lives, as they render assistance in a myriad of areas. For the sake of brevity and focus, I’ll narrow my gratitude down to those who make my business world go ’round. Being largely self taught in my current field as a #tinycontractor, wherein I do murals, (some) faux finishes, backsplashes, fireplace updates, and increasingly, banister, cabinet, and furniture refinishing, I rely heavily on mentors. Gratefully, fortuitously, God has seen fit to place a number of such souls in my path, and I can say without reservation that each and every one of them have, at one time or another, in one way or another, helped me, cheered me, lifted my burdens, and shared their knowledge without request for compensation. For me, they have been the epitome of blessings.

When I first started painting (and watching copious amounts of HGTV) in 1999, I discovered a few paint gurus at our local Home Depot. One gentleman, Jim, a wise old codger, always had answers to my questions and advice to make jobs easier. Upon moving to Nashville from Ft. Worth in 2008, then to Houston in 2009, I rarely needed someone like him, but when I did, our local Lowe’s had a couple of employees ready to fill the gap. In 2017, my life as a stay at home and homeschooling mom drew to a close. With Brownie heading off to private school and Blondie going to university, I went back to the only thing I knew I could do to help cover their expenses without costly (and sometimes completely unnecessary) credentialing: painting.

Funny how quickly things change in a decade. Marketing, expectations, trends, materials- all different. In what felt like a blink in “mother time,” everything changed about my business. Going from Mural Mama (my first business) to 2nd Story Designs (my current business) was, and hasn’t been, smooth or easy. Yet, at every turn, people, teachers, have been there to act as guides to help me through projects of every shape and size.

Since restarting my business, I am doing things I never imagined, like wallpapering a 16′ high wall on scaffolding, tiling kitchen backsplashes, replacing the veneers on a family heirloom, and creating a board and batten wall with flex molding on an 18′ high curved staircase wall! It’s been nuts! But Alan, David and the rest of the guys at our local Rockler store are always there to answer my 875th question about something. Bill, a neighborhood woodworker extraordinaire, whom I just happened to run into one day in the early summer while spraying cabinet doors in my front yard, has become an amazing resource. Rebecca, the Faux Effects lady in Dallas who so willingly gives of her time and energy to travel and teach, and then continue to teach and reach out, well beyond the scope of her classes, is a blessing I knew I needed in order to progress my business. Steven, Daniel, Bo, Justin, Rocky, and William, my Benjamin Store and Sherwin Williams friends who guide and direct me to the best products for my projects when I’m stumped. Locally, my fellow contractors, such as Dave Cole, owner of Coastal Painting, whom I met through an on-line referral website when I desperately needed some one to paint my new (and filthy) house 3 years ago, is always willing to assist. Several months after Dave painted our house and I had restarted 2nd Story, Dave and I became fast friends and resources for each other, drawing on our individual strengths and pooling our collective know-how, depending on the job requirements. Candace Roberts of Painted Luxury, with whom I attended a color certification class, gave me direction when I started branching into cabinetry, and helped me keep from jumping off a cliff after a particularly trying client last year.

Indeed, John Donne is proven correct, yet again, in that no man or woman is an island. We have little choice but to learn from others, but we must be open to giving and receiving assistance with an understanding of how much a seemingly simply act of generosity can mean to another. ‘Thank you’ to all who have so willingly imparted of their time and knowledge to help a crazy little (former) red head further along the road of business success. You’re the best!

 

Oct13

More Gratitude Give Me

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Continuing the theme…

Day #4- Name 2 things for which you are grateful for today

Patient clients and Freedom (both personal & within America)

This is all simple stuff. As a small #tinycontractor with kids still at home, I need patient clients.

Things come up; kids need things; I’m having an off day; I hurry when I should take more time; walls are out of plumb, requiring some problem solving; the air is heavy with moisture, slowing product drying time, clients’ schedules go crazy, and on and on. I just need clients who give grace, who understand that no one, no matter how hard we try are perfect- no matter how good it looks on HGTV, life happens! Gratefully, most of my clients are wonderful and understanding.

Last year, after a particularly trying job, I started penning pleas, if you will, to my clientele. I’ve no idea if the blog posts were read in that light, but in my heart were tears, begging to be heard, one human being to another. One of the first was this: Patience with the Process. Perhaps, next time you hire someone to work in your home, it will make a difference in how you see that contractor.

As for the Freedom part of this day’s brief list, Freedom/ Independence is one of my top 7 core values. Among my Big 3, Freedom battles mightily with Faith/ Spirituality and Wisdom every single day for that important number one spot. Because of that, which I believe has much to do with childhood issues and my struggles with depression over the years, being part of a family can be hard. There are days I long to run away, days on the road when I could simply keep driving, and it has very little to do with my husband or kids, because I value them greatly. No, it has everything to do with my restless soul, which I, not infrequently, have to tell, “Hush. Be still.”

At its worst, the every-day-ness of life can feel suffocating. However, a successful family requires sacrifice and a certain giving over of one’s autonomy; there’s just no other way for things to work well… and that can be terribly difficult when you are a person who needs a fair bit of space and quiet. Despite my artsy, wanderlust side, I am a traditionalist. I don’t believe you simply walk away from good things searching for a “better” that may not exist, a “better” that rarely is. I’ve seen first hand the destruction such thinking can do to children, to spouses, to quality people who deserved to be treated with more love and consideration from those to whom they had made commitments; and I cannot swing such a wrecking ball. That’s a selfishness I cannot…will not… indulge.

So, I bloom where I am planted and am grateful my husband understands this facet of my personality to a large degree, and has been rather generous on this point over the years. I rarely ask for approval, and never for permission, but I try to be conscious of when I’m too withdrawn or overindulging in solitude. It’s the least I can do to demonstrate my appreciation and self-awareness that I’m not in this life alone. John Donne was correct when he penned those famous lines I learned in high school:

 

Oct6

Catching Up on Gratitude: Day 3

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Sometimes Facebook gets these posts before I have time to replicate and expand here. It has been a nutty week, during which I was bitten by a nasty little dog and walked out on a job. Since it has been so long between my last post and my new slew, last I was writing I was a homeschooling chauffeur to my two girls. Well, the oldest went off to university and the youngest ended up in private school. Oh, yeah, I

From my July 14, 2019 Facebook post; made as I was starting my roadtrip to pick up Blondie at college:
Yes, I’m going to bed early, but I brought my oil diffuser & yoga mat for a reason. Seriously, this crap is why I need alone time at least once a year. I get so…self conscious & I just can’t work out or fully relax at home. But stick me in a quiet box 200 miles away, & I’m set.
I have not done child’s pose or whatever this one is (blanking) without major discomfort in 5+ years due to the nerve dead zone & still torn meniscus in my right knee from a car wreck. The nerve area still makes me twitch when too much pressure is placed on it, but maybe it’s the yoga mat on a somewhat cushioned hotel floor vs a hard wood gym surface that made it feel ok this time. Seriously shocked.
Yoga session over. Now for corpse pose. I shouldn’t last long…

noted that in my first post back… What I didn’t mention is that I had to restart my old faux & mural business in order to pay for Brownie’s private school. More about that later though.

Day #3- Name 1 thing for which you are grateful for today (and thus begins a week of ever increasing ‘grateful’ lists)

I made it to yoga class tonight! It has been years since I taught yoga, and honestly, in the past that has been the only way I could actually DO yoga. Teaching gave half my ADHD-riddled brain something to do so the other half could actually be calm and relaxed. Mine and Blondie’s March 2015 car wreck that took out my right knee greatly curtained (almost fully nixed) my yoga, stretching, exercising these last 5 years.

Minus a year in which I tried to enjoy cycling (blech!), but failed, and the 3 months 3 years ago I Krav Maga’d with Brownie (we moved and it got really inconvenient to go), post wreck recovery, my exercise routines went from hour to two hour racewalks and twice a week boot camps, to boring neighborhood strolls where I listened only to podcasts, never to music, because music would make my heart ache and my legs long to sprint. Stretching just to stretch became a rarity, too.

Truly, I really didn’t need the help from the airbag, as I had had surgery on the same meniscus a mere 7 months earlier, and had torn my left hamstring at the origin -for the third time (an annual event since January 2013!)- a week prior. But there you go: another of life’s blindsiding curve balls.

Fast forwarding from the injuries of 2015 to this summer, with 50 birthdays looming and my flexibility diminishing, I determined to get back to yoga, and maybe, eventually, back to teaching. To start on that path, I took my mat with me on my annual summer trip to retrieve Blondie from university and did some work each night in my hotel. Just prior to my departure a new Roll Out yoga studio opened just outside of my neighborhood. I was over joyed…though it took nearly three months for a sufficient break in my schedule to occur, allowing me to sign up for a two-week trial membership.

So far, I’ve been to three classes and, as I just signed up for an “unlimited October,” I’m looking forward to many more. My body is certainly sore, but that’s not unexpected. It feels “right” to be back on the mat, and to find that my body hasn’t lost quite as much as I’d feared. What I’m most pleased with, however, is that I’m more focused compared to the me that used to teach (more on that later)- and I think I’ve found my tribe, as it were, within yoga (not too Zen/ hyper-hippie spiritual, not too anal about their classes, chanting, practice, or music). All of this makes me a happy, still quite bendy, camper!

Oct1

Gratitude Journal Challenge: Days 2 and 3

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What challenges do you face in generating feelings of gratitude?

There’s a reason “Thou shalt not covet” is one of the Ten Commandments. Comparing ourselves to others is a sure fire way to stir up feelings of discontentment. For that matter, comparisons are a key component in most political campaigns. I wonder why? Could it be contention and a battle mentality, both of which foster an “us against them” mentality, create ideal conditions for politicians to inflame their most reliable voters or influence those most easily won over by pandering?

Whenever we are angry, discontent, agitated, or contentious, we are mentally football fields away from the calm, wise-mind centered place we must be in order to feel the calming presence of gratitude. It is maddeningly easy to lose perspective once a greedy, covetousness besets us. Once those feelings are planted in our hearts, gratitude must leave. It cannot find space within a heart mired in negative emotions.

To stay orientated around positive belief, I must daily remind myself how blessed I am. To live in America is something for which millions around the world would give their eye-teeth. To be in a stable marriage with a good, successful spouse with happy, healthy kids (both moving towards successful launches) is unheard of in large swaths of humanity. To have safe drinking water, multiple vehicles, electronics, heat and air on demand, indoor plumbing, electricity available all day, every day…the list goes on! My blessings are myriad.

Of course, I could play the “Yes, but…” or the “If only…” games, but why? Why should I care about whose house is nicer, bigger, decorated with more pizzazz, or who drives a new car every other year? Why? So, I can start envying? What benefit is envy to me? Does it bring my closer to God, to Christ? Does it make my relationships better? The answer is a resounding ‘no.’ So, why go there, particularly when “here” is enough?

 

 

Day 3: What ONE thing are you grateful for today?

This is simple: I made it to my second yoga class in a week!

Sep29

Gratitude Journal Challenge: Day 1

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Well, as I’m looking for things to make me write, to dust off my creaking fingers and cogs, I figure a 30 day gratitude challenge is as good as anything to start me off. Some of these particular may be quick drafts to be fleshed out more in the future, some may get a long form shot out right. Who knows!? So, here goes…

#1: How has an “attitude of gratitude” blessed you in the past?

My life hasn’t been a bed of roses. Though the majority of the “rough stuff” occurred prior to my marriage in 1992, there has been plenty of buffeting about in the past 27 years, too. I don’t believe I could be as functional as I am today without a sense of gratitude.

Sad to say, but not unexpectedly, it took a number of years for the comprehension of my blessings to develop. Yet, once it did, it made understanding my life’s challenges much easier…and it has kept me sane. It can be easy to stew in the anger that often results from loss and disappointment, to muck about in the mire of regrets and “what-ifs.” Yes, it’s very easy, but not productive for oneself or those near by.

As long as we live, we will have trials, things to stretch us- often beyond our sense of comfort. I’ve had a few times I’ve screamed “UNCLE” at God, among other things, but these crisis moments have been short lived.

Several years ago, after my car accident, after my last knee surgery, when I was trying to make a racewalking “comeback,” but everything that could go wrong biomechanically was and I had to stop walking. My mental health was not the best, as it felt like my body was rebelling for no good reason other than to piss me off. Nothing was working. 

It was then that I happened upon a disabled vet who had lost both legs above the knee because of an IED. We chatted for a few minutes about his injuries. He noted that he missed being able to run and play with his kids like before (and here I was whining about not being able to exercise in my preferred manner). It was definitely a sobering moment, a reminder that we just don’t always get what we want, but more often than not we have a helluva lot more than many others. Interestingly, this young vet told me he’d had his own moment at the gym one day, when he ran into a vet missing an arm. “At least I can still play catch with my son,” he observed.

It is during such times that I am grateful for the “smallness” of my struggles. I am still unable to racewalk, but I am little hindered anymore as I scale ladders for work. Yoga doesn’t feel as good as it once did, but I am still more flexible than 95 percent of the population! I still deal with depression, and was recently diagnosed with Hashimoto’s (low thyroid) and I’m barrelling headlong into menopause, but I’m not bi-polar or schizophrenic, my thyroid issue was caught early (I had no idea!), and I can afford bioidentical hormone replacement (though I white hot hate being pelleted in the hip every 3 months!). Even my childhood traumas, and there were a few, including a broken home and sexual abuse, don’t hold a candle to the pitted path upon which so many others walk every day. 

No, I shall take my troubles and simply say ‘thank you’ to God for having the support network, the mental and physical health, the financial resources (for a therapist, and life), and my faith in a better world to come. I don’t want the difficulties others must endure. Mine are quite enough. Perspective truly is everything!

 

Sep16

Activism Over Obedience? Not for this Crazy (former) Red Head.

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Note: this is another post started a while ago, but which has been sitting unfinished in my drafts. Nevertheless, it is of sufficient weight for me that I feel the need to compete it for posting. Started in October 2018.

_________________

I am a proud member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and every six months we have this thing called General Conference. It’s a big deal- lasting ten hours, spread over the first Saturday and Sunday of both April and October. Been that way forAChristus2 many, many, many years, and will likely continue that way for many more years to come.

At General Conference, the leaders of the church, collectively known as “General Authorities,” who include our prophet (also called the president), our apostles, our seventies (yes, we believe those are still necessary offices in the authoritative leadership of Christ’s kingdom on Earth), as well as women who serve in high leadership positions, speak on important topics concerning the Atonement, Christ’s mission, our doctrine, the world, our responsibilities as Christians, and a myriad of other subjects, all with the intent to push us to strive for a higher purpose.

Well, the other night in the course of the Women’s Session, which is held only once a year in the fall General Conference (the men get their own session in spring), our beloved prophet Russel M. Nelson issued an invitation, as seen in this graphic. It was a powerful invitation, and one I, and many other sisters, did not take lightly. Social media accounts went silent through out the world- some almost immediately. It was definitely an E.F. Hutton moment (Google that, youngsters).

Why? You might ask. Well, again, we Latter-day Saints believe in prophets, and most of us still believe they speak for God. As such, their counsel is not on level with just any old motivational speaker or religious leader. No, the prophet and apostles are more like Moses and Joshua, Elijah and Isaiah were for the Jews: men with a mantle of authority, called of God and able to receive revelation for the body of believers.

Alas, just as many in Israel took their prophets’ counsel for naught and mocked those anointed to leadership, so do plenty in our world-wide congregations of modern-era saints. Since I am a small, very small, business owner, I had to at least keep up with my business social media accounts, but I did do as asked and chose to steer clear of my personal accounts and new feed…mostly. Very quickly I repented of the “mostly” part of the preceding thought.

Apparently, asking women to temporarily and voluntarily minimize the negative influences of social media and digital devices, influences which I thought an abundance of digital ink had been spilled in recent years documenting, is tantamount to asking women to wear ball gags, handcuffs, foot bindings, and burkas!

Sadly, I only knew this because I failed to avert my eyes from the darn FB newsfeed, which was alight with stories of women howling to raise the roof about this “misogynistic” request, which was “clearly” meant to stifle women’s political voices in the run up to the mid-term elections. Not to mention the “obvious” fact that the men weren’t asked to do something similar (their (the brothers’) conference is in April… maybe they will (or maybe social media isn’t as big an issue for men)). The travesty! Like Lot’s wife in the Old Testament, I felt like I had been turned to salt for looking.

Nevertheless, yawn. In the popular phrase, I will take refuge: sorry, not sorry. Of all the things by which to be offended in culture, the simple request by our prophet to take a break from the negative and time sucking influences of social media, to read the scriptures, to attend the temple, and to participate in our church women’s group (Relief Society), should fall way at the bottom of the list.

But no, not in 2018. In 2018, everything just be questioned. Every benign request from a male to a female must be scrutinized for motives, for surely they are nefarious. Every suggestion to improve. Every comment that isn’t equally directed towards the men. Every opportunity to run down leaders and assert one’s “right to…” must be taken, and taken publicly, with as loud and large a platform as possible. Indeed, I found the response by some supposedly believing, active female members of my faith to such a simple suggestion to be akin to burning down a house to kill a single ant. The perpetual outrage is ridiculous… and usually misplaced.

Get. A. Grip.

There was nothing of love, perspective, grace, or even thoughtful consideration or constraint in the stories I read of the aggrieved. Unremarkably, in several articles I read on the “firestorm,” it seemed the conservative-leaning women moved more easily towards compliance or “obedience” to the prophet’s request, egregious as some may find those terms. Whereas, more left-leaning women, whose primary concern appeared to be political activism in the weeks after the Kavanaugh hearings, seemed to have a knee-jerk “Hell, no!” What the hay, ladies?

The later response left me shaking my head to the point of dizziness. I freely admit there are a things in my faith with which I struggle from time to time, but like Paul, who in 2 Corinthians urges us to keep our eyes on the prize of eternity, not the things of the world, I try not to get bogged down in what are often inconsequential matters of this terrestrial realm.

I’ll drag across the plains, but don’t you dare take away my tech!

Now, lest it be said, “You just don’t understand how important this election is!” I’m very politically active. I get that politics are important. Elections have consequences, etc, etc. However, elections don’t matter more than obedience to a righteous request any more than Saul’s unholy sacrifice to God did in I Samuel 15. Why must “But I…” or “Doesn’t apply to me” be the first response, like a petulant child who believes she knows more than her parents about most any situation?

Gratefully, Faith is one of my spiritual gifts. All things in me draw me towards an Eternal Father, Christ, our resurrected Savior, and the wonderful Holy Spirit. If I believe in those beings, and also believe Christ’s church has been restored in these latter days as the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, then I am compelled to take the words, challenges, suggestions, and exhortations of our leaders, most of all our prophet, whom I believe is called of God, with due soberness and a mind towards implementation.

What have we to gain by being contrary simply for the sake of being contrary? More importantly, what do we have to lose?

For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.    2 Corinthians 4: 17-18 (KJV)

 

P. S. In true Murphy’s Law fashion, my desktop has decided to be a pain in the rear about opening my blog. Alas, I’m having to write in my phone, which I hate almost as much as I hate writing on a laptop. Hence, this post is, for the timeline, ridiculously devoid of appropriate placed visuals and links. As soon as I can get a desktop page opened for editing, I’ll liven things up!

Sep14

Something Much Better Than Overpriced Roses and a Sugar Coma

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Something Much Better Than Overpriced Roses and a Sugar Coma

The three most important words ever uttered are not “I love you,” but rather, “It is finished.”

btwPreface: I have decided that I must carve out space to start writing again. In doing so, I am starting by looking through the ten drafts I’ve had sitting on this site for faaaaaaaarrrrrrrr too long.

This particular post is from Valentine’s Day 2017: the day Brownie got accepted into a private school for her freshman year of high school. As overjoyed as I was in the original post, last year it became screamingly obvious that school, the one for which I prayed, was not the place for Brownie to thrive for another two years. My more studious, philosophical Blondie might have flourished there, but it became suffocating to my more… light-hearted…Brownie.

You see, dear reader, somewhere in the early days of the 2018-19 school year, Brownie finally convinced me to pay for voice lessons. Annnnnnd that changed everything. She is just not a classical Christian school kind of girl, and certainly not if that school is under 160 kids, K-12, with few opportunities for exploring her seriously amazing voice. Nevertheless, more on that later. Suffice it to say, School A was the right place at right time, but School B, with its expansive choir and drama departments, will see Brownie through to graduation. Praise be!

Oh, yes, an an additional aside, Blondie went on to start school at BYU-I in January 2018. As they are on a trimester system, her school terms run from the frwhatozen days of early January to the more temperate end of July. She comes home for 6 months, helps me with my business (also, gotta write about that!!), then heads back up. However, she’s only got one more trimester to go. January to April, and then she’s only got a summer internship to complete to wrap up her illustration degree. Tempus doth indeed fugit!

There was a clear indication I had other thoughts to add way back when, but I think where I left off works well enough as an ending, I’ll just let it lie.

      ——————————————————————————————————————————
My heart is very full tonight, and none of it has to do with what many would consider a “traditional Valentine’s.” Somewhere between spending two years in the pit of depression a decade and a half ago and the stresses of mothering two high intensity girls and wifing a type A work-a-holic, my inner romantic realized there was a lot more to life and marriage than roses and chocolate once a year. Overpriced flowers & crap in place of the strawberries I’d much prefer doesn’t do much for me. Yeah, got a little too practical for my own good. So, Valentine’s… Meh.

Nevertheless, lots of wondrous, marvelous stuff today…

~ My Brownie has a place for school next year that is an answer to my frequent and fervent prayers; and I cannot express the pure love I felt pour out on me when I saw the acceptance email this morning from the small classical Christian school to which we made application last month. God, indeed, hears our prayers and knows our needs…ours and those of our children. Through tears I said ‘Thank You!’ over and over again.

We have homeschooled Brownie (in one form or another) since 2nd grade, but the older she’s gotten the harder it has become. When Blondie came “home” for high school and stepped directly into college classes, I became her chauffeur to two different campuses, 25 and 45 minutes from home, respectively, and her “required on campus guardian” for two solid years. When you are constantly in and out of the car, killing time here and there, particularly when it entails dragging a kid with ADD along for the ride, and expecting her to get anything out of your time together…yeah, not cool. Brownie suffered in the process, and so did I. Blondie, however, will graduate high school with 75 hours of college under her belt. But it hasn’t been accomplished without a tax on her younger sister and an increasing strain on the relationship between Brownie and I. Please, pile on the mother guilt. Heap on the ashes.

Despite trying on-line classes, small Great Books-styled pre-college classes at one of Blondie’s campuses, and a few one-on-one subjects mother y daughter, I finally, with the help of hubby and Blondie, ceded my dreams to reality on New Year’s Day and we started searching for a private school we could (choke) afford and still…eat… and put gas in the cars! Very quickly, we focused in on two excellent prospects. Within a month, however, it was crystal clear there was only one choice; gratefully, God agreed.

~ After deciding to have Blondie skip her 9:30 class and me opt out of my usual Tuesday morning scripture group due to some hellacious rain and tornadic winds in the area through which I chose not to drive, the girls and I a blessedly relaxed morning. Unfortunately I considered the holiday a little too late and got to the south side of town too late to meet Hubby for lunch (when your day starts at 4:30 a.m., lunch comes pretty early).

Despite missing my scripture group, which is made up of some dear ladies with whom I look forward to studying God’s word every week, and my husband, I got to speak to two dear friends- and on the phone no less (not usually my favorite mode of communication, but a necessary evil at times). First I talked to a fellow athlete wannabe who is such a stalwart spirit and a sweet, thoughtful soul (much sweeter and more thoughtful than me most days). She actually thinks to pick up her phone and call people. I think of a 100 different ways to get around phone calls! Then, a bit later, my BFF rang me up to congratulate me on Brownie’s school acceptance. I am always grateful for her calls. Seeing as neither of us are big “phone people,” it means a lot. I’m thankful that at this point in our lives neither of us requires an umbilical attachment to maintain the blessing of our friendship, which has dragged out over nearly two decades and several moves. Great is the blessing and the joy that is a low maintenance friendship with the person to whom I would entrust my children.

~ Picking Blondie up from classes has been a high point of my days since she was a freshman taking Great Books I and Philosophy from a local Christian university. She is always so willing to communicate what she has learned; her passion for learning is an energy source of its own. One of her courses this semester is the VERY intense “Art of Storytelling,” taught by two men who spent time writing and working in the movie industry in California. It is a class that lights her up when she considers her future. She wants to work on movies that cut the political crap and the filth; movies that make people remember the days when films were of good quality AND entertaining- for everyone. Alas, one of her frustrations with the kids in her class, and at this university, in general, has been the quality of expression of their religious values. The way they speak (word choices), they way they dress (barely, in some instances), and the way they demonstrate their faith has been quite puzzling to her. Today (this being several days post-Valentine’s that I am working on this post), for example, a girl came to her art class class wearing a t-shirt with “Magical Motherf*****” emblazoned across the front! Really?!

Well, for Tuesday’s class they had had the assignment to watch the Brandon Routh/ Kevin Spacey “Superman” from 10 years ago or so. The students had to do a write up on it to be turned in, but the class also discussed it amongst themselves. In my chat with Blondie, she observed how difficult it was for her to wrap her mind around a film in which the creators tried so hard to sell Superman as a type of Christ, yet they chose to give him an illegitimate child? Yeah..connection fail. However, not a single kid mentioned that as an issue. Lots of other stuff, yes, but not ‘knocked up Lois Lane.’ Furthermore, not

saywhat

her kid in class made the comment, “Most people I know, and I’m sure most of us in this generation, don’t really think about being Christian except during church on Sundays. I mean you do the church thing and then you go back to what you were doing.” He meant it, too. He wasn’t joking. No one dissented, at least not vocally. Blondie desperately wanted to speak up, to challenge him with, “I DON’T! What is the point in calling yourself a Christian if you don’t demonstrate it by your actions and let it show in your countenance every day!?”…but one of the profs shifted gears shortly thereafter, and her moment was lost.

happyvholyShe has said it a few times in recent months since taking classes only on the main campus, but today, there was a heavier weight to her sentiments: “I thought the difference between the students at [the local junior college] and those at [the Christian university] would be greater, but it isn’t. You still hear foul language, maybe not as much, but they are just as unapologetic and open with its use. The kids at the university aren’t even as friendly as the ones at the junior college, but then to hear ones I’d expect to be more serious in their faith treat it with so little reverence? Well, I’m just looking forward to seeing if there isn’t a more serious expression of faith in the students at BYU (where she’s hoping to go after Christmas break).”

I warned her not to get her hopes too terribly high, people are still people, but ‘yes,’ I think BYU actively cultivates the Spirit in its student body (I’d love some feedback on this point). No doubt the profs at the Christian university are serious about their walk with God, but sadly, it’s not immediately visible in the students- cross necklaces and themed t-shirts aside. They are young though. How many of us didn’t have our own true conversions as adults until our mid to late 20s, or older? Still, I am so grateful to have a kid with her head and her heart pointing to Christ with such depth and understanding at this point.

Jan24

A PSA on Depression

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Having “dealt” with depression for 15 years now (dealt=medication, therapy, an annoying level of self awareness), but having “suffered” with it too, both before that 15 year period started and also during it (you get it?), it is sometimes hard to gauge feelings and emotions. You second guess if what you’re experiencing during bad moments is “real” or “imagined,” or maybe “appropriate” vs. “out of proportion” are better terms. You struggle to keep your head on straight, to realize we all have bad days; you wonder if your meds are still working; and if you have a really, really bad day, you’re certain they aren’t, and panic ensues. If you’ve ever been in residence at the bottom of the black pit of despair (or unable to get out bed and function- same difference), the panic and anxiety stems from the fear that you’re heading there again. It’s a horrible, horrible feeling. Horrible and soul sucking.

not-grumpy

Yup. This pretty much sums up depression.

Well, Blondie was about 13 months old when I first started doing weekend visits to the Pit. By the time she was 2, I was in residence (though truth be told, I’d had short bouts of the blues every year or two for a decade. Depression, I later learned AND realized, runs strong in my family). When I finally broached the subject with my OB/GYN and we set up hormone level testing, things were pretty awful at home. My husband of nearly ten years at that point and I didn’t fight much, but there was a constant tension. He didn’t know what to say to this beast who had suddenly taken over his wife’s body and I didn’t want to talk…at all.

By some miracle, however, I got pregnant with Brownie (zero recollection of this event. I swear I did not mean to engage in a procreative act with my husband!!) before I could get that testing done. No benefit in doing it then, because of course your hormones are going to be a mess! To add insult to injury, my mom died suddenly between Christmas and my birthday (I think the 14 year anniversary of her death was last week; I try not to dwell on such things), and BAM! I was in weekly therapy sessions (for 3 or 4 months, then we went to bi-weekly at some point for another 2) with James Taylor (lol- that was actually my therapist’s name).

It took me three or four sessions of talking predominately about my mom and our stellar (not) relationship and the rest of my screwed up family to finally come clean on wanting to smother my husband (actually, I said my husband’s breathing annoys me) and I’m struggling with dueling voices in my head (No! Not like the Son of Sam. Google it, children), like I will say things to my husband, then almost immediately hear “me” in my head saying, “What the hell are you doing? You idiot!

sad

Wow! That was a sobering revelation

You do not mean that!” Of course, the voice that had my vocal chords was saying, “Piss off! Yes, I did! Screw you if you don’t like it.” [Several years later, when we were doing better (largely because I was “me” again), hubby let me in on something: he was so miserable, so completely confused during that two year black hole in our marriage, that he would have left me if it hadn’t been for Blondie.]

In that moment, my therapist let me in on a little secret: “You have textbook clinical depression.” I hated to admit it; I fought it, but that didn’t make it any less true (kind of like Trump being president). My counselor pushed me to start medication, and I did. I was 12 weeks pregnant with Brownie and still reeling from my mom’s unexpected passing, but after about 6 weeks on meds, I felt an enormous, crushing weight slowly start to lift off of both my mind and body. Suddenly, that deep pit had rungs on its walls. Suddenly, I felt the shell of my cocoon (bed covers) break open, and instead of saying, “Thank you, God, for another dismal day,” I actually began to just say, “Thank you, God!”

In the years since climbing to the surface, I’ve still had to fight that demon beast. The medication was a life and a marriage saver, but I found something so potent that even Big Parma can’t bridge the gap every moment: teenagers! No, just kidding (a little). The monkey wrench in the works to which I’m referring are hormones. Bloody, freaking hormones.

How depression feels

How depression feels

Estrogen, testosterone, and progesterone. Darn you, all three! I tried an ablation 5 years ago to mitigate your effects, but it finally took a complete hysterectomy (one ovary is still doing its thing though) to finally kill those cyclical rages that could come from out of the blue and make me feel like I was losing my mind all over again- and worse. I never raged during the dark years, but I had horrific episodes of PMS in my late 30s & early 40s! Yet still, something was “off,” has been off.

A year ago, I took the step to start a dialog with my GP about my feelings, my malaise. We opted to adjust my meds-for the first time in 14 years. Alas, it didn’t change anything. So, back in the fall, or rather September, as it is very difficult to distinguish “the fall” in Houston, my doctor ordered a hormone panel. Fifteen years later and I finally got that hormone screen!!!

The results came back showing that, even post hysterectomy, I had huge levels of estrogen in my system,

depression

but sad, pathetic levels of testosterone (the range for women is 20-70; I was at 21). He immediately began me on a testosterone cream in an attempt to balance my levels.

It took a few solid months of supplementation, but I’m finally feeling the difference. All the months surrounding our recent and less-than-smooth move had my cortisol levels running at maximum overload, so it was difficult to tell if it was doing any good. Now that things are calming down, it’s clear it definitely is. Thank heavens! So, maybe at this point I can get back to “just” dealing with the non-hormone induced depression!

The moral to this story is this: talk to your doctor if you feel “off” or “out of sorts” for an extended period of time; and if s/he blows you off, FIND ANOTHER DOCTOR. Get those hormone levels checked before assuming anything. And don’t get suckered into thinking thinking/feeling/acting like Eeyore is normal and OK, especially when you know who you REALLY are.

A great talk from a spiritual perspective: