Mind the Gap

I got two good things in the mail last week. (We were in California for Spring Break, so it was fun to come home to something besides bills and duplicate Athleta catalogs. Sorry, Athleta, but no out of shape pregnant woman wants to look at ripped female paddle boarders in bikini bottoms.)

1. MY FNDN’S EASTER CARD. She sends Easter cards instead of Christmas cards which is genius because it’s one less thing to do in December and Easter never falls in May, which I call “the other December.” She included a quote by Lloyd Newell in her card. Lloyd is the host of Music and the Spoken Word (the longest-running uninterrupted network broadcast in the world…over 4500 consecutive weekly broadcasts) and was also my teacher at BYU back in the day. FNDN’s husband is a member of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and rubs shoulders with Mormon celebrities like it’s no big deal. He heard the quote firsthand:

“Human relationships are the raw materials that make a rich, meaningful, fulfilling life. So instead of using people and loving things the best people use things and love people.”

This was a good reminder for me, again, while in the throes of building a custom home. I’ve been laser focused on choosing countertops and hardware and carpet and windows. Occasionally I daydream about canning peaches and stirring sauce under a hammered copper hood. I’ve convinced myself the large and spacious island with the hood will be life-altering. I forget I am only going to USE these things, not LOVE them. Only crazy people love range hoods. Then again, Greg truly loves hot water heaters because they give him life-altering 40-minute showers and he’s about as good of a guy as you can get. I love people! I do. Really. But copper...ay yay yay.

FNDN’s quote helped bring me back to the stratosphere where normal people live and yesterday during church I sat up in the choir seats peeking around the organ at the faces I’ve known for years. (Some of them for almost 17 years.) I did the math and figured if they REALLY start digging our hole this week then I have maybe 30 Sundays before I won’t look at these faces anymore. And then I started crying. These people have made me who I am. They took selfish, clueless, college-grad Melissa and helped her grow into a woman with eyes that see heavier things and a heart that feels others’ pain. These are people I have snickered, sobbed, and stood with. They are my hood. (Please excuse the one time I spoke like a ganster.) They are beyond copper. They are gold.

2. THE DHC SKINCARE CATALOG. I’m on every mailing list on earth, therefore I receive eight to ten catalogs a day. After years of firmly ignoring DHC's Japanese product line I eventually caved and bought some facial cleaning oil. (It’s awesome, btw.) Each DHC catalog contains free samples so it doesn’t upset me to get a catalog every three weeks. (samples>landfill) After I pulled my CoQ10 foaming face wash sample from the centerfold I read the customer spotlight. Bonnie Hepworth, age 52, is a former RN and animal rescue junkie who raises orphaned baby squirrels (I really did laugh out loud) and uses blah blah blah product morning and night…and then I saw her motto:

“Our lives are made up of two dates and a dash. Make the most of the dash.”

Seriously, I can find a pearl anywhere. Bonnie Hepworth, you and your baby squirrels can rock on. Thank you for that. I am living the dash and it’s dashing by like a flash. I want to mindfully fill the gap between my two dates with people, not things. And when I do buy things, because we all need things, I want to use them to please people.

*FNDN stands for Forever Next Door Neighbor, Lloyd D. Newell quote from Music and the Spoken Word's March 20, 2016 broadcast.

p.s. Kamden told me her uncle said to "Only love things that can potentially love you back." I think copper is in the "can't love me back" category. Another good saying!

Anew

Bonnie Oman used to live where I lived. She acted out head-shoulders-knees-and-toes at Mach 5 for the primary kids when she was nine months pregnant and made good curry when she wasn’t sewing thousands of eye masks. She swam with her kids in the pool, appreciated all cultures, and had a face that was used to smiling. She moved to North Carolina and now makes Chihuly plates and silhouettes in a home surrounded by trees. I knew I loved her when she dedicated the month of February to Pride and Prejudice and all things Darcy on her fireplace mantel. Best of all, she is a snowflake-cutting phenom. On January 2, 2016 she posted a picture of her December mantel festooned with swags of intricate, hand-cut snowflakes. (She don’t need no stinkin’ Cricut.) This was her caption:

I have loved having these nativities on the mantle this Christmas season. Each set is tied to a family member and has a story behind it. I felt a pang in my heart as I packed them up this morning. I couldn't help but give the baby Jesus a kiss before tucking him in. There is so much I want to say about how I feel about Christmas and how wonderful it is New Year’s follows so close to it. Even though not all the world celebrates the birth of our Savior everyone does celebrate New Year’s- a new start, a second chance, renewal of goals and dreams. But really that is why Christ came to earth- to give us a "New Year" as it were- a second chance, a renewal of faith and goals and dreams. He gave use the chance to be clean again, to try again. So although the whole world may not recognize New Year’s as our Saviors gift to us...I do. Happy New Year everyone!

I couldn’t get her sentiment out of my mind; I loved her view of a new year as a gift from the Savior.

Three months later I got a tiny but thick hand-addressed envelope (pitter patter heart palpitations). A bee card had carefully transported three folded snowflakes separated by layers of tissue paper across the country. Each dainty snowflake was a variation of L5 for Lawson Five and took my breath away. Who else would celebrate a baby due in August with custom snowflakes? O Bonny Lass, that’s who.

The snowflakes sat on my secretary desk absorbing admiration and sideways glances. I went to my 21-week ultrasound on Thursday and found a nickel in the parking lot as I opened my car door. It was an obvious omen for the Lawson Five; I picked it up and tossed it in my purse. Tails up. Breech baby? Hey, I was born breech (my mom is fearless) and look how I turned out.

Today is Easter Sunday. Last night I fed glossy brochure paper into my laserjet and read this Gordon B. Hinckley quote 89 times as 89 individual pages slowly rolled out:

There would be no Christmas if there had not been Easter. The babe Jesus of Bethlehem would be but another baby without the redeeming Christ of Gethsemane and Calvary, and the triumphant fact of the Resurrection.

There, minutes to midnight sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor (which really kills my knees) trying to ignore the Talenti mint gelato bar in my freezer, I thought about how closely Easter and Christmas are connected, I thought about the snowflakes still on my desk, and I thought about the gift of a new year. New anything, really.

NEW YEARS despite plucking grays and losing collagen because friendships are getting older and I’m finding my skin more and more comfortable. I like who I am and I like the path I’m on. I like where I’m headed…especially if I can ever master self-control and sugar cravings and bedtime. I yearn for consistency.

NEW HOUSES even if I miss the mark now and again because of doorknob and faucet selection. It's just a box that moth and rust will corrupt but it's my box and the Lord said go and dress this garden. I want to do my best. It's my ultimate design project. Did I mention we still haven't dug a hole in our dirt? Did I mention I have a minor role in Draper's current soap opera entitled By the Time You Get Your Permit You Won't Be Young But You Will Be Restless?

NEW BEGINNINGS because Kamden-on-the-Move said WE ARE GOING FROM GREAT TO GREAT and I am stealing her mantra. It’s all great.

NEW WEEKS because I need a blessed Monday and a fresh to-do list after a weeks of family sickness blackout, neglected piles, mayhem, and low sleep. I need new angles to attack the goals and responsibilities that aren't happening. Menu, budget, schedule, health...just work! Greg...just eat quinoa!

NEW LIFE oh my little baby boy on the way! The ultrasound tech was obsessing over his lips. She said it five times: how amazing his lips were. Like the Rolling Stones logo. I’m going to get this kid some manly-scented Bonnie Bell lipsmackers.

NEW RESOLVE to override failure and try again, even when I stink it up and fail as a wife mother human disciple daily. Most of me is so good but I keep some selfishness in my back pocket. And that little part of me that isn’t tamed with patience…ouch. It hurts things. I do not want to hurt my family. In one of my notebooks is written in caps SELFISHNESS DESTROYS FAMILIES.

This year, during an ultra-transitional (and pretty hormonal) season of life I am saved by Easter. Is it not a marvel the good in my life can be infinite and the bad can be eternally erased? My weak spots cry out for a free boost; existing strengths get enameled for future testing. Chaos needn’t be permanent and precious needn’t be temporary. I can sort this out, twist and tune my compass, and still land on my feet because of Easter. The Savior is the only one who can help me change because he alone bought me unlimited Do-overs, Try Agains, and News nearly 2,000 years ago in a grove of olive trees. I’m certain I wouldn’t have seen it as such without Bonnie’s Christmas snowflakes at Easter.

*Bonnie gave me permission to quote her. Photo lyric from the hymn "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty". Lily photo courtesy of a print (intaglio?) I took out of the trash in my printmaking class at BYU. I don't know who made it or who threw it away but I thought it was lovely and put some colored pencils to it. I've saved it all these years and finally found the right use for it.

Also, the day I found the nickel Ari found a penny at the junior high. She told me our coinage sum was clearly an omen for Lawson Six. I wasn't sure what to tell her. I'm just hoping to make it to the finish line with this one.

Watchmen

My mother always told me “hate” was a strong word and to be careful how I used it.

CAREFULLY CONSIDERED LIST OF THINGS I HATE:

1. I hate when I’m scraping mayonnaise out of the bottom of the jar and some rim mayo accidentally smears on the edge of my hand. Mayo makes me cringe.
2. I hate swimming above scuba divers. Occasionally I’ll swim in the deep end at the rec center when scuba training is occurring at the bottom of the pool. It’s totally unnerving to tread water with black masses swirling below and someone else’s bubbles surfacing against my skin. I swam in Midway’s famous crater for the first time at night and was enjoying myself until a scuba diver surfaced a foot in front of me. I thought some bottom feeding nocturnal nessie was about to gnaw my toes off.
3. I hate flights that take off before 6 a.m.
4. I hate lip gloss and stinky dishrags.
5. I hate when church members speak ill of their bishops. (And church leaders in general, but especially bishops.) Porter Rockwell’s death left an opening for bodyguards and I have filled his position for bishops. Ain’t nobody hurting my bishop. For people who are not of my faith let me enlighten you: Mormon bishops are called by revelation—they don’t audition for the role. They are not paid for their service, often serve over five years, and their time card is punched well past part-time hours for the good of their congregation. They counsel, advise, love, lead, and stand as the shepherd of their flock. They sleep little, age quickly, attend too many meetings, and bear confidential burdens because they love the Lord and would sacrifice anything for their sheep.

A story once told about Joseph Smith and how he treated children is close to my heart. Margarette Burgess and her brother Wallace were walking to school on a muddy road. They got stuck and the harder they tried to get loose they deeper they went. They began to cry because they thought they’d be stuck forever. The children saw Joseph coming from his store. He pulled them out of the mud, put them on drier ground, and cleaned the mud from their shoes. The prophet talked to them kindly and used his handkerchief to wipe the tears from their faces. Soon they were better and able to go off to school.

When RE was four she donned a poofy, purple dress to church every week. She named it "Purple Pearl." This particular week she had new white patent leather mary janes to wear with Purple Pearl. She was exceptionally fond of them. Somehow I happened to be in the hallway during the second hour and caught this little scene with my own eyes. RE had been excused from Primary to get a drink (that faker) and was crying by the water fountain. Bishop Matthews came around the corner from his office, bent down on one knee in his western suit, and asked her at eye level what was the matter. She lifted her white shoe and pointed down; it had a scuff on the toe. He put her on his knee and wiped the scuff off with his tie. She leaned her head in on his neck and he squeezed her shoulder. Then she hopped down and skipped back to class. I’ve never forgotten this.

Bishop Matthews, like Joseph Smith, was a man of large stature and physical strength. He was skilled with a rope, an excellent shot, could tame and ride wild animals, and almost broke my ribs with a congratulatory hug in his daughter’s wedding line. A bona fide cowboy, he is famous for saying COWBOY UP the year we tried to quit girls’ camp a day early due to heavy rain and messy mudslides. He had a thick skin and could be tough as leather but was soft as chick’s down when he cleaned RE’s shoe.

Bishop Matthews loved his moustache but shaved it for six years. He hated wearing a tie. I often saw him walking home from church (hours after I left) with his tie in hand and the top two buttons of his white shirt free at last, all before his stride had taken him out of the parking lot.

Other Things I Learned From Bishop Matthews:

• He loved the youth of the ward. He managed a tire store and was throwing tires once when a sudden weight fell on him. He said he just knew one of the youth was struggling at that moment so he said a prayer right then and there for them
• “Beware of evil with smiling eyes”
• His two favorite scriptures: 1 Nephi 3:7 and D&C 130:20-21
• Three ways the Spirit instructs: 1)D&C 9:7-9, 2)through other people, especially priesthood leaders, and 3)the “duh” method: when you already know what to do because the Spirit is your constant companion from keeping your sacramental covenants. His analogy: when he was first married he kept bonking heads with his wife in the night because he wasn’t used to her. Fifteen years later he went camping with the scouts and tossed and turned all night because she wasn’t beside him. He realized over time he had become used to her and couldn’t sleep without her. When you are used to the Spirit the thoughts and answers you get from it won’t seem as strong and directed as you think they should be—but the quiet impressions are still right.

When Bishop Matthews was released his wife was asked to say a few words. I loved Kim because she was just as tough as Martin, had a prettier head of red hair than The Pioneer Woman, and survived on bottled deer meat the first year of marriage. But I loved her more after I saw a glimpse of what she endured all those years. I have never forgotten what she said that day. She talked about trying to stay awake at night with Martin when he was first called. The Lord finally told her, “I’m trying to teach him. You don’t need to fix this. This is how he will learn.” She then went on to say many times over the next six years she woke up in the middle of the night, felt his empty side of the bed, and then realized he was kneeling in prayer on behalf of someone in the ward.

That was the first time I realized I had underappreciated my bishop. I knew I had been one of those prayers one of those nights. It’s the same feeling I had when I grasped, as a semi-adult, what my parents had truly done for me. Sometimes you are completely ignorant of the sacrifices made in your behalf. These men among men and the (often lonely) angels they are married to!

This is a picture of my son, Archer, being held by three bishops on his blessing day. I can't put a value on this image. It represents ten years, thrice-repeated promises, and priceless divine interventions from worthy, selfless men who acted as agents of the Lord* in strengthening, helping, and causing me to stand. 

As a woman in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints I have been magnified, not marginalized, by those with priesthood authority. I am not empty or inferior because I do not hold the priesthood. In fact, my cup (and nursery) runneth over because of priesthood power. I am eternally indebted to these bishops who, through their faithfulness, changed my eternity.

Three noble men who couldn’t have been more different in real life (a cowboy, a coach, and a conductor) were equally capable watchmen on the tower. I benefitted from their tireless shifts of inspiration and revelation. My son would not be here without their nick-of-time-right-place-right-time stewardship; I simply would have given up. Greatest of all, they opened my eyes to the Savior’s method of ministering to the one. I was that one multiple times and because of my rescues I have a lifetime soft spot for the humble men who serve in this huge capacity.

*D&C 64:29

One Eternal Round

Real Life Math Equations:

stuck indoors + all-day morning sickness = this past winter

this past winter + the repetitive "Groundhog Day" effect of motherhood = why I feel like a caged animal

a caged animal who wants to be creative + wiping off the high chair for the 847th time = bad attitude

bad attitude + worse diet + scowl = Melissa, the Mother Who Begged For Her Kids

I know. I'm the ungrateful leper who didn't say thank you after being healed. I even diffused "Cheer Up Buttercup" oil chock full of tangerine and lemon and it barely made a dent in my demeanor. I mislaid my rose-colored glasses and could only find really ugly lenses to look through in the meantime. What happened to me? Why is my favorite time of day when Archer naps? Why do teens have hormones? Why am I eating so many Cadbury mini eggs? Why is motherhood so hard?

As a kid I didn't have a clue what my mom did all day. There were mountains of sorted dirty laundry in the hall and my mom wore her robe way past breakfast. Once I saw her reading The Education of Little Tree but mostly she was in the kitchen cutting up whole fryers or sorting pinto beans. She hid special chocolate in the top compartment of the trash compactor and ate it after kid bedtime.

I often imagined the kind of mother I'd be. First of all, I was going to pay all my bills with checks because writing and signing checks in cursive looked like scads of fun. I was never going to be late to pick up my kids and I was going to bake a lot of cookies and over-celebrate every holiday including Arbor Day. I was going to be pretty and trim, a room mom akin to Julie Andrews, and a fun mom that swam in the pool and did cartwheels and licked frosting off of cupcakes.

I'm not that mom other than I do swim in the pool and write checks. I guess I didn't know who I'd grow up to be when I made that list. I'm okay with my mothering tactics but I now have an inkling of what my mother did all day and I owe her about 6,000 thank you notes. I also wear my robe way past breakfast.

My mom never complained about being a mom. She was a mom in a non-internet, non-sharing private society. She filled her days with duty over distraction and truly cherished being a mother of five. Maybe my mom vented at church to her peers or once in a blue moon at dinner group but for the most part she lived happily isolated in her chosen calling. She was good at holidays; I am craving her Easter sugar cookies with pastel frosting.

My dad never complained about being a dentist. I never heard him say he was sick of looking at molars or how he wished more people flossed more regularly. He'd ask us to rub his lower back after work but never whined about how sore a dentist's lumbar region gets day after hunch-filled day. I also think my dad missed three days of work ever. He dressed up for work. No scrubs for that class act.

Greg has never once complained about being the breadwinner. He has never said it's "his money" we live on. He puts fires out every day and drives home in heinous traffic, usually on an empty stomach because he's a seasoned lunch-skipper. And yet he'd work every day if he could because he chose to do what he loves.

Why am I the biggest whiner on earth when I got what I wanted? I know my purpose and divine worth and I'm working hard every day on things that matter most. I was not expecting motherhood to be sugar, spice, everything nice, everything easy, and an empty calendar. I expected cracked knuckles from washing my hands forty times a day. I knew there would be hundreds of diapers to change and thousands of sandwiches to make. I don't mind grinding wheat every five days or washing a load every morning. So why am I gasping for air every time a minute of solace surfaces and holding my breath the rest of the day? I think I can. I think I can?

Truthfully, and it's taken me months to pin the tail on this mental donkey, the killer of motherhood is not the repetition of what I do but merely the fact I am repeatedly needed. I love my kids more than anything and I know how valuable they are but despite the precious moments I frequently want to clock out and get lost. I often feel my selfishness eclipsing my happiness.

Bryton gave me a book for Christmas two years ago and I finally got around to reading it. Two concepts changed everything in my whinersphere and each acted as its own pink lens for my newly acquired and completely fetching rose-colored glasses:

1. Motherhood is creation in slow motion

2. God's course is one eternal round but is it not monotonous; God is never bored because perfect love is never bored

Regarding No. 1, I molted my whiner suit the second I processed this truth. I don't need to get my creative fix from art supplies or finished output. I can get it from my kids. They are my greatest commission. I've prayed I can still be the mom I always wanted to be, which at its core has less to do with frosting and cute outfits and more to do with embodying joy. I hope it's not too late for RE to remember me as someone with perfect love instead of someone who hated driving and was always sleepy after school. I still have time to change for the new batch of littles; just let RE see past my coal into my hidden diamonds.

Regarding No. 2, this truth is the all-clad armor that replaced my wimpy whiner suit. Two quotes by Elder Neal A. Maxwell (he sooooo speaks my language) I simply can't paraphrase are at the bottom of this post. I am a female fortress in my new getup. Find a chink. I dare you.

Motherhood has been better/easier/more rewarding since I refocused and redressed. This is a lesson I've been taught before and continue to learn. I guess when you struggle with something it can take the same lesson (repetition...the very thing I'm irked at...) from multiple angles to affect change.

Excerpt from my personal journal a.k.a. additional angle:

December 7, 2008.

Bishop Matthews was released six months ago and bore his testimony of miracles today at church. He worked with a 2 year-old colt yesterday. He hasn't worked with colts in years. He gave up 6 years of colts being a bishop and the Lord blessed him to be able to retain his horse skills thereafter. He said the Lord really will give us the desires of our hearts.

He also said Bishop Condie is a changed man and is doing a good job picking up the mantle and trying to carry it. He told him someday it will go away and he'll be sad. He was emotional during that last line. It was touching to see the tough, giant cowboy miss his old post.

Bless Martin Matthews. How did he know I'd need this in 2016? It's not my time for colts. It's my time for kids. I will still remember how to rope colts (a.k.a. be an art major with a clear brain and alone time to execute said brain's awesomeness) when my nest isn't full of squawky, hungry, helpless baby birds who need the same worms from me day in and day out. I'm glad he reminded me I will miss the arduous task of raising baby birds. I'm relieved he said it was hard. It is hard! Mantles are heavy! I thank him for hinting I'll be sad when no baby birds need me because baby birds (and naptime) are what make a mother's world go round.

The book Bryton gave me is Covenant Motherhood by Stephanie Dibb Sorensen. I highly recommend it.

Two quotes by Elder Neal A. Maxwell:

The divine delight in what seems to us to be mere repetition is one clue to the sublime character of God. Since we must, at times, accept what appears to us to be routine, repeated experiences, we too, if we try, can find fresh meaning and fresh joy in the repeated experiences. God's course is one eternal round but it is not one monotonous round. God is never bored, for one who has perfect love is never bored. There is always so much to notice, so much to do, so many ways to help, so many possibilities to pursue.

Repeatedly God has described His course as reiterative, "one eternal round". We mortals sometimes experience boredom in the routine repetition of our mortal tasks, including even good works; and thus vulnerable we are urged to not grow weary in well doing. But given God's divine love there is no boredom on His part amid His repetitive work for his course, though one eternal round, involves continuous redemption for His children. It is full of goodness and mercy as His long-suffering shows His love in action. In fact we cannot even comprehend the infinite blessings which await the faithful- "eye hath not seen, nor ear heard."

(I love that last scripture; I used it on my "Tabernacle Hill" post. It speaks to my love of grab bags. I will plunk money down for a grab bag any time because I love the element of surprise. To open a mystery bag having NO CLUE what may be inside is the ultimate thrill. It could be anything; a mini stapler, the perfect lipstick that wouldn't turn pink on my lips, or a peanut butter brownie frosted with ganache. To think God has things in store for me so wonderful I can't even imagine them excites me to no end. Of course God is never bored; He is getting billions of eternally amazing grab bags ready for all His faithful children!)

Photo quote by Elder Neal A. Maxwell, the quote superstar of this post.

Flutter

I felt RE flutter for the first time while seated on a puffy blue folding chair between my mom and Shanna Reid. I was attending Relief Society in CoMo’s original member-built LDS meetinghouse. Shanna, eight years later in the same room on the same chairs, would ease the pain of secondary infertility by saying, “Did not Sarah beget only Isaac?” Meaning, “Great women have had just one awesome child.”

I felt Archer flutter for the first time as I read The Shoemaker’s Wife between microplush sheets in Suzette’s chilly basement guest bedroom. The vignette of a water carafe, three individually wrapped gourmet chocolates, and the gold locket Suz had inscribed SHE BELIEVED SHE COULD, SO SHE DID rested two feet away on the nightstand.

I felt Baby No. 3 flutter two days ago while I was slicing an avocado open for chicken saltimbocca. Once upon a Wicked time Greg and I ate pre-theater pollo alla saltimbocca at FINO in San Francisco with the Powells; I’ve been knocking it off ever since. Greg and Archer were pushing fire truck back and forth on the floor and RE was upstairs curling her hair with two of three triplets in preparation for a stake dance.

The flutter is nausea's finish line; I can stop dipping king-sized Twix bars in raspberry Oikos at 9 in the morning.

I’m okay if I just felt the last first flutter. Three times my dormant body has surprised me with a silent cocoon that consistently breaks open after seventeen weeks. The tiny tear is big enough for a set of wings to push through, unfold, and gently remind me something beautiful is coming. The metamorphosis of my midlife midsection will yield one more monarch.

Photo quote from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice