I'm feeling much better now, thank you

But I did miss church yesterday. And because I was home by myself, putzing around and trying very hard NOT to get caught up on blogs and instead do something 'churchy,' I found myself pondering on recent spiritual moments.

As many of you know, I teach the Marriage and Family Relations course in Sunday School. We just finished up the Marriage section and we've moved on to Parenting.

A couple weeks ago the lesson was on "The Divine Role of Mothers." It was a good lesson. I was well prepared and excited to learn together with my class.

Got to church - Relief Society first. As the first hour was wrapping up, I reached down for my lesson manual to go over the outline one more time (cuz I'm weird like that.) AND IT WASN'T THERE.

I had totally forgotten my manual at home - and there wasn't time to go get it.

Enter: fervent prayer.

I felt a distinct impression to open the Bible Dictionary. I followed it. The definition for "mother" (at least in the Portuguese Bible dictionary - don't know about the English) is as follows:

Divine title for a woman who gives light to children.

Bam. There's my lesson.

We spent the next hour discussing that one little phrase. Here's what we came up with.

• Motherhood is a God-given role
• It is a title - implying it must be earned
• A woman doesn't have to give birth to be a mother - notice it just says "to children"
• According to the Bible dictionary, "light" means "divine energy of Christ"
• Therefore, to be a mother, we must teach our children about Christ

Question.

Does this mean a woman who feeds, dresses, and cleans her children, but doesn't teach them, isn't a mother?

I've thought a lot about that.

I hope I deserve to be called one.

Security

There is an eight foot wall around my condominium.

There is cut glass on the top of this wall.

There is barbed wire on top of this wall.

There is an electric fence on top of this wall.

There are security towers where guards with big guns keep watch.

There are more guards with big guns circling the condominium on foot.

There are locks on all my doors and windows.

And yet we have been robbed. A lot.

And we were just robbed. AGAIN. This time, he took My Man's guitar and laptop. (!!!!)

This is incredible to me. Despite all the safety measures we take, we can never be safe when we LET CROOKS IN.

We are never safe while the condominium continues to let a known thief into those gates - past the glass, wire, electric fence and big guns.

... And our own lives?

We pray. We scripture. We church. We have loving leaders. We go to the temple. We do Family Home Evening. We think we're safe.

And then knowingly let evil into our lives - through media, unclean thoughts, and allowing friends and family to sully our minds.

Don't let them in.

Only then will you be safe.

More. (Yet another post about conference)

Kicked off the weekend right with an hour long walk with myself. It's good for the soul, clearing out the cobwebs in time for its biannual spring cleaning.

Then we had blueberry white chocolate chip waffles. Also very, very good for the soul.

And then I basked at the feet of prophets for two days.

What I learned from General Conference this year:

I am nothing.
But I can do anything.
I need to study my scriptures more fervently.
I need to pray with more purpose.
I need to serve and sacrifice more.
I need to talk about the gospel more.
I need to dedicate myself to my family more.
I need to be more adaptable to change.
I need to go to the temple more (and not rush in to the session.)
I need to murmur less and be more grateful.
I need to use the Atonement more.
I need to be more like Christ.

Two (2) Things

Nooooooo, not THEM. Though they are distinctly cute. I always wanted twins just so I could dress them up as Thing 1 and Thing 2. (Okay. I wanted twins UNTIL I HAD CHILDREN. Now I just think all mothers of twins are saints. And I'm glad I'm not saint material.)

Anywho. Two things. Sunday-ish Things, it being the Sabbath and all.

Thing one.

This week I went to a CES training meeting - that stands for Church Education System. It is for all the seminary and institute teachers - essentially gospel, scripture based classes for teenagers and young adults. (Including my Marriage Prep class. Good stuff, people.)

This is Sergio. He is THE most incredible teacher in the world. (Sorry folks, he's here in Brazil. You lose.) He teaches with such power, such faith. He has us laughing one minute and crying the next.

I've been to Teacher Improvement meetings plenty of times, but for some reason this week's training really hit home. He drilled into us that GOOD teachers let the students teach. GOOD teachers let the Spirit teach. GOOD teachers leave the students thinking, "I felt the Spirit so strongly today," rather than, "she's a really good teacher." GOOD teachers don't teach at all.

And one of the secrets to inviting the Spirit is to ask good questions.

We learned that there are three types of GOOD questions:

1) Questions that force the students to look up the answer (in other words, questions that have no obvious answer, nor simply yes/no)

2) Questions that cause the students to reflect and ponder

3) Questions that cause the students to apply a principle to their life

I really loved that last one. So instead of, "Why do we need prophets?" (rote, by-the-book answer) we ask, "When have you already felt that President Monson is a prophet of God?" (causes the student to think about his/her life personally.) It is when the STUDENTS bear testimony that the Spirit thrives.

Before attending the training, Sergio asked us to prepare a 5-8 minute lesson on a few verses in Mark - about Jesus curing the blind man. I (of course) procrastinated, so I had to wake up early the day of the training to prepare. I was proud of the results. I really studied those five verses. I learned a lot. And I was eager to share it.

But Sergio never asked us to show our "homework."

And I was annoyed - after I went through all that trouble, I didn't use it.

Or so I thought.

The truth is - I came to realize that THAT is how we should truly study the scriptures. As if we were giving a lesson on it. I took those five little verses and thought up enough questions to keep me pondering and looking up answers for almost an hour. I got more out of a mere 1/4 of a chapter than I often did in my daily reading.

Cool.

So Thing 2 - this is Daniela and my teeth. Daniela and her husband Rodrigo were sealed in the Campinas temple yesterday for all eternity.

They've come a long way. A few years ago, they were living together - but more for convenience than for love. They drank. They smoked. They fought. They hit. They were seperated more often than they were together. They have two children, but had much to learn by way of parenting.

Witness the gospel changing lives.

Now they are legally married. They hold hands. They speak softly to their children. They love one another. They bear testimony of a living Christ who heals and cures and purifies and perfects.

I got to accompany Daniela yesterday. I was so honored. It was an awesome thing to watch her cry as blessings were poured upon her head and as she made sacred covenants.

I love the temple. It hurts me when people make that sacred place out to be something ugly, vulgar or unnatural. It is a beautiful place. I feel the Lord there. It is a sacred place. A place where I start to feel like the Becky He wants me to be.

So keep going to the temple, Daniela and Rodrigo. Return to that place as often as your life permits. Make it the center of your purpose on this earth. It is where the fluff falls away and our perspectives become clear again. It is there we gain greater understanding of who and why we are. It is there we concentrate on the most important things - on the Lord, on our families, and on love.

Not bad for a couple of things, if I do say so myself.

I put on waterproof mascara this morning

I think ahead.

See, in two days it is the anniversary of the Relief Society, an organization to which I belong. It was founded in 1842 by a prophet of God and serves two main purposes: to provide relief to the needy and bring people to Christ.

It is an organization of women. The largest in the world.

There is a hymn - a theme song - for members of the Relief Society. Title, "As Sisters in Zion." It speaks of the power and roles of women. How we are to be ministering angels. How we are here to work. How we are here to love each other.

I was always annoyed by the song.

It always seemed so cheesy to me. It is a gentle, suave song. Soft. And I preferred rousing numbers that got my blood going and made me want to march around and shout, "Hallejua!" Like "Ye Elders of Israel." Much cooler hymn.

And then I moved here.

I remember well my first Sabbath in Brazil. I didn't speak a word of Portuguese when we first arrived in Sao Paulo in October 2004. I had a brand new baby in my arms and held My Man's hand tightly. All of my adventurism and courage failed me at the steps of our church building. My sweet husband kissed me at the door and wished me good luck.

He left me.

I walked hesitantly into the Relief Society room. Head down, feet shuffling, I hurried to grab a seat in the back. The VERY back.

I had timed it just right - I took my seat just as the Relief Society president began the meeting. Sweet. No time for introductions.

She said some things in some language to some people. Everyone was smiling, finishing up friendly conversations and opening books I couldn't read.

I began to cry.

I missed my family. My friends. My language. I knew that there was absolutely no way I could do this. Truly, what WAS I thinking?

As I sat pondering my stupidity and feeling extremely sorry for myself, the pianist began playing the first strains to a familiar tune.

"As Sisters in Zion."

I couldn't understand the words, but my heart did. It swelled in size and warmth and sent chills down my spine. It didn't matter that I couldn't speak the language or didn't have a friend for thousands of miles. I had SISTERS here. I have SISTERS everywhere.

Fast forward four years.

This week my Relief Society president asked me to speak today, during our Super Special Relief Society Presentation in sacrament meeting. We all wore blue blouses and chique gold scarves. We sang a song. We had some talks. And then it was my turn.

I bore my testimony about this inspired organization of women. How we can have family no matter where we go. How we truly are sisters in Zion. And how the Spirit speaks all languages.

And then I sang our hymn - in English.

I broke down after the first line.

Tears streaming down my face, I kept one hand on my mouth, trying to control myself. I stood at the pulpit in the sacrament meeting room. All eyes on me. My face was glowing red and the piano continued through the music written by Janice Kapp Perry.

And one by one, my sisters joined me.

Soon the entire congregation was singing softly the words written over a hundred years ago. And I wept. I stood before my sweet sisters, sharing in their spirit and celebrating their strength.

As sister in Zion, we'll all work together
The blessings of God on our labors we'll seek
We'll build up the kingdom with earnest endeavor
We'll comfort the weary and strengthen the weak

The errand of angels was given to women
And this is a gift that, as sisters, we claim
To do whatsoever is gentle and human
To cheer and to bless in humanity's name

How vast is our purpose, how broad is our mission
If we but fulfill it in spirit and deed
Oh, naught but the Spirit's divinest tuition
Can give us the wisdom to truly succeed.

Amen and amen.

Women rock.

Thoughts on being weak

LisAway recently posted about being "weak" in the face of scary situations with our kids. Quote.

My stomach totally does a flop when I even think about a serious injury.
David once knocked his front teeth pretty badly and they were all a little
wiggly and bleeding. While I was cleaning him up and checking things out I
just felt ILL. I was still good about the not freaking out and about the
comforting etc. but my stomach did not handle it well, and it wasn't even an
open wound!

We've had our fair share of gore in the This Girl household. No broken bones, although we did get a split chin once. (In a hotel room. In a city I was unfamiliar with. THAT was fun. I think the hotel receptionist almost passed out.)

But I think the worst thing that's happened to us didn't involve any blood at all.

It was two years ago. Two of my brothers were visiting (why am I talking so much about my brothers lately?! Oh. Because I love them.) and we took them to a fancy shmancy hotel on the beach. We had a fancy shmancy suite that walked right out onto the pristine (fancy shmancy) sand.

On our last day there, Ouro Branco (then a wee little one) woke up at about 6ish to nurse. In my half-awake state, I noticed that Little Prince wasn't in his bed. I nudged My Man and asked him to check if LP was sleeping with my brothers.

I must have drifted back to sleep with OB in my arms when My Man returned and began putting on his shoes.

"LP isn't here, Becky."

"Mwa ... huh?"

"He's not here, Becky. The front door is open. Wake up."

The next few minutes were a blur. I plopped OB unceremoniously into the crib and threw on a shirt. (Backwards, I later found.) We ran out the door, calling LP's name franctically. I was vaguely aware that my brothers were right behind us.

Everyone at the hotel was still asleep. I burst into the barely-opened hotel kitchen, shaking violently and trying my best to describe LP amidst my stutters.

And a mile in each direction was the ocean. Waves crashing upon waves, a deep, unforgiving blue.

My brothers were racing down the sand, their voices no longer discernible. My Man was searching the hotel pools, the jacuzzi, the kid's play room.

And I collapsed into a soggy heap of despair.

My glasses wouldn't stay on, my tears were so violent. Visions of my firstborn son being dragged out to sea filled my head. He was never afraid of the water.

The search went on. And on. And on. The clock neared seven.

And I prayed.

I only said five words. Dear Lord, not my son. Dear Lord, not my son ....

We are told not to give ourselves over to vain repetitions in our prayers. And though I was repeating myself, there was nothing vain about it. I have never prayed so fervently in my life.

And just when I closed my simple, heartfelt prayer, I heard a cry. Coming from our hotel room.

My Man and I raced back in time to see a little head crawl out from under the bed. Where he had, apparently, slept through this whole scandal.

Ether 12:27 My grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me;
for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make
weak things become strong unto them.

I was one strong lady that day. And I will be again, each and every time my kids need me.

The List

My children are born flirts. Mile-long eyelashes (why is it that BOYS always get them?!) and dimpled grins aid tremendously in their conquests. It helps that they're the only Americans for miles around, too.

We'll just say that they're hot commodities in church.

Usually the Young Women (girls 12 to 17) and even some of the Relief Society (18 and up) are begging to hold them. When I walk in the door, sometimes I don't see Mr. Squishy until it's time to go home.

So you can imagine the fight that ensues when it comes time to pick a baby-sitter for Friday Date Night. (A holy, holy night, bytheway.)

Little do they know the caveats that accompany this blessed privilege.

The List.

Their eyes inevitably grow rounder as we tick off the most sacred of routines.

• The boys must eat all of their dinner before dessert.
• ONE dessert. Not two. Not three. Four is right out. Just ONE.
• After dinner, play time is strictly observed.
• No hitting.
• No saying "shut up."
• No bikes in the house.
• No throwing rocks in the pool.
• No movies or TV.
• No climbing out the window even if it's "just to see the other side."
• They love playing horse. They love playing with chalk. They love jumping on the mattresses or hide and go seek or tag. They love to just PLAY.
• At 7:30, warn them that bedtime is arriving. They need ample time to prepare mentally for this drastic occurence.
• At 7:45, head towards the general direction of the bedroom.
• Brush teeth. Little Prince brushes his own teeth but Ouro Branco needs help. You HAVE to sing the "Grandpa Gum" song. You HAVE to spit after every line. You HAVE to get a drink of water and THEN swish with flouride (do not swish, and THEN drink. Very important. The world may collapse if done out of order.)
• Sing the "scripture power song" while getting on pajamas. LP puts on his own pajamas because his body is special and we can't see it. Unless he feels like playing in the sprinklers some morning when my visiting teachers are over - but sorry, that's a different list.
• OB likes the CARS pajamas and only the CARS pajamas. Do not under any circumstances attempt to put on his dinosaur pajamas. All outer darkness will break loose.
• Read scriptures. OB sits on the LEFT. LP sits on the RIGHT. THE SCRIPTURES SIT ON THE LAP AND THAT IS ALL.
• Say prayer. You must be on your knees. You must fold your arms. You must bow your head. You can't lay your head down because that is not what Jesus looks like in the picture.
• Kisses all around. OB usually needs approximately 392472947 kisses before he is satisfied. And kiss the monkey too.
• LP wants the door just a LITTLE cracked. Just a LITTLE. Not too much because it's too bright. Not too little because then it's too dark. JUST RIGHT CRACKED AND THAT IS ALL.
• And most importantly, tell them I miss them and love them and I'll be back before they wake up. If you have any questions or concerns AT ALL - call me.

There is also endless instruction about how to work the TV, the location and use of emergency supplies, and a "situation tree" of any possible deviation from normal behavior. I have never gotten mad when a baby-sitter calls with a question. Ever. But I do get frustrated when a baby-sitter doesn't follow The List.

And it makes me wonder.

What kind of list did Heavenly Father leave for us before giving us His precious children?

• They must be obedient before the blessing.
• They date at 16 years old. Not 15. Not 14. Thirteen is RIGHT OUT. They date at 16.
• After teaching, loving is strictly observed.
• No hitting.
• No demeaning.
• No shouting.
• No losing your temper.
• No questioning whether this is really want I want you to do.
• They like to play. It's okay to let them blow bubbles in their chocolate milk. It's okay to let them splash at bathtime. It's okay to let them run around in the mud. THE WORLD WILL NOT COLLAPSE IF YOU LET THEM.
• At 7 (or even much, much earlier!), advise them that baptism is quickly approaching. They need time to prepare mentally for this covenant.
• This child really needs physical affection. He doesn't like to be nagged. Show him lovingly how to do something and let him do it himself. Let me show you how to do it.
• That child struggles with self worth. Build him up and praise him and never tear him down. Let me show you how to do it.
• This child loves to play with you. He doesn't like to be told to go play with his toys by himself. He loves YOU to play with him.
• That child is having a hard time with peer pressure. Reinforce his testimony of whose son he is. Tell stories of when YOU had a hard time with peer pressure at his age.
• And most importantly, tell them I miss them and love them and I'll be back before they know it. If you have any questions or concerns AT ALL - call me.

Do you think He ever gets frustrated when we don't follow The List?

People say the rising generation is in trouble. I say they don't know the rising generation.

Let me introduce you to one of the main reasons our ward rocks:

These are our young men. Priests (16 &17) top row, Teachers (14 &15) middle row, and Deacons (12 & 13) bottom row. They are all recently arrived from camp, which always takes place during Carnaval, to "take them out of the world," so to speak. It works.

Did I mention they are almost ALL recent converts?
Did I mention eight months ago we only had three?
Did I mention that there are young men pictured who have stopped drunken fathers from killing frightened mothers?
Did I mention that there are young men pictured who have been held at knife point while their step-father attempted to rape their sister?
Did I mention that there are young men pictured who have to deal with drug dealers at recess?
Did I mention that there are young men pictured who walk 3km on dirt roads to get to the bus stop that takes them to church?
Did I mention almost all of them are the only members in their family?
Did I mention that I get goosebumps every time I see them in white shirts and ties, when I think of how they looked like gang members a few months ago?

Did I mention that my heart wants to explode?

Love and Marriage, Love and Marriage .....

So today's Valentine's Day - in case you didn't know. I'm sure the stores have been blaring it at you since New Year's. See, I almost forgot; it's not a holiday in Brazil. Our "Dating Day" isn't until June. (And, quite frankly, I usually don't remember that one, either. I'm rather lame like that.)

But the thing is that I've had marriage on the brain lately.

Most of you didn't know that I was (fairly recently) released from my church callings as Young Women's president and stake Girls Camp director. I've been in Young Women since ... Young Women. I've been known as the Girls' Girl forever. So when I was released, I sort of lost my identity. I had to redefine who I was at church.

But my crisis didn't last long - almost as soon as we got back from Christmas vacation, I was called into The Bishop's Office and asked to sit in The Chair.

That's when you know your life's about to change.

I've been extended two callings - as our ward's Marriage and Family Relations teacher and as a CES Marriage Preparation teacher for two stakes. I have twenty and one hundred students, respectively. Now I'm known everywhere as The Marriage Lady.

And let me just say, I LOVE my callings.

It is a little known fact that I got my Bachelor's in Family Science. The goal was to get my CFLE license (Certified Family Life Education) and Masters degree, and go on to teach marriage prep and parenting through state extension programs. Things were all set to get both at Ohio State (much to the chagrin of my thoroughly Michigander family) when the opportunity came to go to Brazil. And that, as they say, is history.

I love the family. I originally set about to go into Family Therapy, but I was horrified to see all the sadness and tragedy that had already occured. I wanted to prevent it. I wanted to stop the problems from ever happening, avoiding all the pain that comes from, well, not being prepared.

You need a license to fish or dig a hole in your backyard, but ANYONE can get married or pregnant. And starry-eyed couples spend exponentially more time preparing for the WEDDING than they do for the MARRIAGE. I ache to teach people HOW to be married - happily.

But I never got to fulfill my dream of teaching others. Instead, for the past seven years, I've been teaching myself.

And this is what I know:

• There is no prince. There is no princess. There's just two human beings, trying to be happy.
• If you hear a couple claim that they never disagree, it means that they're either lying or one is completely dominating the other.
• There is rarely a "right" or "wrong" way of doing anything. Just different. This is a tough one for people to get - especially with money. The husband wants to spend money on the car and the wife wants to buy the kids' clothes. Who is right? NO ONE. They are just different areas to spend on. The only wrong way is to disagree.
• Everything is fixable. Everything. Some problems are astronomically harder to fix, but that's what the Atonement is all about. Fixing the unfixable.
• Never try to change the other. Change yourself first and foremost.
• Never pray to marry the one you love. Pray to love the one you marry. If He can part the Red Sea, He can change your heart.
• Look for the good. You always, always find what you're looking for - especially faults.
• Communication is crucial. But before you can communicate your wants and needs, you need to know yourself. You need to know HOW you want to be loved - and how the other wants to be loved.
• Sex is important. Yes, I just said that.
• No one is a mind reader. I know women want the men to "just know" what they want. Guess what. THEY DON'T HAVE A CLUE UNLESS WE TELL THEM, SO HELP THEM OUT ALREADY.
• You have to be unified in everything. Remember the egg. When hot water comes (and it WILL come), if you don't break the shell open, the egg will harden - and separate. Never more will the white and yolk become one. But if you break the egg open and unify - voila! The hot water (the trials and difficulties that EVERYONE passes) will solidify your relationship - and never again can you be separated.
• Be friends. Have common interests and do things together. You must must MUST date - alone, without the kids. You need time to talk, too. My Man and I have a Sunday Session every Sunday at 9:00. That time is sacred. We have a notebook with our agendas in it - after a prayer, we discuss, in order: 1) spiritual experiences that week, 2) us - our relationship, 3) the kids, individually, 4) finances/budget, 5) any calendar items that week, including Family Home Evening, and 6) callings/work/house stuff. It is often my favorite time of the week.
• A covenant marriage includes three people - man, wife, and the Lord. Even when one spouse falters - or even both - the Lord is still capable and willing to carry the load. Basing marriage on the foundation of the Savior's love is the surest way to find joy.
• Only in celestial marriage can we really experience the true pinnacle of happiness. I know it. I've felt it. I have it.

I hope you each have a Valentine that you love as desperately as I do mine.

An Announcement

In Biblical times, disciples of Christ gave themselves over to "much fasting and prayer." In our time, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (which we believe is Christ's original church restored) preaches the same thing.

The first Sunday of every month is fast Sunday. We refrain from eating and drinking for 24 hours - praying and studying the whole time. ("Fasting without prayer is just a diet.") We fast with purpose - some for more faith, some for an answer to a prayer, some for strength and some for miracles. It is a personal and sacred experience. Money that would have been used for those meals is donated to the church's fund for the needy.

I have not been able to do a "real fast" in a long time. For obvious reasons, pregnant and nursing mothers cannot go 24 hours without eating. And I've been pregnant or nursing for ... well, five years. (HOLY. CRAP.)

Instead, I choose to refrain from other things - usually sugar or books. (Those are both really, really hard for me.) I generally go longer than 24 hours to really feel the sacrifice.

This time I will be fasting from blogging - starting right now til Monday. It will be hard, since I'm rawther addicted. Ahem.

But I need the Lord's help to make a very important decision for our family's future. I need the extra strength, and every time I get the urge to click the enticing "blogger.com," I will kneel down and plead for direction. (I'll probably get that urge often. It'll be a good reminder.)

Any prayers would be appreciated.

See ya Monday -

Little Prince's miracle

Today we woke to brilliant Brazilian sunshine. The kids wore (dress) shorts and sandals to church and still felt the heat. I wore my shortest possible skirt and still sweat. But three hours later, the final hymn closed with a BOOM of a South American monsoon.

Two hundred people stood in the foyer, staring open mouthed at the downpour. Of these 200, maybe 10 have cars. We own two of them.

And the rides began.

Men ran out in shirt and tie, giggling and car keys at the ready. The rest stood waiting for their turn, talking and waxing eloquent on how long the rain would last. Pretty soon the kids were antsy and I was hungry.

Now, our ward boundaries are quite extensive. There are some members who walk almost an hour to get to church on Sunday (and every meeting in between.) We're talkin' a twenty minute drive to some places - one way.

I looked around me. There were pregnant women. Families with double the amount of children I have. Lots with inadequate shoes. And they live far. FAR. While my house is a mere twenty minute walk from the chapel.

So we took off.

I packed Ouro Branco and Mr. Squishy rather sloppily in the stroller - leaving the carseat for My Man to bring home later. I took Little Prince aside and explained to him that other people needed the car much more than we did, so we would take advantage of our blessedly healthy bodies and walk home.

He took one look at the rain and said, "Mom? Let's say a prayer first."

So LP prayed.

"Dear Heavenly Father. Jesus, we need to borrow our car to other people who live very far away. We are going to walk home because we live close. Will you please stop the rain so we won't get wet? You can let it rain when we're home. Thanks. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."

And within minutes, the rain stopped.

STOPPED. He didn't seem surprised.

We walked all the way home in blessed sunshine - just a little window in the clouds, shining down on us.

Friends, miracles really do happen. Sometimes it just takes the faith of a child.

Scripture time at our house

"SCRIPTURE POWER!!!! KEEPS ME SAFE FROM SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!!"

Ouro Branco: No bed! PLAY!
Little Prince: Moooo-oooom! I'm not done with my Transformer!
Me: Yes, it's time for scripture power! Yeah! Let's sit down, everybody ....
OB: No bed! PLAY!
LP: It's my turn to sit on your lap, Mommy.
Me: You can both sit in my lap. Yeah! Scripture time!
OB: My turn! My turn!
LP: MY TURN!
OB: No bed! PLAY!
Me: Sit down. We're going to feel the Spirit.

"SCRIPTURE POWER!!! IT'S THE POWER TO WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!!"

Me: So. The disciples were praying and fasting and suddenly - whoosh! - Jesus appeared. Isn't that amazing?!
LP: No, he came in the door.
Me: No, he just appeared. Like magic! It was a miracle.
LP: Mom, he had to use the door.
OB: No bed! PLAY!
Me: No, I promise, he just appeared just like that. Whoosh!
LP: Mom, he can't do that. He used the door.
Me: Moving on .... so Jesus came in the door and blessed them. Stop scratching me, LP.
LP: But I can't SEE!
OB: My turn see! No bed! PLAY!

"SCRIPTURE POWER!!!! EVERY DAY I NEED!!!!"

Me: Then the disciples asked what they should call the church. Do you know what the church is called?
LP: Can I bring the monkey to bed with me?
OB: MY MONKEY! NO BED! PLAY!
Me: You know that's OB's monkey.
OB: MY MONKEY! MY MONKEY!
LP: Well who am I supposed to sleep with then?
Me: You have the kitty-cat. And the church is named after Jesus. We're the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
OB: Jesus?
Me: Yes! Jesus!
OB: Jesus DARK?
Me: No, it wasn't dark.
OB: No dark. No like.
LP: (whispered) It was daaaaaaaaaaaark, OB. Veeeeeeeeeery daaaaaaaaaaaark.
OB: NO DARK!
Me: It wasn't dark. Amen.
LP: I GOT THE MONKEY! HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAAA!
OB: NO BED! PLAY!

"SCRIPTURE POWER!!!! THE POWER THAT I GET EACH TIME I REEEEEEEEEEEAD!!!"

This one's a toughie

What would you do if you made 100 times more money than everyone around you?

Would you get new friends? Upgrade them, so to say? Continue on as business as usual - act like there's no difference and blithely ignore your friend's neccessities? Or would you give extravagant gifts, subconciously trying to elevate everyone else?

And how do you think your current social circle would treat you? The same? Or would they feel funny, suddenly uncomfortable with your very prescence - let alone accepting presents or acts of service? Or perhaps the opposite - suddenly mere acquantainces become your best friends, appearing out of the woodwork asking for money "because you can afford it."

This is what I live with every day.

We are a thoroughly middle class American family. But here, we're millionaires.

There is a lady in our ward - we'll call her Maria, because she's Brazilian and they're all called Maria Something. Actually, you've heard of her. So Maria was just recently baptized in October. This past Wednesday night her heavily drugged husband held her and her three children hostage at knife-point. He beat them up, destroyed the house, and tried to rape Maria's fifteen-year-old daughter. He finally fell asleep about 4:30AM and they ran away. He's now on the lam.

And all four are now staying at our house.

I want to give this woman the world. I started small - steak and potatoes last night, plus rice (because you have to feed Brazilians rice at every meal or they'll DIE) and broccoli. They'd never even seen broccoli before and wouldn't touch it. I tried to make up for it by breaking out the ice cream and we rocked out on Guitar Hero as well. We played in the pool. We brought out the train set and chocolate milk for their four-year-old boy and talked soccer with the twelve-year-old boy. We tried to do everything thinkable and unthinkable to make them forget their troubles for a few short hours and feel just a teeny bit at home.

But they were so uncomfortable that it made me uncomfortable.

Maria wouldn't let her children touch anything. Play with anything. Have seconds of anything. All she would talk about is not wanting to be a burden and wanting to leave as soon as possible. She ooooohed and aaaaawed over the monstrosity that is my house (compared to hers anyway - her whole house would fit in my kitchen) and hypothesized about my electricity bill. (She has two lightbulbs in the whole house. When she can afford it.) She made me feel like having money is a sin.

I wanted to ... apologize for the fact that we're wealthy. I feel like I need to prove to everyone, over and over again, that I'm still a normal human being. That just because I know where my next meal is coming from doesn't mean I don't have problems. Or feelings. Or that I'm any different than the next Jane. (Or Maria.) But truth is, people look at me and think I am female dog. (Ahem.)

The truth is, I know I'm not better than she is in any way. We're sisters, of absolutely equal value in the eyes of the Lord. And there's no way I'm letting any sister of mine get killed in the middle of the night - or starve. I want to strip my house and give it to her in a pretty box. And not think anything of it. Because that's what being a fellow human being is all about.

But she doesn't think of me as a human being.

Observations of a Sunday

Just read a blog over at a new find about expectations. My #1 Article of Desperation is as follows: We Believe in Lowering Any and All Expectations During Sacrament Meeting. It is just not reasonable to expect my recovering-from-bronchitis-two-year-old to behave for an hour and ten minute meeting. In an overcrowded, stuffy room. Right before lunchtime. On a Daylight Savings day. (We sprung forward!)

We had to sit in time-out THREE TIMES in the Valiant A classroom. Luckily they have cute decorations to distract me as I frantically hummed "I'm Trying to be Like Jesus" to calm myself down. It completely broke my heart to see my sweet, unfailingly cheerful towhead SAD. Ouro Branco doesn't merely jut out his lower lip - he pouts his entire chin. In the words of the great Napoleon Dynamite, he didn't FEEL GOOOOOD.

I struggle with myself. I know it's asking too much for him to sit with arms folded and contemplate the Atonement. In his mood today, it was too much for him to just sit. He was throwing toys, hitting, screaming, the whole shebang. I can't ALLOW it, but somehow I felt bad punishing him when I knew he couldn't possibly be obedient. It's like putting a crying 6-month-old in time out. There's no point. He was past learning today. I learned later that he didn't even go to nursery. Sat on My Man's lap while he did priesthood interviews.

For the past, oh, four years since I've received my Mommy License, I've pined for an uplifting sacrament meeting. One where I can sing all the hymn's verses without dictating whose turn it is for the red Hot Wheels car. Pray with my eyes shut. Listen to speakers - and maybe even take notes. Take the sacrament with my thoughts centered on Christ - not the wet willy Little Prince is giving me.

But I've decided to change my perspective on things. If I don't EXPECT to be uplifted, I won't be disappointed when it doesn't happen, right? I will no longer refer to sacrament meeting as such. It will henceforth be known as Principles of Mommydom. I will use that hour to teach my children reverence - even if the lesson takes place on the hard chairs of the Valiant A classroom.

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We had three baptisms yesterday. (Three last week and THIRTEEN the week before.) Guess who got baptized? Mini-Felicity's parents. They also got married yesterday.

Sidenote: Almost no one gets married in this blessed country o' mine. It's too expensive and getting a divorce is double the price - and takes months to do. Most people just live together, though they call each other husband and wife. I've seen couples be together for twenty years and have four or five kids before getting married.

So anywhoo, mini-Felicity's parents got hitched yesterday. And Steve and I were their "padrinhos" - essentially maid-of-honor and best man. You HAVE to read the link to understand why this is thoroughly, hilariously ironic.

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I love my young women. I have 22 girls and 4 investigators who come to everything.

I have girls who have been raped - one by her father. I have girls who have been horribly abused by their parents - physically and emotionally. I have girls who've done drugs, drank, smoked, and one who lost her virginity at thirteen. I have girls who have cut themselves in depression. Run away. Girls with drunk fathers or prostitute mothers. I have a girl whose step-father tried to commit suicide. (I helped clean up the blood afterwards.) Fifteen year olds whose mothers are 29.

But the gospel really - truly - changes people. I have the most beautiful girls in the world. Their spirits shine out their eyes, giving me faith in the changing, cleansing power of the Atonement and hope in the rising generation. I am a witness to the fact that they are Chosen in every sense of the word.

Stake Dance of the Year

So, so proud. It was our ward's turn to decorate the stake dance this past Saturday. And we did a dang nice job, if I do say so myself. We also had a record turnout; only five girls were missing from our ward. (Three are missing from the picture)




Decorating on a dime: making palm trees using trash buckets, leaves, broomsticks and paper. We spent R$6 TOTAL.
Our cabana - we sold ice cream to raise money for camp.

Our extremely cheesy (but nonetheless popular) photo op.

Mood-setters - I painted them!

We even got bamboo to do the limbo.

We. Totally. Rock.

Fellowshipping

Picking a bench during church is of utmost importance. It can make or break the meeting - it's a science. You can't sit close to any light switches, fire extinguishers, or windows. Though windows are good for distractions (Wow! Just look at that neat car in the parking lot!), your beloveds may decide to throw things out of them, to the general entertainment of everyone sitting behind you.

You also can't sit near any one of your beloveds' friends. The result is dragging them out from under the bench by the seat of their nicely-pressed pants. Ain't nobody like to scrub stains outta dem suits.

You also have to be within My Man's view from the pulpit, or he complains in a rather endearing fashion. Of course, this also has its problems sometimes. (DADDY!!! I want to sit with DAAAA-DDY!!!!!)

So I thought I'd found the perfect bench: the third row back in the middle front section. We're usually surrounded by older folks who somehow think Da Boyz's antics are adorable. Bless them. I usually get a young woman - Jennifer - to help me out, and she blocks one escape route, while Mr. Squishy's stroller blocks the other. These strategies have limited the crises to only one or two a meeting.

But last Sunday.

A new family - investigators - sat behind us, apparently oblivious to the fact that that bench BELONGS TO someone else. Oh, well - they're new, they're forgiven. They consisted of a middle-age-ish woman, her husband (who I found out later is 24 - scandal!), and two teenagers (including a young women who is getting baptized today. Yeah!)

I didn't notice the very sweet-looking girl with to-die-for curls cascading down her back. She looked like a five-year-old Keri Russell from Felicity.

I attempted to engage in a quick "hello, how are you" but was interrupted by My Man stepping up to the pulpit. I flashed an apologetic smile and turned back around. It was not encouraging that no one smiled back at me. Their blank expressions didn't change in the slightest.

An opening-song-and-prayer later, I felt a very flirtatious little 'nudge' near my feet. I look down to find myself face-to-face with mini-Felicity.

"Can I have a toy?" she asks with all the mischieviousness her face allows her.

I give her a couple finger puppets and a grin and she backed away, appeased. For about two minutes. Then she half jumps over the back of our bench and rips a book away from Ouro Branco's hands. Obviously, he was not pleased.

For the next forty-five minutes, it was all out war. The best part was when Little Prince is huddled in a corner, hunched over his remaining toys, daring mini-Felicity to even THINK about taking them, Ouro Branco is crying about a recently confiscated toy and wants ME to comfort him, not Jennifer, and I'm trying to nurse a hysteric Mr. Squishy while Demon Child tries to peek under the nursing blanket and simultaneously antagonize my other two.

At this point, I gave a slightly frantic, very pleading, eyebrow raised, help-me-for-the-love-of-all-that-is-holy smile at mini-Felicity's parents.

What I got in return was a tired-eyed, pursed-lips GLARE. The mom half-heartedly reprimended, "Leave them alone," but the dad batted her hands back and said, "Let the kid play!"

No words.

But I was sooooo good, people, I really was. I just repeated to myself over and over again that if I was entertaining their daughter, at least they'd be able to listen to the speakers and feel the Spirit. (Even though *I* had no idea what the talks were about - much less who SPOKE.) They were a new family, attending church for the first time, and should be given every benefit of the doubt conceivable.

So at the end of sacrament meeting, I turned around to make friends. I figured we'd gotten off to a bad start and it was up to me to start things over - maybe invite them over to dinner or something. I cast around in my mind for a good converstation starter and landed on mini-Felicity.

"Your daughter has just about the prettiest hair I've ever seen!" Very sweet, indulging smile.

Cold look from the dad. "He's a boy." Turns on his heel and stomps out.

Oops. Strike three.

Reliving your childhood is a messy process

I cried the first time I read Little Prince "Where the Wild Things Are." I can't sing Ouro Branco the Beatles' "I Will" song without tearing up. Even listening to My Man carry the two of them around like 'a sack o' potatoes' is bound to get me emotional.

They were all intrinsic parts of my childhood.

Another integral part of who I am (in other words, where The Blame lies), was the Brite tapes. They have a whole bunch of products, guaranteed to turn your child into a perfect human being through subliminal messaging and blatant brainwashing. I loved 'em. There's the Safety Kids, who sing and dance their way through avoiding strangers, memorizing phone numbers, what to do if you're lost, etc. There's the Standin' Tall series, which lectures 12 values (such as obedience, work, forgiveness, happiness, and so and so forth) through story-telling and more song and dance. (And if anyone has an extra $149.95, I want the whole set.) There's tapes about loving your family, a whole CD on patriotism, learning to read, and then we've got

It's about Brawny and Shiny Brite, the unstoppable duo out to battle King Sugar, Ms. Grease and Sir Salty with the help of The Big Four (Meat, Milk, Grain, and Fruits and Veggies.) My bestest mommy got me the book and CD (along with the Safety Kids series!) and I've been dying to listen to it. We went to Sao Paulo today, and I decided to take advantage of the fact that my kids couldn't run away for a solid two hours.

People, I cried. I teared up during the Fruit and Veggie rap, but they spilled over during "Junk Food Junkie." AND I DON'T KNOW WHY. It's not like these songs are tear-jerkers, you know?

I think it must be a combination of things. Anything from my early years is a deep emotional tug for me. Plus also I was listening to how "you can't build a body on junk, you're treating it cruuuuuuuuuel" and remembering how many cookies I ate this week.

But I think the numero uno reason is for my own kids.

HOW CAN I RAISE THEM RIGHT?!?!?!!?

I have a college degree in Family Life Education. I am qualified to teach parenting, marriage prep and dealing with family struggles and finances. Truly, it's pre-therapy - educational psychology. BEFORE the problem hits. I have read I-don't-know-how-many-books on how to teach responsibility, how to discipline effectively, how to fill the hours without television. And more.

But none of it teaches you how to REALLY do this job.

I want the world for my children. I want them to grow up to be upright, moral citizens who love me and love their countr(ies), who live 'after the manner of happiness' and enjoy the fulness of God's blessings. I want them to be honest workers - HARD workers. I want them to be grateful. I want them to be forgiving. I want them to be loving and loved, dependable and obedient, clean and courageous.

HOW DO I DO THAT?

I know, I know. I have to be an example. I have to instill in them lasting testimonies. I have to point them to The Source - the TRUE maker of people. I have to do my best, and then hope for the best.

But HOW?

Frankly, by doing everything I can think of. And spending too much money on character-buildings CDs and books.

Shoot, every little bit helps.

Rite of Passage

My son told me he hated me today. I told him to brush his teeth and he said he didn't want to, cuz he hated me.

Of course, the effect was slightly ruined by the fact that he was grinning and hugging me at the same time. Still, it kinda stung. We had a short-but-sweet talk about how "we don't use that word in our family." (I've finally become my mother.) We might get angry, and that's okay - but we still love each other.

I think every kid goes through an "I hate my parents" phase - every teenager, certainly. It definitely happened to me; I remember feeling so misunderstood and under appreciated and ALLLL ALOOOOONE IN THE WOOOOORLD right about when I hit teenagedom. Sleepovers consisted of who-has-the-worst-parents competitions. (I rarely won, and it irked.) Hating your parents was ... cool. Luckily, I got over it fairly quickly and now look back on those years with amusement. I am equally lucky that my parents didn't take it personally.

However, I've always had a never-admitted-even-to-myself dream that my kids WON'T go through that phase. Ha.

The truth is, there aren't any perfect parents and there aren't any perfect kids. Once we admit that to ourselves, it's liberating.

Making sure the dishes are done EVERY night before you go to bed is unrealistic.

There will be nights where you don't even remember you forgot to read your scriptures.

Family prayers are not always going to be moments of serenity and peace, inviting the Spirit to bless your home once more. Sometimes it's good enough if your two-year-old just folds his arms through "Dear Heavenly Father ...."

Visiting teaching ALL your sisters EVERY month is amazing. Maybe one day I'll get there, but it's not today.

Remember that time in the temple you promised never to yell at your kids ever again? Keep the dream alive, sister.

Your husband may be the love of your life, but it's perfectly normal to get mad when he leaves his socks all over the house. Again.

Never roll your eyes at the pregnant lady with three kids throwing temper tantrums in the grocery store. One day, it will be you. Trust me.

Don't sweat it when your neighbor's kid crawls, walks, cuts his teeth, talks, potty trains, reads, and conducts a symphony orchestra before your kid does. They'll eventually hate their parents too.

We are, in essence, on this earth to mess up. We have already been saved - we CANNOT save ourselves. We WILL mess up. That's why Christ's Atonement is so beautiful, so beyond comprehension. Because despite it all - despite our innate humanity - we CAN be perfect. Not by any act of our own - only through a broken heart and a contrite spirit. Only through our Redeemer's infinite sacrifice can we truly "do it all." Because we will never, ever, do it otherwise. We need to do our best - our absolute, blood-sweat-tears best - and let Him take over. Don't beat yourself up if your best isn't as good as someone else's. Be grateful that He can save you that much more. ;o)

And Mom? Dad? I love you.

It is really late

So my mom and sister have been here for a couple weeks and we've been crazy-busy doing ... nothing. It's a beautiful thing.

I am currently killing time (which is so much worse than plain ole WASTING time) because Steve left for the States today and I don't want to go to bed. Even though I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. (I am outright unhealthy when he's not here - I eat way too much chocolate and don't get enough sleep.)

SO - it occurred to me that I could blog! Hey! That's so much more productive than cruising celebrity websites to catch up on the latest gossip - which I would never do, of course.

Admittedly, I don't really have much to blog about. Let's check out my computer's file to see if I've got any cool pictures to share.....

Hmm. Apparently I haven't transferred pics from the camera to the computer in a while. (Not for lack of TAKING of them.) Gotta work on that one.

So what should I talk about? The possibilities are endless. But perhaps just random stuff is more conducive to my current state of mind - or lack thereof. So let's go.

* I just checked my friend Reva's website and she related the most horrific story I can possibly imagine. The hard drive with ALL of her pictures - everything since her wedding - has died. Resurrection costs total $700 and I feel her pain. Deeply. Every time I turn on the computer I hold my breath until I know for sure it hasn't died during the night. This is why I scrapbook. And even then I have nightmares that they'll be victims of a natural disaster or an insane maniac thief with a penchant for other people's family photos.

* This reminds me. All of my home DVDs no longer work. I was recently told that home DVDs only last three years or so. WHAT KIND OF CONSPIRACY IS THIS?!?!?? PEOPLE'S MEMORIES ARE NOT SUBJECT TO TECHNOLOGY BLUNDERS!!! SO GET WORKING, SCIENCE! INVENT SOMETHING THAT WILL ALLOW ME TO WATCH ENDLESS HOURS OF MY CHILDREN ROCKING BACK AND FORTH ON THEIR KNEES, WAITING FOR THEM TO CRAWL! *I* LOVE IT, IF NO ONE ELSE DOES!!!

* What kind of price would you put on memories, anyway? This reminds me. So the other night Jordan decided to be wide awake at midnight and my mom and Steve were both not feeling good, so I took the late shift. We got comfy on the couch and flipped channels. I settled on a half-way-through "50 First Dates" with Adam Sandler and Drew Berrymore. Frankly, I don't like either one of them, but choices were slim at midnight on a Wednesday night. And it turned out to be THE sweetest little love story. She suffers from short term memory loss - she has retained all of her old memories up to the day of her car accident, but any memories accrued during the day she loses that night. So every morning she has to be informed that she was in a car accident, that it was years ago, and all the events that have happened since then. Adam Sandler's character has to make her fall in love with him every day. Everyone thinks he's nuts; she can't remember him from one day to the next. But he just says that there's no one else he wants to spend his time with - he loves her. I actually cried at the end. I could go into the ending, but it would spoil it and take too long.

It really got me thinking, though, you know? I can't imagine being in love with someone who doesn't remember you - indeed, having years of memories that they don't. But you know what? Even if Steve didn't have a clue who I was, I'd never leave his side. He's my everything. Like the movie said, there's frankly no one else I'd rather spend my time with. Okay, I'll stop before I get toooo mushy and risk losing readers. ;o)

*I will say, though, that even edited for TV, I was deeply disappointed in a couple of completely unneccessary foul-mouthed characters and raunchy character traits. Why ruin a perfectly sweet plot? I ask you.

* Perhaps one more recent occurrence before I go read Harry Potter until I pass out. This is of a much more serious nature.

Last Sunday, the stepfather of one of my young women tried to kill himself. He slit his wrists while we were at morning church. I was on the phone all afternoon, it seemed, and spent all evening letting Jennifer cry on my shoulder. Then one of my counselors, the Relief Society president and I went to the house to clean up all the blood late that night. I've never been one for horror movies, and now I know why. That scene will haunt me for the rest of my life. I will spare you details.

He's okay now - he got out of the hospital on Friday and is now undergoing treatment for depression. Jennifer is also doing amazingly well. And her mom? Her mom, Maria, is getting baptized.

This is nothing short of a miracle.

Jennifer's best friend, Dayse, had to work on Maria for TWO YEARS before she let Jennifer go to church. Another two years passed before Maria let Jennifer get baptized. Maria is a devout Catholic - a wonderful woman - but rather anti-Mormon. And now she's getting baptized herself.

I talked to her for a long time today, crying and hugging. At one point I expressed concern that her husband may not approve and now may not be the best time to rock the familial waters. But she just looked me in the eye and said, "but it's true, isn't it?"

It is. It really is. I. Am. Happy.

A highly church-y post

"Antes de tudo," or before everything, I must say that part of the reason I haven't blogged these past few days is because the cord I use to download pictures to the computer has play dough in it. Well, HAD play dough in it is more correct - I cleaned it out. But my computer tells me that it still does not recognize the device. Grrrrrrrrrrr. Very aggravating, as I have many things to say that I WANT to be accompanied by pictures. Plus I want y'all to see how cute Jordan is.

Grrrrrrr.

But today I am blogging without visual imagery because I had an experience today I'd like to share with you.

As you know, I have two rather demanding callings in our church. I am Young Women's president of 20 very TIME-CONSUMING girls (if I do it right!) as well as stake camp director (which takes up an incredible amount of time YEAR ROUND). Not to mention mother-of-three, visiting teacher (which I take extremely seriously - I have three semi-actives who need a lot of help), and the dreaded BISHOP'S WIFE.

So. I ... have been having a hard time of late. Especially with the YW prez. I've been feeling very ... spent. Tired. DONE. Like I have nothing else to offer. I feel that I've done a good job til now - helped give birth to a lot of testimonies and started all the programs - mutual, class presidencies, seminary, etc. , which were all non-existent before I came. We've split into the three separate classes, each with their own teacher (we're the only ones in the stake that do that!) and I've done a TON of leadership training. It's been ... exhausting. And I've just been feeling lately that it was time for someone else to take the lead. I've been running on empty for a month or two now. I've been stressed out to the max - snapping at the kids continually and ornery to everyone else. Tired.

So I did what I've never done before - I asked to be released. That's hard to do when your husband is your bishop.

I asked him several weeks ago and he told me he'd pray about it. And I've been continually on him since then (yes, I nagged.) But he kept telling me that he didn't feel like it was time yet.

I cried. I prayed. I begged. I explained. I told him I was TIRED, gall darn it, and I wanted a BREAK. I didn't think the Lord wanted all this for me. I thought the Lord would know better than to ask so much of one person. I played the "mother card," too. I haven't been feeling like the best mommy of late, mostly because I'm so stressed out. I'm always rushing to do visits or go to meetings or trainings and I never feel like I have sufficient time with my kids. I want to BE HOME and be the best mommy I can be. It's especially hard with trying to coordinate my meetings with Steve's. Some weekends we just play "pass the kids" like some insane game of hot-potato.

So yesterday Steve and I had a long talk. I laid it all out there for him. Cried some more. And being the wonderful man that he is, he listened and comforted and understood. We agreed to fast about it together and ask the Lord if He really wanted me to stay in my callings.

Friends, He does.

I didn't go to church today (I wanted Jordan to have at least one more week at home before taking him out in public), but sent my other three men. Steve came home with a bounce in his step and told me he received an answer. My stomach just DROPPED, I was so nervous. But before he told me what it was, he asked me to pray.

As soon as I opened my prayer, I was so overwhelmed with the Spirit that I had difficulty speaking. I KNEW right then that Steve's answer wasn't Steve's - it was from my Heavenly Father. I had utmost faith that whatever he was about to say was directly from the Lord.

And then Steve proceeded to tell me that I AM the Young Women's president - that I still had much to give. He reminded me of Acts 5 - how Paul rejoiced in his sufferings for the Savior. Also in Alma - that only AFTER he was physically and spiritually exhausted did he receive his greatest missionary miracles.

I know that this is a highly personal experience to post on the internet. But I also know that everyone who reads my blog is my nearest and dearest - and I believe that what I say may help some of you. I also know that this post may seem unremarkable to you - frankly, nothing's changed. But the way I FEEL about it has.

Because it all comes down to this. Are we doing what the Lord wants us to do? That's really the biggest question. Do we KNOW what He thinks of us? I think all of us have the right and the obligation to ask Him whether He is satisfied with our "callings" - in church, as spouses and parents, as friends and family members, in our jobs and in our communities. Is He happy with what we're doing? And most of all - do we know for ourselves that this is where He wants us to be? Because it doesn't matter what He asks you to do - whether it's to be somewhere visible and "important" or the humblest, quietest place on earth. Just as long as you know that He sent you there - and that you do your best.