Worm de la book

I wish I had more time to read.  I love to read.  I devour books when given the chance.  But I don't give myself the chance very often because once I start a book I am done for until I finish it.  Everything else in my life gets put on hold.  I basically have no self control.  Minus the basically.

I've been doing a lot of reading about all the current controversy with the LDS church (what's new, right?  There's always controversy).  I have started to read Rough Stone Rolling, which is supposedly one of the most comprehensive biographies about Joseph Smith, who is the founder of Mormonism.  I can feel myself getting sucked in.  I have already read two chapters today AND I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THAT.  This book is a billion pages long and if I can't put it down this will be a problem.  If you don't hear from me on this blog for a while, will someone please check in on my husband and children to make sure they have plenty of peanut butter and jelly?  I will be in my room drowning out the world around me while I sip iced Dr. Pepper and shove my face with bon bons.

Side note: what exactly is a bon bon?  Do people really eat them?  Are the people who eat them rich and fancy?  Because that's how I've always pictured them for some reason.  People who eat bon bons definitely don't have dirty screaming children swarming around them. *sigh*

So back to reading.  I like it.  My lifestyle does not agree with it.  And me and my lifestyle are in a fight about that.  But I remind myself that there will come a day that my kids are all grown, and no one needs me to make them a sandwich, or read them a story, or help them with homework, and I will have plenty of time to read.

And my heart will long for that dirty swarm of children.

And I will still be pondering about what a ridiculously weird word swarm happens to be.

A Stolen Scooter

So this 9 year old of mine got her scooter stolen from school yesterday.  She was there for an after school activity (until 4:15, so not late), and she and her friend left their scooters by the front door.  When they were finished and went out to go home both of their scooters were gone.  She came home with tears in her eyes asking why someone would take something that didn't belong to them.  It was a hard thing for me to see, and an even harder thing for me to explain.  I told her that sometimes people do things without thinking about who it will hurt, and we talked about keeping her scooter in a safer place next time.  This isn't the first time we've had scooters stolen from school (different school, 2 years ago), and it's so sad.  It's sad that someone would steal something from a child.  And it was likely another child, and that child will grow up to be an adult.  And that makes me even more sad.

And what makes me the most sad is knowing that this will not be the last time someone hurts her.  She will have her share of disappointments, and a few broken hearts, and the normal aches and pains that life brings.  And I wish I could protect her from it all.  And I wish I could make sure that she stays safe, emotionally as much as physically.  And I wish I could find a way to keep her from having the heartbreaking realization that life can be really, really hard.

This is why it is so important for me to teach her to turn to our loving Father in Heaven when life gets heavy.  To teach her to pray, really and truly and deeply pray.  To teach her to cry out to Him in her darkest moments.  Because He is the only one who will always, no matter what, no matter when, no matter where, always always be there for her.  For her.  He knows her and loves her and will be waiting for her to reach out to Him.  Just as He is waiting for you and me.  Whether it is over a stolen scooter, or a high school boyfriend, or the betrayal of a college roommate, or a difficult marriage, or a struggling child.  He is waiting to comfort and carry.

We just have to let Him.

Service Through a Dress

I decided I wanted to start chronicling (ummm is that the weirdest word in the history of words?) some stories and memories about my mom.

It has been almost 4 years since she passed away, which is so crazy to me.  I haven't spoken to my mom in 4 years!  I still have her in my favorites on my phone, though her number now belongs to someone else. When she first passed away, I found myself reaching for my phone multiple times a day to call or text her, and I still can't bear to delete her information.  It's almost like that would be forgetting her or something.  Every once in a while I'll go look at her Facebook page, too, just to remind myself that there is still evidence of her, that her life hasn't completely disappeared.  It's the weirdest thing to think about her being gone.  How is it that someone is just not here anymore?  One day they are living, breathing, worrying, and the next, nothing.  I honestly don't know how people get through losing a loved one without a belief in an afterlife.

So.  Stories about my mom.  I've told this one to some people, but haven't written it down.  Here goes.

When I was a senior in high school I was really really busy.  I was in a lot of AP classes (like honors classes), I was in ASB (student government), I had a part time job (as the janitor at a dental office, now if you want to talk about glamorous...), and I was on a competitive club cheerleading team that practiced 3 times a week an hour away from my house.  I also attended early morning seminary (a class put on by my church where we studied books of scripture) that started at 5:45 AM.  That's right.  Needless to say I was exhausted pretty much all the time.  Senior Ball was coming up, and I was stressed because I had no time to go look for a dress, and in my 17 year old world that was a catastrophe.

I came home from school one day, two weeks before the dance exhausted as usual.  I walked in the front door to find formal dresses hung all over the living room.  Beautiful fabric, beautiful colors, sparkles and sequins.  As I sat there confused and looking around, my mom explained to me that she knew I was so busy and stressed, so she had gone to the mall that day to find me a dress.  She went to store after store, and looked at dress after dress, and bought 10 or 12 dresses that she thought I would like.  She brought them home and set them up for me so I could try them on and choose one.  She was like my own personal shopper, and my living room was transformed into my very own specialized dress shop.  I was so thankful that my sweet mom took time out of her own busy schedule (which certainly included things that actually mattered) to serve me and help me find a dress.  She could have easily said, "It's just a dress, it doesn't matter.  It's one dance that you will soon forget about."  Instead, she was wise enough to know that even though the dance didn't matter, I mattered.  Even though finding the right dress wasn't important, I was important.

I picked out a dress I loved from the ones she chose, and she returned the others the next day.   Though I do not remember much about that dance, I do remember the love of my sweet mother, and how I felt that love through a dress.

You are His

I feel the need to say thank you.  Thank you to those readers and friends who have been supportive and kind.  Let me give you some background, and this is going to get really personal.

I love to write.  I used to blog daily (years ago), and I have always been a story teller.  Not the kind of story teller that's a big fat liar (oh, she's a "story teller"), but just someone who can take an ordinary event and make it into a big, long, entertaining story.  Everyone in my family is like this, it's one of our family traits.  I think I'm the worst at it out of everyone in the fam, but that's an entirely different post altogether.

For the past few months I have been feeling more and more like I need to be writing again.  I have felt...compelled, I guess is the best way to say it.  And as I've thought about it, and tried to figure out how much time to put into it, and how to pursue it, I have found myself becoming discouraged.  I have been swimming in self-doubt and insecurity, and it's been confusing to me.  Why in the world would I be feeling so unsure?  It is just a blog!  No one cares if I write, or what I write.  If you feel like writing, Nikki, just write!  But time after time those dark voices would whisper that I wasn't good enough and shouldn't even try.

I had a conversation with my sister, Calee, who really helped me put things in perspective.  She reminded me that one of the most influential tools Satan uses in our life is self-doubt and fear.  And that if I really knew I was a daughter of God, if I really knew He was aware of me, that those dark voices would be quieted, and would not have as much influence on my decisions.

So, I hit my knees.  I asked Heavenly Father to remind me that He knows me.  I asked Him to remind me of my gifts, and to help me discover how He would have me use them.

Later that day, my prayer was answered.

I received a text from an old friend (who I do not talk with regularly) telling me how much she loved reading my blog and how uplifting it was to her. I felt God's love as I read her words.

Moments later, I received an email from another friend who I haven't been in touch with since high school (besides the sporadic liking each other's Facebook posts), telling me that she felt she needed to write and tell me how much she appreciates my posts.  She said that she knows it is difficult to make time to write every day, but that my posts have been helping her get through a difficult time.  Again, I felt like Heavenly Father was reminding me that there are reasons I've felt compelled to be writing.

Just a few minutes after I received that email, I got another email from a woman at church (my Relief Society President).  I am fairly new in our ward, and I don't know many people well.  I have chatted with this woman once or twice, but that is the extent of our interaction.  In her email she wrote that I had been on her mind lately, and that she felt she needed to tell me that I am special, and that Heavenly Father knows and loves me.

As I read through her email, my eyes filled with tears.  I felt overwhelming love from my Father in Heaven, who was gently reminding me over and over that He knows me, and through others, was encouraging me to follow the promptings I've been receiving regarding writing.  I cannot describe the intensity of the feeling.  I know that there is a God.  I know that not only is He all powerful, the Creator of all things, but He is also our loving Father.  He knows us.  Each of us.  He knows what you are struggling with right at this moment.  He knows the desires of your heart.  He knows your heartaches.

I know He knows mine.  And I know He knows yours.

If you are struggling with self-doubt or insecurity, with heartache or loss, with sadness or confusion I challenge you to do what I did.  To pray, and ask God to remind you of His love for you.  Ask Him to strengthen your testimony that you are His child.

Your answer may not come as mine did (there have been many times my answers to prayer have not been so quick or so obvious), but I know it will come.

Since this experience last week, there have been other emails and texts and comments and Facebook posts in continual answer to that prayer.  Thank you to those of you who have followed the promptings you have felt to reach out to me in some way.  You have been His answer.

Tapestry

First, remember to send in any questions for our Thursday Q&A!  Email them to
have joy{at}ymail{dot}com.

And thank you to those of you who commented on last week's post about depression.  I so appreciate your support for the reader who sent in the question!  Thank you!

I have talked before about the comparison trap (read my post here), and I will probably talk about it a million more times in the future.  Mostly because I struggle with it, and I think a lot of women struggle with it.  And I tend to write about things that I need reminders about, and this is one of those things.

We all have different gifts, and we are all expected to use our gifts in ways unique to our strengths and abilities.  Some people have gifts in the form of talents (like singing, or painting, or baking), but some of us have gifts that aren't necessarily recognized as talents, like being a good listener, being a patient mother, being able to recognize a need and fill it through service, or being able to look at life through a positive lens.  It can be easy to compare those quieter gifts to others who may have gifts that speak more loudly.

I want to share an excerpt from a talk given at BYU in1989 by Patricia Holland (Jeffrey R. Holland's wife), entitled Filling the Measure of Your Creation.  She states:

"I once read a wonderful analogy of the limitations our present perspective imposes on us. The message was that in the ongoing process of creation—our creation and the creation of all that surrounds us—our heavenly parents are preparing a lovely tapestry with exquisite colors and patterns and hues. They are doing so lovingly and carefully and masterfully. And each of us is playing a part—our part—in the creation of that magnificent, eternal piece of art.

But in doing so we have to remember that it is very difficult for us to assess our own contributions accurately. We see the rich burgundy of a neighboring thread and think, “That’s the color I want to be.” Then we admire yet another’s soft, restful blue or beige and think, “No, those are better colors than mine.” But in all of this we don’t see our work the way God sees it, nor do we realize that others are wishing they had our color or position or texture in the tapestry—even as we are longing for theirs.

Perhaps most important of all to remember is that through most of the creative period we are confined to the limited view of the underside of the tapestry where things can seem particularly jumbled and muddled and unclear. If nothing really makes very much sense from that point of view, it is because we are still in process and unfinished. But our heavenly parents have the view from the top, and one day we will know what they know—that every part of the artistic whole is equal in importance and balance and beauty. They know our purpose and potential, and they have given us the perfect chance to make the perfect contribution in this divine design."

I love everything about this.  It is very difficult for us to assess our own contributions accurately, she says. Remember, YOU have been given certain gifts and abilities, and YOU are important to your circle of influence, and YOU have a divine role in God's plan.  YOU.  Flaws and all.

Now stop mourning the person you are not, and get out there and be the best YOU you can be!

Tender Moments

I was able to go to Time Out for Women a few weekends ago, and it was wonderful.  I felt uplifted and encouraged and inspired.  I was able to watch my amazing sister Calee Reed perform, and I couldn't help but think about how happy our mom must be to know that Calee is passing on the legacy of music.  Calee is so talented and I bawled the whole time she was on stage.  She is living her dream!!  It is so beautiful to watch and I am so proud of her!

I also saw Mercy River perform, and was especially touched by a song they did called "Walk You Through the Night."  It's a song about motherhood, and about how although as mothers we do not have all the answers, we can walk our children through dark times and love them perfectly.  I thought not only of my own children but also of my mother.  It has been almost four years since she passed away.  Although my mom was not perfect, she was the perfect mother for me.

I spent the next few days thinking about that song, and thinking about how I could overcome my own insecurities and shortcomings as a mother.  I bought the Mercy River album (duh) and was listening to that song when my 2 year old came into the kitchen with me.  She grabbed my legs and we started to dance.  My heart about exploded with love for this tiny human that is a piece of myself.  I bent down and picked her up in a cradle-style hold and began to rock her back and forth to the song.  My eyes welled with tears as I was filled with gratitude for the opportunity to be her mother.  She looked up at me with her big brown eyes and said,

"Mom?"

I looked down at her sweet face as she continued,

"PUT ME DOWN!!!!"

Moment ruined.  

RUINED.

I put her sassy face back down and she ran out of the kitchen to play.  And that about sums up my experience of motherhood.  Tiny, fleeting moments of tenderness interrupted by crazy, frustrating, not tender at all real life.  And I'm so incredibly thankful for every single part of it.