Christ Has Boundaries

Is "boundaries" a buzz word this year, or have I been hiding under a rock my whole life?   I never even heard the word before last year when my world exploded.  But it turns out that a lack of boundaries can make your world explode.  Haha!  So I'm learning now.  It's uphill work: imposing boundaries typically makes me feel un-Christlike because I've internalized some ideas about the Savior that aren't quite right.   The best antidote I have found to this unhealthy sense of shame is a study of Christ's life and teachings.


What are Boundaries?
Simply stated, my boundaries define my own knowledge of who I am and what kind of treatment I will accept within a relationship.  Boundaries do not dictate others' actions, but guide my own in providing safety for myself when others fail to show respect.

Within a relationship we issue invitations to interact in ways that work for us.  When our loved ones can respect our boundaries and help us feel healthy and safe within the relationship, those boundaries can move in a little.  When they refuse to respect those boundaries, the boundary moves out to provide protection.

Boundaries often get the bad rap of killing intimacy, while really it is the fertilizer that grows closeness.  For example, say my best friend knows that trust is a basic principle for me within a relationship.  I let her know that it's important she doesn't share anything confidential with others.  If she honors that need and can keep a secret, I feel safe letting her see more and more of me, hence the boundary moves in toward greater closeness.  If she chooses not to honor that boundary, it moves out and I no longer feel safe sharing personal things with her.  I find a safe place in the relationship either way.  The quality of the relationship, the closeness and intimacy are determined by both members knowing and respecting each other's boundaries.  

Does Christ Have Boundaries?
In Christ's mortal ministry, he demonstrated boundaries in his daily life and taught them in precept. Christ knew who he was and did not allow others to define him.  Christ knew his personal mission on the earth did not extend in every direction, and so focused his efforts where he knew they should be.
Christ took time to rest physically, ate when he was hungry, and took time to be alone when he was tired or heartsick.  Christ didn't comply with unreasonable demands.

Christ's teachings are replete with these principles, too.  I would copy Matthew 18 word for word here, but for the sake of brevity, consider these (and read the rest as soon as you can!)

But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.
Woe unto the world because of offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh!
Wherefore if they hand or thy foot offend thee, cut them off, and cast them from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life halt or maimed, rather than having two hands or two feet to be cast into everlasting fire.

My translation?  Relationships are important, but only insofar as they promote our health, happiness, and progression back to Heavenly Father's presence.  

The ultimate example of Christ's boundaries is that he has decreed only those who love him will enter into his presence.  This very simple concept is the basis for a healthy life for us as well.

Boundaries=Love
There is a little devil on every covenant woman's shoulder, telling her to be "Christlike" whenever she starts to establish boundaries.  Search the scriptures carefully and see Christ for who he really is, not who he is painted to be.  True disciples of Christ must emulate his example in kindness towards themselves before they can ever minister to anyone else.

If you desire to be a blessing in the lives of those around you, start by becoming the happy, loved woman God created you to be.  Only from a full heart can flow those acts of genuine kindness and those principles of truth that will lift the world each day.  Only from healthy relationships founded on Christ's teachings can come the light we are commanded to shine.

I had a very tender experience recently as the Lord set about to teach me what boundaries are about. I had felt some pressure to let down a boundary in order to see family members who have recently hurt me very much, had held firm to protect myself (yay!) and had felt immediately guilty about it (boo!) I took my problem to the Lord and he asked me if I would ever force my 10-year-old self to participate in a family gathering with people who had been mean to her and most likely would do so again.  My mind recoiled at the thought of forcing a child to be with people who make her uncomfortable, and the Lord told me, "that's how I feel about you."  I felt a flood of peace and love from the Savior, and perhaps just as important, for myself.

That honest, kind, nurturing love toward myself has been a lifetime in coming.  It swells when I listen carefully to my own feelings and honor them as I would a tender child.  Because I am safe and loved, I have a lot more love and tenderness to share with those around me.  But I must resist the impulse to say that is the whole point--that kind of martyr attitude hurts after awhile.  While the ability to minister to others certainly increases with a true sense of self, the point for me is that I can feel the love of my Heavenly Father.

Christ did and does have boundaries.  He provided them for us not to keep us out, but to draw us ever farther in toward the center of his love by making us more like him.  As we allow his love to refine us and feel it burn more brightly, we will guard that light from the winds around us so that those who want to, can draw closer and feel it, too.

PS:  After you've read Matthew 18 (for real), you should really take a look at this article, which details many instances of the Lord showing a healthy sense of his boundaries.  It greatly influenced my progress and helped me to write this post!

Choosing to See

What I Had to do Before I Could See Christ in My Troubled Past   


Since the family pictures have fled with all their cheer and beauty to Instagram lately, this blog has experienced a bit of an existential crisis.  Why did I write here and why did you read here?  Do I continue my ruminations on what pain means to a woman of faith?  I guess part of the reason I've been silent lately is because my story has expanded from the lonely battle of depression to the wider war of family dysfunction--and I don't know how much of that you need or even want to know.

But I'm still here and the major theme of pain through the lense of faith persists in my life.  I assume it persists in yours as well, or you would not be brave enough to keep coming back.

And so as long as this soapbox of mine continues to bear my weight, you will still see me here, whining just as little as I can, but mostly sharing my hope of a better world to come.  This blog is a love song to my perfect Savior, and so...I write.

.     .     .

If you've missed the basic outline of my last eighteen months, and just so you can have some context, here it is.  My brother admitted to a major pornography addiction, left his wife, and left the church. My parents separated, then divorced.  My dysfunctional relationship with Dad has painfully exploded into complete rupture.  The counseling I've resorted to in order to help me cope has sometimes been a cocoon of validation and support, but more frequently a brutally painful opening and scrubbing of old wounds so that they can heal properly.  And the past year has been very physically painful as I've battled chronic pain and tension in my neck and shoulders, which no amount of medication, yoga, exercise, massage, chiropractic care, or physical therapy seems able to touch.

There is a lot of good news, though.  I've won a lot of battles with anxiety and depression this year because of all the great therapy, medication, and especially love and support from family and friends. My kids have thrived in their new Montessori School, alleviating my responsibility to home school them and also the guilt that I would have struggled with if they didn't love their school.  My relationships with TJ, the kids, my mom and my siblings have grown in intimacy and joy--more, I think, than they ever could have without these struggles to pull us together.  I spend hours and hours every week connecting with my loved ones as we do everything from Muppet movies to serious discussions about our feelings and our lives.  The adults in my family have given me the most important validation, counsel, feedback, and support, despite my excellent professional counselor.  And I'm learning to make friends for the first time since college, fighting my way out of the self-imposed isolation and loneliness depression often brings.  Girl friends!  Thanks for loving me even though I have no social skills.

.     .     .

I suppose the best news of all is what you hoped it would be.  My testimony of Jesus Christ becomes brighter and more hopeful as time passes and I learn more fully what he has done and continues to do for me.

As I said, I've had to revisit some very painful facts about my childhood, and there have been some very dark times when I've wondered where God was when I was suffering so much.  Those who enjoyed relatively healthy childhoods will struggle to understand this, but examining my past has brought home the painful reality that I'm not sure God loves me--and the closer my therapist has helped/forced me to look at the painful circumstances of my childhood, the more this wound has hurt. It's not the age-old philosophic debate, if God existed he would not allow so much pain in this world. It's worse than that: He does exist and He is full of love, but he doesn't love me--or I would have felt his love during that dark time.  

One of the most painful and lingering effects of childhood abuse is that it can be difficult and even impossible to believe in a loving Heavenly Father.  Feeling unloved and unlovable is also a classic symptom of depression.  And this can rec havoc on our faith.  It's a pretty awful irony--those of us who feel unloved by parents will also struggle to feel God's love.

I listened to a podcast recently featuring Deborah Pegues, who wrote "Forgive, Let Go, and Live," and identified so much with her story.  My heart especially resonated with what she said about facing the fact that God has allowed our suffering.

"First of all, you understand that everything that has happened in your life--this is a hard one--God saw it before it happened.  He saw it before it happened and He saw it while it was happening.  And He could've stopped it.  That has been a big pill to swallow.  God saw that.  He could've stopped it.  So it must gonna be something that's gonna work together for my good ultimately...I'm gonna grow.  Something good is gonna happen.  If you don't take a divine perspective towards that kind of pain, you're gonna get stuck in it. You're gonna say, "It shouldn't have happened."  And it probably "shouldn't have happened," but in His divine providence, God knows..."All the days ordained for me were already written in His book."  Not the good days, the bad days, too.  And so, yes, I can relax.  So I'm gonna choose how I remember this...When you walk by faith, at some point, you gotta start abandoning the "why" and just say, "it did and that I'm gonna trust God."
I like what Joseph said when his brothers came to him.  And you know the story, how he was sold into slavery and they came and they knew they were mean to him and they said, "Forgive us, we're sorry."  And he said, "Listen, you meant it for bad, but God meant it for good."  

I've been grieving this year, hard.  I have been shedding a lifetime of bottled up tears.  I have been kneading and beating on my grief like a big wad of bread dough, trying to pound out my anger and expel my pain.  It's been necessary, completely awful emotional work to say goodbye to the blessings denied me over all these years of  life.  And even through this latest installment of pain, I've asked Him, "where were you all those years?  and where are you now?"

I planned on wearing this t-shirt for a picture in a canyon
just for you guys.  I didn't plan on waking up feeling alone
and unloved on the day of the trip--and I almost didn't go.
Yet the combination of a favorite t-shirt and God's glorious
creation tuned me right in to his love.  Not always that simple,
sadly.  But sometimes it is.  

So this painful, painful year has been very much about forcing me to face The Big Question: does my painful past prove that He doesn't love me, or is it just the opposite? Emotionally this year would look like a V on a bar graph, with my grieving over all I've lost, feeling abandoned and forgotten, and generally unloading a lifetime of repressed sorrow.  Down toward the bottom of the V, I was still hanging on to some kind of hope that Heavenly Father loved me, but it was very academic at that point.  My whole life is based on the assumption, the trust, that it's true, but I needed to know.  And so God has been teaching me in real time that the hardest trials are proof of his love, because this, the hardest of years, has taken me to the nadir that I needed to reach in order to be ready to believe.  I had to climb to the bottom of the canyon before I could ascend the mountain on the other side.  And God let me do it, because it was part of his plan for me to feel the joy that can only come when we're willing to face our fears down.

I reached the bottom of that canyon, and I'm climbing up the other side now.  The height of the mountain will crown me with sure knowledge of my Father in Heaven's love, but for now it's just wonderful to take step after step up into the sunshine.

My sense of how much Heavenly Father loves me has deepened as I have looked back over my troubled past and have seen the multitude of tender mercies He gave to me.  My vision has cleared , and now when I look back on the pain of my past, I see that Father in Heaven tempered my troubles. He cleared dangerous obstacles out of my path and saved me from many snares.  He sent care packages, always at the right time: teachers, friends, mentors, siblings, great books and beautiful music--to inspire me, give me hope and joy, and to teach me about a beautiful life just out of reach but worth hoping for.

But the most important thing he did was to provide a Savior.  My Savior redeemed me from my many follies and mistakes, making me worthy through his grace of the Comforter.  He gave me hope for a bright future in the company of the most loving Father a girl could have.  And at great personal cost, Heavenly Father allowed his precious son to suffer with me.  

I have come to know that I never cried alone.  That sad little girl who has always lived in my memory as very alone and unloved--had her Savior beside her, helping her bear her burden, comforting her, protecting her from trauma that would have undone her, and this is the most important part, crying with her.

Elder Merrill J. Bateman's words on the Atonement have helped me come to this new understanding of my painful past.  He said,

For many years I thought of the Savior's experience in the garden and on the cross as places where a large mass of sin was heaped upon Him.  Through the words of Alma, Abinidi, Isaiah, and other prophets, however, my view has changed.  Instead of an impersonal mass of sin, there was a long line of people, as Jesus felt "our infirmities" (Heb. 4:15), "[bore] our griefs,...carried our sorrows,,,[and] was bruised for our iniquities."  (Isa. 53:4-5).

The memories have gone from bitter to semi-sweet, because that image has changed.  I wasn't alone. He literally shared my pain, felt it in its entirety for as long as I was feeling it.  He experienced the full magnitude of it not only so he could help me heal, but really for the same reason my earthly angels do--because He loves me.  He loves me enough to suffer with me.

My trials will continue to refine me, and I will still struggle to feel loved sometimes, but I'm climbing up into a safer and surer knowledge that feeling alone is not the same as being alone.  My Heavenly Father and my Savior lavish me with more love every day than I can even conceive.  Especially when I'm in pain.  

Thankful for Him

"All things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator."

A week ago today, I heard the voice of God.

Rest eternal grant them,

Lord our God,

we pray to thee:

and light perpetual forever shine on them

It came to me in a concert hall, during a dress rehearsal for my chamber group.  Dancers, singers, orchestra, and soloists, had all prepared for weeks and months, and as I found, lifetimes for this night.  I hoped that it would be enough, hoped that the music would be done justice.

The orchestra was good!  My heart went out in gratitude to them for the countless hours of preparation they invested to master their instruments. The amount of time and talent and God-given goodness sitting in those chairs blew me away.  

Lord Jesus Christ, thou that rulest in majesty,

O free the souls of they faithful departed

out of the lion's jaw...

Grant them, Lord, 

Grant them deliverance from death unto life,

We pray thee, as of old thou has promised to our fathers

The vocal soloists were masterful, tender, fervent, and sweetly floated their voices fifty feet to the ceiling on their own power.  My heart soared with those voices in the praise of Him who made them.

Light perpetual shine upon them, shine upon them, Lord, we pray.

With all thy saints in endless glory, for thy tender mercy's sake

My favorite piece of the work, "Sanctus," features a violin obbligato of such tender sweetness, words completely fail.  Give it a listen:

I was overjoyed that the violinist did it absolute justice.  How could I be so lucky, to be sitting in a room with so much beauty, all devoted to the Master of the universe?  It was as if He was there in the harmony, there in the dance, there in the perfect sweetness of the violin and the voice.  It was as if He was showing me His greatness through all this beauty.  

Heaven and earth are full, 

Full of thy glory, O Lord.  

Hosanna in the highest!

Hosanna, indeed!  The God of creation has endowed this earth more beauty than can be seen, more loveliness than can be heard or felt.  He is in the taste of a perfect mango.  He is in the joy of a happy marriage.  He is in the great bodies of knowledge to be found in libraries all over the world.  He is in the majestic power of waves breaking on the shore.  He is in the works of masters like Gabriel Faure, and he is in the work of the musicians who work to bring it to life.

I am grateful for who He is.  I am grateful for what He has done for me.  I am grateful I can see and hear him when I'm looking and listening.  Not only is he the Great Creator, but he loves me enough to make himself known to me.  

Humble Pie, Part II

As my marvelous cousin said, "Eat organic, take your meds!"  This is my new motto, and since it's such a reversal for me, I'm glad that humble pie goes down easier with a good antidepressant.   

I've been thinking about all the reasons that have prevented me from taking an anti-depressant all these years.  I started the excavation of all those ideas in my first Humble Pie post, but there were a lot more.  They were always so nebulous, but a phone conversation with a trusted friend helped me crystallize my thinking and I came out feeling that I knew myself better.  I'll share my thoughts with you if you promise not to laugh at me for being a weirdo.

Identity

I'm starting with this one because it's probably the one that startled me the most when I heard it coming out of my mouth.  I've been dealing with the illness so long and have been so open about it, that I have really started to identify myself as a depressed person who makes the best of it.  The love and positive feedback I get from friends about how bravely I face this challenge has become a bit of an addiction.  My inner martyr just loves the attention.  Could it be, I wondered, that I'm so content with the counterfeit happiness of praise, that I'm actually not willing so seek healing anymore?  I know.  It's so sick.  

My second identity question has a little more credence.  There have been so many real and wonderful compensatory blessings flowing from this disease.  As Ether 12:27 teaches, this weakness brings me to my knees over and over, teaches me humility every day, gives me gratitude for those who help me, and keeps me from forgetting how pathetically dependent I am on the Lord's grace.  I wondered where all those blessings would go if my struggle with depression ended. In the end, I had faith in the adversary to present me with plenty of opportunities for humility and growth.  That's his job, not mine.  


Diagnosis

"There should be a blood test," my friend told me, and she's absolutely right.  Depression is such a subjective thing.  I was diagnosed with depression after a couple of sessions with an LCSW.  I told my doctor, who will prescribe anything I ask him for, that I wanted an antidepressant, and he really didn't even ask me any questions before scribbling my prescription.  What if I'm not really depressed?  What if I'm too lazy to create lasting happiness, or too negative and ungrateful to see my blessings?  

I grew up laughing at people who need a pill to feel good, at a society that over-prescribes pharmaceuticals.  Doesn't everyone suffer?  Why should I be different?

I believe this paradygm has kept some of my dearest loved ones from seeking treatment, and I've thought all these years I was smarter than that--truthfully it's been influencing me anyway.  

But when I'm honest with myself, if a doctor told me I was not depressed, that I was just too lazy or too negative--I would know he was wrong.  I know the truth about who I am and what I struggle with.  And that's enough for me now.  I don't have to prove myself to anyone.


Existential

"Existential" being the only one-word title I could come up with that conveys the idea that I'm depressed because I deserve to be depressed. 

This one was tough to pinpoint, because it goes against everything Jesus Christ wants me to know about myself.  But it's been there all the time anyway, subtly and constantly influencing my decisions for my whole life.  

I don't remember ever feeling like I was good enough, even when I was very, very young.  I've only ever seen my failings and weaknesses, and so when things go wrong in my life, I'm not really surprised.  It kind of seems like if I could just be a better person, I'd be happier.  And so I try harder, I run faster, I pray longer, and when I'm still unhappy it's just another failure.

Depression is so very difficult to distinguish from spiritual problems.  We talk every week in church about how unhappy we are when we're not living gospel principles.  And so if happiness is not a good yardstick for worthiness, then what is?  

I'm working on this one, and I don't have all the answers yet.  But I'm trying to take my worthiness on the word of those who know me best: my bishop, my parents, my siblings, my friends, my wonderful husband.  Heavenly Father, too, makes contact once every ten years or so to tell me what I'm really worth to Him--and I treasure those experiences with all my heart.

And what if my depression does stem in some part from some of my own bad choices?  Does Heavenly Father want me to punish myself by not seeking treatment?  Of course He doesn't.  He wants me to repent. He wants me to trust in Christ's grace to make me clean.  He wants me to be as happy as I can.

If my sister were in my shoes, I'd tell her to be nice to herself.  So I finally decided to cut myself some slack.  I decided to assume the best about myself and to get the treatment that might just lift my burden.  I finally decided to be kind to myself.



And for those of you still reading and just dying to know how my medication is working--haha!--it's working great.  It took five whole weeks to kick in, and then one Sunday, I felt normal and cautiously optimistic.  Then I had a normal Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and so on until today.  I feel whole and well.

I still cry sometimes--my family is still in turmoil and there's still grieving to get through--but I only cry for good reasons now, and I don't carry the constant weight of despair.  I feel emotionally sound and strong.  And that's way more valuable than my pride, any day.  

2016 can die.

And don't tell me about the law of attraction, because this year was a disaster right out of the gate.  I gave it plenty of chances to reform itself, but it continues to break my heart.  Every couple of weeks brings a new crisis, and I've pretty much stopped fighting it.  2016 is a black-hearted villain.  This year our extended family has dealt with serious illness, abuse, loss of faith, addiction, betrayal and divorce, and depression.

Lately more than ever I have felt that my "adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour."  And I have had the deep grief of seeing him rip and tear at my family.  He is the master of chaos, filth, and despair, and he has surrounded me in a whirlwind of his finest work.  I have seen so much evil this year that I never wanted to know about, and sometimes it has threatened to extinguish my hope.

But you know what?  Bring it.

I am not afraid of the darkness anymore, because the darker it gets, the more Christ shines by contrast. All the ugliness and pain of this year have given me a clearer view of the One who has already conquered it all.

"The future of this world has long been declared; the final outcome between good and evil is already known.  There is absolutely no question as to who wins because the victory has already been posted on the scoreboard.  The only really strange thing in all of this is that we are still down here on the field trying to decide which team's jersey we want to wear!"  -Jeffrey R. Holland

I don't know Him as well as I someday will.  I have been showered with evidences of His love for me all my life.  But this year, when other helpers fail and comforts flee, I am amazed to find I believe in Him even more.  I don't see Him in the light, I see Him in the dark, fighting my battles and vanquishing my foes.  And the darker it gets, the more I marvel at his might.

Evil as the world is, He is that good.
Disloyal as the world is, He is that faithful.
Brutal as the world is, He is that tender.
Selfish as the world is, He is that generous.
Hurtful as the world is, He is that healing.

The louder the lion roars, and the more power he displays, the more I glory that my Lord has already defeated him.  Christ must be pretty amazing if he has already conquered 2016 for me.  I praise Him.

Wellbutrin Tastes like Humble Pie

I hope you like the title, because I'm pretty in love with it myself.  It doesn't match the tone of this post, though, so if you're in the mood for witty observations, I'm not your girl.  In fact, I want to take this moment to say that I'm sorry for being a little too chipper sometimes.  To be perfectly clear: I'm messed up.  What you read here is the healthiest, most positive, shining version of Kari, cheerleading her sad little heart to the finish line--and it's funny that I chose that metaphor, because I find cheerleaders annoying.  The nature of blogging is such that you see me on my best days and not my worst. The idea that anyone might think I have all the answers is too ridiculous for words, especially given the awful state I've been in lately.

Even accounting for the grief I'm still going through, which I consider a separate matter, I'm in pretty tough shape.  Anxiety, hopelessness, frustration, guilt, and deep inadequacy are my constant companions these days.  I spend a lot of time crying, avoiding, hiding, being mean, begging for forgiveness, and watching lame Youtube videos.

My therapist recommended medication, which idea I rejected out of hand.  The whole idea behind seeking counseling in the first place, was to do the cognitive work that would help me heal without the use of antidepressants.  After all, I am the cheerleader of drug-free depression here.  Please don't stop reading.  I hate what I just wrote, too.

I experienced a lot of relief when I took Zoloft about ten years ago.  After awhile, it started losing its effectiveness, and the side effects were bugging, so I went off and tried one or two other medications with no success.  Finally I sought out other options, such as light therapy and exercise, which have been huge for me.  So huge that I write about them here all the time.  But back to why I didn't like my counselor's suggestion that I start on an antidepressant while continuing my cognitive therapy--why was my goal to heal without the use of antidepressants?  Shouldn't my goal just be to heal?

So I've been digging into all my reasons for not taking an antidepressant, and finding most of them to be irrational.  I've found so much food for thought that I'm sure this post is just the first of many.  But I think one of my biggest obstacles to taking medication is my perception that it would just mask my symptoms without addressing the underlying causes of the disease.  To consider the possibility that medication may just be my very best method of treatment for the rest of my life, feels like giving up on real healing.  But here's the thing: all these years I've been trying to get to the root or cause of the depression and fix it.  It must be that my body needs more light in the winter.  It must be that I have unresolved issues from my childhood.  It must be that I need more exercise.  All these things are probably true, but years of attacking the problem from that angle have brought only limited success.  Maybe the "root" really is the chemical imbalance, and I'll be better-equipped to address peripheral attacks on my sanity if I can just get the baseline right.

I started Wellbutrin yesterday.  After all I've written here about beating depression the hard way, I feel like you deserve to be the first to know.  I believe in the easy way, too, if it can be called that.  Facing the very real stigmas still associated with antidepressants isn't easy.  The exhaustive search for the medication that will work for your body isn't easy.  Dealing with side effects isn't easy.  Really, out of all the steps I've taken to beat depression, this may end up being the hardest.  Isn't that just classic depressed thinking--I'll seek medical attention only after I've exhausted every other possible hope for healing.

So here I go, trying another option.  I really hope you find me here in a few weeks telling you how well it's working.  I remember the way the world's weight rolled off my shoulders when I started Zoloft, and I long for that relief.  I remember feeling truly myself for the first time in years: like I didn't have to fake being me anymore. I know that finding the right medication can be a journey.  In fact, from my experience and observations I may well be dealing with this illness for the rest of my life.  Oh, how I long for the permanent healing that will come when I arise to meet the Lord!  Until then, it's my job to cope and to hope.  Maybe I won't have to wait that long.  

Bearing Depression...Cheerfully

I know my title is hilarious.  In fact, the whole premise of this post is a little outlandish, so if you're not able to stomach it today, I totally respect that.  But this is something I've been thinking of a lot for the past few months, and I'm excited to explore it here with you.

Just about every time adversity comes up in the church, it comes with the exhortation to "bear it well" or to "endure cheerfully."  Our beloved President Hinckley used to tell us to "cultivate an attitude of happiness."  And strangely, if you suffer from clinical depression, these words of encouragement can sound like rebukes, and can even exacerbate classic symptoms, such as low self-worth, hopelessness, inadequacy, and guilt.

What is the meaning of bearing your trial cheerfully when the very definition of your trial is a clinical inability to feel cheer?  Does it mean pulling yourself up by your boostraps each day?  Because most of us have done plenty of that.  And to tell the truth, that's where this blog post was headed originally, because I consider myself pretty good at "bootstrapping."  After all, the dark thoughts and feelings I struggle with would alienate me from most people in the world if I shared them as constantly as I felt them.  This disease requires a good filter or it will spread. 

But there's a difference between putting on a happy face--which is actually an essential skill whether you suffer from mental illness or not--and showing true cheer.

First, let's look carefully at what cheer means in an LDS context, because when I think of cheer, I tend to think of skipping down the road singing "Zippidee Doo Dah."  (And to be clear, I think we could all use a lot more of that song in our lives.)

But does the Lord require skipping and singing on the toughest days of our lives, even figuratively? President Thomas S. Monson's 2009 talk, "Be of Good Cheer," provides a window to our answer.

How might we have joy in our lives, despite all we may face...'Wherefore, be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you.'  The history of the Church in this, the dispensation of the fullness of times, is replete with the experiences of those who have struggled and yet who have remained steadfast and of good cheer as they have made the gospel of Jesus Christ the center of their lives. This attitude is what will pull us through whatever comes our way.  It will not remove our troubles from us but rather will enable us to face our challenges, to meet them head on, and to emerge victorious.  Too numerous to mention are the examples of all the individuals who have faced difficult circumstances and yet who have prevailed because their faith in the gospel and in the Savior has given them the strength they have needed.  (Emphasis added.) 

President Monson goes on to describe the harrowing experience of a German mother who mourned the loss of her husband and her home, and who walked many miles in the freezing cold with her four small children, whom she lost to starvation and cold, one by one.  Her despair almost drove her to take her own life.

Does this sound like good cheer to you?  Then why on earth did our prophet and seer even bring it up?  Look again at the quote.  He defines cheer a little differently.  He defines cheer as an attitude of faith that allows us to face great challenges and emerge victorious.  And our German sister did exemplify this cheer, this faith, in just the way that we can, yes, even those of us whose minds aren't working quite right.  President Monson shares her conversation with God during that terrible time:

Dear Heavenly Father, I do not know how I can go on.  I have nothing left--except my faith in Thee.  I feel, Father, amidst the desolation of my soul, an overwhelming gratitude for the atoning sacrifice of Thy Son, Jesus Christ.  I cannot express adequately my love for Him.  I know that because He suffered and died, I shall live again with my family; that because He broke the chains of death, I shall see my children again and will have the joy of raising them.  Though I do not at this moment wish to live, I will do so, that we may be reunited as a family and return--together--to Thee.

Not too many days later, while still in the advanced stages of starvation, this amazing woman bore testimony that she was the happiest of the exiles because Christ gave her hope for a glorious reunion with her loved ones.

So cheer looks a little different in the toughest times: if it wore a grin, truth would revolt and the Spirit would flee.  When there is death and despair, or when mental illness makes you feel like there is, cheer will look more like sincere and honest prayer.  It will look like reaching, believing, hoping for better times, because Christ is still leading the way.

Let us cultivate faith and hope in Jesus Christ every day.  It might look like "bootstrapping" to people who don't understand, and that's okay.  Because when we let our faith move us out the door to help others in spite of our own pain; when we let hope put smiles on our faces even on tough days; when we keep our hearts open to the possibility of joy--then Christ can do miracles. 

A Grief Observed

Five weeks ago today I walked in the door after a long meeting at church, heard the worst news of my life, and sobbed my heart out for what turned out to be almost two solid weeks.

Someone very close and very dear to TJ and me has lost his faith--is deep in the grip of pornography addiction--has walked away from his wife and children--and seems to me a only a shell of the man I've known and loved for years.  And the shock could not have been greater, because for all I knew he was fine.  I could not have been more grieved or saddened if he had suddenly died.

If he were to read this, I think he might take offense to that last bit.  But as heart-breaking as it would have been to lose him to death, in that case I would have the comfort of knowing he died in the Lord--I would feel that he still belonged to me in a way.  No such comfort has borne me up in the past five weeks.  He seems separated from me in a way that I never thought possible.

I have been holding off on this blog post because I wasn't sure what to say, and I'm still not.  But I am a compulsive truth-teller, an over-sharer.  And I feel a little bit hypocritical to post happy, smiling pictures here and not tell you the whole truth.  My heart is breaking.

My Savior is at work here, I am sure, saving my loved one.  I have faith that someday he will choose to come back to the warmth and light of the gospel, and I fervently hope that he will find healing from his addiction.  But in the meantime, I am surrounded by broken hearts.  We are all slogging through the grieving process.  Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance are hats I seem to alternate between several times a day.  But the Savior is not only working to save our lost one.  He is also working on us.  He is purifying us, giving us more compassion, growing our faith in him.  And He is helping us to bear it.

My faith in God is stronger today than it was a month ago.  Every word of every talk, lesson, and song rings with truth, and I know that my merciful God is using this for my good. I would not have chosen this, not in a million years.  And I'm still not very grateful.  But God is good.  I can trust Him as we walks me through this wilderness--just as I have before--He has never steered me wrong before.

Give Your Gift

I had a bit of a meltdown this weekend.  And it wasn't the meltdown you might expect from the mother of a large family in the middle of December.

No, I wasn't stressed about shopping expeditions, elf-on-the-shelf exploits, baking marathons, or those endless Pinterest Christmas bucket lists, each complete with a scripture, song, craft, recipe, activity and service project for every day of December.

I was stressed about making our family's celebration more Christ-centered.  

It's easy enough to minimize the world's influence at Christmastime, especially if you were raised right--and I was.  We're pretty low-key about presents, decorations, and activities.  We pare down to the basics so we can be financially, emotionally and physically healthy enough to actually enjoy the celebrations we have together.   

But if you're a mom who's trying hard to raise children up to the Lord, it can be really hard to feel like you're doing enough at Christmas.  

Every time President Monson takes the stand, I am inspired by his encouragement to reach out and bless others.  He is a walking example of the power of service, and especially this time of year, I long to do more.  I hear stories of other mothers who have beautiful family Christmas traditions centered on service and on Jesus Christ, and I think, what's wrong with me?

There are homeless people who need coats.  There are lonely people to visit on every street in town. There are people grieving the loss of loved ones to be hugged.  There are soup pantry shelves to be stocked.  

What is wrong with me, that I can't get my act together honor the Savior by serving his children?

It is strange that all the well-intentioned and truly wise advice to us moms about slowing down and enjoying the true meaning of Christmas can actually make us feel worse if we're not careful.  

Our Savior was the only perfect mortal to walk the earth, and he came to bring light.  He came to lift burdens, not add to them.  Are we mothers allowing Satan to twist the joyful celebration of Christ's grace into a series of hoops to jump through?  Even if we have avoided the common traps and trappings of commercialization and frenzied celebration--we can still miss the mark if we're focused on what we're not doing.  Whether we're comparing our Christmas decor or our Christmas devotions to what the neighbors have done--comparison hurts.  

But today the Savior opened my eyes a little bit, and I was allowed to see that I am not failing Christmas.  I am giving the gifts that are mine to give.  

They are small.  And I've given them for so many years in a row, that I've come to feel that they don't even really count.  But they are my gifts.  And these gifts I give to others are really my gifts to the Savior.

Today I smiled big at a young friend walking into the church, and I felt the Lord's approbation.  It's something I do all the time when I see someone who might be discouraged.  It's small, but it counts. Today I bore my testimony of the Savior to twenty kids.  It's something I do most weeks of the year, so it wasn't scary.  Today I took my kids caroling at a rehabilitation center.  It's something my parents did with me, so it comes very easily and it's something I enjoy. 

I wonder how many other moms out there struggle to feel they're doing enough at Christmas?  What if we all just enjoyed what we already do?

Some of us have the gift of baking treats for neighbors.  Some of us have the gift of helping with toy drives.  Some of us have the gift of quietly lifting and serving those who are struggling.  Some of us have the gift of smiles and jokes for the discouraged.  Some of us have the gift of snuggling with kiddos and watching Christmas movies.  Some of us have the gift of sending beautiful Christmas with heartfelt notes of love and testimony.

There are enough meaningful, joyful, uplifting, testimony-building, Christ-centered traditions out there to drive any godly woman out of her mind if she tries to do even a fraction of them.  We must reach for something better.  We must reach for the gifts that are ours to give, and give them in full confidence that the Savior receives them in the spirit we give them.  

When we give our whole hearts to Him, it is always enough.  So don't give someone else's gift.  Give your gift.

(Special thanks to TJ for the graphic.  Special thanks to Georgia for the deep thoughts.  And special thanks to them both for always being willing to listen to me cry.  I feel much better now.)

How Feminism is Still Hurting LDS Families--Part II

Last week I discussed some of the harmful outcomes of the feminist movement in our society at large.  If you missed it, I hope you'll go back and take a look.

So what does feminism mean to a woman who has already rejected most of its principles in her life, as I have?  What about those of us who never bought the liberal propaganda that told us to sleep around, delay marriage and family for as long as possible, and then to outsource our children to caregivers so that we can climb the corporate ladder?  In what some have called a post-feminist society, what part does its ideology even play in the lives of women like me?  And yes, I am finally getting to the point, so thank you for sticking with me this long:  Feminism has taken the fun out of being a woman. 

Thinking men as the enemy is no fun, and neither is thinking of our children as obstacles to self-fulfillment.  

As Wives
Do we treat our husbands with the same respect we demand of them?  Or have we fallen easy prey to the Orwellian trap of the oppressed becoming the oppressors?  Sometimes I try to imagine men saying and doing things that women get away with, and it makes me laugh.  It TJ demanded things of me the same way I do of him, we might not even still be married.  It's a huge double standard.

Where the feminist movement at large cultivates a grudge against men who have treated women wrongly, women in the church take up the same banner against men who have not.  We did not marry the losers Laura Schlessinger designated as "the three As" worth leaving altogether: adulterers, abusers, and addicts.  By and large we married men who honor the priesthood, strive to support us as wives and mothers, and want to be good fathers to their children.  We married men worthy of our respect, but we fail to give it to them.

Sadly, we have abandoned the spirit of meekness to embrace a spirit of competition and combativeness.  Instead of building our husbands up as leaders protectors, and providers in our homes, we sometimes undermine the very efforts they make to fulfill their God-given role.  When husbands lead out, wives often express doubt in their abilities; we show a lack of gratitude for them, we show resentment when their leadership succeeds and criticism when it fails; we loudly complain that our men are not more like women, and then when they try to please us by helping us in our role as nurturers, we laugh at their mistakes.  Worst of all is our tendency to discount our husbands' ideas, plans, hopes, skills, and desires.

It's tempting to think there is no problem here because there is no complaining.  But you won't hear husbands complain about overbearing wives to their overbearing wives, for two reasons: they are trying to be patient and unselfish; and they are afraid of backlash if they don't.  So they take this treatment for years and even decades before danger signs arise.  But eventually we see our husbands lose confidence in their abilities, and give up trying to lead.  And this is the terrible moment of self-fulfilling prophecy: when a man becomes the weakling his wife has always believed he was.

As Mothers
Feminism doesn't just take the fun out of being a wife.  It also takes the fun out of being a mother. And it does this by telling us a few key lies.

Gloria Steinem, one of the founders of the feminist movement, asserted, "A liberated woman is one who has sex before marriage and a job after."  That one's pretty easy for LDS women to reject, but similar ideas are promoted everywhere in modern culture, and because they are so subtle, they're hard to identify.  We are told that we're wasting our time and talents on raising children.  We're told that a woman who stays home to take care of her family is bored, frustrated, and unhappy.  We're told that if our lives revolve around our husband and children, we are somehow missing out on a more fulfilling experience.  We are told that women who stay home for awhile with little ones become irrelevant by the time they choose to re-enter the workforce.  We are told that in order to raise a child right, you must take that extra work in order to afford the things that will make him happy, such as the latest gadgets, designer clothes, and a trip to Disneyland at least once a year.

Do we believe these lies?  No!  Well, maybe just a little.  Just enough to make us pause before we write "homemaker" next to the box marked "other" on that government form.  I am so grateful that I get to be a stay-at-home mom, but I fervently hope that people can stop thinking of my lot as frumpy, exhausted slaves to our families.  And to be perfectly honest, I need to get this misconception out of my own head, as well.

Working moms suffer, too--and maybe, especially.  Feminism robs mothers of enjoying their children by insisting that we can and should "have it all"--which is liberal lingo for pursuing a career during the demanding early years of raising a family.

The great news is that most American women fit work around their families' needs, rather than giving in to feminist demands that professional advancement should come first.  Women work shorter hours, try to be home when their children are, and try as much as possible to have them cared for by family members.  They may miss out on career and pay advancements by doing this, but by and large moms are willing to make that sacrifice because they put their families first.

Some women simply have to work to provide basic necessities for their families.  And some work because they are happier that way.  I am not addressing these two groups of women.  I am addressing women who have been told all their lives that in order to be valuable members of society, they have to work while they're raising kids--and who are really suffering because of it.  Women who feel compelled to provide for their families often feel anxiety, stress, frustration, and guilt for what they're missing at home.  Which, needless to say, is not fun.

Jennifer Garner's simplistic view of what it means to be a mother illustrates the selfishness pushed by feminist thinkers, but it also begs the question: are mothers indeed under too much pressure?  Yes. We are.  But the pressure comes from feminism's lies--not from our own expectations of life with a family.  We are missing out on the joy of being mothers because we've forgotten it's the most important thing we'll ever do!

As Latter-Day Saint women, we can do better.

Forsaking Feminism
Let's go retro for a second and think about the archetypal housewife of the 1950s.  She looks great in her full skirt and her red lipstick.  She's overjoyed that the vacuum and washing machine are making her life easier.  She considers the state of her home an expression of who she is--she is "house-proud."  Her near-constant presence in the home allows her to know what is going on in her kids' lives and hearts.  When her husband comes home, she brings him a drink so he can relax with the paper.  Then she puts the finishing touches on a dinner the whole family can share together.  She is creative, resourceful, focused, grateful, and happy--and she seems to be having a whole lot of fun. Women back then did it with flair.

Feminists have been howling about these images of womanly contentment for half a century now. And I think this has us all a little skittish about fully embracing our work as homemakers.  Even when we choose to make our homes and families the centers of our lives, we're a little embarrassed about being too happy about it.  It's all so hopelessly out of fashion.  When was the last time you saw a woman waiting on her husband, getting excited about homemaking hacks, or priding herself on a beautiful meal?

I'm not saying we should try to look and act like Mary Tyler Moore.  A sincere focus on home and family does not necessarily mean our homes will look like a Pinterest board or that we will be slim, gorgeous, and smiling all the time.  Rather, I am suggesting that we stop listening for howling feminists and embrace our natural talent for nurturing.  I think we'd enjoy ourselves more if we did. LDS women are powerful not because we are seeking to wrest control of the world from men. We are powerful because we embrace the control we've always had--which power we share with men--the power to build up families.

Taking Femininity Back

Gordon B. Hinckley said, "People wonder what we do for our women.  I will tell you what we do. We get out of their way and look with wonder at what they are accomplishing."  That is the way a prophet of God views the women of the church.  Do we view ourselves that way?

We can take back the joy of motherhood by taking back our identity.  Where the world insists we are wasting our talents, we can persist in the knowledge that there is no better place for them to be used than the home.  Where the world markets a sleek, expensive version of child-rearing, we can be secure in the knowledge that no materialistic lifestyle can equal the impact a mother has on her child's life.

As women of God, we must eschew the subtle treachery of worldly teachings that would undermine our strength.  We can cling instead to the teachings of living prophets.  It is tempting for me to devote this entire section to quoting "The Family: A Proclamation to the World" verbatim.  It is simple.  It is profound.  It is the most inspired counsel to families I have ever read.  Have you read it lately?  I confess I don't read it nearly often enough, and I challenge you to take a close look at its teachings in light of what I've discussed here.  What does the Proclamation teach women about how to live a joyful life? Here are just a few noteworthy phrases:

Gender is an essential characteristic of individual premortal, mortal, and eternal identity and purpose... The family is ordained of God.  Marriage between man and woman is essential to His eternal plan... Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ.  Successful marriages and families are established and maintained upon principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities.  By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families.  Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children.  In these sacred responsibilities, fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners. Disability, death, or other circumstances may necessitate individual adaptation. Extended families should lend support when needed.

The amount of fun--the amount of joy and satisfaction--we have as women depends on whose vision of ourselves we buy.  And it would be lovely if we could just choose once and for all to buy God's vision, but I believe it has to be an ongoing process of searching His word and implementing it in our lives.

Here are a few scriptures that might be useful for a feminist seeking to reclaim her femininity.  The first one, ironically, was specifically given as counsel to the priesthood:

No power or influence can our ought to be maintained by virtue of [being a woman], only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned; by kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile...  

 D&C 121:41-42

Forgive me for taking such a huge liberty in applying that to us as sisters, but with the entitlement we've come to feel from the feminist movement, it's worth considering.  Do we consider it our place to rule the home, simply because we are women?

And now I would that ye should be humble, and be submissive and gentle; easy to be entreated; full of patience and long-suffering; being temperate in all things; being diligent in keeping the commandments of God at all times; asking for whatsoever things ye stand in need, both spiritual and temporal; always returning thanks unto God for whatsoever things ye do receive.   

Alma 7:23

Humility, patience, and gentleness are not exactly watchwords of the feminist movement, are they? But it's time for us to re-embrace these traditionally feminine traits.  If we love our husbands, we should speak well of them, serve them, seek their counsel, thank them for their hard work, and speak to them with love and respect.

Margaret D. Nadauld said:

Women of God can never be like women of the world.  The world has enough women who are tough; we need women who are tender.  There are enough women who are coarse; we need women who are kind.  There are enough women who are rude; we need women who are refined.  We have enough women of fame and fortune; we need more women of faith.  We have enough greed; we need more goodness.  We have enough vanity; we need more virtue.  We have enough popularity; we need more purity.

James E. Talmage wrote, "The greatest champion of woman and womanhood is Jesus the Christ."  I know this is true.  He is the source of our freedoms, our joys, our triumphs, and our hope.  As we strive to emulate his magnificent life, we will find our powers increase in ways that feminism never even dreamed.

* * *

P.S.:  Thank you so much for reading this post and for sharing it with friends.  Despite the staggering amount of time it took me to put it together, I'm well-aware that it is no masterpiece.  I found courage to publish it, however, because I feel strongly that LDS women deserve better.  There is so much to this topic that I really only got the tip of the iceberg here. If you are ready to challenge your ideas on feminism, I highly recommend the following reading:

The Flipside of Feminism by Suzanne Venker and Phyllis Schlafly
The Proper Care and Feeding of Husbands by Laura Schlessinger
"The Joy of Motherhood" by Margaret D. Nadauld
"Mothers Who Know" by Julie B. Beck
"Be Meek and Lowly of Heart" by Ulisses Soares

and, of course,

"The Family: A Proclamation to the World"

Book of Mormon Week--Day Seven

"It is inspiring to learn how Parley Pratt came to know of the book about which he wrote the words of this hymn. In August of 1830, as a lay preacher, he was traveling from Ohio to eastern New York. At Newark, along the Erie Canal, he left the boat and walked 10 miles (16 km) into the country where he met a Baptist deacon by the name of Hamlin, who told him “of a book, a strange book, a VERY STRANGE BOOK! … This book, he said, purported to have been originally written on plates either of gold or brass, by a branch of the tribes of Israel; and to have been discovered and translated by a young man near Palmyra, in the State of New York, by the aid of visions, or the ministry of angels. I inquired of him how or where the book was to be obtained. He promised me the perusal of it, at his house the next day. … Next morning I called at his house, where, for the first time, my eyes beheld the ‘BOOK OF MORMON’—that book of books … which was the principal means, in the hands of God, of directing the entire course of my future life. 'I opened it with eagerness, and read its title page. I then read the testimony of several witnesses in relation to the manner of its being found and translated. After this I commenced its contents by course. I read all day; eating was a burden, I had no desire for food; sleep was a burden when the night came, for I preferred reading to sleep.  As I read, the spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I knew and comprehended that the book was true, as plainly and manifestly as a man comprehends and knows that he exists.'^"

President Hinkley told this story in General Conference in August 2005, but this was not the first time I heard the story.  I clearly remember hearing it as a small child, and marveling that a person could love a book so much that they could barely put it down to eat or sleep.  As an adult, i hear this story with a slight sense of guilt:  I often forsake real life for a day or two in order to read, but this has never happened with the Book of Mormon. 

The Book of Mormon has been a part of my life since I was a little baby.  Mom, who was a convert, and Dad, who was raised by less-active parents, were the best missionaries a little girl could have.  When I was seven, the stake president issued a challenge for all the members of our stake to read the Book of Mormon together every morning.  Mom and Dad, who had always pushed for family scripture study, now committed wholeheartedly to reading together every morning.  Years later this was put to the test when I left the house at six thirty for early morning seminary, and the whole family got up to read together first.  This kind of diligence in the face of saucy teens and grumpy toddlers taught me the importance of the book we were studying.  Moms' and Dad's testimonies of the truths it contained sank in deep.

And so, although I don't recall any heralding angels witnessing the truth of the Book of Mormon to me, yet I know it is true.  I have always known.  When I was little, I knew in a small way.  As I have grown, my testimony of the book has grown.  It forms the bedrock of my testimony.  It has taught me who Jesus Christ is.  I have come closer to Him and to our Heavenly Father by studying and acting on the things I've learned.  With Elder Pratt, I can truly say the Book of Mormon is the principle means by which the Lord has directed the course of my life.

The Book of Mormon truly is another testament of Jesus Christ.  He is all over those pages!  The Savior is referred to on average once every 1.7 verses.  A few weeks ago I finished a special study of the book, highlighting references to Christ, attributes of Christ, words of Christ, and the works of Christ.  It was my favorite study of the book, hands down.  I loved reading the book with my Savior in mind constantly.  2 Nephi 25:26 is one of my favorite verses highlighting the centrality of the Lord in this book:

And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children my know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.  

This book has given me strength to continue on in the face of adversity.  I have gained comfort from knowing that the Savior knows me and loves me even when depression or other difficulties cloud my vision of Him.  In this stunningly beautiful passage quoted by Nephi from Isaiah, I am reminded over and over again that the Lord's love for me is unfathomable:

But behold, Zion hath said:  The Lord hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten me --but he will show that he hath not.  For can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb?  Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee, O house of Israel.  Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.

The Book of Mormon is a miracle in my life.  It has brought me to an understanding of the Atonement, which is key to peace in this life, not to mention salvation in the life to come.  I can't fathom where I would be today without the personal connection with my Savior provided by my study of the Book of Mormon.  It is true.  He does life.  He does continue to minister to his disciples and indeed, all of humanity today.  I bear this witness in His sacred name, Amen.

My Secret Weapon

I feel certain that if, in our homes, parents will read from the Book of Mormon prayerfully and regularly, both by themselves and with their children, the spirit of that great book will come to permeate our homes and all who dwell therein.  The spirit of reverence will increase; mutual respect and consideration for each other will grow.  The spirit of contention will depart.  Parents will counsel their children in greater love and wisdom.  Children will be more responsive and submissive to the counsel of their parents.  Righteousness will increase.  Faith, hope, and charity--the pure love of Christ--will abound in our homes and lives, bringing in their wake peace, joy, and happiness.
-Marion G. Romney 

I have read this promise so many times that I'm surprised I don't know it by heart.  We've always been pretty consistent in our scripture study, and so I've always been a little bugged that we don't have the rosy family scene this quote depicts.  I've especially wondered why, when we're doing the best we can to live the gospel, we struggle in this house with so much contention.  And as I've prayed for help in teaching this family to speak kindly, I've been prompted to be more consistent in our family scripture study.  This advice I always acted gladly upon...for a few days.  :)

The answer to my prayers came this year in the form of a challenge from the bishop: to read the Book of Mormon in its entirety as a family this year.  He gave us a schedule that started Jan 1 2015, and my family scrambled to finish our first reading before the end of last year so we could start on time.

It took us at least four years to read the Book of Mormon as a family last time.  Suffice it to say, it scared me a little to think of committing to read the whole thing in one year.

My husband, who teaches seminary, was not crazy about the schedule idea.  He's a free spirit, and doesn't like the idea of rushing through great material in order to complete an assignment.  And to be honest, I had my doubts about the program, too.  But we believe in following our priesthood leaders, and so we sucked it up and started marking boxes every day to keep track of our progress.

We read together in the mornings.  Sometimes we're tempted to do other things first-- especially on the weekends when we have tons of time at home--but we've found that our chances of success go way down if we don't do it before breakfast.  And since we know we have to make up any days we miss, we are highly motivated not to miss.  We wake up the late sleepers and drag them in, blankets and all, and read our daily assignment from the bishop, which is usually around eighteen verses.  Part of the reading assignment is to mark, in different colors of pencil, attributes of Christ, references to Christ, and the words of Christ.  Our oldest three are all strong readers, so they take turns doing this. Sometimes we have great discussions on gospel principles.  Sometimes we laugh at the foibles of characters such as Laman (whiny), Chemish (lazy), or King Noah (selfish.)  Sometimes we kind of rush through the daily assignment and hope something sank in on its own.

TJ and I have been pretty consistent with family scripture study for the past several years.  We've done really well on weekdays and have missed a lot of weekends.  Sometimes, weekday study has been just a few minutes long, but we figured it was better than nothing.

But I can tell you now that in scripture study (as in life), you really do get out of it only as much as you put into it.  The difference between being pretty consistent and being very consistent is the difference between being pretty blessed and being very blessed.

We are feeling very blessed.  The kids are happier.  TJ and I are more patient.  We approach challenges with greater faith and softer words.  We seem to find more teaching moments throughout the day to witness of gospel principles to our kids.  There are way fewer--WAY fewer--fights over toys, clothes, and the breathing of someone else's air.  There is a culture of service going on, and an overall spirit of forgiveness.  Most of all, there's more love around here.

Isaiah and Paul, who are three and five respectively, are the best barometers for the success of this family.  When we struggle, they tend to act out.  But when this family's humming the way it hums right now, they are absolute joys to be with.  They tell me, each other, and the other kids several times a day how much they love us.  They smile.  They kiss.  They basically love on the family as a whole.  And I really think it's because they've been sitting in on our daily sessions with the Book of Mormon.  How much they can grasp cognitively, I really don't know.  But something is going on in their hearts, and besides being extremely cute, it is catching.

Our family is now perfect and we'll probably all be translated sometime this week.  JUST KIDDING! We still have challenges.  We still lose our cool now and then.  We still get lazy, disrespectful, unkind, you name it.  But it's just easier to be good these days.  And I know I can use all the help I can get.

I've started thinking that the Book of Mormon is every Mormon mom's secret weapon.  Sometimes it is even a secret from us.  We forget, don't we, all the promises that have been made?  We forget how good we felt when we were consistently studying as a family.  Even while we're listing the reasons we're not doing it--the list is long and we've all got one--we know in our hearts that if we could straighten out our priorities a little we'd be happier.  More blessed.

Sister Linda S. Reeves shared a testimony that has stuck with me:

A friend recently cautioned, “When you ask the sisters to read the scriptures and pray more, it stresses them out. They already feel like they have too much to do.”
Brothers and sisters, because I know from my own experiences, and those of my husband, I must testify of the blessings of daily scripture study and prayer and weekly family home evening. These are the very practices that help take away stress, give direction to our lives, and add protection to our homes. Then, if pornography or other challenges do strike our families, we can petition the Lord for help and expect great guidance from the Spirit, knowing that we have done what our Father has asked us to do.
Brothers and sisters, if these have not been practices in our homes, we can all begin now. If our children are older and refuse to join us, we can start with ourselves. As we do, the influence of the Spirit will begin to fill our homes and our lives and, over time, children may respond.  (emphasis added)

I love this counsel.  As moms, we are all looking to lighten the load of stress and worry we feel every day.  Do you remember the moment she made this monumental promise?  I do!  It just makes sense that the Father of us all, who cares deeply about my work as a mother, would have put in place practices that would empower and bless me.  It is almost silly for me to be writing this post.  Silly that this is such a revelation to me--because so many have testified of the power of daily scripture study.  But I'm here to add my voice.  It works.  

What I Wish Someone Had Told Me About Facing Depression

Tonight I talked with a dear friend who has been suffering from depression, and my heart broke all over again for what she's going through.  It took me back to the first days and weeks of wrapping my head around the word, "depression."  It made me feel old and wise.  I've always been too big for my britches that way, and I know got long-winded when I was talking to her, but I still don't feel finished.

 I will never forget what I went through to figure out that I needed help with my depression.  The memory of those months and years of suffering still fills me with sadness.  I had three kids under the age of four.  We had moved from our beloved college town to far-flung Wyoming, where we didn't know a single soul. My husband was deeply involved in building his career, and was often gone from dark to dark on weekdays, or even a whole week at a time. My beloved daughter had suffered a long illness which took her closer to death than I ever want to see my children again, and which culminated in a ten-day stay at Primary Children's Hospital.  I was trying to learn how to feed my newly-diagnosed celiac kids food that would not kill them.  I was potty-training my oldest so that I would have only two in diapers.  I was far from my family in sunny St. George, I was freezing, and I was very alone.

When we talk about clinical depression it's helpful to look for triggers, and boy, did I have triggers at that point in my life.  Does that mean that my life was meaningless or that I had nothing to be grateful for?  Absolutely not.  I was building something that I was sure would bring me joy.  But the problem was that I felt nothing but anguish.  All the time.  I felt extreme anxiety and constant guilt for my failings as a mother and wife.  Even when my darling babies kissed and hugged me, no ray of happiness could penetrate.  I was dead to everything but pain.

At church I felt I was just going through the motions.  I fulfilled callings, served ward members, visited with those who needed help, all because I knew I should--but without the attendant feelings of closeness with God I had always enjoyed.  I prayed to a God who was no longer speaking to me and read His words even though they didn't seem to mean anything anymore.  I wondered, after all the witnesses I had experienced in my life, was it possible for me to lose my faith just because being a mom was stressful?

I remember checking out a stack of books about depression in our small-town library, blushing at the thought of what the librarian was thinking of me.  I did not know that she would later become one of my  mentors through the illness, having experienced it herself.  I remember a conversation with TJ in which I confessed my devastating discovery: that I was broken, without hope of repair.  He told me we would get help for me, no matter what.  He said I would feel better.  I remember calling my sister and admitting the shameful truth.  She was not surprised, but supportive.  And then I called the doctor.  And then I filled my first prescription for medication.  And then I called the therapist.  And then I started feeling that there was hope.

If I could have a conversation with the 25-year-old version of myself tonight, I would start with a big hug.  Young Self was such a brave person in the face of such a bewildering host of troubles. And she felt so alone, unworthy, and guilty.  She felt hopeless.  I would love to tell her how many thousands of healthy days she has ahead of her: how many breathtakingly beautiful baby kisses will sink straight into her happy, healthy heart.  I would love to tell her that God is counting her tears and will repay them a hundred-fold.

And I would give Young Self some great advice.  Because I always give advice.  And sermons. Those who love me just listen patiently, and since this is my daydream, Young Self will have to do the same.  Here is the advice I would give her, not necessarily in order of importance:

1.  Learn all you can about clinical depression.  The internet's a great place to start, but even if you're not a huge reader, invest the time necessary to get an idea of what you're dealing with.  Knowledge is power!  Especially pay attention to the neurological explanations of what depression is.  It is so important for you to understand the physiological underpinnings of this illness to give you the strength you'll need to reach for healing.  Here is what I consider to be absolute required reading for those who are suffering from depression or who are long-suffering with a loved one who does:

"Like a Broken Vessel" by Jeffry R. Holland

Reaching For Hope: An LDS Perspective on Recovering from Depression

The Depression Cure: The 6-Step Program to Treat Depression Without Drugs

2.  Talk to loved ones, and listen to the ones who are committed to help you find healing, no matter what that entails.  I hope, so much, that one of these people is your spouse.  If not, keep talking.  But find those who will back you up when even you think it's not worth trying.  Because you will need their help to get better.  Talking is part of the therapy.  Talking is part of what will heal you. So talk.

3. Get ready to reach for help.  Fight hard against the destroyer!  Exclamation point! Right now, he will pull out the shame and work you over with it.  Don't be ashamed of your condition.  It's called mortality, and everyone has it.

Do you need a therapist to help identify unhealthy patterns in your life and replace them with good ones?  Of course, you do.  In my opinion, everyone does.  Why is it that most Americans would not undertake to fix the brakes on their car because they feel under-educated or unqualified--and yet they feel the intricacies of the human mind are easy enough to tackle alone?  I would much rather risk a car accident than risk a lifetime of unhealthy relationships and generations of suffering.  Wouldn't you?  Find someone who has studied these things.  Find someone you can trust to help you.

Do you need medication to start your healing process?  I will never forget the day my Zoloft kicked in.  I was on the phone describing my day to TJ, who was on a trip.  I wasn't expecting the medication to work for another week or so, but as we talked, I realized that it already was.  I had told TJ how much fun it had been to make sock puppets with the kids--the type of project I never initiated because it was too overwhelming.  And as we chatted, I described the beautiful new flower screensaver on the computer, and I felt real happiness.  I had not felt that way for so long, it was stunning even in its simplicity.  I had enjoyed a healthy day for the first time in a very long time.  I felt like I was the person I had been pretending to be.  I felt like a good person.  I felt like a normal person.  I felt like myself again.

How could that be a bad thing?

Don't let the destroyer keep you from healing, no matter what.

4.  Keep a sense of perspective.  Remember my dear librarian-friend?  In one long, long, conversation she told me that if she got to choose a trial--if all the trials in our town were put in a basket and she could choose one--she would choose depression.  Only after a few years of dealing with this disease did her comment make sense to me.  As real as the suffering is, in my case it is limited to what goes on inside my brain.  My husband is faithful and kind.  The kids are healthy and happy.  We always have food on our table.  When someone is sick, the doctor fixes it.    Depression is curable.  Depression is manageable.  I would much rather my trials all happen inside my head, thanks very much.  Remember that most of the craziness happens between your own ears, and that your loved ones usually are too wrapped up in their own lives to read your troubled thoughts.  Isn't that a good thing?  You are not tainting the world by your suffering.

5.   Hang on, with both hands and all ten fingernails, to your faith.  Keep praying.  You can't hear Him.  It is part of your condition.  It is not because you are unworthy, and it's definitely not because He has stopped listening.  He is closer than ever, but you won't be able to see that until you start getting better.  In the meantime, hold on.  And nurture your hope.  God did not put you on this earth to fail.  It is impossible to fail as long as you keep getting up and trying again.  He does sometimes let us battle it out alone.  But even then, we are never alone, and someday, He will recompense every loss.  He will even make up for your weaknesses in the lives of your loved ones.  My kids are amazingly healthy despite being raised by a crazy woman.  Because of the Atonement, I know that each one of my precious babies will have exactly the experiences they need to lead them back to Him--because of my weakness and His strength.  Hold on.  Trust on.  I promise it will all make sense someday.

For so long I felt that I was on autopilot in my faith.  I kept going because of the memory of faith.  I kept going because I believed I wasn't seeing the whole picture.  Sometimes when people would talk about trials as these great spiritual experiences, I would wonder what was wrong with me.  I couldn't feel the Spirit in my life--did that mean I was handling my trials all wrong?  I have come to see that it's just part of the depression package.  And I'm so glad I held on even when all the warm fuzzy spiritual feelings were not there.  To me, that is what faith really means.  It means pushing the boundaries of our vision by walking past it.  Now I can see back and I'm so grateful I kept going. There have been innumerable blessings along this road.  And I believe there are still so many to come--for me and for you.