Confidence

I was combing my daughter's hair tonight before bed.

"Do you ever wish you were me?" she asked. "So you could do really good hairstyles?"

She'd styled her own shiny, straight brown hair today: asymmetrical pigtails on the sides with the back hanging loose, just past her shoulders. She's excited that it's finally getting long after her self-inflicted pixie in October 2010. She's way into hair. She does darned good work for a five-year-old.

I had to laugh at her question. She was unfazed.

"What if I were your mom?" she followed up.

"Then," I said, "I guess I would have really great hair, all the time."

She nodded, satisfied.

I admire her confidence. I wish I felt so sure of something. I'd take just about anything.

But humility is a virtue, right? Life seems to be cultivating that one in me.

Dream delights

Last night I dreamed that my family and I moved into a new home. It had a funny layout and lots of quirks, like dryer hose snaking all over the ceiling in a room adjacent to the living area, but I discovered a greenhouse where the previous owner had started dozens and dozens of seedlings, chard and strawberries and squash and more, and they were all thriving. I was so excited they were now mine, so thrilled to see something green and growing and promising a delicious future.

I wish this were real - except for the moving part. I am so excited to garden this summer. I am ready to see green. I would also love it if this offered some deeper meaning about unexpected blessings and opportunities.

At breakfast this morning, 7-year-old K told me he dreamed he visited Martin Luther King, Jr., at his home. It turned out MLK was a bodybuilder with all kinds of great equipment. "I used it and I got buff!" my sweet, scrawny little guy exclaimed.

This is the kid who colors his leprechauns with brown skin every year at St. Patrick's Day. He loves who he is. He is a proud little black man! May he be strong like Dr. King!

Brag

I'm responding here to FMH founder Lisa's great response to the Samantha Brick brouhaha. Gotta love the Internet.

Lisa suggests that more women need to own and speak and write about their positive attributes and accomplishments. It's hard. It wasn't always hard for me. I used to be a lot more confident than I am now. When I started this blog it wasn't as hard. Then life got more real. More kids and more problems and fewer professional accomplishments piling up.

Because life is real and imperfect I feel less comfortable speaking about positives. I feel like there are too many threads to tug, too many ways to deconstruct anything I may have to brag about. And that is difficult to open myself up to.

So here is my fray-check: I don't pretend I'm perfect.

And the fray-check on the other side of the fabric: I truly don't think that any gifts or accomplishments make me any better than anyone else.

There. Now nobody can unravel the good things I am about to say.

• I flipped off the world and married the person I loved most when I was only nineteen, and a lot of people thought it was a dumb thing to do. Now we have spent as many years together as I lived before I married him, so, to quote a jazz standard, who's got the last laugh now?
• I got a good education (three years of college as a married student) and got creative about how to apply it, and I've had a good career so far writing and editing for science and higher education.
• I faced down infertility and won, not because I ever became pregnant (I didn't) but because I came out stronger.
• I was brave enough to open my heart to four children who needed a family, two from the foster care system. This still requires my courage and strength every day.
• I helped open a new university in Merced, California, in 2005. I did my part and it was crazy and hard and tremendously fulfilling.
• I am a good partner in my marriage. I am supportive of the things my husband wants to do and I think I pull my weight in every way I can.
• I stand up for my kids. My kids are members of racial and ethnic minorities and have some challenges. I am on their side.
• I learned how to speak effectively on television at the drop of a hat, and I put that skill to work in a crisis situation at my job.
• Speaking of speaking, I can put together a pretty rad church talk or lesson, and I like doing it. This is something where I feel it's appropriate to give credit to the Holy Ghost, though.
• I have 10,000 words of a novel, or maybe a series. You start somewhere.
• I can sing. I love to do it. I can express feelings through song. I can sing jazz, pop, folk, classical. People enjoy it.
• I can cook. I was well taught and I have been willing to explore on my own. Ain't nobody starving at my house.
• I work out pretty regularly and I like my body OK. I have fabulously strong legs. And one benefit of infertility is slightly less sagging than I might otherwise be experiencing. So, that's nice.
• I have good taste in fashion and home decor and an individual style that I don't see in other people's wardrobes or houses.
• I am a good crocheter, largely self-taught. It's good medicine for when I'm feeling crotchety.
• I recycle and buy local and drive an older minivan that gets good gas mileage.
• I make nice holidays for my family, without getting crazy.
• I can accept people the way they are. This is something that took me a long time to learn and still takes some effort to accomplish sometimes. But I know what it means and I know how to do it. 
• I know how to tune in to spiritual things. I have found what works for me. I know it's not going to happen for me all the time, and I accept that, but I stay open to it. I sincerely wish this for everyone.
• I know what it means to be really sorry. To know I was wrong and need to truly express regret for my words or actions. To humble myself. This is the weirdest thing ever to brag about. But it was hard-won for me. A big step. And I think I deserve a little bit of credit for it.
• I don't mind being different from others, politically or philosophically or religiously. I am learning that I don't need to be afraid to speak my mind. It never turns out to be as scary as I thought.
• I have learned how to prioritize what I choose to believe and obey. I don't follow blindly. I don't choose to burden myself with a lot of guilt. I know I need to do my best and de-stress the rest. I've blogged about this a little bit before. It's another biggie for me.

Now is when I force myself to end the blog post without qualifying or taking the wind out of any of the above. I just let the brags stand.

Witness

My witness is that this is not OK.

http://affirmation.org/news_2012/2012_026.shtml

I've been perilously near losing someone dear to me in an all-too-similar story. It's not all right that we make our young people feel this way. I believe we need to do better.

Men are that they might have joy. Gay men (and women) too. God wants you to live and be happy. Grab a tissue before you click "play" on this video.



If you would like to learn more, I really recommend Carol Lynn Pearson's book No More Goodbyes as a starting point.

If you would like to start talking to your kids about what it means to be gay and protecting them against the forces - internal and external - that take down a lot of young, gay Mormons, you could maybe start here. (It's been a few years since I wrote that FHE plan and some of my thoughts have changed but I still think it's a good beginning framework for most Mormon families.)

If you need a safe person to talk to about being gay or a member of your family being gay (or lesbian or transgendered or fill-in-the-blank) I would like to be that person for you if I can. Or for someone you know. Especially if you're Mormon and trying to navigate all of that. I am not a professional or really an expert but I am quite sure I can listen and love and not judge, and I think that sometimes that's what some people need the most. I have given this a lot of thought and I feel like it is what I can do right now to start to heal some wounds I've caused in the past.

Thanks to my friend Veronica for the song, and Reese Dixon for the news link. Thanks to my new friend Lorian for helping me see the importance of my witness. And thanks to my brothers for surviving, being brave and strong, and helping me learn.

Telling

In the Bad Bad Dark Dark Winter of Sickness and Depression, which is my name for December 2001 - March 2002, my toddler got kicked out of the daycare at the gym for hitting. It was my only respite from mothering a difficult toddler and a perpetually sick infant (he had ear issues) and I thought I might die. We went to a child psychiatrist. He watched us interact. I did a lot of crying. One outburst I particularly remember bawling out was, "I can't even read a book for half an hour!" I was 27. Having a hard time accepting that my life was sort of not mine anymore.

After a few sessions he told me he thought my toddler was basically normal (HA! Shows what he knew) and that I was depressed (well, he got that right; I think it was SAD because March rolled around and I suddenly, magically felt better). Then he said something to me that I've never forgotten:

"Does anyone at your church know you're in this kind of pain?"

The answer was, of course, no. For church we put on our perfect clothes and our perfect hair and makeup and our perfect smiles. When we have problems, and we all do, we do not tell. This is the code.

I still do not take all my issues to church. For one thing, I am more aware than ever before that everybody has their own issues. Many people have a lot more than I do to deal with. I am not really well equipped to offer a lot to others right now, and I am not expecting a lot of help. After all, everything I've got, I signed up for. Literally. That's something fun only adoptive parents can say.

But I do not pretend to be perfect anymore.

I have a special needs kid whose issues are almost invisible and really, really hard to define and treat. I am doing everything I feel like I can do to help, and it's never enough. It's never going to be fixed. It affects everything. Absolutely everything. I feel the loss of the normal family life I looked forward to in my younger years. I mourn for that a lot. I struggle with the fact, and it is a fact, that if I had been able to gestate and give birth to this child, the issues would probably not be there. Or maybe his issues would just be different. They would almost certainly be less. I try really hard to accept it, and some days I do all right. Other days I am frustrated and embarrassed and angry and I feel like giving up. Some days I think if I could exchange this child I might do it. It is hard, really hard. I am hurting from it today.

And today I am telling. At least this one little thing. So if someone wants to know what kind of pain I am in, they can know. It's a rough one, today.

Chieko on Christ

Chieko Okazaki was a leader in the Relief Society, which is the women's organization of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She died in 2011. These are her words on Jesus Christ:

 "We know that Jesus experienced the totality of mortal existence in Gethsemane. Its our faith that he experienced everything - absolutely everything. Sometimes we dont think through the implications of that belief. We talk in great generalities about the sins of all humankind, about the suffering of the entire human family. But we dont experience pain in generalities. We experience it individually. That means he knows what it felt like when your mother died of cancer- how it was for your mother, how it still is for you. He knows what it felt like to lose the student body election. He knows that moment when the brakes locked and the car started to skid. He experienced the slave ship sailing from Ghana toward Virginia. He experienced the gas chambers at Dachau. He experienced Napalm in Vietnam. He knows about drug addiction and alcoholism. 

"Let me go further. There is nothing you have experienced that he does not also know and recognize. On a profound level, he understands the hunger to hold your baby that sustains you through pregnancy. He understands both the physical pain of giving birth and the immense joy. He knows about PMS and cramps and menopause. He understands about rape and infertility and abortion. His last recorded words to his disciples were, 'And, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.' (Matthew 28:20) He understands your mother-pain when your five-year-old leaves for kindergarten, when a bully picks on your fifth-grader, when your daughter calls to say that the new baby has Down syndrome. He knows your mother-rage when a trusted babysitter sexually abuses your two-year-old, when someone gives your thirteen-year-old drugs, when someone seduces your seventeen-year-old. He knows the pain you live with when you come home to a quiet, empty apartment, where the only children are visitors, when you hear that your former husband and his new wife were sealed in the temple last week, when your fiftieth wedding anniversary rolls around and your husband has been dead for two years. He knows all that. He's been there. He's been lower than all that. 

"He's not waiting for us to be perfect. Perfect people dont need a Savior. He came to save his people in their imperfections. He is the Lord of the living, and the living make mistakes. He's not embarrassed by us, angry at us, or shocked. He wants us in our brokenness, in our unhappiness, in our guilt and our grief." 

  

- Chieko Okazaki

2011 in Review

Lucy answered these questions. I thought it would be a useful exercise for me. I'm not really sad to leave 2011 behind. But this helped me remember some good things and brought to light some things I can really learn from. So that's good.

1.  What did you do in 2011 that you've never done before? 

Was admitted to a hospital. Went to Legoland. 

Took the dog with us on a major vacation. Worked through some major woes in the marriage. Sent my youngest child to preschool and had a couple of hours off in the middle of each day. 

Went camping without my husband, with the kids - twice (crazy).

Mothered a middle-schooler. 

Bought a refrigerator. Planned a ward Christmas party.

2.  Did you keep your New Year's Resolutions and will you make more for next year? 

The only resolution I made was to do my best and let the rest go. I think I did all right, especially considering the stressors that came up this year. I feel significantly less stressed and worried than I did at the end of 2010.

3.  Did anyone close to you give birth? 

Lots of friends and acquaintances had new babies, but no one I would call super close - no sisters, in-laws or besties. For me this is a mercy. We'll just leave that there for now.

4.  Did anyone close to you die?  

No, but I probably went to more funerals than I ever have before, because of my calling in Relief Society. 

And I began to consider that some people I love very dearly may not be with us forever, after all. I tried to spend a little more time with them - not easy because of distance, but I did try. I hope when they go I will not look back with regret. And I hope it's not soon.

5.  What countries did you visit? 

Just my own. Montana, Utah, Idaho, Nevada and California were my entire range for the year. Why mess with the best?

6.  What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011? 

A decent cell phone. I keep putting this off, because the expense is daunting. But my three-year-old pay-as-you-go phone, whose service provider does not exist in Montana, is becoming a significant problem.

7.  What date from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory and why?   

August 21, 2011. My husband turned 40 and my oldest son was ordained a deacon.

8.  What was your biggest personal achievement of the year?  

Coming to the decision that I am no longer doing things because I am told to or because I am supposed to or expected to. I am only doing things that I feel in my heart are right, things that really uplift me and my family. 37 is kind of old to turn the lights on for this. Better late than never. And while it may not change the appearance of my life a lot, it changes my inner landscape completely.

9.  What was your biggest failure?  

Continued inconsistency with the things I know are most important - spiritual practice, kindness to others, physical fitness and dietary discipline.

10.  Did you suffer injury or illness?  

Kidney stone at the end of January; I had surgery to remove it. Quit colas in hopes of avoiding recurrence, and so far, so good. Massive cold and ear infection while in California in July. Ever had a grapefruit in your ear? Me neither, but I thought I did. G had a hernia repaired and was also quite sick while we were away. A had pneumonia.

11.  What was the best thing you bought?  

BOGS boots. Warm, waterproof and cute. I live in a cold place, and warm feet make all the difference.

12.  Whose behavior merited celebration?  
Mine and Dr. G's. Not that we were perfect. We disagreed and agonized and argued and misunderstood and talked and cried more this year than we ever have before. But what I will celebrate is that we are still here, together. We are stronger than we have ever been. We understand our vulnerabilities and our strengths better than before. If we can get through the poo-swamp that was 2011, we can do anything.

13.  Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?    

Too close to home. This mommy gig is no picnic. I am in no way ready for the teenage years.

14.  Where did most of your money go?  

The really most went to our mortgage. After that, probably medical and therapy expenses.

15.  What did you get really, really, really excited about?  

Going to California for a whole month to hang out with Sally and see old friends and go to the beach. 

It turns out it was maybe a little too long, and much, much more expensive than we planned, but still, we're glad we went.

16.  What song will always remind you of 2011?  

"Someone Like You," by Adele, for all the times I listened to it and bawled. Its peak of popularity came at an emotionally inconvenient time for me.

17.   Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? 
b) thinner or fatter? 
c) richer or poorer?  

a) It's never that simple. Wiser, more peaceful, more realistic. b) Despite my intentions, same. At least my clothes fit. c) Thanks to therapy and surgery, poorer. But not without prospects for improvement.

18.  What do you wish you'd done more of?  

Family fun days and time outside. Creative writing. Gardening.

19.  What do you wish you'd done less of?  

Facebook games. OCD list-making. Staying up too late. Making up crazy stuff in my head. Spending money on things that don't really help. Wishing for a life that I don't have.

20.  Did you fall in love in 2011?  

Maybe with wool socks. Or Pinterest. Not meaning to make light of the question, but really, I have been married for 18 years and have four children. I love all these crazies a lot already. If I fall any further I will be lost. 

Here is one I am really in love with. When my older two were his age I thought they were big and gangly and sort of  losing their little-kid cuteness. Not my K. He is always pinch-the-cheeks cute to me.

21.  What was your favorite TV program? 

Dr. Who. I also discovered a show where Elvis Costello interviews musicians and other celebrities about music, and it's pretty much brilliant.

22.  Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?  

Thankfully free from hate. There is a neighborhood bully who I kind of wish would move away or something, but he's left off bothering my children and I don't feel like I hate him. Poor kid.

23.  What was the best book you read?  

Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson. On the Blue Comet by Rosemary Wells (out loud to the kids).

24.  What was your greatest musical discovery?  

I think I'm too old for discoveries. I like my tried and true favorites. Except, like everyone else in any English-speaking country, I became obsessed with Adele.

25.  What did you want and get?  

The refrigerator. The month in California. The quilt from my mother-in-law (fabulous!) 

A flat-screen TV (wonderful surprise from my parents). Steady writing and editing work. Some nifty vintage stuff for my living room, especially the fabulous turquoise-and-gold lamp with the inverted drum shade. Totally '50s and in pristine condition. Thanks, Dr. G!

26.  What did you want and not get? 

Perfect health. I know, it's a lot to ask, and I should be grateful for what we have. But I'm a little weary of all our minor complaints. And now that I have said that I feel like a jerk. While I am at it, I also want my kitchen remodeled. Magically, and for free.

27.  What was your favorite film of this year?   

Hm. Crazy Stupid Love was a really fun girls' night out. Harry Potter 7.2 was pretty satisfying. But The Muppets takes the cake. (Also, I don't really feel like I see films. I just go to the movies like most other Americans.)

28.  What did you do on your birthday and how old were you?  

Cared for a kid with pneumonia while my husband traveled out of town. I turned 37. It was pretty much a  stinker of a birthday. But G made it up to me when he came home with an amazing dinner out at the place that has become my absolute favorite restaurant in town, the Uptown Cafe. I had scallops. Love me some scallops.

29. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? 

I'm thinking maybe a punching bag. 

30. How would you describe your personal fashion concept for 2011? 

Trying a Little Harder Than I Sometimes Have in the Past. Often With Scarves and Boots.

31. What kept you sane? 

Kept? Sane? Two faulty presumptions there already. Really, probably the support of a few key friends. Also, chocolate, and alternating doses of Vitamin Water and SoBe Lifewater (the kinds with caffeine in them, because I had to quit colas, as I mentioned above). And the occasional triumphant feeling of posting something really clever on Facebook.

Twenty Christmases together

• 1992: Arrived home from BYU late on Christmas night. Met at the airport by my family and the recently returned missionary I hadn't seen since August 1990.
• 1993: Married to that returned missionary, spent Christmas in Logan with my grandparents and other extended family. New husband promptly contracted chicken pox from my two little polka-dotted cousins.
• 1994: Our first Christmas tree. I made ornaments out of salt dough and paper. My parents had moved to Salt Lake and we spent time with them in the condo where they were staying until they found the home they now live in.
• 1995: We lived in Wymount Terrace. G gave me two zebra finches, whom we named Kirk (the chubby one) and Picard (the thin, cerebral one).
• 1996: We visited Fairbanks for Christmas. I mainly remember his parents' dog as a hyperactive young thing, massive quantities of chocolate, and long, snowy walks and drives in the dark of Alaskan winter.
• 1997: Arizona with G's family for Christmas. I got a beautiful brown velvet formal dress (still in my closet) and G's grandma said to me, "Where on earth are you going to wear that?" 
• 1998: We spent Christmas in Colorado with more Shaws and experienced Pearl Street in Boulder as well as the Infamous Chinese Restaurant Centripetal Force Incident. (Think lazy susan.) I took care of a couple of adorable little nephews and some lights in my head turned on regarding adoption.
• 1999: We lived in Minnesota with our four-month-old son, who loved the lights on the tree and would coo at them excitedly. We realized the guy G was working with in pursuit of a Ph.D. was an A-1 jerk and packed up and headed back to Utah.
• 2000: First Christmas in our little pink house, a condo in Salt Lake City. After Christmas, we spent a few nights in a cabin in Escalante with my family, then visited G's extended family in Arizona.
• 2001: We received a Christmas basket from our ward, which kind of perplexed us. I think it might have been because someone asked me about the costs of our two adoptions, I told them the honest answer, and they were flabbergasted, probably wondering how we could even afford to eat after spending that kind of money.
• 2002: G's grandpa passed away in Arizona on Christmas Eve. We made a really insane trip down there for the funeral with two very small boys.
• 2003: First Christmas in California, where G was again pursuing a Ph.D. We spent that whole December raking up yellow leaves from two huge mulberry trees and feeling a little homesick for snow country. G was struggling as the only sort-of grad student at UC Merced, which was so new he couldn't even be enrolled yet . Friends generously paid me $50 to sing at a Christmas party for their employees. We were pretty much desperately poor and needed every drop we could get.
• 2004: I made UC Merced gingerbread men and excitedly gave gifts to my new co-workers. And had that embarrassing incident wishing my Jewish colleague a Merry Christmas. I also had daycare woes. G finally had some other grad students to keep him company.
• 2005: S came up with some excellent Yuletide Funnies. I made a failure of pumpkin fudge, thereafter known as pumpkin sludge.
• 2006: We got an artificial tree for the first time ever. Canceled an Arizona trip because we had a four-week old foster daughter who needed a court order to travel out of state. She played Baby Jesus in the family Nativity play. Joy.
• 2007: We got a Wii and respiratory flu. The furnace broke and made us glad, momentarily, to be renters. We got the news that the county was going to try to take Z to an illegal extended-family placement after more than a year in our family. We were delighted by the recent verbal explosion of K, age 3, who had joined us in June of that year.
• 2008: We still had four children, and after months in court we had a lot fewer worries. I enjoyed being back home with my kids after four years working for UC Merced. G and I started working on applying for jobs for him as a Ph.D. Z really enjoyed a cinnamon roll.
• 2009: After the stress and chaos of our move to Montana, I almost didn't find my Christmas mojo in time for the big day. But we strung some lights and unpacked the decorations and rejoiced in being in our own home with a new job and four children all officially ours.
• 2010: A beautiful and sacred Christmas at home. We'd had some tough things happen in the fall, but the upside of that is that our hearts were humble and open. I coordinated a donation for the homeless shelter from the church. G completed his first semester as a professor.
• 2011: I planned a ward Christmas party, posted a Christmas song a day on Facebook, changed our gift focus from toys to family activities (snowshoes!), and made sugar cookies with my daughter for the first time. 

It's been twenty years since I spent a Christmas without the delightful, surprising, smart, hardworking, wonderful guy I love, the man I now call Dr. G. I hope I never have to. We have been up and down the roller coaster, for sure, but this Christmas I would say we are better than ever. We have a wild little family. We have stuff to work on. But we can do it. Bring on 2012.

Why you might hear me say "Happy Holidays"

I am all about the Christ in Christmas. Nativity scenes, stories, songs, the family Nativity play, the church service. I believe Christ is the son of God and in his love for us chose to visit our world by experiencing life as we live it, starting as an infant in the most humble circumstances. Conceived before his mother's marriage,  carried in what we must assume was some shame, born in a stable and laid in a bed of straw. Then visited by rich and poor alike, recognized however momentarily as the promised Messiah, heralded by angels and a star in the sky. This is Christmas to me, and it moves me beyond description.

If I already know you have feelings about Christmas similar to mine, I will sure as shooting tell you, "Merry Christmas." Absolutely.

Otherwise, I find "Happy Holidays" to be a beautiful wish to give a friend, and I'll say that to you, instead. Here's why.

When I first started working in my university job seven years ago, I was so excited for Christmas. Well, that's not different from any other year. Anyway, as I left the office before we closed for the holiday, I bid a friend and co-worker farewell with my traditional "Merry Christmas" greeting. Gently she put her hand on my arm, and with a smile, said, "I'm Jewish."

Now, I know the bare bones of Jewish history and I'm also pretty well aware that in the culture I live in, even being a non-mainstream Christian puts me in a position of privilege. And although I never meant to exclude or insult anyone by sharing my Christmas cheer, I did give a greeting that emphasized difference rather than similarity, a vision that was not considerate and probably not appropriate for the workplace, at least with a colleague I did not yet know well. I felt like a jerk.

I don't really like feeling like a jerk. It's not fun. So sometimes now I don't use the holiday season as a chance to tell people I'm a Christian. While I am far from ashamed of my faith, sometimes that's not the way to build friendships and show respect for others.

So, Happy Holidays to you all. I hope they shine, and I hope they offer you closeness with friends old and new, friends who share your faith and friends who differ. I think Jesus would approve.

Grate/grace/great

Last year on Facebook, I wrote something I was grateful for every day for the whole month of November. It was a great thing to do; it opened up my heart and prepared me so well to have a really meaningful and spiritual Christmas season. This year I am pleased to see many friends doing the same thing.

But I haven't been doing it. I don't know if this is a mistake or not. I won't lie to you, the month started out with me struggling to just keep my head above water emotionally and although I still was and still am grateful for the many good things in my life, I didn't really feel like I had the energy to summon up the personal graciousness to declare it every day. I was also having trouble with other people's declarations of "I'm so blessed" and "I'm so grateful," because sometimes it seems like bragging. I've griped about that some, which I know has flummoxed some friends. I know that might not seem like the most mature way to handle a tough spot in your life. But we feel what we feel, and we do what we need to do to get through.

As long as in the meantime we are doing the work we need to do to make life a little better, I think that's ok. Sometimes that just means hanging on until the day looks brighter. Sometimes it means digging deep in your relationships and your approaches to life's problems until you find something you can change. Probably most often it's a little of both.

And that's what's coloring my view of gratitude and grace and graciousness and greatness this Thanksgiving season. I am grateful for forgiveness of my failures to be gentle and kind and understanding when what was really needed from me was so much more than what I gave. I am grateful for the chance to catch up when I have fallen behind. I am grateful for reminders about what's really important. I'm grateful for people who are willing to turn over the rocks and clean out what's underneath with me, and for those who see a need and quietly fill it. I'm grateful for the chances to immerse myself in music or work or exercise or worship during the whole process to allow my mind and heart a little bit of rest. I'm grateful for how words comfort. I'm grateful for how time heals. I'm grateful for blessings I don't deserve.

Life is never going to be all fixed and perfect, that's my conclusion. But there really is an awful lot to thank God for along the way.

Open up

We have this kind of unusual situation in the ward (church congregation) here. There are a lot of people on the rolls who, as newbies of two years, we don't know. Never met 'em. OK, that's not so unusual. The thing is that here, a stunningly high percentage of these folks are on the far end of elderly. So we tend to have a funeral at the church every couple of weeks for a person we don't know.

I am working in the Relief Society (church women's organization) and also happen to be one of the people in the ward who sings and leads music fairly comfortably. So one way or the other I end up being tapped to help out with a lot of these funerals. Which I don't mind a bit, truly. It is a privilege to do some small thing for people, even strangers, who have lost a dear one, whether it's making brownies or serving food or standing up at the front of the chapel waving my arms around.

And I have some experience being involved with funerals. In California, we cherished our friendship with a couple where the wife was a wonderful singer and the husband was a funeral director. When the wife couldn't be there for a funeral that needed music, I sometimes stepped in with "Ave Maria" or something. For a beloved mother whose funeral was thronged with her family ... or a man who died of AIDS-related causes whose family would not even attend his memorial service. It always gave me cause for thought, compassion, humility.

So, today. I got called to open up the church for the mortuary staff, then lead the music and sing "Be Still, My Soul." All good. The thing was, I was singing almost as much a solo during the hymns with arm-waving as the hymn without. I think I saw one person in the congregation whose mouth was moving. And it was not a small group. This woman's family obviously loved her and remembered her with a lot of humor and affection. But whoa, man, once the organ kicked in, stony-faced silence. They were anti-music or maybe anti-Mormon or something.

And I can roll with that. Sure, it's awkward for the lady in the front with the music stand. But of course it's not about that.

Just, when I kick the bucket someday in the far future, please open up your mouths and sing at my funeral.

Dream

Last night I dreamed of my friend Mimi, who passed away from pancreatic cancer in 2007. In my dream, I was a middle schooler, and she saved me from a long walk in high heels by giving me a lift in her car. It was Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. She let me drive.

I think I'm going to be happy all day.

Processing

It's probably pretty obvious to anybody with much life experience at all, but I'll say it anyway. When we experience major losses in our lives, we don't get over it all at once. It is a long, long process reconciling what we wanted with what we got, our dreams with our realities. Sometimes the process stalls and we forget about it or maybe even think we're done with it. And then it kicks up again and we grind through more days of feeling unsettled and trying to understand.

I do think that's probably just about universal. That's one reason why I wrote the "we" and the "us" there. The other reason is that loss is also extremely personal. It's hard to jump in and just say, "This is what I'm going through." First person plural kind of eases the entry.

For me, one big ongoing loss-adjustment process is (duh, surprise) infertility.

Really, after 15 years, yeah, it still is. Sorry. Not over it.

It is true that I no longer have that raw, horrible, need-a-baby, why-am-I-not-good-enough pain. Thank God. The adoption of my perfectly paradoxical, beautiful and challenging first son in 1999 cured that. Big step, big big big step.

I don't even have the exciting spur of baby hunger. I don't see babies and think there are more for me, somewhere in the world. A lot of times I'm not even dying to hold them. I mean, I will, and I like them. But I don't want more kids. Four is a great number for me. I am delighted with the family Dr. G. and I have labored to build. I love it that no one wears diapers at our house these days. I eagerly anticipate having all my kids in school and gaining a few precious hours of my own for writing or errands or maybe a Master's degree.

I am not often embittered now by the mystifying women's ritual of sharing (sometimes gory and horrible) birth stories. The stupid comments ("Do you run a group home?" or "Don't you ever wish you had your own kids?") roll off me. The nursing nazis don't really get to me anymore. Even intentional slights from people who think they know how to push my buttons -- not that there are a lot, but I have seen them -- meh. Maybe because I know I have walked through fire for my kids, I don't have adoption insecurity these days.

The thing that is under my skin now: I've thought a lot about it, and I think it is pure biological clock. I'll be 36 next month. Many, many women my age who have never given birth get this restlessness about it. Normal. It's just that a lot of them don't have four kids.

I have beautiful, amazing nieces and nephews who share bits of my genetic material, and they tug at my heart in a way that I never anticipated. The way my nephew's hair bends in the back just like mine, the creamy pink of his sister's cheek, the something about the eyes of my brother's daughter or the dark blonde color of her little pageboy -- these things just give me a twinge of longing. Some extended family members have been working on scanning old pictures, several from the 1970s. I was a really, really cute baby (and so was G) and it is a darned shame for the aesthetic quality of the general population of human children, for both of us to be the end of the genetic line.

When we decided to abandon infertility treatments in favor of adoption at the end of 1998, I decided that it just didn't matter if my kids looked like me, if I saw traces of my interests and talents in them. Well, maybe I was wrong. It matters, a little. Maybe it is ok for me to just say, it makes me kind of sad.

And I feel like I can say that without taking anything away from the amazing, beautiful, smart, funny, fun kids God has given me. I remember talking to my OB/GYN in Salt Lake when my big boys were little. She was having a baby at 41 and joked with me that that would probably happen to me. At the time, it sounded pretty good. I thought maybe I would have the gorgeous rainbow of kids I was starting to gather up, and still get the pregnancy, childbirth, genetic continuation thing, too -- just a little later.

But now I think my window is closing. Not that it has to. But if I had another child, if I used some of the advanced treatments I eschewed before, it would just be selfish. It wouldn't be because I want to give something to that child. It would be just my own wanting to have a certain experience, to see a little me. Not to mention, I most often feel like I've bitten off more than I can chew with my four, and I really would like to have my youngest be my little Z, graduating from high school when I am only in my early 50s and letting me explore and accomplish some other things.

So I am really thinking about purposefully saying we are done, getting off the roller coaster permanently, taking care of the issues that incapacitate me physically a couple of days each month and give me emotional problems for about 20% of my life. That is a lot of life to give up for a dream that isn't really happening. I think there's more for me to do than just cope.

And that's where I am in the process, 15 years later.

A happy heart

In place of resolutions, a few grateful thoughts for a happy heart in 2010:

• When we went sledding at Sheepshead last week, the sun came out just for me, and the colors I saw were Christmas colors - the bare, red branches of the willows in the creek bed; the rusty green of the pines and the muted green of sagebrush; the golden tall grasses; the luminous snow! What a world!
• My husband is watching The Sound of Music with my three-year-old daughter. During "Sixteen Going on Seventeen," she proclaims, "I'm that girl!"
• I live in an immeasurably better time than any other time. (Thinking about this because I finished reading The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, by M.T. Anderson, in 2 volumes.) The fact that my family can exist as it does is miraculous when you consider the overwhelming weight of history.
• Our collection of Christmas books has received considerable use this year. Z loves to snuggle up for Christmas stories. Try out my two current favorites, Welcome Comfort by Patricia Polacco, and Christmas Day in the Morning by Pearl S. Buck with illustrations by Mark Buehner.
• In my new location I can get Great Harvest bread and Stephen's hot cocoa.
• People are kind and good. We have been here four weeks. We've been to four different families' houses for dinner - two of them twice each. Time for us to start reciprocating some invitations! Dr. G's extended family members here, whom we've never really known well, have put their arms right around us, and we feel so loved. Our ward (church congregation) is, as I've mentioned before, fabulous. Even now that I've washed my car and they've seen my Obama sticker.
• I am learning, in my heart, how God wants me to do some reaching out and healing. I am going to be humble enough and brave enough to do it. Knowing that I am going to do this brings me a lot of peace that has been missing for a couple of years. I don't know what the outcome will be. But I know what I need to do.

Happy New Year to you!

Gratitude

I spoke in church this past Sunday. I don't write out talks, so I can't post the whole thing without more effort than I really have time for right now (T minus 5 days to loading a moving truck). But I found some wonderful words from General Authorities about gratitude - especially Elder Scott. I have come to love his gentle way of speaking, and I can just hear these words in his voice.

I have saved the most important part about prayer until the end. It is gratitude! Our sincere efforts to thank our beloved Father generate wondrous feelings of peace, self-worth, and love. No matter how challenging our circumstances, honest appreciation fills our mind to overflowing with gratitude.

Why is it that the most impoverished seem to know best how to thank the Lord? In the highlands of Guatemala, members barely subsist. Going to the temple requires great sacrifice. A visit takes a year of preparation. There is hard work, sacrifice to save money and food, the spinning, dyeing, and weaving of new clothing. There is the long, barefoot walk out of the mountains, the crossing of Lake Isabel, the bus rides with little food. Tired and worn, they arrive at the temple. They scrub until they shine, dress in their new clothing, and enter the house of the Lord.

Reclothed in white, they are taught by the Spirit, receive ordinances, and make covenants. One highland woman was greatly touched by the spirit and meaning of the endowment. Entering the celestial room, she saw others seated, with heads reverently bowed. Innocently, she knelt at the entrance to the room, oblivious to others. She bowed her head, sobbed, and for twenty minutes poured out her heart to her Father in Heaven. Finally, with her dress soaked with tears, she raised her head. The sensitive temple matron asked, “May I help?” She responded, “Oh, would you? This is my problem: I’ve tried to tell Father in Heaven of my gratitude for all of my blessings, but I don’t feel that I’ve communicated. Will you help me tell Him how grateful I am?”

Richard G. Scott, Oct. 1989


Recently I stood on the north shore of a beautiful Pacific island gazing out to sea at daybreak. I was fascinated by the regularity with which the gigantic waves consistently moved forward to break on the shoreline. It reminded me of the constancy of the plan of the Lord, with its fixed, eternal law, and the security of enduring justice and the tenderness of mercy when earned by obedience. I noticed that each wave would crest at a different point on the horizon to find its unique path to shore. Some cascaded over rocks, leaving rivulets of foaming, white water. Others burst on the shore in individual patterns. They slid up the moistened sand with playful frothy edges, then bubbled and swirled as they receded.

I thought of the unending variety of possibilities the Lord has provided for us. We have so much freedom, so many opportunities to develop our unique personalities and talents, our individual memories, our personalized contributions. Since there would be no further opportunity to observe the majestic sea, I tried to imagine the glorious panorama the brilliant sun would later create. As I watched this magnificent scene in reverence, a window formed in the clouds; the glistening rays of the rising sun broke through the overcast sky, transforming everything with its luminescence, its color, its life. It was as if the Lord wanted to share an additional blessing, a symbol of the light of His teachings that gives brilliance and hope to everyone it touches. Tears of gratitude formed for this wondrous world in which we live, for the extraordinary beauty our Heavenly Father so freely shares with all who are willing to see. Truly, life is beautiful.

Do you take time to discover each day how beautiful your life can be? How long has it been since you watched the sun set? The departing rays kissing the clouds, trees, hills, and lowlands good night, sometimes tranquilly, sometimes with exuberant bursts of color and form. What of the wonder of a cloudless night when the Lord unveils the marvels of His heavens—the twinkling stars, the moonlight rays—to ignite our imagination with His greatness and glory? How captivating to watch a seed planted in fertile soil germinate, gather strength, and send forth a tiny, seemingly insignificant sprout. Patiently it begins to grow and develop its own character led by the genetic code the Lord has provided to guide its development. With care it surely will become what it is destined to be: a lily, crowned with grace and beauty; a fragrant spearmint plant; a peach; an avocado; or a beautiful blossom with unique delicacy, hue, and fragrance. When last did you observe a tiny rosebud form? Each day it develops new and impressive character, more promise of beauty until it becomes a majestic rose. You are one of the noblest of God’s creations. His intent is that your life be gloriously beautiful regardless of your circumstances. As you are grateful and obedient, you can become all that God intends you to be.

Richard G. Scott, May 1996


Our realization of what is most important in life goes hand in hand with gratitude for our blessings.

Said one well-known author: “Both abundance and lack [of abundance] exist simultaneously in our lives, as parallel realities. It is always our conscious choice which secret garden we will tend … when we choose not to focus on what is missing from our lives but are grateful for the abundance that’s present—love, health, family, friends, work, the joys of nature, and personal pursuits that bring us [happiness]—the wasteland of illusion falls away and we experience heaven on earth.”

Thomas S. Monson, Oct. 2008

Gratitude is a state of appreciation, an act of thanksgiving, which causes us to be humble because we recognize an act of kindness, service, or caring from someone else which lifts us and strengthens us.

Ingratitude is the attitude of being unaware or not recognizing when someone has assisted us or helped us or, even worse, when we know we have been helped and have not given thanks privately or publicly.

In some quiet way, the expression and feelings of gratitude have a wonderful cleansing or healing nature. Gratitude brings warmth to the giver and the receiver alike.

Gratitude expressed to our Heavenly Father in prayer for what we have brings a calming peace—a peace which allows us to not canker our souls for what we don’t have. Gratitude brings a peace that helps us overcome the pain of adversity and failure. Gratitude on a daily basis means we express appreciation for what we have now without qualification for what we had in the past or desire in the future. A recognition of and appreciation for our gifts and talents which have been given also allows us to acknowledge the need for help and assistance from the gifts and talents possessed by others.

Robert D. Hales, April 1992

Club

Not all of you were weird growing up. That's ok. We can be friends even if you used to be normal and popular.

I was a little weird. To many of you this is no big shock to hear. I was the new kid in school every couple of years. I was brainy and bossy and kind of a snob. I was the oldest in a big, Mormon family - normal in Utah, weird everywhere else - that was slightly short on money and un-slightly long on ideas. Not poor-me here, I'm not that ungrateful - just not Guess and Esprit and new subdivisions and unembarrassing transportation.

It was kind of relief to get to the age (high school, basically) where there were enough weird kids to be a group-o'-weird. A rejects' club. We sat outside the art room to eat our lunch. We hung out at the university on weekends. We felt like we were in a John Hughes movie. That was very validating, very normal, considering. And as you know, I met Dr. G-to-be in this very inclusive cohort of weirdos in 1989. So there's one more awesome thing about it.

About twelve years later a different group of friends sat in my living room. They all came from the university married student ward we'd moved away from. One couple had lost a daughter an hour after her birth. Another friend had left her abusive husband, and the divorce process had sent her reeling emotionally and spiritually. And there we were, with our wonderful, beautiful adopted black baby. Someone wondered aloud why we all felt so bonded to each other while most of the rest of our former ward was less important to us. (Sally, we would've invited you but you ran away to California.)

I told them, it's because we've survived all the things everyone else was terrified of. There we were: the bereaved, the abused, the divorced, the infertile. We could talk with each other about what mattered most, without fear of being thought weak or unfaithful or wallowing.

I am starting to realize that pretty much everybody belongs in this club. We just don't always know it because we are too concerned about maintaining appearances and fitting in. It's the equivalent of the Esprit shirt and Swatch watch we got for our thirteenth birthday - the ones we thought would change everything and really made no difference at all. (Oh, that didn't happen to you?)

Who might need to know your story?

Do you dare open up?

My dad does. I am humbled by him, proud of him.

Excuse for an easy post

Sally tagged me ...

20 years ago…
1. Falling desperately and sort of pathetically in 14-year-old love with a long-haired piano player. (Who was 15, by the way.) I was so fatal about it, although I did somehow manage to avoid boiling any bunnies! Good thing I moved away the next year and met G instead and had gotten just the tiniest bit more mature so I didn't scare him too much. Aw, it's all kind of a sweet memory now.
2. Acting in the school production of a funny, silly little play called FAUGH. Dyed my hair red for this. It was supposed to be temporary. It turned out to be the beginning of 20 years of hair dye.
3. Going to early morning seminary at Sara's house for New Testament study. Food after seminary every single day. Feast upon the word, and the bagels.

10 years ago…
1. New to PR, working for a little software company in Salt Lake, planning our participation in a big Chicago trade show for that November.
2. Undergoing infertility treatments at the University of Utah Medical Center.
3. Sally was my visiting teacher in our U of U student ward (G was getting a Master's in geological engineering).

5 years ago…
1. New to California, not a friend in the accessible world except Sally, mercifully only an hour away from us. She totally saved my life!
2. Living in a horrible house with horrible green shag carpet. But it had three bedrooms and its own fenced back yard with a huge shade tree. And it was only $800/month.
3. Thanking God on my knees every night for free universal preschool in Cali. Otherwise my oldest child might not have survived the month of September. He was driving me that crazy. And I really was that grateful.

3 years ago…
1. Recovering from the Sept. 5 Grand Opening of the university where I work. It was like the day after Christmas for a long time, except I was more tired and burned out. And there was still perpetually tons of work to do.
2. Trying to figure out where my next child or children were going to come from and how to convince G they were indeed coming. Got him to agree to make a decision the following January.
3. Other stuff documented for posterity here.

1 year ago…
1. A year ago tomorrow is the day baby Z came back to us after a month of upside-down horrible confusing wrongness. I am still amazed every day at this miracle!
2. Read "No More Goodbyes" by Carol Lynn Pearson and had a FHE lesson about it for my elementary school aged kids.
3. Taught the sex lessons in YW. That was fun! Little did I know I only had a couple months left in that calling. Well, actually I sort of did know, somehow.

This year so far…
1. Amazing, blessed victories in our fost-adopt cases. Both little kids set to be finalized by the end of the year.
2. Fun vacation in Utah with brave me and four kids, and my saintly mother helping a ton. Bear Lake, Cascade Spring, BYU, Lagoon and of course the DI were among the highlights.
3. After lots of juggling and adjusting, returned to making mommyhood priority number one by threatening to quit and ending up with a half-time schedule, mostly from home. At least for a while. I am lucky, lucky!

Yesterday…
1. Didn't get out of my PJs until after dinner. I rock! Biggest drama: trying to get the baby to take a nap. Yessir, back to the good old days.
2. Made Indian for dinner. One kid actually tried masoor dal and liked it! This is major! I also made bhindi masala. I have no idea how to spell that and I am not getting the cookbook out now. But it is an okra dish. First time I have ever cooked okra.
3. Spent a lot of time, and I mean a lot, working on a Facebook page. It was real work though. I'm gonna get paid for it.

Today…
1. Childcare woes, woof.
2. Baby in the office, woof.
3. Still have to pack for my weekend trip.

Tomorrow…
1. Leavin' on a jet plane!
2. Trying to squeeze in 4 hours of work somewhere in the middle of it all.
3. Trying not to be too gleeful about G left home with all the crazies. I will certainly have my share of it as he starts interview trips later this fall, so it would behoove me to be gracious and grateful that he is so supportive of my taking breaks like this.

Next year…
1. Mainly a mystery, because of my husband's stage in life (set to finish a Ph.D. this December/January).
2. My baby will be in her 3rd year. I don't think I will be getting baby hungry again. I'm full!
3. Cuter, thinner, organizeder, spiritualler, capabler. Or maybe just one of those, even that would be good. I will be 35 next year, after all! Old enough to run for president as someone reminded me last week!

I tag…
1. you
2. you
3. you (purposeful ambiguity)

Plus side

Our old friend Braden not only tagged me for this but said really nice thing about me and G in his answer (it was not our Christmas tree, just a Christmas tree, though!), so of course I have to play the meme. Plus it is a really nice one - all about the brighter side of life.

If every job paid $50,000 a year, and you had no physical or mental limitations, what would you do?

I would be a kick-a SAHM with a housekeeper and a chef doing the hard jobs, each of them of course miraculously making $50k/year. And I would write novels at night.

What is your current church calling and what do you like about it?

Teaching the 7-8 year olds in Primary. I like the focus on the basics of the gospel through the life and teachings of the Savior. Also the jokes told by the kids, and the baptisms.

Name a person you regularly encounter (outside your family) who brightens your day.

Ellen R. from my ward. She's also my VT companion, lucky me! She is amazing because I know she has a lot going on and yet she manages to keep up with my little dramas and check up on me to see how I'm doing. Plus happy, talented, down-to-earth and fun!

In twenty years, what do you think you will miss most about your life now?

I was going to say little kid snuggles ... but you know, I could potentially have a couple of little grandkids by that time (weird) ... I dunno, I think I will still be happy and relishing where I am at that time, whatever it is I am doing.

What’s something you appreciate about your spouse?

Deep down goodness and absolute trustworthiness. Also being a good housekeeper - him, not me.

What is your favorite routine, household chore?

Folding laundry. Don't laugh. Everything is already clean, there's nothing gross about it, and you can watch TV or listen to This American Life on your MP3 player at the same time.

What’s a book you return to occasionally (besides the scriptures)?

Jane Eyre and Orson Scott Card's Ender books are the only books I reread, and those only every 4-5 years or maybe even less. There's too much out there for a lot of repeating.

Favorite small pleasure?

Dark, dark chocolate.

Favorite time of the day?

The quiet in the car after the kids are dropped off in the morning.

Name a person who performed what they thought was a small act of service, but ended up being a big deal to you:

Sally Lou calls me and texts me and is my friend even when I am clueless and disconnected. She does this little thing over and over. I am so grateful!

Name someone who somehow changed your life.

I will have to choose, on that one, two birthmoms who chose our family for their sons, and the director of the county child services agency who intervened when a case was going wrong. (I have trouble narrowing down lists like this!)

Consider what you do each day. Think of one attribute or trait that you bring to your daily work that is a strength—what is something you do really well? No false modesty!

I have put my priorities where they belong, at last, and I am accomplishing the things that truly need to be done each day - both in my family and in my professional work.

I do still read

It has been basically forever since I did a book post. I have been reading! Honest!

I will say that one book I read was one I am not going to tell people I read - it was basically a cross between Brigadoon and a Harlequin novel. I am embarrassed that I read that thing!

Actually I have been reading as Z settles in at night, so she will know I am nearby, but I am not actively singing to her and babying her so much. It's a good time to just be and read and enjoy some peace. A rare commodity indeed. And I've finished two really good books in the last little while.

Tonight I'm only writing about one because it's fresh in my mind and it was mind-blowingly awesome, especially compared to Brigadoon-with-sex. But I think it would be awesome compared to most books. (You would think my vocabulary would be more impressive after reading such an - um - awesome book.)

I'm speaking of "The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse" by Louise Erdrich.

I was going through her catalog at the end of the book tonight and I think I have pretty much read all her novels, starting with "Tracks" in AP English in high school. Yet another habit for which I can thank Ms. Stitham. The last one was "The Master Butcher's Singing Club" - read on our trip to Alaska last summer. Gorgeous.

I think what I love about Erdrich's novels is the mess. Everything is too messy to be clear about, too complicated to be didactic in the least. Even as I say that I am tempted to start a list of dichotomies that swirl around in these books - this book - and it's impossible to do. You can start with magic and miracle, pagan and Christian, but in the middle of it all there are devils and curses and human failings and wonders of nature, love and lust, repercussions of abuses and illnesses, vengeance, forgiveness, music.

This all fits, in "Little No Horse," into a story about a sincere but deceptive Catholic missionary among the Ojibwe, really a gifted female pianist, who started as a nun and became a passionate lover and very nearly a murder victim before finding her priestly vocation - and her struggle with secrets and realities and the complex web of reservation life. Sister Leopolda, a late nun from the res, is up for sainthood, and this pianist/priest, Agnes/Father Damien Modeste, has information about her life that will affect her candidacy. But you can't understand Leopolda without knowing about a hundred other stories and people - many of whom are familiar from Erdrich's other novels. Familiar enough - remember, when I read "Tracks" for the first time it was 16 years ago or so - that I kept turning to the family tree printed at the front of the book, remembering all the connections among these familiar names - Pillager, Nanapush, Kashpaw, Morrissey, Lazarre.

Here are some ideas I loved - not spoilers, I hope.

(Really, even knowing the ending could not spoil this book. It is so much more than a plot. You probably know by now I am a darned sucker for a good story no matter what, but I am an absolute fool for a good story with great ideas.)

Appalling realities might disqualify one person from sainthood, but they don't undo miracles that occurred. And some people who might seem inherently unqualified when you're in the lucky position of an omniscient reader might be saints in spite of it all.

From Father Damien's Sermon to the Snakes:

What is the question we spend our entire lives asking? Our question is this: Are we loved? I don't mean by one another. Are we loved by the one who made us? Constantly, we look for evidence. In the gifts we are given - children, good weather, money, a happy marriage perhaps - we find assurance. In contrast, our pains, illnesses, the deaths of those we love, our poverty, our innocent misfortunes - those we take as signs that God has somehow turned away. But, my friends, what exactly is love here? How to define it? Does God's love have anything at all to do with the lack or plethora of good fortune at work in our lives? Or is God's love, perhaps, something very different from what we think we know?

Divine love may be so large it cannot see us.

Or it may be so infinitely tiny that it works on a level where it directs us like an unknown substance buried in our blood.

Or it may be transparent, an invisible screen, a filter through which we see and hear all that is created. ...

Like you, I poise alertly and open my senses to try to read the air, the clouds, the sun's slant, the little movements of the animals, all in the hope I will learn the secret of whether I am loved.