LDS Church: Patience in the Restoration

Perspective is everything.

I remember exactly when I experienced the Internet in 1996.  Just a little over 20 years ago...it went from floppy disks, to CDs, to straight up internet communication and continues to evolve today--we're all just waiting for the next big development in technology, right? The tech world makes sure that we don't get too comfortable with our devices, processes and applications by introducing new products all the time.  We not only look forward to it, we count on it, am I right?

The topic today is patience in the ever-evolving LDS Church.
If you're a member of the Church, you probably know someone who is struggling to stay active, or stay at all.  There's a tide of members flowing out of the pews ever-so-quietly.  It's come up in conversations with my family and friends...we wonder what can be said or done to help our members "stay in the boat" with us as we sail through this difficult sea of emotional, turbulent times.

At church Sunday this topic came up...why people leave.  One comment was a simple, "they don't have good habits of prayer and scripture study". And it's true that someone who's living the gospel daily is much less likely to exit, there are also those who are looking for reason to leave due to transgressions such as sin or pride. Still, I offered that  in my experience, we don't always know why people leave--so it's important not to judge hastily--because some people who withdraw from their faith are usually in pain and cannot find relief.  It might be emotional or temporal pain, or it could be intellectual pain--where they're trying to reconcile what they feel they know with the teachings of the gospel. I've seen this more recently, as people confide in me their personal struggles. They're not rebelling, they're searching for answers.

I've had my own experience with withdrawing from activity in the church--while going through a horrid divorce, I lost my way. Some members who knew nothing of the abuse were harsh and cold towards me, and left me feeling like I didn't belong there. The pain was real.  I stayed away to heal my self when healing could not be found there.  I had no issues with church doctrine--I loved the church, but it was the people that I could not endure combined with the ugliness of divorce.

I came back when we moved to a different state.  I needed a fresh start and included the Church in my new life.  I was patient and optimistic. My new ward was welcoming and made all the difference in my ability to return. I came back with a more mature testimony; understanding that my testimony revolved less around the social aspects of the church and more centered on the doctrine. I was able to separate my true faith from the culture of the church, rediscovering my place in it, which I so love.

If you've been raised in the church or a convert, there are sure to be seasons in your life where you are defining for yourself what it means to be a Latter-day Saint and how that life looks in real time.
You may wince--as one of my children have--at the politics of the members of the church, or at the feminist values of the culture (or lack therof, depending upon who you talk to), or other issues--in short, you may have a sticking point that rubs your conscience raw to the point of irritation when you don't get the answers you are looking for to assuage your mind. 
That's normal, so hang on. It will resolve.
It is intended that you evolve and ask questions as you sojourn through life. General Authorities have stated many times that we welcome questions about culture and doctrine and it's healthy to think for ourselves and to ponder where we are in the scheme of our membership of the LDS Church.
President Uchtdorf stated:

"Now, the next issue. What about doubts and questions in principle? How do you find out that the gospel is true? Is it all right to have questions about the Church or its doctrine? My dear young friends, we are a question-asking people. We have always been, because we know that inquiry leads to truth. That is how the Church got its start, from a young man who had questions. In fact, I’m not sure how one can discover truth without asking questions. In the scriptures you will rarely discover a revelation that didn’t come in response to a question." 

When I consider issues I do not fully comprehend or agree with, I remember that I'm invested enough, I have faith enough, that I can wait to see what happens by holding my place, by standing firmly where I am, by "staying in the boat" and see where it leads. Experience has taught me there's no other path that leads me to my Heavenly Father and His eternal promises.  That's more important than any trial I face. I've learned to trust in His plan and His timing...it's worth the wait.

I saw this on pinterest and it stuck in my heart:

I've learned to appreciate evolution-- how learning and patience encourages growth in myself and my family, my friends and my leaders, and yes, in the LDS Church.  It is a natural progression for things to change, you can count on it. Trust in God's timing, the answers will come maybe not how you want or when you want, but they do come and bring peace and understanding where there was none before. Sometimes it might be helpful to remember the church is a relatively young and worldwide church.  Keeping perspective of that increases understanding on things too.

"Remember, the Restoration is not an event, but it continues to unfold." -M. Russell Ballard, (10/2016 General Conference, To Whom Shall We Go?)

If you or someone you know is on the journey of faith, encourage them, save a seat for them, pray for them, and just love them. Recognize their pain and give them the latitude to discover for themselves the path of peace and healing.  That is what is needed more than anything else in these troubling times: to love one another as [He] has loved us. Show up.  Be there for someone else.  Don't rely on social media to reach out with a simple "like"--that's a hollow, counterfeit expression for true compassion.  Reaching out in meaningful ways does so much for healing.  To quote a man that I respect, "We are needy, needy people. We need each other, we need a Savior, we need the love of our Heavenly Father."

And finally, the gentle invitation from our Savior: Matthew 11:29-30 King James Version (KJV)

²⁹ Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
³⁰ For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

Here's a nice link that will help you feel good today: Does God Know Me?

*I'd appreciate any comments that may prove helpful in understanding this topic.

How I know God is Real

The question is:

How have I come this far in life

with a strong belief in God?

How have I come to know that God is real?

Because as a child I was taught about a man named Jesus Christ.

His father is God, our Heavenly Father.

I was taught to pray at the side of my bed

and to trust in His will

by a mother who struggled with depression, alcoholism, and mental illness.

Out of sheer necessity,

I prayed to the heavens for help

when she wasn't capable of being a mother.

The first time I knew God heard my prayers

was when I was in 5th grade,

sitting outside on the front porch

on a Friday night,

praying that my dad's car would come around the corner

*right then*

to save us kids from our mother's fury.

And he did.

My dad's car lights came around the corner,

and he pulled right into the driveway

just like I needed him to make my world safer.

I learned from that experience that God is real

and He listens to me and blesses me with answers to my prayers.

My strong belief in God continued to grow

because I continued to pray to Him--

I needed a Heavenly Father.

I still do.

Years later,

I would ask another question:

"Is the LDS Church true?"

I'd been receiving missionary lessons for several months

and they invited me to pray and ask God to know for myself

if what they were teaching me was indeed, true.

I hadn't ever asked a question like that before--

to have a spiritual knowledge of something.

And I did as they told me to do--

I asked the question and was given a specific answer:

"It's true, hold on."

I was 15 years old.

Holding on meant I would be kicked out of my parent's home with the clothes on my back

on a snowy Colorado day.

Holding on meant I would live with people I barely knew and finish high school.

Holding on meant my life would change in ways I was unfamiliar.

Holding on meant I would never let go.

Years later,

I gave birth to a special needs son, Dean.

My heart broke into a thousand pieces--

I begged and pleaded with Heavenly Father to not make me go through

that unfamiliar path.

He didn't change the diagnosis--my son was not miraculously healed.

But I was given the strength I needed to care for him and my other children.

One very long night though,

I was walking the floors with baby Dean--who was very sick.

As I was considering how I could make him feel better

I remembered that we had a humidifier...

I went to the closet we kept it in--in our very small two bedroom apartment--

but it wasn't there.

I looked in the kids' closet, my closet, under the sink in the bathroom--

still, I couldn't see it.

At 2o'clock in the morning, I was exhausted and filled with worry over my son.

I stood in the dimly lit hallway

and prayed outloud,

"Heavenly Father, I need this humidifier. I know you know where it is. Please help me to see

it clearly."

I opened the hall closet once more--and there it sat on a shelf eye-level, right in front.

I knew it was an answer to my simple, sincere prayer.

How do I know God is real?

Because of these sweet experiences and hundreds more.

Because I need Him. I need His comfort, His wisdom, His strength

and all else to get me through this mortal experience.

He has never failed me.

I have learned to trust in His timing, His ways, and His love for me

and my family.

For ways you can strengthen your relationship with Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, I invite you to https://www.mormon.org/beliefs/god .

Home Stories: What I've learned From Painting Homes

Earlier this year, I found my niche in this season of life.
Watercolor home portraits.
I discovered that I enjoyed watercolor so much
but I wanted more than just to paint landscapes and flowers.
I needed my art to have a purpose.

That "need" sent me to my facebook page,
asking my friends if they'd like me to paint their homes.
The response was overwhelming, YES!

It's been amazing.
I feel like I have won the lottery of Artistic Expression--
the intimacy of people's lives has been gifted to me like
I am part of their family story.
I love it so much that I cannot foresee a day when I am not painting homes.

One of the things I've learned is that home size doesn't matter.
I've painted huge ones, like the one above--
a stately Georgia brick home,
being sold after the family living there downsized it after 17 years.

Or this one:

I like this one ALOT.
The woman who commissioned it was not raised in it,
but her mother was...and it was interesting because I was sent two photos to re-create it as it was in the 70s...one of the photos was when it was brand new, the yard was dirt still, but those little tulips popped up. Her mother was a child, standing in the door way. The other photo was present--painted white with green shutters, mature landscaping with huge trees in the yard.  But she wanted it as it was when her mother lived there.  I just loved that.

This is actually the first one I did.  A family home in Midway, Utah, that is now on the Historical Society Home registry.  What a treasure for the family that lived and loved there!

This was actually commissioned by a friend for her employer--a gal who endured a divorce and then a subsequent death of someone she was dating--and had reconnected with a high school sweetheart, remarried to him and this home is their "fresh start" together with their families. 

This is another sweet home in Georgia...a new home for a couple who just had a new baby. New memories are being created within those walls daily!

This house belonged to an Air Force family that we got to know while they were stationed here. IN fact, the family also commissioned another portrait of the previous home they owned in Texas before coming here, and want a third portrait of the home they're building in North Carolina--their current assignment!  What sacrifices our men and women in the military give to protect our country! Their roots are planted all over the world.

This West Yellowstone, Wyoming cabin was built by and served three generations of the same family.  The memories made there have blessed their family for decades!!

This little home in Maryland held a lot of love and provided safety and security for a large family. As soon as it was delivered to the mother of this home, the rest of the now-grown family wanted their own portraits.

These three homes were all new beginnings for families--stories I don't know, but commissioned by their realtor as closing or anniversary gifts. 

Now these last two are what prompted me to write this blog today:

This house no longer stands--it was burned to the ground in the Waldo Canyon fire in Colorado Springs, five years ago. The family lived there for 14 years.  They'd been out of town when the fire started two days earlier, and once they got word of the imminent danger, they raced home, grabbed what they could and were directed to safety by the fire fighters.  The home was engulfed in flames just minutes later.

This home is also a memory.  It was destroyed a couple of years ago by a tornado that ravaged the entire street it sat on.  The little family that lived there almost destroyed too. They declare that angels held onto their children, preventing them from being sucked into the sky.
Can you even imagine?

Home is more than brick and mortar.  It is sanctified by the love created between the families who live in it.  Sacrifice, hard work, charity, compassion, and promises to love one another through thick and thin, as they say-- these are the things that also build homes to last. 

I love home stories.
If you're thinking you'd like to have a special home done in watercolors, you can visit my etsy shop: etsy.com/shop/DawnDesignsHomes. 

If you'd like to learn more about why I believe Families are SO important, I invite you to look right there: https://www.mormon.org/beliefs/the-family.

Mental Illness: Dying from Natural Causes

She was never going to die of  typical "natural causes"...
That's the bottom line.
Save it be a car accident,
death by natural causes just wasn't in her genes.
Not cancer, not Alzheimer's or another disease.
What was in her genes?
Mental illness.

I was getting out of the shower last Sunday,
thinking of the church meetings I'd be attending later--
when my phone dinged
dinged again
dinged once more.

I'd missed three calls already,
two messages from my brothers,
"Call me. I have some bad news."
"Hey Dawn, Call me, ASAP."

I knew.
It was about Mom.
Just the night before, I'd had a feeling that I wanted to talk her,
but that feeling was chased away quickly by the thought,
"She doesn't want to hear from me."
So I didn't call.

It's been a week since I got the news
that my mother took her own life via an overdose of pills.

I have never grieved like this before...
waves of sadness, then hours of quiet, and overall fatigue...
I'm still processing it all.

I like being logical over emotional.
Emotions make things messy and lengthy
especially when it comes to my mother.

I hadn't spoken to her since last December
before Christmas.
I had decided to call her after many months of silence and years of estrangement.
It was a conscious, methodical choice.
Before I even made the call,
I'd written down on paper what I would and would not talk about,
what my expectations were of her,
and were not.

• I would not expect her to ask about my self or my family.
• I would not expect her to be kind or personable.
• I would ask only how she is doing. Is she happy?  Does she have plans for Christmas? Is she feeling okay these days?

And that was about it.

I made the call, she answered and was a little surprised to hear my voice on the other end.
The call lasted almost an hour and a half and went like I planned.
She didn't ask about me or my family and I didn't offer up anything.
I asked about her and she spoke about how unhappy she was, how aimless she felt, had no plans for Christmas, etc.--
which, in reality, I thought was both sad and good for her as Christmas was always traumatic
growing up with her.
She got a little testy with me and I let her know that I wasn't calling her to fuss,
but to check on her.
I wished her happy holidays and hung up the phone.


The day my mom decided to take her life--
wasn't last Saturday afternoon,
although she did text a younger brother, living in another state,
that she was going to take her life, often throughout the day
while she spent most of the day with the oldest brother and his wife and company,
drinking and chatting.
She didn't let the people that were sitting with her know that she was suicidal.

No, she didn't decide to take her life on an especially hard day
because every day was a hard day, for as long as I can remember.
The first time,
I was almost 10 years old.
In the middle of the night, I woke up and saw a light coming down the hall.
I was always a sound sleeper, but I was wide awake and aware.
Walked into the kitchen through the saloon doors
to find my mother standing at the kitchen sink,
pills all over the counter top,
she reached out to me and said, "Dawn, help me." as she collapsed to the floor.

We had no phone,
so I ran across the street in the dark night in my nightgown,
to a neighbors house and ran the door bell until Mrs. Dornan answered.
Our street lit up with the ambulance lights bouncing off everyone's house.
Another neighbor came and stayed the night at our house,
until my father returned from a business trip the next day or so.
Mom was in a psyche unit of the hospital for several weeks.
She came home fragile and never spoke of that night again.

That's when her alcoholism began.
I used to go to AA meetings with my mother...
"Hi my name is Dawn. I'm Janie's daughter."--I've said those words in a smoke-filled room
of adults trying to claim their sobriety--since I was 14 years old.
I was painfully shy and only went to hold onto my mom so she would hold onto us.
I hated it when she drank--she was unpredictable and scary.
And so sad.  Always so sad.

Alcohol wasn't her problem. 
It was only the symptom of her problems.
I see that as an adult.  But everyone kept pointing to alcohol as the source--
"if only she could stop drinking" became the focus.
My mom had pain so deep, that only the constant flow of alcohol could numb that pain.
When she wasn't drinking and wasn't sad,
she was vibrant and exciting, creative and musical, encouraging and sentimental.
She was generous with everything she had--
she'd give the shirt off her back to anyone.
Her sense of humor and laughter was loud and vivacious!
I thought she was the most beautiful mother in the world.
I look more like my father, but I wished I looked more like her.
She danced in the kitchen, sang while she cleaned the house,
played games hanging the laundry,
pranked my dad by throwing cold water over the shower door while he was in there--
she loved a good prank!
When her demons weren't running the show,
she was in-charge and methodical--the house was immaculate, dinner was delicious, and life was sweet.

But when her pain dominated, the drinking followed
and living with her was nearly unbearable.
My father wasn't capable of helping her and didn't force her to get help.
Instead, he checked out and stayed away from the home as much as his job allowed.
Men are like that--when dealing with a mentally ill wife,  they stay away as much as possible.
I don't know why that is, but in my experience, it's true.
We needed dad at home so much.
I needed him because he was stable, predictable.

The cycle went like this:
Jane's fine until she's not,
Jane lashes out at others,
Guilt sets in,
Drinking follows,
Anger runs the show,
Depression sets in--
at this point she's in either in Fight or Flight mode---
While Fight mode meant a vitriol rant that went for days towards everyone in the family
until she ran out of angry steam or until we were all crying;
Flight mode took her on spontaneous trips for weeks at a time,
leaving without telling us where she going,
returning as though nothing happened,
OR flight mode meant Suicide was an option.
Pills were her go-to...she topped off her alcohol with pills
and I knew that so I'd hide whatever pills I could find in the house. 
Honestly, we all wearied of her "attempts" to the point where we too,
wanted out of the house.
It's hard to love someone who hurts you.
It's hard to love someone who tells you she wishes
you'd never been born.
It's hard to love someone so much that
you worry if they're going to take their own life
every time the wind changes.
The older she got,
the more the wind blew.

She definitely had mental illness.
Progressive, untreated mental illness prevents healthy relationships.
All of us kids left the house by the time we were sixteen. 
Sixteen years old, unprepared for anything, we left to save our selves.

One would think that after a brush with death,
it'd be enough to awaken the senses and realize the intrinsic values of life--
my mom tried taking her life so many times,
we became numb to her illness.
She wouldn't seek treatment and healing,
which affected my relationship with her to the point
there was nothing to hold onto.
I married, began having children and my life moved in as different a direction
as I could make it from the scenes of my childhood.
Evolving and changing so much,
leaving my mother behind--stuck where I last left her--
in the world between her ears.
She didn't know me anymore and hadn't seen my children
but once in 16 years.

To protect my family,
I kept her on the outside.
That's a hard place to be--
I loved her, needed her, hated her disease--
but essential for my own children.
She'd written dozens and dozens of letters and emails,
left dozens of voice mails
cussing me out,
telling my children they were going to hell,
using the most vicious language to express her rage at my absence.
And then within minutes,
leave messages and emails recounting all of it with sorrowful apologies.

Mental illness is a natural cause of death.
It took a long, dreadful, miserable route,
until there was no reasonable thought left in my mother's brain
except to look again at suicide for relief.
This time, she cried "wolf" and no one heard her.
My youngest brother, whom she'd texted about her plans,
didn't answer or act on her texts.
He has dozens and dozens of emails and texts stating the same things from her
from years of depression.
He's 9 years younger than me.
She's been suicidal his whole entire life.
He didn't think to act.
She'd taught him not to and while one could say he should've anyway--
I'm not judging him.
He had the same mother I had, but not the same at all.
Even when she was in a "good" place,
suicide was always just under the surface, always an option.

So, no she was never going to die of the typical "Natural Causes"--
not from a disease, or sudden acute illness.
She was going to die of an illness that took 73 years
to take her sanity,
her sense of humor,
her talents and abilities,
her hope and reason,
her marriages,
her daughter and sons,
grandchildren and great-grandchildren,
parents and siblings,
careers and hobbies--
her mental illness increased until there was no room
for anything or anyone else
in her life,
taking every purpose for living away
and leaving a handful of pills as the only option to end the pain.

Natural causes.
Mental illness naturally causes
pain,
depression,
hopelessness,
darkness,
and if left untreated,
death.

How could it be otherwise?

My grief is assuaged by my deepest heartfelt hope that my mom didn't die alone.
That in her final moments, Jesus was there with her.
Loving her pain away.
That her folks and sisters and brothers who've all left this life--they were there too.
And my greatest hope is that one day,
ours will be a sweet reunion.

If you or someone you know struggles with mental illness,

please get help.

The National Alliance of Mental Illness (NAMI) is a great place to start:

800-950-6264

Happy I HATE MOM Day!

In honor of I HATE MOM DAY:

Ways That I am the Meanest Mom:

·         I made David Scott wear his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pjs to school when he was in kindergarten because he wouldn’t get ready for school on time.

·         I didn’t run the kids’ lunchboxes to school every time they forgot them, so they had many pb&j samiches from the nice lunchroom ladies on those days.

·         I made them all do the dishes.  Multiple times.  Over many years.  Enough dishes to feed an army of people—at the height of our “Familyhood” there were 9 people eating every meal together.  That’s a lot of dishes.

·         They all had chores—taking out the trash, doing their own laundry, making their beds, washing windows, bathrooms, dusting, vacuuming, mopping, sweeping—I made them all learn how to do it and Saturday was a busy day!

·         I also didn’t run forgotten math books, spelling binders, tennis shoes, etc to school every time they forgot them at home.  Sometimes I did.  But not often.

·         I didn’t care what their friends’ moms’ rules were…my house, my rules.

·         My kids wore handmedowns—we didn’t do Name Brand clothing unless it was on Clearance. 

·         Everyone had to share nearly everything in the house, unless it was Valentine’s or Halloween candy.

·         I made the kids walk to school in the heat and in the snow, over many years, uphill both directions.

·         One time I made David Scott walk home from school (he normally rode the bus), after a school detention, in Arizona. He had to cross a large desert field in the heat of the afternoon.  He said he liked the walk, but I don’t recall him earning another detention that year.

·         I made them Observe the Sabbath which meant attending Church every week for three hours, No playdates or birthday parties, No going out to eat, or shopping, no Sporting events on Sundays. Sundays were spent at home with family—sometimes whiney babies, whiney teens and even whiney mom and dad.  And Naps.  Glorious Sunday naps.

·         I made my kids apologize when they hurt one another, “I’m sorry. I will never do it again.”

·         I lectured them ‘til my brain hurt about the same darn things, over and over and over again.

·         I hid all of Dara’s favorite things in her room for a week when she wouldn’t stop taking others’ things without permission.  Oh, and I took the door off her bedroom when she kept slamming it.

·         I tracked my teens down, on foot, by phone or car when I didn’t know where they were.

·         I embarrassed my kids by telling them “NO” in front of their friends.

·         I made my teens introduce me to their friends and their dates…no one was allowed to just run off with complete strangers.

·         Curfew.  Those that needed it, had it. Those that didn’t, didn’t. (the guilty parties know who they are!)

·         We didn’t have Allowance.  It takes a family to take care of a family. I am not a personal maid or servant for all of these human beings.  Money was given when it was earned in other ways.

·         I never lied for them to their teachers—no, I won’t sign a form or make a call saying they were too sick to go to school or too sick to turn in homework, unless they really were.

·         I made them write Thank You notes for gifts and services from others before they could use the gift. 

·         I made them call their own doctors for appointments when they were teenagers.

·         I didn’t let them take phone calls after 8pm when we had landlines. They needed to rest up for the next day.

·         We didn’t buy our kids cars while they were in high school. They had to do that the summer after graduation—on their own. And had to work to pay for their insurance and gas.

I did all of this horrible stuff and MORE, with the hope that I’d raise kids into Responsible, Loving, Faithful adults.  Mistakes were made, tears were shed, bribes were offered—some were accepted, others rejected, apologies extended, compromises created, lines were drawn, feet were stomped, doors slammed, feelings hurt, lessons learned and love saved us all.  And I would do 99% of it all over again in a heartbeat.

Happy I HATE MOM Day!

Media Fears: Who's Protecting the Children?

The World is Angry, with a capital "A".

I haven't felt so much anger in my life on this planet 

since I was a child of the '60's/70s

and the Vietnam War was on the lips of everyone back then.

We had three television channels,

and when the evening news came on,

a message to parents would signal them to excuse children from the room

because of frightening content regarding the War, was going to air.

I remember POW/MIA bracelets

I remember the college protests, and the Kent State massacre headlines--though I didn't see them in real time, because there was no such thing as re-runs of news back then. But I did hear about them.

At the same time, there were the segregation riots. 

Growing up in the South,

we had to take buses far from our neighborhoods

to the other side of town,

for the sake of segregation.

There were school days when I was told by my black friends

not to come to school the next day because of planned riots.

And then, on top of all that was the Women's Movement 

of that decade.
I guess one could say, I've seen much of societal turmoil in my life.

Because there was no such thing as the Internet back then,

it wasn't shoved down my throat from every direction.

Afterall, we were living in the South. 

You'd have to be a complete ignoramus not to know what was going on...

or be a child.

There was alot of fear-fueled anger then.

But, the adults protected the children from the awfulness of it.

As bad as I knew, I didn't know how bad it all was,

partly because the adults protected the children from the hard truths of a hard situation.

They excused us from the room when tones changed from civility to ugliness.

The turned off the TV, telling us to "go play".

The newsmen back then, Walter Cronkite, David Brinkley and their colleagues

were actual "Reporters" of the news, not creators of it.

They shared the events of the day as they knew them,

and then, in their honest efforts to be responsible journalists,

would offer what they called

an "Editorial"...stating with clarity that the next part of their presentation

was their own Opinions, based on investigating and observance.

It was generally a pretty short segment of the show,

but those men built their entire careers on integrity.

Back then,

Corporations took seriously, the need for Peace.

They put their money in it, such as the Coca-Cola TV Commercial:

Everyone knew that song.  It was a call for peace in brotherhood.

In my days, the messengers of peace were called, "Flower Children" or "Hippies"-- artsy-fartsy labels that sounded juvenile, but accurately described a grassroots movement for change.

I decided that I was a potential "Flower Child" because I too, wanted peace. I wanted the fearful and the angry to reconcile with love and peace. And I knew the adults in my life--my neighbors, my friends' parents, my teachers at school and church--they all wanted it too. 

Since 9/11,

we haven't had the opportunity to shield our kids from the realities of this life...

we've trained them to be aware of the possible dangers in the world they live in--

from child abductions off street corners to sex traffickers, drug pushers, insane people at the movie theaters, and of course, the Middle East terrorists that made "9/11" the Memorized Date in history

that it is...

and the hardest part of training our kids is that we don't get to frame all of this in a responsible narrative that would also protect our children's hearts from the awful weight of the world.

No, that narrative is lost in the intrusive, loud, crass, ugliness that is promulgated by the unspoken rulers of the world--The Media.

Depending on who owns the collective media outlets,

the "news" is presented to fit their agenda, which has little to do with any actual truths

and more to do with how quickly they can fill their pockets.

In an effort to close out some of the noisy, intrusive media,

we shut-off the cable/ Direct TV to our home three years ago.

I thought we were brilliantly responsible in doing that--

but apparently, it was only the tip of the Media Iceberg.

There's no such thing as Responsible Journalists left anymore.

No warnings exist on social media--

just alot of selfish agendas clamoring for validation in the forms of LIKES

screaming for attention

from every wanna-be-celebrity across the globe.

Every news station is precarious perched upon a three-legged stool of agendas:

Be First, Be Sensational, Be Unaccountable.

Truth is irrelevant in the media.

Opinions stated come with a quick one-sentence sound bite,

engineered, orchestrated, contrived so that it can pull in more money for the owners/ board members, stockholders, and everyone else on the payroll.

The Social Conscience Responsibility is nowhere to be found.

The Media machine is a fierce, capable, Enemy of Truth.

And we have a couple of generations of children

who have grown up with a smart skepticism of Authority.

Who can they trust?

Who's got their back?

Who's protecting their interests?

All of this leading me, 

a mother of seven children to ask the question:

Is it no wonder our children are struggling with the demands of life?

Struggling with relationships--in the family and in society.

Struggling in school--with the programs, with the teachers, with the extreme, outrageous government-implemented "Common Core", and "Leave No Child Behind" acts.

Struggling to Live.

My youngest two children attend Discovery Canyon Campus.

Google it and you'll come across this Newsweek Article:

http://www.newsweek.com/2016/10/28/teen-suicide-contagious-colorado-springs-511365.html

Two of the young men and two of the young women mentioned in the article were friends of my youngest children.

We've been to more funerals in the past year,

collectively,

than I've been to in my entire life.

One of the young men took his life the day after his mom brought cupcakes to school

to celebrate his birthday, 

with his friends. My son included.

For those kids left behind after a classmate takes their own life,

the school itself feels contaminated, scary, risky.

We've talked about moving our kids from DCC next year if we're still here in Colorado Springs.

Alot of students have moved, and noone blames them.

It's hard.

It's harder than we are able to grasp and put a narrative on--

the kind that frames the experience and puts it into a less-threatening situation

because truly, 

these suicides exceed our capacity to do so.

My own daughter is in counselling now because she is experiencing anxiety beyond what 

we could help her deal with...

she doesn't know from one day to the next who's going to choose to take their life

from her student body.

She takes cookies to her friends weekly,

she makes sure to tell all of her friends how much she loves them,

needs them, wants them to know she is there for them.

And she's sad to her bones for the ones she didn't know were going to take their own lives.

The impact of the world's anger/uncertainty/chaos

is shattering our kids' worlds too.

How can they have hope in their future when they are being bombarded with 

adult opinions on the certainty of failing securities to protect them?

What can we do?

Practice Peace.

• I'm trying to make our home a haven. Practice the Danish "hygge" this winter, especially.
• Blocking out the negativity as much as I can. "Unfollowing" is a habit now for my own sanity, those who engage in the chaos, the anger-baiting, the hateful diatribe on the topic-of-the-day.
• Using my social media: Facebook & Instagram to share messages of Peace, Gratitude, and Faith.  I don't care if I get any "LIKES" or whatever, I know that my children see MY social media posts--that's the point, right?  
• They see it.  
• I want to be a voice of calm, an example of hope and steadiness in a loud, pessimistic, fear-fueled angry world.
• More hugs, More eye-to-eye conversations about their strengths and future plans.
• Less, "did-you-get-that-and-that-and-that-done?" commands.  Not right now.  Those directives can take a time-out.
• Practice Peace.
• Serve your neighbors. Bring the teens with you to serve someone else.
• Say kind words to them, about them, with them, about others.
• Practice Peace.
• Express Hope in the Future. Make plans for enriching activities and trips.
• Practice Peace.
• Pray for our world.  Pray for the leaders of the nations to be soft when they can be, and to be strong when they must, and to be fair always.
• Pray for ourselves to feel God's love for us always and to direct our paths.

We need to protect our children. Our children need protection. Above all else on our plates, this is number one priority: Let the Children Play.

That Ship Sailed Without Us

All that build-up over moving to Oregon
busted mid-air
when the company there decided to rescind their offer
on account of the fact that they didn't want to pay enough
to make it worth the move.

They offered, Mr W counteroffered
and instead of meeting in the middle,
they just said, "No." and shut the door.

At first,
I was surprisingly sad.
Not just about the job,
but about the move, the adventure, the opportunity to explore,
the abruptness of it all
left me feeling like I'd been stood up on a really promising date.

Mr W was sad, let down, disappointed.
Because you know, it's been 6 months of unemployment.
But seriously, if there were any way he could've taken the offer,
he'd have jumped at it.
It just wasn't responsible for us to take it.
The cost of living is higher in Oregon than here;
we did our homework.
So, in the morning light
it was the best decision for our family.

Another Oregon ship will come by.
Until then,
we'll sit here at the foot of the Rockies--
where it's zero degrees, snowy and completely beautiful.

Accounting for 2016

It's a brrr cold but sunny morning here in Colorado Springs.

I love the bright clear blue skies here at the foot of the Front Range...

as I've said before, I am co-dependent on these Rocky Mountains.

Pikes Peak is my touchstone. 

I look west every time I'm in the car, 

or in the house,

my eyes naturally gravitate towards that beautiful mountain range.

I can list a hundred reasons why I'm so enamored of those ridges and peaks,

but that's for another day.

This being the fourth of January 2017,

I'm reflecting on what I accomplished in 2016.

What do I have to show for the time I was given--

the same amount of time everyone else on the planet 

that started 2016 and ended it still breathing, 

was given.

I completed two semesters of school.

One 80-hour internship at Avier, a home decor store.

I worked staging and redesigning homes--

some for friends,

some for builders,

some for investors,

some for realtors.

I learned more about drawing and watercolors.

I made seasonal floral arrangements for friends and friends of friends.

I went visiting teaching.

I decorated for wedding receptions.

I did family history and took names to the temple.

I kept a journal.

I read my scriptures.

I spent time in Idaho caring for a daughter with specific health issues.

For three months, our family took in a young woman who has autism,

and helped her get into college and the financial aid she needed to go.

I'm happy to report that she is up at BYU-I today and settling into her apartment.

I went to Saudi Arabia for the birth of a sacred grand-daughter

and then onto Italy with a friend!!!  Holy Moly--Best TRIP EVER!

We ended the year in Boise, Idaho for the blessing of that little grand-daughter

this past Sunday, January 1st.

My husband has been unemployed since June,

and we're still a good team.

In contemplating 2017

I don't know what's ahead,

but I've been given time to continue to grow, develop and focus my energy

on the good things in life,

just like the rest of Heavenly Father's children.

I hope I do some good with it.

Instead of Resolutions,

I'm making note of things I want to LEARN more about in 2017.

• I want to learn how to take better care of my aging body.
• I want to learn how to be more efficient with my time--
• I deleted facebook off my phone this morning and that feels like a step in the right direction. It's not that I don't want to know what's going on in my friends and family's lives-- but 90% of the facebook posts I see have nothing to do with my f & f directly. So I can catch-up on a less regular basis from my desktop.

• I want to LEARN more about painting and writing and travelling and floral design.
• I want to learn more about living minimally--cutting out random "stuff" for quality "stuff".
• Organizational tools that really work.
• Planting a garden.
• Serving somewhere in my community that I can get passionate about.

2016 wasn't our best year.

But it wasn't the worst either.

I'm still here.

My husband is still here.

All of my children and their children are still here.

So far, Life has met my expectation.

Even in 2016.

So 2017 is looking really hopeful.

I have alot to learn.

What about you?

What do you want to learn in 2017?

Christmas 2016 Awakenings

My Christmas was so perfect, I can't even tell you how good it was.
It was SO perfect for me. SO glorious. SO everything good.

I haven't fully breathed for two months.
I've been sustained by half-breaths, really.
Going through my days and weeks and months
with lots of demands on my time and skills,
keeping distracted from the undercurrent of uncertainty
in our lives.
I do that.  When times are rough and circumstances beyond my control,
I tell my self,
"Self, keep going. You can't just stop.  Keep moving. Do what you can and trust in God's love for you."
So, that's what I've been doing.

My undercurrent of uncertainty was the result of two unrelated situations:
Kent's unemployment for six months, and Dean's upcoming surgery to remove, what I was told,
a cyst on his brain.
On top of finishing up the semester in school,
and an 80 hour internship
I planned a funeral for my son.
I made a list of people whom I would call,
in case Dean didn't make it through surgery.
My list was five people whom I knew would drop everything,
and come to my aid should I need it.
Coincidentally, it is these same five people who've been at my side
on this journey of unemployment too.
These same five people who call me or show up regularly
to check on us.

It's been an awakening of sorts--
to look around in the midst of trials and realize
who one's friends truly are.
And like I've heard said before,
it's in times of trouble that you discover who your true friends are.
It's true.

My Christmas was wonderful.
Not because of gifts or packages.
Because Kent was offered a job
and
Dean didn't need the surgery at this time--
and it's not as serious as I was told by his HHP.
Such relief.
The down-on-my-knees-so-grateful relief.

There are a thousand feelings,
a thousand more words
to share
the grasp of which still floating in the heavens.

What is the blessing of being unemployed at Christmas time?
Well, my teenagers were more gracious in giving and receiving gifts.
This is a Christmas they won't forget.
I hope they remember it well, I do.
Christmas of 2016.
May every Christmas from here on out,
be compared to this one.
This lean one.
This "we'll celebrate anyway" one.
The one where they were mindful of the cost of things,
and the value of contributing a cheerful mood to the overall good.
The one where gifts were "extra" because they weren't expected.

The one where we delivered filled Christmas stockings
to the foster children's advocacy organization,
that my friends filled this year again.
The one where we picked up furniture,
painted it,
and took it back to a friend whose husband has Stage IV cancer,
and she wants their bedroom to be a haven for his resting days.
The one where we delivered a poinsettia to an elderly man who cares for his wife
who is lost in the world of Alzheimers'.

I wanted my teens to learn that even in lean times,
we can serve others.

I will remember this one
as the one I held my son in my arms and thanked him for staying with us
another year.
He makes me a better person every day that he's here.
He believes in Santa more than anyone I've ever met;
that's magical to me.

I will remember this one because the tremblings of my heart were calmed
by love and tender mercies of my Heavenly Father.
This year, for the first time in a decade, our family was invited to a Christmas party
where we went carolling afterwards--it was so perfectly timed.
We needed that invitation on the eve of what was to be Dean's surgery.
It was calming and hopeful.

I will remember this one because others were fasting and praying for our son
and their faith lifted my own.
"All is calm, All is bright."
That's how this Christmas went down
and that's how I will remember it.

A White Christmas.
A glowing, beautiful, tender mercy-filled, white Christmas.