Choosing Your Miracles

I've been thinking a lot about miracles.  I have heard of a lot of people lately who have decided that there is no God because they have never witnessed a miracle in  their lives, or they have never been part of spiritual events in their lives.

I have two things to say to that: one, yes you have; and two, it doesn't matter whether you have or you haven't, because even if you have, a miracle, as we have come to define it, does not a testimony make.

Too many people define miracles as something spectacular: bringing the dead back to life, building a boat in order to save the world's animals in a flood, or seeing angels.  While all of these have literally happened in the history of the world, and all of these are examples of miracles, I think all too often we tend to think these types are the only miracles that count as a miracle (did that sentence make sense?....yes.  It did).

A miracle, as defined by the LDS Church, is "An extraordinary event caused by the power of God. Miracles are an important element in the work of Jesus Christ. They include healings, restoring the dead to life, and resurrection. Miracles are a part of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Faith is necessary in order for miracles to be manifested." I like this definition for a couple of reasons.  First, it is specific.  Second, it is general.   Third, it tells you exactly how to have miracles work in your life.  I know, sounds like I just contradicted myself.  But I didn't.  Let me explain.

This definition is very specific in that it lists things like healing, restoration of life, and resurrections, which are very miraculous.  But the first sentence of that definition, "an extraordinary event caused by the power of God," is very general.  What kind of event?  What exactly does extraordinary mean?  With this degree of generalities, almost anything, depending on the person, can be a miracle. Fantastic, I say.

For example, I think the fact that my body has the capability to make a baby from scratch is pretty dang miraculous.  In fact, if you have ever made a baby, helped make a baby, or have been a baby, then you have been witness to a miracle--the Power of God bringing to pass an extraordinary event-- in your life.  I think that's everybody.

No amount of science in the world can convince me that a cosmic bang made it possible for me to sit around eating donuts while my body makes a baby all by itself (after the initial conception, of course).  Because, guess what.  I have no idea how all that happens.  My body just knows how to do it, and at the end, a perfect little human being pops out of me, and then they grow up and walk and talk and everything.  Miracle.

And I am sorry, but a brain that can remember the words to every song I have ever learned since I was like, four, as well as have the entire script of Grease floating around in there cannot have been an accident.  The fact that I still know every word to "Lost in Your Eyes" by Debbie Gibson after 25 years?  Miracle.

When you have decided that you need to move, but you have no home to move to, no way to buy a new home, and apparently no way to sell your current home, and then, all of a sudden, it's sold without even listing it on the market?  Miracle.

Now, you might be thinking, these are not miracles.  These are just happy accidents, feats of science that can't be explained (hello, extraordinary event, anyone?), not the power of God.  Okay.  I am not going to convince you otherwise, and you are not going to convince me otherwise, and we will just agree to disagree. If this is you, you can stop reading.  It won't hurt my feelings.  Promise.  (Just remember, no meanies in the comments!)

It is at this point that I move on to what I said earlier: a miracle does not a testimony make.  I say this because if you choose not to see a birth of your child (or your own birth, hello) as a miracle, then you are simply choosing to ignore miracles.  You cannot build a testimony on what you refuse to see.  Even if you did witness something supernatural, like the rising of the dead, or an angel, it still will not convince you of the Power of God because you choose to not see the power of God at work in your life.

For example, I have always been fascinated by Laman and Lemuel in the Book of Mormon.  For anyone who is not familiar with the story, I will refer you to here and you can watch the stories and look at the pictures.  Laman and Lemuel were witnesses to many BIG miracles, the kind that most of us don't see much of.  Namely,

• Laman and Lemuel witnessed Nephi retrieve the brass plates, a seemingly impossible feat.
• They were stopped by an angel when they were trying to beat up their little brother (yeah. They saw and ANGEL)
• They survived eight years wandering the harsh desert and survived (remember, they were little rich boys who weren't that outdoor savvy)
• They watched as their little broth made a bow and arrow and single-handidly feed the clan.
• They were led by a magic little ball that somehow told them where to go.
• They built a boat with their little brother.  Oh, wait.  First, their little brother made tools to make a boat, then he shocked them, like with an electric current or something powerful like that, and only then did they help build a boat.
• They survived a typhoon or hurricane or some sort of major sea storm because their little brother prayed the storm away.
• They landed in a land that had a lot of riches and plenty.

That's a lot of miracles for one life, and these are the types of miracles that miracle-seeker dreams are made of.  I mean, we're talking angels, magic compasses, electric shocks, the works.  And, now this is why I say you don't need a miracle to believe in a God: They still rebelled from God, from the prophet (who happened to be their father) and turned away from the truth of the Gospel. They chose not to build their testimony on the evidence of the Power of God.  Nothing could have convinced them to believe, because they chose not to.

 All these miracles, and still they chose not to believe in the power of God.  That's why a miracle does not a testimony make (Now, I realize that in order to take this story as historically accurate, you would have to believe that Joseph Smith miraculously translated the Book of Mormon, and that it is a history of the Native people of North America, so this might not even be good evidence for you, which is sort of my point).

It's choosing to see the miracle, to look at the miracle that counts.  Notice the last sentence in the definition above, "Faith is necessary for miracles to be manifested."  I would like to point out that the word "manifested" means "to display or show."  It doesn't say if you don't have faith miracles won't happen.  It says if you don't have faith, you won't see the miracles. Basically, you can't demand a miracle in order to believe. That's backward thinking, that is.  You have to believe to see the miracle that already exists.

 In other words, you have to have faith.  You have to have faith to recognize a miracle for what it is, and to believe that miracle was worked by the power of God for you and your welfare.  

And that's the stickler every time: It's really up to you.  Having miracles worked on your behalf is going to happen whether you think so or not.  Look at the fact that you were born, or that you have kids who say clever things, or that you even live in a world where water exists.  Miracles, all of them, if you choose to see it that way.  It's recognizing the miracles that some people don't understand, or refuse to understand.  You can choose to see it, or you can choose not to see it.  It's up to you.  

A testimony in the Power of God is a choice.  

I guess what I am trying to say is if you claim that you no longer believe in a God because you have never seen miracles worked in your life, I call BS on you.  You don't believe in God because it is easy to not believe in God, and it is hard to have faith. It is not the lack of miracles that have failed you, or the church that has failed you.  You have chosen to fail at faith.  (That sounds mean.  I'm sorry if it's mean.  I'm not intending to be mean.)

 I have never seen an angel, and I have never seen any body raised from the dead.  But I have had so many miracles worked in my life.  I have chosen to see the extraordinary events that evidence the existence of God.

I don't think I've seen so many miracles because I am any better than anyone else, or because I am more special.  I've seen so many miracles because I've looked for miracles, and I have faith that they will happen for me.  When you look for something, you usually find it. I choose to look for miracles, and I find them, everyday.

I have two children that I made basically from scratch, and I can't tell you how I did it.  This in and of itself is a miracle, but I was told that I would never have kids.  And they're here.  There are so many more, like the sale of my house, the way I met my husband, and the world around me. So many miracles.  They're small, granted.  They could be overlooked, if I wanted to overlook them.  But I don't, and they all add up to equal extraordinary.  

God has worked to make my life extraordinary.  God thinks I'm worth having an extraordinary life.  God thinks that you are worth having an extraordinary life.  It's a miracle.

Clarification and Some Thoughts

So on my last post, I had an interesting comment by a much loved one, and I have been thinking about it ever since.  With his permission, I'm going to post his texts, and then I am going to explain my thinking.  Okay.  I deleted the messages.  So I will paraphrase what he had to say.

Basically, my loved one said he was concerned with my statement that I am not an authority on Mormon Doctrine, his argument being that I shouldn't sell myself short, and that we all can be authorities because we understand the doctrine the best we know how.  Basically.  He actually made his point much better and with bigger words.

So, let me clarify what I meant, and then speak to the concern of the Loved One.  What I meant when I said I was not an authority was that this blog is not Official--meaning it hasn't passed through what we call correlation.  Correlation is where the Brethren (the Prophet and the 12 Apostles) review what is being taught and make sure it is accurate to the Official Doctrine of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  In other words, if I say something that contradicts what the Brethren in the leadership of the Church have said, past or present, or if I misuse or misunderstand scripture, or if I am faulty in my understanding of the LDS doctrine, then I ask that you defer to scripture or the leadership of the Church.  I am a human being with limited understanding and who makes mistakes.

Basically, I don't want someone taking what I have to say and being all, "See?  This Mormon clearly doesn't understand her own church's doctrine, blah, blah, blah." Because I don't understand all of it.  That is what this blog is about--coming to know and be aware on a deeper level what I believe, why I believe it, and to become closer to my Heavenly Father and Savior as I study His words and the words of His Prophets, both past and present.  If you desire to learn about The Church's official stand on....anything...then I urge you to visit LDS.org, or click on the picture of Christ on my sidebar.  That is where you will get the official word on everything.  This blog here?  This is how the Gospel works in my life, and any insights I might have.

Which leads me to my next point.  I believe what my earlier reader was concerned about was that I might not believe that I have the right to understand the Gospel on the level I desire, or that I am somehow insufficient and silly in what I have to say.  I am greatly touched by what he said to me, which was basically, "You're great.  You have a right to study and understand, and share what you understand, and you have the right to teach that understanding."  It felt good to get a shot in the arm like that, especially when this is something that's hard to write about sometimes.  And I want to clarify this: I am the authority in my life.  I am the authority on how the Gospel works in my life.  I might not understand everything and I might not live the Gospel perfectly.  But as I pray and strive to know more of God and His Plan for me, and as I feel moved to write these words and share my thoughts and feelings on this blog, I know that what I have to say and how I say it will be true for me.  And that's all this is--something that's true for me and my life.  And I have every right to teach what I know on that subject.

I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  I have a right, and some would argue, an obligation to share the Gospel.  I struggle meeting new people and talking to them about something so personal and  important in my life, but lately I have felt that I wasn't doing enough sharing, enough testifying to those around me.  I don't really know how how to do that on a "hey, how are you?  Wanna hear about the Gospel" type of interaction.  I'm weird and awkward and...yech.

But.

God gave us all gifts, and one of my gifts is that I can write (notice I said "write"not "type"), and another gift is that I can teach.  And I am quite good on both.  So.  I don't know who is going to read this ever, or what this will come to, if anything, but I am going to write and teach to my heart's content, and I am going to do my part in living my testimony.  Because I have a testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  It's shaky at times, sure.  I struggle a lot.  But it's there.  Sometimes it's big and sometimes it's small, but it's there.  And it's time it got some notice.

So.  I hope that clarified any thoughts for anyone.  If not, well...you're on your own, because that's the best I can do.

And Now for Something Happier...

Enough with that uber depressing bit of self-wallow.  So I've decided something.  I've decided I'm going to be a Scriptorian.  Without the education.  I'm going to be self taught.  Basically, I've decided I'm going to read all the scriptures and all the commentary on the scriptures I can find, and then I'm going to blog about it.  Because I think it would be peachy keen.  And it would keep this blog from being a serious downer, because let's face it: we all have hard times, and I have found in my little life that I always feel so much better after I read the scriptures.

 For example, I don't like that we don't have a lot of money.  I like to shop.  I'm not like a Shopaholic, or anything serious like that, I just really enjoy the alone time and trying on clothes and feeling new.  I don't feel exhilarated by finding a deal, I don't like making my own laundry soap or bath wash, I don't particularly like the veggies I get from Bountiful Baskets (Bok Choy?  Really?  When is a 3 year old going to eat anything called Bok Choy?), and I don't like cheap shoes.  Granted, sales are great.  I shop sales, but I don't get my jollies from it.  And I don't enjoy couponing.  I can't figure it out, because it's stupid for me to buy something I never use, simply because I can get .30 off two.  I know, I know, you fit your menu to the coupon.  I've heard.  Guess what?  I don't want to.

So.  I feel like this a lot, and it has a tendency to get me depressed, but then I read the scriptures.  There is a lot of good things about poor people in the scriptures.  "Blessed are the poor who are pure in heart" (D&C 56:18).  "...the poor and the meek shall inherit the earth" (D&C 88:17).  And that's not including the B of M, the Bible, and the Pearl of Great Price.  We poor people must be pretty great.  That's not to say that rich people aren't, because when poor people are righteous, they always get more money, and then comes the pride, and then the humbling, and then it starts all over again.

So I figure, I'm poor now, I'm trying really hard to be righteous, so, according to scripture (and history), I should be rich at some point in the future right?  And then, all I have to do when I hit that point is to make sure I give a lot of my money back to the poor and be even MORE righteous (because when much is given, much is required), and avoid that whole pride-humbling-riches-cycle thing.  And go shopping somewhere in there, because, as we all know, "men are that they might have joy" (2 Nephi 2:25), and shopping brings me joy.  Now, when I think of all that, I don't feel so bad, because, according to the scriptures, I'm pretty great because I'm poor.  And, according to the scriptures, I'm going to be rich someday.

That thought makes me happy, and I've decided that I would like to write weekly posts about my insights on the scriptures or Gospel principle I've been studying or whatever.

Now, I don't want everyone to think that I'm teaching doctrine here, or that I'm treating the scriptures irreverently, because I'm not.  I'm just having a little fun to keep my spirits up, and underneath all the joking, there is truth--both physical (money) and spiritual (faith).  And I believe that Heavenly Father wants my life to be joyful.  I don't think that money will make me happy,  but I do think that money will give me more options in my life, and alleviate a lot of stress.  So there you go.

My point here, though, is that scriptures and the Gospel help me choose to be happy.  So I have decided I'm going to blog about those happy moments as I strive to educate myself more on the doctrine.

I want to be perfectly clear, and read this a couple of times:  I am not an authority on Mormon Doctrine.  I'm not proposing here that everything I think, feel, or write on this blog is Mormon Doctrine.  This, quite simply, is going to be The Gospel According to Sarah, so take it for what it's worth--not a lot.

I love the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  I admit that the unique culture of Utah has its challenges, but it also has its rewards, and I'll probably write about both.  Therefore, if you choose to comment, I am going to lay out a couple of rules, and they apply to Mormons and Non-Mormons alike:

1.  No being mean.  Period.  I don't care if you're being mean to me or to another commenter.  No Meanies.  I'm serious.

2.  No Mormon Bashing.  I, being a Mormon, tend to like them and will defend them.  This is my blog, and I will say what I want.  If you want to Mormon Bash, do it on your own blog.

3.  Discussion, questions, challenges, and counter points are encouraged.  However, I would ask that you phrase your questions in a way that will facilitate discussion, not defensive arguments.

4.  I have the right to delete your comments.  These posts are meant to be uplifting and light-hearted, and I WILL NOT tolerate meanies.

5.  I have a sense of humor, and sometimes that comes across when I analyze scripture (as seen above). I am not trying to be flippant or blasphemous or disrespectful.  I'm just trying to be me.  So, if your comments are to tell me that I'm not righteous enough, I'm not interested.  Don't waste your time.  I'll delete you.

So.  I don't really think anything I have to say will be important enough for my posts to be a big deal or whatever, and I'm pretty sure that everyone who reads my blog won't need these rules--I don't know any meanies.  I'm just laying them out there.

I don't really have a plan for what I'm going to read, or when I'm going to read it, but I hope to make it a weekly post, so tune in.  Maybe in the future, I will have some sort of syllabus.  Until then, remember: it's okay to be poor.  Just keep working hard and being righteous so that someday you will be rich.

P.S.  Because of my new feature, I will start moderating comments, just to keep everyone from being a Meanie.

It's One of Those

One of those posts that fly in the face of every Mormon Mommy Blog stereotype.  Here's a list of things that sort of piss me off.

• Daisy, my beautiful 15 month old daughter, whines. Constantly.  I'm working really hard to get her to learn some words, but part of me hopes she doesn't talk.  Because then she would turn into Alice, who never stops talking.
• Alice never stops talking
• Alice refuses to go to bed every night, and then cries because I am mean.  Just once, ONCE I would like to be listened to.  I mean, I listen to everything they want: juice, food, activities, I would just like to be listened to once.
• Obama.  He pissed me off big time.
• The world in general.  The fact that they think that this man is capable of making things in our country better is unimaginable to me.  The leader of Iran endorsed Obama.  Doesn't that say anything?
• I am really pissed that I am fat.  I am really pissed that I am fat because I had two children, and no matter what I do, nothing seems to change.
• I am mad that I haven't woken up on my own in three years.  I really want to wake up one day without someone screaming at me for juice.
• Sometimes, late at night when I am by myself and I really want to go somewhere and get out of my house, I can't.  Because it is not good parenting to leave your kids alone, even though they are sound asleep and I know they will never wake up.  That really makes me mad.
• I am mad that I don't work anymore.  I know I spent the better part of two years complaining because I couldn't stay home, but now I realize, other than being with my kids (which I do love a lot), I don't like anything else about staying home. I hate cleaning.  I hate laundry.  I hate that there is no reason for me to get dressed in the morning.  I used to love cooking, but now I hate it because no matter what I make, no one will eat it.
• I'm mad because I'm stuck in this stupid, dumb, small house, with its stupid, dumb 36 stairs.  I'm mad because Alice refuses to walk up the stairs, and I cannot carry two children up the stupid 36 stairs by myself, so she usually ends up crying at the bottom of the stairs for twenty minutes, and then walking up, and then crying for another hour because she misses daddy, who will carry her up any time she wants.  
• I'm mad because Daddy continues to carry her up the stairs, which means that I will continue to be the bad guy.

I'm just tired.  And I'm tired of being tired.  And I'm tired of everyone calling called America a democracy.  It's not.  It's a republic.  

The Story of the Cocaine Miracle

So, about a month ago, I left a tantalizing teaser about the happenings in our house in one crazy week.  A lot of people have asked me about it, and Joe has insisted I blog it since we want this catalogued for posterity.  It's that good.  There is a slight warning here--this is NOT a short story.  But just stick with me, and you will be amazed at the miraculous cocaine.  Not kidding.  Cocaine.

First, a little back story (which I am sure many of you know, but again...that pesky posterity).  When Joe and I decided to try to have a second baby, I knew I couldn't handle working full time.  I couldn't handle it mentally, emotionally, and to me it wasn't worth it financially.  I felt strongly that I needed to be home with the new little spirit for whatever reason.

Let me just say right here that it wasn't because I thought being a working mom was bad.  I want to be clear on this: I think having Alice at a baby sitter's for the first two years of her life was very good for her.  It was difficult to leave her, and there were times when she was mad at me for leaving her, but I think she learned how to play with other kids and to relate to other kids that, as the only child at the time, she needed--Alice needed it, not all kids, Alice--her being, her personality, her spirit, needed the non-mommy interaction.

Having said that, after I had Daisy and got to know her sweet little personality, it was clear to me that she would have shriveled up and died a little bit if I left her everyday.  Again, not all kids--Daisy--her being, her personality, her spirit, needed constant Mommy interaction.  I strongly believe that, because Heavenly Father knew Daisy and knew what she needed in a mommy, that I was prompted to stay home.  Joe was prompted, too.  So, without a game plan, I quit.  BAM!  Like that.

Previously, I had been the insurance provider and the one with a stable income.  Joe technically made more money than me, but his fiscal salary depended on wet winters and car accidents.  No car accidents, no money.  It's really hard to budget when your pay depends on the weather.  We knew that, even though Joe loved his career in Auto Collision Repair, it just wasn't going to be secure enough for me to quit.  So Joe started looking for a job.  Prospects, in this wonderful Obama Recovery, were slim.  Finally, the Tuesday after I quit (coincidence? I think not) Joe was offered a job as a temp at a company called Flowserve, with great prospects to get hired on full time after six months.  The pay was pretty good, but it wasn't anything near to what we used to make, so adjusting to our new budget was difficult, and I thought I was going to die.  But I didn't.

Well, long story short (no jokes) Joe loved the job, the job loved Joe, but he was allowed to leave after six months.  We were stunned.  We had felt so good about this, I had been prompted to quit?  Not fair, not fair, not fair!  If Heavenly Father had a plan, I thought, it would be nice if he let us in on it.  Why keep everything such a secret?  Luckily, right when Joe's job was about to run out, the business that Joe's dad worked for needed a welder.  Joe got his degree in welding (coincidence?  Hmmm).  So, because they worshipped the very ground my Father-in-Law walked on, Joe got a job and was able to transition seamlessly.  For less money.  So it was another hit.  But rather than being properly humbled, we were stubborn and complained about our sorry lot in life.

Joe continued to look for a job.  Things would come, look good, but then fall through.  Joe's job was getting stressful with workplace drama, and Joe hated what he was doing.  The savings we had worked so hard to build was slowly but surely diminishing in order to meet ends.  This went on for about six months, when finally I had to approach Joe with the bad news: we had enough money left in savings to get us through one more month, but that was it.  Something had to happen, and now.  We felt we should inform Heavenly Father about all this, too.  We were starting to wonder if things were ever going to work out for us, or if we had mis-interpreted our prompting about my quitting.  Regardless, there was nothing more we could do other than what we were doing: keep looking, keep praying, and hold on.

Finally, one year to the day I quit, and one month before our savings ran out, Joe was offered a job at BD Medical.  The pay was decent, at least a little more than what we had been living with, and more importantly, we would have insurance.  Glory Be!  Happy Day!  We could go to the Dr. again (don't worry--the girls were on Medicaid, so it was just Joe and I who couldn't get sick)!  We were ecstatic.  We started making plans, like how long we had until we could finally start making payments on our debts, and how long it would be before we could get a house.  For the first time in a long time, we started planning and dreaming again.   The job offer was contingent on a clean drug test, of course, but what active, faithful Mormon can't pass a drug test?  We said prayers of thanks that night-- but Joe's parting plea, "Heavenly Father, please don't give us any more trials for a while," must have proved to the Lord that we had not been sufficiently humbled yet.

Joe's drug test was scheduled for a Tuesday.  The Monday before, I had just signed Alice up for preschool, something that I wouldn't have been able to afford at the old job.  Things were finally starting to look up.

Tuesday came.  Joe went to work, happy to know that he only had one and a half weeks left.  Everything was going so well--and his job was even going to throw him a going-away party his last day at work.  Later that morning, Victor, a man from Bolivia, passed around his favorite drink from back home.  It was an herbal tea, and Joe double checked that the tea was decaf.  He should have asked it if was legal.  He had a sip.  Joe later found out that tea in Bolivia didn't have caffeine because instead, it had cocaine.  Yes, on the day of Joe's first drug test in over a year, and after six months of having harmless work days, Joe drank cocaine.  Apparently, Joe went into the bathroom and said a prayer.  The spirit touched him, letting him know that everything would be okay.  He went that day and peed in a cup.

We didn't hear anything from the drug test company for a week, so we figured Heavenly Father had worked a miracle on our behalf.  We were too soon to assume all was well.

The following Tuesday, exactly one week after the drug test, we received a phone call from the drug company, asking if Joe had an explanation for the trace amounts of cocaine detected in his urine.  With shaking fingers, Joe called BD Medical, trying to head off the storm.  He was informed that there was a no drug policy with the company.  The offer had been withdrawn.

Joe was devastated.  He cried, he threw things, and he melodramatically cursed the heavens.  I didn't know what to do, except hold my husband while he apologized for ruining the future of our family.  I tried to tell him that we would be taken care of, but it seemed as if my words were hollow--I was starting to doubt that maybe Heavenly Father wouldn't help us, that maybe we were on our own.

Joe went to work on Wednesday.  His work had already hired his replacement and had a cake ready for his going away party.  He had to ask for his job back.  I cannot imagine the humiliation that Joe had to have felt in that moment.  I ached for him because I knew what he had to do that day.  He came home and cried again that night.  We got on our knees and cried to Heavenly Father, pleading for help, and telling him we couldn't do this anymore on our own....We needed help.

On Thursday night, Joe came home from work, still smarting from his hurt pride, and feeling guilty for what he saw as his failure as a husband and a father.  The mood in our house was somber.  I started to make dinner, trying not to wish for more money so we could go out to eat.  The knife in my hand slipped, and I stared down at my open hand, through layers of muscle and fat to see the bone in my finger.  Joe lost a job, we didn't have insurance, and I needed stitches.  Up until this point, I had never had stitches in my life.  We just started to laugh.  It was that or sit in my blood and sob.  Again that night, even though Joe and I were at the lowest point we have ever been, we said our prayers, thanking Heavenly Father for keeping us afloat, and keeping our girls healthy.  And then we asked for help like we have never asked before.

Joe had the next day, Friday, off.  My parents had offered to pay Joe to work on their old Chevy truck, so Joe decided he had better get started.  Joe had been working on the truck for a couple hours when I heard yelling from the garage.  I thought maybe he had cut off his foot or something, and didn't have the energy to go see what happened.  The next thing I knew, Joe burst into the house and started jumping up and down yelling, "I got a job!  I got a job!"  I couldn't believe it.  We had been so busy licking our wounds over the whole week that we hadn't even applied for any new jobs.  How could he get one?

Flowserve, the company that he had loved, that he could not get hired on to six months earlier when his temp job was over, had called him and offered a job he had not applied for.  The job would be more money than BD Medical with benefits, retirement, and promise of promotion in the future.

It was the most physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausting week of our lives.  When we sat back and looked at all that had happened that week: the cocaine, the drug test, the stitches, and the incredibly hopeless and humiliating events, we could not deny the hand of the Lord in it all.  I don't know why BD Medical was not in our cards, but obviously, it wasn't, and after the week we had, I'm not going to question it.  Heavenly Father had to go to pretty extensive lengths, it seems, for us finally humble ourselves and trust in him, and it will not be a lesson soon forgotten.

Edit: Joe also had a haircut by my sister, Nat Hall.  Nat's haircuts are famous for getting people jobs.  It wasn't two hours after Joe's haircut that he got the job call.  Nat's haircuts are MAGICAL.

My Mormon-Mommy Life--without the Downeast Outfitters Shirt

I think this is my pet peeve.  People, both non Mormon and Mormon alike, criticizing our "Mormon Culture" because we always seem so happy.  There has been much analysis and debate over why Mormons are so happy, particularly their women, who don't swear, bake cakes and babies from scratch, and always have a wreath with lots of tulle around it.  The synthesis has ranged from hypothesizing that we are always happy because we are told to be happy, or that we feel pressured to be plastic-y happy, and that we are brainwashed and we are not really happy.  The underlying assumption of all this is that it has to be fake, because no real person in real life can ever be that happy.  I've even read recently that if life is hard, Mormons are told that it's our fault because we haven't been obedient and faithful enough, so we need to feel better, causing incredible amounts of guilt.  Tell that to Job.

I guess the reason that I get so annoyed is because when people say these things, it sends the message that my way of life is a huge Stepford deception with lots of bad self-esteem.  Well.  It's simply not true.

Has it ever occurred to anyone that Mormons are happy because we love life?  And guess what?  My life isn't any easier than someone else's life that isn't Mormon.  When you love your life, you are happy, even if crappy things happen, which, let's face it, kids, crap happens.  To EVERYONE.

I will say this, though.  I believe I am happy because I love my life.  I believe I love my life, because as a member of the Gospel, I am constantly reminded that everything that is good in my life comes from my Heavenly Father.  In this case, I didn't build that.  God did.  And I am every day so grateful for what God has built and given me.  I think it is my religion and the Gospel of Jesus Christ that helps me recognize these gifts (a.k.a blessings), and with the realization of the many things I have, I have come to realize that

1. Heavenly Father thinks I'm worth giving things to.  And he's perfect, right? So he can't be wrong about that one.  I must be pretty awesome.

2. Being the perfect parent, Heavenly Father gives me things that I need, that are good for me, and that are safe.  Is it fun?  No.

Ask Alice and she'll tell you that it's a lot more fun to jump up and down in the car while the car is in motion than being strapped down.  And it's a lot more fun to sit on Daddy's lap and drive around the parking lot (don't ask) than it is to sit in the back.  But are these things good for her?  No.  Are they safe for her?  No.  And because I am a grown up, and I realize these things, and I love Alice unlike I have loved anyone else, I give her rules and guidelines to keep her safe.  And a car seat.  Alice cries, throws a fit, and asks why.  She makes promises that she'll be good and do everything I say.  She tells me I'm not fair.  She tells me that she hates me.  She tells me she's sorry and she won't be naughty anymore.  And then she throws another tantrum.  But I don't give in.  Why?  Because I am her parent, and I know what will keep her safe.

I believe Heavenly Father is the parent that's just trying to keep his tantrum-throwing children safe and, in the long run, happy. Once you realize that everything, the fair and the not fair, is to keep us safe and whole and happy, it's a lot easier to deal with.

3. My unhappiness or crappiness in life isn't because I'm not good enough.  It's because life sucks.  It really does.  And it has to suck.  Otherwise, if you didn't have sucky times, you would never realize how good the un-sucky times truly are.  Let me elucidate:

When Joe and I got married, we had two incomes.  I was a beginning teacher, so I made about 25,000 - 30,000 a year.  It's not much by yourself, but when you combine that with a 50,000 salary, well...pre-kids we were pretty happy and a little reckless with our money.  Don't get me wrong, we didn't buy things we couldn't afford.  We never used credit, but we bought a lot of things we didn't need.  Well, after I had Daisy (my second baby), I knew I couldn't go back to work.  That baby looked at me the day she was born and smiled.  I would send her to the nursery every night so I could have some time alone, but she would not have it.  It never failed--they would bring her back around 3:00 in the morning, saying that they couldn't get her to calm down.  I would pick up that Daisy baby, and she would stop.  She would go to sleep, and I would sleep with her the rest of the night.  I couldn't leave her.  And I couldn't leave Alice. With that decision, we lost the 35,000 I was making at the time.  Along with my quitting, Joe had to find a different job because we were nervous about the straight-commission world of auto collision repair.  He found another job--for 25,000 dollars less a year.  We went from 80,000 a year  to 25,000 a year with two kids and no insurance.

It has taken us a year to figure out how to budget, how to make do, and how to save.  I don't wear real clothes anymore because I have gained weight to have babies and can't afford to buy nice clothes.  It's hard to diet when your family's meals usually include ground hamburger, mac & cheese, and frozen corn.  It's not fair that I can't put my girls in dance classes like I want to, or that I can't buy that new pair of shoes I really want (only 25.00).  It's not fair that Joe doesn't get to go fishing or shooting like he loves to do.  And there are some nights when I see another neighbor with a another new car that I go into my room and cry, because we used to make ALL THAT MONEY, and I would give anything to have even half of that back.

But then, and this is the cool part, I start thinking, someday, we will have it back. And do you know what?  We will appreciate it.  We will want to help young families who are struggling, just as so many have helped us.  We will be smarter about it.  And we will be one hundred million times happier then than we ever were before, because we will recognize what we will have because once upon a time, we didn't have.

And, on top of that, I will be able to say that I watched my babies grow.  Not only did I watch, but I was there and I helped.  None of our financial difficulties are the result of our disobedience or our unfaithfulness.  In fact, these problems came when we decided to be obedient and follow the teachings of the Gospel.  It might be cause for resentment, but it's not.  It's really a validation and a peace.  It's kind of like the Lord telling me that yeah, it's hard, but someday...  And sometimes, knowing that, is all that gets me through the day.

4. I take anti-depressants.  I know. Another Mormon-Mommy statistic that proves we're not all as happy as we claim.  First of all, nu-uh.  If we're all hepped up an happy pills, how can we not be happy?  All joking aside, I take anti-depressants because I have inherited an inclination to depression, especially post-partum depression.  It is not proof that I find myself falling short of the "perfection model" that all Mormon Mommies are said to aspire.  In fact, I was so worried that I would be another example of unhappy Mormons, that it took me ten months after my daughter was born to realize something had to change.  I decided that I needed to see someone after I yelled at my Bishop right before our Christmas choir program, and then yelled at the first counselor in the Bishopric right after.  I feel that, besides it being hereditary, my depression stemmed from unrealistic "perfection" expectations I put on myself--I needed to be 100% mom and 100% teacher, and 100% choir director. I was demanding 300% when I only had 100 to give.

You might say, well, those expectations were engrained in you by your church.

 No.

In fact, I would say that I got those ideas listening to other women, powerful women, women of the world, telling me that I could have it all.  I could be the professional and have a family, and I could make it, because I was woman, hear me roar. It's just that someone--Hilary Clinton, Oprah, or someone-- forgot to tell me that I was also human and couldn't give more than I had.  No one told me that it was the far safer and happier path to choose one thing and work hard so I could feel successful instead of doing fifty things and settling with mediocrity.

In those difficult months, before I finally visited the doctor and sobbed on his chair, the only time I truly felt good about myself was when I went to church and listened to lessons about the simplistic beauty of the Gospel, the love Heavenly Father had for me, and the encouragement from other sisters who were in the same boat.  In this case, the church didn't cause my depression.  It helped my family survive my depression by giving me a weekly reminder that I wasn't perfect, but if I was trying, it was good enough.

I can't speak for all women of the world, or for all the Mormon Mommies.  All I can say is that everyone experiences crap in their lives.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again.  Crap happens.  Just the color and the smell are different for everyone.

The bottom line is this: Mormons don't pretend to be happy just because we feel societal or cultural pressures to be so.  Ask my bishop: I certainly don't pretend to be happy if I'm not.  Mormon women aren't secretly depressed because of an inane desire to be perfect.

We are happy because we find joy in the fact that Heavenly Father loves us enough to give us stuff like jobs and food and people we love. We are happy because we realize that we don't always know what's good for us, and we have someone watching to keep us safe.  We are happy because we understand what happiness looks like and we can appreciate it, because we've experienced unhappiness many, many times.

 It's so much easier to bear your burdens when the Savior has taken them away from you.  It's so much easier to feel like everything is going to be okay when you're tenderly cradled in the very capable arms of our Redeemer.  So, we do what we must--yes, we silly Mormon women are obedient and have faith-- to live life in the strength of His arms and the easy grasp of His hands.

And in case you didn't know, being in the arms of your Big Brother is alway a happy place to be.

P.S.  As for the Downeast Outfitters style choice.  I have no explanation.  That may, indeed, be a cultural thing.

Giraffe Blankie

Daisy became attached to a giraffe blankie at my mom's house. You know the kind, super soft minky and satin, like this one?

I decided to make one of our own, just to see if I could. Here's the result:

Ummm... I know you're not supposed to say this about your own creations, but CUU-UUTE!

This was my first foray into creating my own pattern, and, true to Sarah form, I didn't write anything down.  So, judging by Trying-to-Duplicate-the-First-Perfect-Ear-Fiasco, I am pretty sure I can't re-create this.  Except for the squares, since I got them in my granny square book.  I feel really old writing "granny square" with the personal adjective of "my" in there.  

Sure.  It's not Minky.  It's not Satin.  But it cost a total of four dollars, since all I had to buy was the skein of green yarn--about half the price if you buy the original at the store.  And I made it for my baby.

And it looks like she is happy with it.  And I have to admit, I'm kind of proud of it myself.

I think my next attempt will be Pocoyo--any maybe this time I'll write the stupid pattern down!