Wednesday, September 13, 2017
Kevin Whitehead-- the doctor, not the jazz critic
I've totally got this. I'm off to the University of Utah hospital. I get my echocardiogram in one hour and four minutes. Then it's off to lunch (maybe with Ryan) in downtown Salt Lake City. And then I meet with Dr. Kevin Whitehead at 1pm. I've weighed myself this morning and taken a photo of the scale--so that I can eat lunch without worry. I'm showered and dressed and smelling lovely. I have on my happiness and adventure bracelets. The boys are clean and dressed and were smelling lovely when I dropped them off at school with cousin Grace. They ate breakfast and we said a prayer and they had all papers signed, homework done, and had studied up for tests today. And Ryan looked amazing and kind this morning and he will be wonderful to talk to when I am finished with my day. Or before...at lunch. And now I have exactly one hour and one minute to get down there. I hope it's the nice echo technician. And I hope they'll accept the scale photo. And, oh yeah, I also hope my heart is doing amazingly well and that the doc will tell me unequivocally that I can and should have another baby. That'd be nice. Lunch will be nice too.
Friday, September 8, 2017
"I remember that fateful day back in September of 2017...."
How many times have I imagined myself saying something like this to an old friend I just happen to bump into at the park, or in a glorious speech to a crowd of admirers, or in an intimate interview with Robert Siegel, on NPR? Many times.
I would go on to say that after that day in September my whole life changed. I figured everything out. I never ate sugar again. I always awoke at 6am and exercised and meditated and cooked a delicious, healthy, organic breakfast for my family. I always had clean sheets on all the beds. The laundry was always folded and put away. I never missed visiting teaching. I never missed family scripture study. I never argued with anyone. I always recycled everything I could. I was always kind and loving. I was always completely honest. I showered daily. I got my doctorate in children's literature and non-profit organizational strategy. I wrote every day and soon after published fifty books. I just figured it all out. I knew how to live and I began to live perfectly.
My logical brain realized that of course I will never be perfect in this life...ever. But I thought that if I could be perfectly consistent in doing a long list of very good things every single day, and not miss, or skip, or forget, that would make my life pretty perfect. I would perfect my habits and thereby perfect myself.
But last week, my life did change dramatically. I realized, not just in my brain, but in my heart, soul, gut, what-have-you, that I would never be perfect. And I realized that feeling like I could be-- if I just did my list of dailies-- was not only foolish, it was harmful. I realized that believing in a perfect future that is just around the corner discredits, and de-values, and denies the beautiful, and very imperfect life I've lived these past almost 38 years. I have become me--the Charity that I am today--because of all of my decisions good and bad. My family has become my family, my home, has become my home, my life has become my life, because of all the good and bad and imperfect, and wonderful decisions and experiences I've had--we've had.
For example...my boys are amazing. Obv. They are huge. They are growing every day. They are learning new things. They are making new friends. They are developing and changing and they are awesome. And they are always hungry! And sometimes I feed them really healthy food, and sometimes I feed them ramen and donuts. And sometimes I make them turn off the television and help me clean up the yard, and sometimes I let them play Zelda for hours. Sometimes we read our bedtime story, and sometimes we're getting to bed late, and we're all grumpy and I tuck them in with a kiss and an exasperated "It's sooo late!" and we don't read a word.
And yet they grow, and they are happy and I love them. And I love our shared life together. And when I'm in that unhealthy thinking mode-- believing that suddenly everything will change and I will only feed them the best, healthiest foods, and they will never watch TV, and we will treasure story-time every night, and never go to be angry and frustrated and THEN they will be even more amazing, I feel like I'm de-valuing the strong, beautiful, good people that they have grown into. I'm discrediting all the work and effort and tears and struggle and JOY that have gone into helping them grow up to this point. I never meant to do this, but always thinking that there is a better way to raise my children implies by default that I'm not doing things right and they would be better too, if only I did things differently.
So on that fateful day in September of 2017--last week-- I realized that I'm not suddenly going to figure out everything. I cannot perfect myself. I can't pretend to be Aunt Sherry, who always seemed perfectly nice all the time. Perfection is not how my life works. Perfection all happens over time--in the eternities--with a ton of help from the Savior. I don't want to tell people about the day I figured it all out---because what does that say about who I am today (pre-perfection). I don't want to start over with a clean slate, because I don't want to erase my life. I want my experiences and my mistakes and my life because they have helped to make it mine and make me...me. Loving what is, and what has been, is much more real and nourishing than loving what I hope will be. And any of that joy that I thought I would feel as a perfect person is joy that I can tap into now--because I can love the here and the now. And love = joy.
I keep thinking of the words "patchwork", "quilt", "mosaic", "scrapbook", "casserole". These things are beautiful or tasty because they are pieced together with lots of different colors, textures, and flavors. And in my quilt there are light and dark patches. In my quilt there are plain and intricate patches. In my quilt there are french fry, and wheat crepe (both breakfast foods) patches. (And it is definitely time for lunch.)
In my quilt there is real love. And I love my quilt. And I'm still making it, and just because I love how it is today doesn't mean I'm not going to keep adding to it, and keep trying to do a little better on those things I want to improve. Not at all. I'm still sewing and climbing and working and improving. That's part of who I am. But I don't feel frantic. I don't feel like I have to do a do-over every time I "mess-up". And I would be heartbroken to give up this old quilt and start-over on a new one.
I would go on to say that after that day in September my whole life changed. I figured everything out. I never ate sugar again. I always awoke at 6am and exercised and meditated and cooked a delicious, healthy, organic breakfast for my family. I always had clean sheets on all the beds. The laundry was always folded and put away. I never missed visiting teaching. I never missed family scripture study. I never argued with anyone. I always recycled everything I could. I was always kind and loving. I was always completely honest. I showered daily. I got my doctorate in children's literature and non-profit organizational strategy. I wrote every day and soon after published fifty books. I just figured it all out. I knew how to live and I began to live perfectly.
My logical brain realized that of course I will never be perfect in this life...ever. But I thought that if I could be perfectly consistent in doing a long list of very good things every single day, and not miss, or skip, or forget, that would make my life pretty perfect. I would perfect my habits and thereby perfect myself.
But last week, my life did change dramatically. I realized, not just in my brain, but in my heart, soul, gut, what-have-you, that I would never be perfect. And I realized that feeling like I could be-- if I just did my list of dailies-- was not only foolish, it was harmful. I realized that believing in a perfect future that is just around the corner discredits, and de-values, and denies the beautiful, and very imperfect life I've lived these past almost 38 years. I have become me--the Charity that I am today--because of all of my decisions good and bad. My family has become my family, my home, has become my home, my life has become my life, because of all the good and bad and imperfect, and wonderful decisions and experiences I've had--we've had.
For example...my boys are amazing. Obv. They are huge. They are growing every day. They are learning new things. They are making new friends. They are developing and changing and they are awesome. And they are always hungry! And sometimes I feed them really healthy food, and sometimes I feed them ramen and donuts. And sometimes I make them turn off the television and help me clean up the yard, and sometimes I let them play Zelda for hours. Sometimes we read our bedtime story, and sometimes we're getting to bed late, and we're all grumpy and I tuck them in with a kiss and an exasperated "It's sooo late!" and we don't read a word.
And yet they grow, and they are happy and I love them. And I love our shared life together. And when I'm in that unhealthy thinking mode-- believing that suddenly everything will change and I will only feed them the best, healthiest foods, and they will never watch TV, and we will treasure story-time every night, and never go to be angry and frustrated and THEN they will be even more amazing, I feel like I'm de-valuing the strong, beautiful, good people that they have grown into. I'm discrediting all the work and effort and tears and struggle and JOY that have gone into helping them grow up to this point. I never meant to do this, but always thinking that there is a better way to raise my children implies by default that I'm not doing things right and they would be better too, if only I did things differently.
So on that fateful day in September of 2017--last week-- I realized that I'm not suddenly going to figure out everything. I cannot perfect myself. I can't pretend to be Aunt Sherry, who always seemed perfectly nice all the time. Perfection is not how my life works. Perfection all happens over time--in the eternities--with a ton of help from the Savior. I don't want to tell people about the day I figured it all out---because what does that say about who I am today (pre-perfection). I don't want to start over with a clean slate, because I don't want to erase my life. I want my experiences and my mistakes and my life because they have helped to make it mine and make me...me. Loving what is, and what has been, is much more real and nourishing than loving what I hope will be. And any of that joy that I thought I would feel as a perfect person is joy that I can tap into now--because I can love the here and the now. And love = joy.
I keep thinking of the words "patchwork", "quilt", "mosaic", "scrapbook", "casserole". These things are beautiful or tasty because they are pieced together with lots of different colors, textures, and flavors. And in my quilt there are light and dark patches. In my quilt there are plain and intricate patches. In my quilt there are french fry, and wheat crepe (both breakfast foods) patches. (And it is definitely time for lunch.)
In my quilt there is real love. And I love my quilt. And I'm still making it, and just because I love how it is today doesn't mean I'm not going to keep adding to it, and keep trying to do a little better on those things I want to improve. Not at all. I'm still sewing and climbing and working and improving. That's part of who I am. But I don't feel frantic. I don't feel like I have to do a do-over every time I "mess-up". And I would be heartbroken to give up this old quilt and start-over on a new one.
Friday, July 14, 2017
Before and After
I think far too much about what I will be like after.....after I have published a children's book or five, or after I have lost the other 63 lbs I want to lose, or after we are out of debt, or after I've fixed up the house the way I want to. I suppose I think I will be happier, lighter, richer, able to do more and that I will feel more confident about myself and my place in the world. I suppose I will feel like I have reached some, level, some mark, or expectation, some line that I needed to reach-- to feel that I have succeeded. That I will have straight A's in life, a full-ride scholarship to the future, and can hold my head up high.
I often imagine conversations between myself and someone I haven't seen for years. They will ask me how I'm doing, and I will tell them, humbly, that yes, I just published my 6th book, and just had our fourth baby, and yes, my children are brilliant and beautiful (which they truly are already), and my husband is heroically biking the African coastline handing out supplies to refugees, and certainly, my home has been historically restored, and no, I just exercise and watch what I eat, but yes, thank you, I do weigh as much as I did in high school when you saw me last, or maybe just a few pounds less. I grow all my own food, so it's pretty easy to stay healthy, you know how it is.
Yes, that sounds pretty good, but it doesn't mean I'd be any happier then than I am now. It doesn't mean that I'd feel or be any more loved. It doesn't mean that I'd have any more friends. It doesn't mean that I'd even like myself! I have the same capacity for joy today that I would have in the "after" conversation. And that capacity is really quite limitless. If I can love unconditionally, I can feel unconditional joy.
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
Happy 200th Birthday Henry David Thoreau!
I have to admit that although I love so much of what Thoreau wrote, and did, I've never actually read all of Walden. I had a hard time staying interested in all of his measurements, and descriptions of starting a fire, etc. It's so very cool and admirable, but not always riveting reading. He was, in some ways, a blogger, I suppose. Recording his days, and thoughts, along with every single bit of information about his experiences. That way other people could do it too. Or they could make adjustments to their cabins, or gardens, etc. and stay even longer at Walden Pond.
I really like Thoreau though. I like that he cared so much. He might have been difficult to have at family dinners, but he really cared about what he did. I'm sure he would know where all of his food came from. It would all be organic. It would probably be grown or raised by him. He would always have his own reusable shopping bags and would only shop at Whole Foods, or something even greener. He would sign every petition against Trump and Trump-like behavior. He would probably start a million or so petitions! He would be at every protest march, and probably be Bernie Sanders vice-presidential running mate.
But he cared about the inner man/woman too---not just the community. "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." This is probably his most famous quote. I love it. He didn't want to find when he died that he had not truly lived. He wanted to live deliberately. Such a buzz-word this day. I read all the time about deliberate parenting, deliberate relationships, deliberate, intentional eating. Thoreau was all about essentialism and mindfulness before it was cool. I have never thought about Thoreau as a mindfulness guru, but I suppose he was. He would be able to lead hugely popular silent retreats in the woods of Massachusetts, and help stressed-out Americans get to know themselves as only a transcendentalist can. He would be able to help people de-clutter their homes and find the "joy of tidying up" like no other!
But because he was born 200 years ago, he would not have called himself a blogger, or a green-liberal political activist, or a mindfulness instructor. He was himself. And he knew himself. And he did what he thought was right. What a guy!
I've had this line from a movie running through my head for weeks, and just this morning I took the time to finally figure out where the quote comes from. I thought it was from Breakfast at Tiffany's at first, but it's not. It comes from one of my favorite movies from my college days: Ever After. I loved that movie. I'd probably still love it, but haven't seen it since I got married. The line is towards the end, when the prince says to Danielle (Cinderella), "I thought if I cared about anything, I'd have to care about everything and I'd go stark raving mad." He then goes on to explain how she has inspired him to care and he's decided to start a university with a huge library where anyone can go to learn.
I understand what he means by that line. I don't know that I completely understood it back in my college days. There is so very much to care about in this world. There are so many petitions to sign, and protests to attend, and people to feed. There is so much bad stuff in the world to care about and try and fix. It can be overwhelming. It can be easier to not care about anything. And loving is scary. Even though perfect love casts out all fear, loving can be scary at first. I worry so much more than I would like to about the safety of my boys, my siblings, my parents, my husband. Caring means great joy and great pain. Caring makes me vulnerable. And it can be exhausting. But I know that it is the only way when I die to find that I have truly lived.
"If I live the life I'm given, I won't be scared to die." To quote some other pretty cool transcendental liberals with long beards, The Avett Brothers.
And I believe that caring about everything and everyone includes caring about myself. If I can know myself and love myself, then I can love others without going stark raving mad.
I really like Thoreau though. I like that he cared so much. He might have been difficult to have at family dinners, but he really cared about what he did. I'm sure he would know where all of his food came from. It would all be organic. It would probably be grown or raised by him. He would always have his own reusable shopping bags and would only shop at Whole Foods, or something even greener. He would sign every petition against Trump and Trump-like behavior. He would probably start a million or so petitions! He would be at every protest march, and probably be Bernie Sanders vice-presidential running mate.
But he cared about the inner man/woman too---not just the community. "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." This is probably his most famous quote. I love it. He didn't want to find when he died that he had not truly lived. He wanted to live deliberately. Such a buzz-word this day. I read all the time about deliberate parenting, deliberate relationships, deliberate, intentional eating. Thoreau was all about essentialism and mindfulness before it was cool. I have never thought about Thoreau as a mindfulness guru, but I suppose he was. He would be able to lead hugely popular silent retreats in the woods of Massachusetts, and help stressed-out Americans get to know themselves as only a transcendentalist can. He would be able to help people de-clutter their homes and find the "joy of tidying up" like no other!
But because he was born 200 years ago, he would not have called himself a blogger, or a green-liberal political activist, or a mindfulness instructor. He was himself. And he knew himself. And he did what he thought was right. What a guy!
I've had this line from a movie running through my head for weeks, and just this morning I took the time to finally figure out where the quote comes from. I thought it was from Breakfast at Tiffany's at first, but it's not. It comes from one of my favorite movies from my college days: Ever After. I loved that movie. I'd probably still love it, but haven't seen it since I got married. The line is towards the end, when the prince says to Danielle (Cinderella), "I thought if I cared about anything, I'd have to care about everything and I'd go stark raving mad." He then goes on to explain how she has inspired him to care and he's decided to start a university with a huge library where anyone can go to learn.
I understand what he means by that line. I don't know that I completely understood it back in my college days. There is so very much to care about in this world. There are so many petitions to sign, and protests to attend, and people to feed. There is so much bad stuff in the world to care about and try and fix. It can be overwhelming. It can be easier to not care about anything. And loving is scary. Even though perfect love casts out all fear, loving can be scary at first. I worry so much more than I would like to about the safety of my boys, my siblings, my parents, my husband. Caring means great joy and great pain. Caring makes me vulnerable. And it can be exhausting. But I know that it is the only way when I die to find that I have truly lived.
"If I live the life I'm given, I won't be scared to die." To quote some other pretty cool transcendental liberals with long beards, The Avett Brothers.
And I believe that caring about everything and everyone includes caring about myself. If I can know myself and love myself, then I can love others without going stark raving mad.
Friday, July 7, 2017
7-7-17 Lucky Day!!
I love numbers! Today is a lucky day, and I'm posting two blogs, so it's your lucky day too, reader. I just needed to say that 6 boys in the house between the ages of 10 and 3 is crazy, but fun. We have the Wilkinson boys over today. Lots of legos and Wii and X-Box. And popsicles and cookies and popcorn. And Sunni is going to be okay. It was so good to see her today and feel that. And James had fun with Aunt Melissa. And I'm feeling bad that he didn't thank her spontaneously, but had to be reminded. But I don't need to feel bad. I know he's a good kid. And I appreciate it and so did he. He keeps talking about riding a pony and holding a lamb.
The noise level has increased. Time to go downstairs!
A Year Without Fear
Courage...Bravery... Fearlessness...What is a one-word verb that means all of these things? My one-word verb theme for 2017 is still "Rejoice"--and I think implicit in that word is courage, and fearlessness. It's not a wimpy word by any stretch of the imagination. But I've started thinking about next year, and actually have been thinking about that fact that the year is half-way done. It feels good. It feels good to have lived this past half year, to have had the experiences I've had, and to have learned the things I've learned. It has not always been easy, and I have been terrifically imperfect, but it has been good and there has been a lot of rejoicing!
And to be honest, I've been doing quite well, actually, of late, with reaching my goals. Obviously not the goal to post every day for my 104 days of summer vacation. (But I've got 75 days left until my birthday and there is much that can be done in 75 days......and maybe, just maybe I can post for 75 days?). But other goals....I've been reaching. I've read lots of books lately. I've gotten a job, and have applied for two more. I've done lots of visits, and a few more hikes, and I've lost twelve pounds (for the third time this year, but that's okay!). I've gotten to know the Beehives in my ward, and I've supported Ryan in his calling. I actually enjoyed most of Young Women's Camp, and I certainly love the girls in our ward. I've rejoiced with others who have rejoiced and I've rejoiced for myself. That feels good.
But I wonder if I can add a little bit to my theme for this last half of the year. Can I add three short words? "Fear not and......Rejoice!" I've been thinking about what motivates me. And I've been thinking of how rejoicing and loving and courage are related. Of course, as I've said before I want to be motivated by love, and I find it really empowering to think about love being my only motive. But how much fear is still lurking in the corners of my mind and heart? How much of it is hanging out all over center stage? And how can I overcome that fear and be even braver this last half of the year.
"Perfect love casteth out all fear. " I want this to be one of the themes, running through my life. I want this to be one of the truths that courses through my veins.
In the month of June, my grandma died, my sons' art teacher was murdered, and my friend's baby was still-born. That's a lot of death in one month. Death does not usually play such a big part in my life, in a typical month. I have felt peace about my grandma, knowing that she knows me and loves me and remembers everything now. I have felt stunned and horrified by my sons' art teacher's tragic death, but have been able to help them feel some peace remembering her, and trying to help them make sense of things has been helpful and healing to me. Ry and I have had some really good talks about agency with William this month, and it has helped me remember that life is very short, agency is necessary, and we keep growing and learning as we forgive and let go of hurt.
But my friend's baby's death has been different. I think, in part, because I have not just felt sad, I have felt scared. She is just a few years older than me, with three amazing boys just like me. Her youngest boy actually has red hair too. She is a writer, and an English major, and a mother. Her husband is a good man who works hard and is the bishop of their ward. They have a beautiful old home that they love. I have often felt like she was the updated version of me. She is Charity 2.0. We are different, certainly, and yet we have more in common than I have with most other people I've ever met.
Her pregnancy was unplanned. That would never happen to me. Unless there was some divine intervention or some infidelity happening. But I want to have another baby. Of course. And then this happened and I felt scared.. I felt so afraid that if I got pregnant again my baby would die. And I felt afraid that I would not be okay if that happened. And so then I felt that I just would not want a baby. And for a day that worked. I felt great. That desire for another baby had left me and I was so happy to have it gone. I have so much in my life. I have so much I can do. With that desire gone I felt free to pursue anything. The default mode had been "Let's do all we can to try and have a baby." And now it was, "Let's not have another baby unless we are struck by lightning or someone hands us one."
And then the next day came and I felt anxiety. I felt so worried about each of my boys. I felt worried about my marriage. I felt worried that I was failing all of them and that I was aging too fast and so were they. I felt worried about the fourth of July, and the week ahead of me, and the rest of the summer. I felt horrible, and I couldn't figure out why.
Now I think it's because I let fear be my motivation. I let fear sneak in and change me. Fear about a baby dying grew and spiraled and I let fear tell me I needed to be perfect, and keep my kids young and safe, and keep our country sane, and keep my husband happy, and keep my siblings well, and keep my parents alive. And I knew all of that was impossible. The weight of the world was on my shoulders, and I felt crushed and claustrophobic.
Realizing that I was filled with fear instantly made me feel less scared. Once I name a bad feeling it takes away some of its scariness. In fact I ended up bearing my testimony in church last Sunday about overcoming fear through love-- and feeling great joy as we do this. If we don't have the bad, we can't know the good. So it's not like perfect love doesn't allow any fear in this world ever. Perfect love lives with fear, but doesn't let it stay, and grow roots and take over. Perfect love is able to cast it out, after feeling it, and naming it, and do so lovingly.
I am going to be brave and do things that scare me every day. I am going to face those fears. And now my default mode is, "I have an abundance of love and I can give it to everyone and everything in my life including myself. And if a baby ends up entering my life, I will have love and to spare for that baby. And if not, I will love myself compassionately and live with love and an unfulfilled desire and have great joy." It is a much longer default mode. But that is where I am now. And it feels good.
And to be honest, I've been doing quite well, actually, of late, with reaching my goals. Obviously not the goal to post every day for my 104 days of summer vacation. (But I've got 75 days left until my birthday and there is much that can be done in 75 days......and maybe, just maybe I can post for 75 days?). But other goals....I've been reaching. I've read lots of books lately. I've gotten a job, and have applied for two more. I've done lots of visits, and a few more hikes, and I've lost twelve pounds (for the third time this year, but that's okay!). I've gotten to know the Beehives in my ward, and I've supported Ryan in his calling. I actually enjoyed most of Young Women's Camp, and I certainly love the girls in our ward. I've rejoiced with others who have rejoiced and I've rejoiced for myself. That feels good.
But I wonder if I can add a little bit to my theme for this last half of the year. Can I add three short words? "Fear not and......Rejoice!" I've been thinking about what motivates me. And I've been thinking of how rejoicing and loving and courage are related. Of course, as I've said before I want to be motivated by love, and I find it really empowering to think about love being my only motive. But how much fear is still lurking in the corners of my mind and heart? How much of it is hanging out all over center stage? And how can I overcome that fear and be even braver this last half of the year.
"Perfect love casteth out all fear. " I want this to be one of the themes, running through my life. I want this to be one of the truths that courses through my veins.
In the month of June, my grandma died, my sons' art teacher was murdered, and my friend's baby was still-born. That's a lot of death in one month. Death does not usually play such a big part in my life, in a typical month. I have felt peace about my grandma, knowing that she knows me and loves me and remembers everything now. I have felt stunned and horrified by my sons' art teacher's tragic death, but have been able to help them feel some peace remembering her, and trying to help them make sense of things has been helpful and healing to me. Ry and I have had some really good talks about agency with William this month, and it has helped me remember that life is very short, agency is necessary, and we keep growing and learning as we forgive and let go of hurt.
But my friend's baby's death has been different. I think, in part, because I have not just felt sad, I have felt scared. She is just a few years older than me, with three amazing boys just like me. Her youngest boy actually has red hair too. She is a writer, and an English major, and a mother. Her husband is a good man who works hard and is the bishop of their ward. They have a beautiful old home that they love. I have often felt like she was the updated version of me. She is Charity 2.0. We are different, certainly, and yet we have more in common than I have with most other people I've ever met.
Her pregnancy was unplanned. That would never happen to me. Unless there was some divine intervention or some infidelity happening. But I want to have another baby. Of course. And then this happened and I felt scared.. I felt so afraid that if I got pregnant again my baby would die. And I felt afraid that I would not be okay if that happened. And so then I felt that I just would not want a baby. And for a day that worked. I felt great. That desire for another baby had left me and I was so happy to have it gone. I have so much in my life. I have so much I can do. With that desire gone I felt free to pursue anything. The default mode had been "Let's do all we can to try and have a baby." And now it was, "Let's not have another baby unless we are struck by lightning or someone hands us one."
And then the next day came and I felt anxiety. I felt so worried about each of my boys. I felt worried about my marriage. I felt worried that I was failing all of them and that I was aging too fast and so were they. I felt worried about the fourth of July, and the week ahead of me, and the rest of the summer. I felt horrible, and I couldn't figure out why.
Now I think it's because I let fear be my motivation. I let fear sneak in and change me. Fear about a baby dying grew and spiraled and I let fear tell me I needed to be perfect, and keep my kids young and safe, and keep our country sane, and keep my husband happy, and keep my siblings well, and keep my parents alive. And I knew all of that was impossible. The weight of the world was on my shoulders, and I felt crushed and claustrophobic.
Realizing that I was filled with fear instantly made me feel less scared. Once I name a bad feeling it takes away some of its scariness. In fact I ended up bearing my testimony in church last Sunday about overcoming fear through love-- and feeling great joy as we do this. If we don't have the bad, we can't know the good. So it's not like perfect love doesn't allow any fear in this world ever. Perfect love lives with fear, but doesn't let it stay, and grow roots and take over. Perfect love is able to cast it out, after feeling it, and naming it, and do so lovingly.
I am going to be brave and do things that scare me every day. I am going to face those fears. And now my default mode is, "I have an abundance of love and I can give it to everyone and everything in my life including myself. And if a baby ends up entering my life, I will have love and to spare for that baby. And if not, I will love myself compassionately and live with love and an unfulfilled desire and have great joy." It is a much longer default mode. But that is where I am now. And it feels good.
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