Weakness and Forgiveness

I have this mouth. Sometimes it's wickedly clever and witty. Sometimes it's keenly pointed and poignant. Sometimes it's astute and wise beyond its years. Then still, sometimes it's full of itself and downright mean and cutting. Sometimes it works on auto-pilot and I can't seem to slam on the brakes fast enough, but this is my lesson in life. However, I don't want to shift responsibility to my mouth and stand back victimized, for I am my mouth.

One of the greatest challenges in life is learning to "tame the beast", in whatever form the beast may present itself. Religiously speaking, this is referred to as overcoming the natural man, or bridling one's passions. Metaphysically speaking, it would be evolving or enlightenment. It's all the same. Growth begins when we can claim our weaknesses and then work to conquer them, rather than sit back resigned to a state of "this is just who I am". This is the saddest kind of hopelessness to me.

My mouth is my beast. My mind works fast. It is sharp and sassy and witty and intuitive and a blessing. It can also be opinionated, judgemental, sarcastic, and biting... and a curse. I often forget that I don't need to say everything that comes into my mind, that not everyone cares. I wish the connection from my mind to my mouth would short-circuit a bit more often than it does, but this is my challenge, and I take courage in knowing that I am not alone:

"...I will take heed to my ways that I sin not with my tongue: I will keep my mouth with a bridle..." Psalms 39:1

"He that keepeth his mouth keepeth his life: but he that openeth wide his lips shall have destruction." Proverbs 13:3

"And he hath made my mouth like a sharp sword..." 1 Nephi 21:2

If this was Nephi's gift, I have no doubt that he struggled to bridle it, as I do. That's the way it works: virtue and vice. Then just yesterday I was reading Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings' The Yearling, before my older kids have to read it in homeschool, and I stopped at the following passage:

"You kin tame a 'coon. You kin tame a bear. You kin tame a wildcat and you kin tame a panther." He pondered. His mind went back to his father's sermons. "You can tame arything, son, excusin' the human tongue." (p.79)

Yikes. Almost true. Taming the human tongue is tough, but not impossible. We can overcome all weakness through the Lord. It is in that very act that we are made strong:

"...for my strength is made perfect in weakness..." 2 Corinthians 12:9

"And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them." Ether 12:27

It is in the weakness that humility and softening are found. When I was a young mother with two children, I often found myself overwhelmed and running on empty. My fuse was short, as was my temper with my sweet little ones, from whom I expected too much. After scolding my daughter, who was 4 at the time, I was filled with remorse and went to sit on the front porch to weep with my weakness. She came and sat down next to me. I looked into her angelic face, and her eyes looked lovingly into mine, those eyes that have always had an exceptional gift of wisdom, and I said, "Mommy hurts your feelings all the time, don't I?"

She scooted closer to me and wrapped her little arm around my back. "Only sometimes," she answered.

"I'm so sorry, my Lyns," I said. "I shouldn't do that."

"That's okay, Mommy," she said without thought. "I relieve you."

I looked at her. She had meant forgive, but how appropriate and ironic was her mix-up. Isn't that exactly what we do when we forgive, relieve? Relieve from burden or sorrow or guilt? Isn't that what the Savior does for us when he extends his benevolent hand in forgiveness towards us? Out of the mouth of babes.

These two themes, weakness and forgiveness, play such a prevalent part in my life these days. With one, the other is needed. As often as I extend forgiveness, it's true that I need it extended to me with even greater frequency. And there's something divine in the extension, something heavenward, heavenly, heavenbound.

Playing Along

My cute sister-in-law, Sarah, tagged me for the Middle Name Meme, and though I have the same middle name as she, maybe I can come up with something different. Thanks for inviting me, Sarah!

L oud-Mouthed. Hey, I grew up in a very large, Italian family, and one had to be loud to be heard! Actually, this has more to do with learning to discipline my mouth than it does the actual volume of my mouth, but both could use some work. My mouth is both my virtue and my vice.

Y ogi. One who practices yoga. And though I've been on hiatus, I'm back in it, baby! I can barely walk or lift my arms to prove it.

N ympho. My husband said I should put that. It's the one thing we never fight about.

N utritionally Nurturing. I love to help other people get healthier by eating better. I love to teach my own children how to make good food choices, and I love to serve nutritional, nourishing meals. I love to nuture sick people back to health through proper food and herbs, and I love the feeling of eating a "clean" diet. Not perfect at it, but I love it.

Okay, so I have to tag Luisa because she's usually a good sport and because she's great with words, and Annette (have you already played this Meme?) for the same reasons. Thanks, Sarah! Hope I didn't embarrass you! :)

The Beach, Part Two

A throw-back to Hitchcock's The Birds, I think this is, which was a favorite scary movie of mine as a child, thanks to my dad. Putting babies in silly situations is also probably something I inherited from my parents, so if the following account and photos disturb you, just know that I am in therapy, and I'm working on it.

Conor loved the beach, as mentioned in Part One, below. Right away, he was intrigued by the enormous, seemingly friendly seagulls. He's only been walking now for a few weeks, but he trudged through that sand trying his darndest to catch a seagull. They would humor him for so long before flying about eight feet further away. He didn't give up, going in circle after circle after the birds. I thought I'd help him out, because that's what mothers do. I toted a blanket further back in the sand where he could be undisturbed by beachgoers. I filled his hands with snacks so he would stay put, and then I sprinkled Lay's potato chips all around the circumference of my baby on the blanket. Then I stood back and laughed my head off. It took seconds, literally. One bird, then two, then they started migrating in from nethermost regions of the beach for the rare delicacy of Lay's Cheddar Sour Cream potato chips. Conor sat there in bird heaven. He stared at the birds, the birds stared at him. They were both eating, so neither one seemed bothered. It made for some great beach entertainment. And I don't believe the baby was in any real harm, so leave me alone about it. You would have laughed too.

The Beach, Part One

We have lived in the Los Angeles area for two years now, and had not, until last weekend, ever taken a family trip to the beach. We've all been to the beach, just not together. On our last weekend together before school starts, we figured it was about time. We packed up the Durango; a cooler full of Gatorade, water, fruit, and sandwiches; chairs; umbrellas; towels; snacks; games; books; sand toys; and six children--and headed for Manhattan Beach, which made me feel closer to my dear friend, Luisa.

Apparently, my husband hates sand even more than I do. Having never been to the beach with him, this struck me as odd, considering that he isn't even close to being the tidiest person I've ever met. He spread out a huge blanket and designated it the "Sand-Free Zone", and no one dared to kick sand onto it, except Conor. Adam worked tirelessly keeping the Sand-Free Zone sand-free, which was funny to watch. Just when you get it clean, the sand shows up again. "Welcome to my life," I said, watching him brushing off sand over and over again. In this zone, he and the girls played card and dice games and I read my latest fave from the Arbinger Institute, The Anatomy of Peace. The boys played at the water's edge gathering sand crabs and filling buckets with them. Conor, as it turns out, LOVES the beach. The sand, the water, the waves, the birds. All of it. The day was a delight. I think as a family, we pretty much rock.

Dedicated to the One I Love

I'm just getting photos uploaded, so I apologize for the delay. The cake was a big hit, although I wasn't as proud of it as I was Conor's. Nevertheless, Adam said it was the best birthday cake he's ever had. Whoa. That does my heart good, which is why I bother with these cakes anyway. I just think people should feel loved while they eat cake.

The Pain of Change

I'm getting old. I can tell because every morning when I wake up, I'm stiff. I ache. I'm sore, and not because I overdid it the day before. (hey, that rhymes, Dad!) I used to be such an exercise and fitness guru. I actually set the record in my high school for highest number of consecutive crunches in 1990, and that was for girls and boys, I'll have you know. I spent my weekends with Jane Fonda, going for the burn. I've led a cyber walking club, and been a Yoga instructor, and up until two years ago, I felt pretty darn confident even in a bikini. Baby #4, or marriage #2, or big kids #1-5, or maybe it's just Hershey, Ben, and Jerry, have thrown me for a loop and I'm in a rut that I need to get out of. My sister-in-law blogged about her determination and success at starting an exercise routine. She was the final kick in the butt for me, and so this morning I figured would be MY DAY.

The baby usually wakes up at 6am to nurse, but will go back to sleep for an hour or so. I decided this was the perfect uninterrupted time. Sure enough, he was up at 5:54, and was back to sleep at 6:09. I seriously contemplated scrapping the goal for today and going back to bed, but I've learned from past experience that if you screw up Monday, the whole week pretty much goes downhill from there. I changed my clothes and stumbled downstairs into the quiet darkness. I got out my Power Yoga video tape, by Beryl Bender Birch, yogi extraordinaire, and author of the book by the same name. I used to teach this class, so I know how strenuous it is, but I also believe wholeheartedly in the healing nature and fitness benefits of yoga. Laugh if you want, but power yoga, or ashtanga yoga, will kick your butt. When I was teaching, my favorite moments were when strapping, buff men would come to my class to secretly mock us, hoping to knock out an easy class while watching women in unitards bend and flex through the series of poses. No man ever came back for a second class. Very few men ever made it through even one class. What a thrill to humble their sculpted glutes and too-tight hamstrings. (Even though that's not what yoga is about.)

Well, folks, it turns out that I'm only a mere shadow of my former self, as my father would say. I made it through both series of Sun Salutations, and a few forward-bending leg stretches, and had to throw up. 14 minutes and I was a gonner. I have a long way to go to get back into shape. I have tightness in my hips and shoulders and back that never existed before. The poses in yoga reveal so much to the one who wants to know, and I have a lot of work to do. So, I crashed on the couch, nauseated and weak, and fell asleep for 45 minutes till the boys came downstairs.

I could feel defeated and pathetic, but I feel on top of the world! I actually did it. I got out of bed and started the change I need to make in my life towards better health. And so it was painful, and so tomorrow I probably won't be able to move my arms, and so I'm out of shape and exhausted, but tomorrow has to be better! The first day of any change is the worst, but it brings with it a sense of euphoria and hopefulness that acts as a catalyst for tomorrow. God willing.

Towering above the Masses

I didn't go on a single date for three years after my first marriage ended. I had been with Adam since I was seventeen, and after 13 years together we fit like a glove, and I could barely imagine life on my own, let alone life with another man. How in the world do you start over? How do go over all the crazy family stories again? Much of my heart remained in denial that adultery, divorce, or single motherhood could possibly happen to me. I believed it to be some weird blip in my life that would eventually right itself. I focused all of my faith on that goal.

They were very spiritual years for me, years of tremendous stretching and growth. God became even more real, and I hung on his every manifestation in my aching heart. I believed that God wanted my family to continue, and that he loved both Adam and me enough to offer us open doors for redemption in our love, but ultimately allow us to choose our own paths, with commensurate rewards. I certainly hoped that Adam would choose my path. But he didn't. Well, he would turn for a time, but then spin right back around. It was confusing and tumultuous. I began to date to bide my time, but I still held out hope that my miracle would come.

It did. I signed on to some internet dating sites. They were LDS, so I felt they were somewhat safer, and the attention was intoxicating! One day in May (May 13th, actually, a Friday, coincidentally) I sat at my computer when a message came to my inbox at ldslinkup.com. "Wow. You're really pretty," it read. I felt I needed at least to be gracious and say 'thank you', and see who had passed my way, so I clicked on his profile. Hmmmm. Kind of intriguing. Mysterious. Depth in his eyes. Divorced. Father of 2. Green eyes. 5'4. Yikes. I'm 5'4, and I've never had to worry about dating a short guy. My first husband was 6'4, and all the males in my family are over 6'. I've shot down guys before simply because of their height, shallow thing that I am. But something said to write him back.

me: "Thanks! You just made my day!"
him: "Well, now that I've got you talking to me, what's your name?"
me: "Jenna"
him: "Nice name, Jenna. I'm Adam."

(gulp)
Adam? Seriously? The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

me: "That's my ex's name."
him: "Oh, crap."

It was okay, not a turn-off. I loved his voice, and how interested he seemed in me, and so we kept on talking. And talking. And talking. And then I could hear my children's alarm clocks going off in their bedrooms to wake them up for school. Birds were chirping. We had talked all night long. We didn't much get off the phone at all for weeks. Every battery in our cordless phones died. Our elbows became arthritic from holding the phone up to our ears. It didn't matter because we couldn't get enough. The more we talked, the more I liked. He had almost identical crazy family stories to mine (but if there was a winner, the prize would have to go to him). We had very similar upbringings: tons of dirty kids in a large, poor, Mormon family, except I'm the oldest, and he's right smack in the middle. We both knew what "Deseret beef stew" is, and our families share many of the same dysfunctions. I can remember one night we were on the phone (he in CA, me in UT), both tuned into the same television channel. There was a commercial for a National Geographic special or something and suddenly a graphic scene of a wildebeast being torn apart by hungry lions came on the screen. Adam said, "That's what it was like when Mom brought home a box of sugar cereal." I busted up in laughter. That's exactly what it was like. 'Sugar' cereal, he said. This guy knows.

We met after two weeks of phone conversation. I picked him up at the Salt Lake Airport, with nerves that rattled. He was sweating it too, but for different reasons. He had lied about being 5'4, and was only 5'3. He was scared to death that I'd find him out. Which I did. It was the very first thing I said to him. "You're not 5'4," I said as I hugged him. "Yeah, I am," he said, "it's just that your eyes are placed higher on your head so it looks like I'm shorter." He really thought he could get me with that. The height thing was weird in the beginning, though I loved how confident he was with himself. He told me early in our conversations that he felt like he "towered above the masses". But it felt odd to walk next to a man the same size as me. Every time I turned my head to say something, his eyes were right there. Whoa! Scared me! I was used to feeling little next to a man, maybe even cowering a bit. I talked with my dad about my feelings.

"Dad, I think I'm falling in love with him," I said. "I know it's quick, but there's something different about this one. I knew it almost immediately." My dad was glowing with happiness on the other end of the phone, I could feel it. "But I can't get over this height thing. It's so hard to get used to." The first thing my dad said to me was, "Well, how tall is his spirit?" And then what he said took my breath away. He said, "Jenna, look what's happened to you over the last several years. You've been emancipated! You no longer have to stand low, looking up to a man, you can look him straight in the eye." I started to cry. It was true. I deserved equal love and partnership, and the Lord sent me a man I could look eye to eye.


We were married less than two months later. It was a quaint, lovely, outdoor ceremony in the mountains of Utah. Our children, family, and close friends were there. We exchanged vows we had written ourselves and I thanked him for being worthy of my heart and the pain that had consecrated it. He was my Adam, the Adam I had waited for. It hasn't been an easy road by any stretch of the imagination, but when I consider the alternative...it's been worth it.