JUST WRITE ALREADY!!

I've been writing on a book for about two years now.  It began after I finished reading all 14 Wheel of Time Novels (by Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson).  I left that world behind and couldn't imagine reading anything else.  Nothing else could measure up.

So I thought, "What kind of book do I want to read?  What story interests me?"

Well then I was joking with my kids what would have happened if the Disney telling of fairytales went hilariously wrong.  Couple that with a lyric from Stephen Sondheim's "Into the Woods" and I found the book I wanted to read.

"What if he knew who you were when you know that you're not what he thinks that he wants?"

So I began writing during all the times that I used to spend reading. And by March 15 I had filled three notebooks and typed out a first draft.  I let people read that first draft and then... well then writing got hard.

It wasn't just "Oh, I can write whatever I feel like" anymore.  It was...scary.

But NOT writing is also scary...and lonely.  And I really want to have a book on the shelf with MY words in it and MY name on it.  I just do.  I want it.

So why is it so hard to write?

I'm sure it has something to do with my ingrained psyche or something yada yada yada... And I get real tired of trying to dredge up my past fears and fix my filters and find my light all in order to just write a flipping story!!

JUST WRITE!  That's what I tell myself.

And it doesn't help.

I keep hearing people say that writing isn't that hard.  Just write. It's easy.  Just write the story.

Well, guess what.  It's freaking hard!  It's work!  It's me trying to squeeze certain parts of my brain and heart onto a page in a way that makes sense, tells a story, inspires, entertains and enlighten others!

Because I've lost the wonder of "What story interests me?  What do I want to read?"  I'm really so worried about whether it will be "good" when it's done that I'm just leaking my feelings (aka crying) and hammering on the keyboard.

How lovely and dramatic I am.

Look, the point of this story is this: I just spent an hour writing.  Yay.  And I can see that it is EXACTLY like exercising:  the more I do it, the easier it will become. And I can't just do it willy-nilly.  I need to warm up and cool down.  And I need to keep doing it.  It's good for me.  It doesn't matter if anyone else benefits from my exercises.  I will benefit.  Can't that be enough?

Well, it better be.  Because it has to be. Because that's all there is in the end.

Be ye not zombies of the word only...

In honor of Halloween, I think I can share a thought with this little metaphor.

Preface, for those who don't know this aspect of me: I am an active and believing member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  I live in Utah, but "grew up" in Wyoming. I'm a sassy, questioning kind of person, as is evidenced by the couple of times I've been asked to leave a Sunday School or Seminary Class.  I believe I am like this because I have an innate and very pure belief that God, Jesus and the Holy Ghost exist and communicate with me.  So all I have to do is ask and the answer is there.

On to the metaphor!

I'm thinking that the Letter of the Law is like a body.  It is solid, it has definite, see-able boundaries.

The Spirit of the Law is like, well, the soul or spirit.  It is eternal, not see-able and not truly measurable.  It is the essence.

With just the Spirit, there is no form. It cannot truly affect change. It's like a Ghost.

With just the Letter, there is no understanding of WHY. Basically, it's Zombies of the Law. Unthinking consumption.

Judgement views others by the Letter of the Law.

Love, however, views others through the Spirit of the Law.

Um...we're humans.  That means that we are are meant to literally house both.

So how can we use this to our advantage without being Ghosts or Zombies?

As members of an organized religion, members of my church commit to follow commandments. We are held to that commitment by fellow humans who are called to be our leaders, though they have no greater training in being human than we do. We also choose to follow rules in order to maintain order within the structure of the church.  The finite rules and commandments are the Letter of the Law. 

Subscribing to the Letter of the Law alone may leave a person feeling...well, like a zombie. Empty. Unfulfilled. Always hungry.

That is why Christ, who was WAY better at being human than anyone else on the planet - ever - phrased the commandments the way he did in the Two Great Commandments: 

"Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all they heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. ... Thou shalt love thy neighbor as theyself."

This is the true Spirit of the Law.  Love. 

But sitting in a room all day just loving the dickens out of everything is fairly ineffective.  Not only for ourselves, but for others.  It is a Ghost, a haunting. 

Action alone is zombie. 

Intent alone is ghost.

Love, in my opinion, requires Intent and Action. 

I believe that a fulfilling membership in the LDS church and belief in the Restored Gospel of Jesus Christ requires both.  It requires us to be Human.

How can we be both? Especially as we attempt to balance love with law? Well,  if we lead with the Letter of the law, we are leading with judgement. And yes, we all got the same commandments, but in the definition of the Word of God, it is included that "God's children may receive his word directly by revelation through the Spirit."

Basically, we don't know everyone's business.  And it's not our business to. 

My hope in sharing this thought today is that we decide and make an effort to marry the two, the Letter and the Spirit, the Action and the Intent, maintaining our membership in the church with a balanced marriage of both.  

But when it comes to interacting with our fellow members,  my hope is that we lead with the Spirit of the Law.  Lead with love. 

That time I was like God

This past summer I was the assistant director for a play which was cast from a pool of students ranging in age from 5 to 17. 

I have a testimony of using the Human Knot exercise to bring a cast together and quickly get over the "don't touch me" heebie jeebies that people often have.

First we did a small group with the small kids and a small group with the big kids.  Once they figured those out, we brough everyone together and did a big knot.  It was a massive success!

Two weeks later, one of the leads - who had not been present for the Human Knot - was having a very difficult time touching a girl (who he is supposed to "be in love" with) and struggled to do the sword fighting because he was afraid to get hurt.

So I thought to myself, "We must do the Human Knot again!" Luckily, the first time was SUCH a success that the entire cast was excited to do it again, especially knowing that it would help out a cast-mate.  This was a very fine group of kids, I might add.

So we got into one MASSIVE Human Knot. 

Did I mention that my son and my daughter were in on this?  They were. That's important to remember.

So there they were: tangled and sweaty and doing their best not to hurt each other. I have learned that the Human Knot in these situations isn't so much about teaching the kids to "figure it out" but rather to have them learn that I can see more than they can, so they can trust me to get them where they want to go. Which in this case is out of a hot, sticky, embarassing mess.

It transfers to the rest of the play process: during the Human Knot they build evidence that as long as they will hold on and listen and not give up, I will talk them through it, and lead them to open space and succes!

Well, this second time was a real doozy. 

In the first twenty seconds, the frightened actor and his female counterpart ended up face to face, arms wrapped around each other, knowing they had to be resepectful of their incredibly tight personal space.  It changed them almost instantly.  They were ideally suited on stage the rest of the rehearsals and performances.  But we still had to get out of the knot, even though my goal for that one boy and one girl was accomplished fairly quickly.

Fast forward through a gruelling 35 minutes and the center of the Knot was just as tight as ever, with my son wrapped in arms and pits and when I went to check on him, I accidentally scratched his arm with my wedding ring.  

He cried like I had broken a bone.  I tried to apologize and asked if he wanted to let go.  He said, "No, we have to finish this."

I was proud of him then.  But in about four minutes, I would be more proud.

Because we discovered that Liam was the Key to the Human Knot.  Literally EVERYONE had to go over one of his arms and under the other before the Knot could be undone.  And there was no other way.  He was already emotionally shot. He had already been scratched and kicked in the calf. 

I asked him if he was up for this.  He squared his gaze at me, eyes full of tears, and with the most brave expression I've ever seen on one so young, he said, "If they all have to go through me, just get it over with. I can hold on 'till it's done."  My eyes welled with tears.  

"Okay, guys, this is how it's going to go.  Everyone has to go through Liam.  He is the Key. Please be careful with him; I know you are all tired and he's already been hurt.  So be careful and pay attention!"  

Even with the warning, he was kneed in the face 3 times, people stepped on his arms, one person came up too soon and hit his elbow a weird direction.  He fell over once and someone fell on top of him.  He was near to bursting.  I could feel his pain and it hurt me. 

But he kept going.  "Just do it!" he'd say when I questioned him.  I realized in that moment that his reaction was so emotional because it was a very physical reinactment of the summer previously, when he had played the unequivocal lead in the play and he had felt the pressure then of everything depending on him "just holding on."

It took another ten or twelve minutes. Everyone passed through my son's arms, and as soon as the last one was done - everyone formed in a circle, smiling and relieved - my son dropped their hands and turned backstage.  And he cried.  He gave out the most heart-wrenching, keening sob I've ever heard. 

He released all the emotion that was pent up inside. I expected the cast to be judgemental of this emotional outburst. I feared it. Especially because up until this point, my son didn't have very many friends.  People thought he was emotional and weird.  This wasn't helping that impression. I was so worried people would actually think less of him, even as I thought more.

But as I looked around the stage, I saw only love, compassion, and concern.  I heard them make comments of, "He held on so we could finish."  "He was so strong." "That must have been so hard for him," and "He just broke down."

Many of the boys especially went to put their arms around Liam as he cried. They told him it was ok.  Not one of the children in that room was embarrassed, overwhelmed, or frightened by his emotion, because they had all seen what he had done for them.  

Now, I have told this story before to illustrate and teach a few things.  One is that the kids really trusted me as a leader after that.  Two is that my cast - even and especially the boys - were not afraid to cry. We had an emotionally healthy cast.  Very close and careful. 

But the third lesson I learned yesterday in Sunday School when we read Isaiah 53, especially verses10 - 13:

Yet it pleased the Lord to bruise him; he hath put him to grief: when thou shalt make his soul an offering for sin, he shall see his seed, he shall prolong his days, and the pleasure of theLord shall prosper in his hand.

He shall see of the travail of his soul, and shall be satisfied: by his knowledge shall my righteous servant justify many; for he shallbear their iniquities.

Therefore will I divide him a portion with the great, and he shall divide the spoil with the strong; because he hath poured out his soul unto death: and he was numbered with the transgressors; and he bare the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors.

It pleased the LORD to bruise him. He hath put him to grief. He shall see the travail of his soul and shall be satisfied.

It sounds almost heartless.  How could God watch his child - any of his children - suffer and be satisfied?

But look what Jesus did.  By His suffering He said to God, "I am willing, I am obedient, I love." 

By His pain, sacrifice and endurance He said to us, "I love you and I want you back!"

How could such love NOT be satisfying to a Father?

I know now what that is like.  I saw my son put his pain aside long enough to see others through a trial. He took time for himself to heal afterwards, make no mistake, but he didn't give up on everyone else just because he was hurt. 

I realized that for a minute there, my son was like Jesus.  And I  - for a moment - got to feel a glimmer of what God felt watching His Beloved Son pass through His life on earth, for our sake.

I am humbled to have been in the position I was.  I created that situation.  I lead them.  I watched my beloved son sacrifice, hurt, literally bleed and succeed not only for others, but for himself.  I saw that my son had a higher value than his comfort. He wasn't being self-less, he did not abandon his self. He was being true to himself.  I know that because he still - to this day - wears that experience like a badge of honor.  "I held on! I did my part!" 

You can see it, can't you?  How perfectly God teaches me that I might understand and build a testimony of Him, His Son and His Plan by the power of the Holy Ghost?  

It was a messy day, but the message continues to teach me.

Faith looks like...doing.

I was so excited to start this particular blog because things were going well.

Let us now take a moment to notice the title of the blog:  My Mess is my Message.

It states pretty clearly that I have a mess...and implies that I might have more than one.

My current mess looks like me trying to balance all my "opportunties."

I put it in quotes because my anxiety makes them seem less shiny than they are.

And by anxiety I mean this weird underlying sensation of fear. I once described it as if my life were a two layer cake with a thin layer of fear frosting between the cakes and along the edges. Yes, I have these thick layers of yummy goodness...and with every taste there is the added flavor of fear.

It's less yummy.  It's the fight or flight response when I don't need to do either.

So what am I learning?

I'm learning to use the Feild technique.

If I get overwhelmed, I go out to my deck and have a chat with my backyard, pouring all my energy, anger, and garbage onto the healing sponge of mother earth.

I'm learning to use "daily reflection" which basically is me writing in my journal.

There was a time not too long ago where I was writing for hours a day.  I took a break to read a book.  And then it was eight months later. So, the daily reflection is me trying to kick-start writing again.

Because I NEED to write.

I had so many messages a few months ago...and I believe I still do.  I just have to find and voice them again.

Also: I'm losing my ability to sing.  That really stinks.  I haven't really sung in months, and any time I even try it physically hurts.

I was a good singer. I don't know what's happening. After I lost my voice in the spring, things just aren't the same. And I don't know how to get it back. Moreover, when I pray about it, I am just told to write.

I don't know....so I guess I'll just "do" for the time being.

Taking care

I have pretty fantastic nails.  I mean it.  Strong, perfectly healthy nails that are pink and then naturally white as they grow longer.  The kind of nails people spend lots of money trying to fake, those just grow right on me.  It's amazing, then, that I used to just let them break.

I would let my nails grow.  I would admire them and even brag about them on occasion.  I have met more than one woman jealous and delightfully green while admiring my nails.

My strong nails could take quite a beating. Car doors, zippers, cupboards and drawers wouldn't phase them for weeks at a time and then suddenly one day CRACK! Some tiny thing, some silly movement, and a strong beautiful nail would just crack in the most painful or ugly way.

Sometimes the nail would bend back first, causing my finger to bruise below the nail-bed.  Sometimes it would just break clean off, though a little too far down.  And other times the nail would break in the weirdest shapes, leaving an weirdly dangerous, sharp and jagged claw behind.

This always bothered me for obvious reasons, but mostly because once ONE nail broke, I had to cut them ALL to match. I hated that.  Especially my pinkie nail.  I rarely if ever brake a pinkie nail. So it is the worst to have to cut that lovely thing down to size.

Then my hands look chubby.  I can see how dry they are.  Now all the dry cuticles and hangnails are not only visible but prominent to the eye!  Ugh.  My hands aren't beautiful anymore!  So for a while I try to focus on them being "Capable Hands" instead of "Lovely Hands."

Sure, both are great.  But I had problem with that. It meant that every couple of weeks, I let a single broken nail change how I defined myself.

This morning I looked at my perfect nails and I decided to clip them. Not super low like I would have to if one broke.  I simply cut them to a more manageable level; they are less likely to break if they are short.  And they are more attractive just a little long.

As I put the clippers away I realized something:  I have a pattern of WAITING for a nail to break.

But not this time.

This is evidence that I am learning. I am changing. I'm not waiting for things to fall a part.  I'm not waiting for something to go wrong first.  I'm not waiting for catastrophe.

I'm not WAITING.

I'm DOING.

I see what needs to be done and I do it. Because I don't need the inconvenience later; because I don't want to define myself differently based on an accident. Because I am the creator, not the reactor.

It's working because I'm working. Even when I think it's not working, I'm working. And then I get to see that it's working.

I got what I wanted...I guess that means I get to go again.

Here's what's happening:

I am getting what I want.

And.... Yikes.

I mean it.  Have you ever outlined what you really want, be it things, opportunities, activities, or talents?

First of all, let me just say that it has been truly difficult choosing what I want enough to focus all my attention on making that happen. Whether it be new pans, a bottle of Martinelli's, learning a new song on the piano, or a sword. Sure, it's easy to say, "Ooo, that would be nice!" It's totally another thing to actually have the guts to look at a picture of it and say to your brain, "I want that.  Get me THAT. NOW."

And that's only the first two steps in the process!!!

Some amazing things are happening in my life, things that in many ways I have been waiting for and afraid of for many many years. I'm getting what I wanted. And it's interesting to see it in those terms. 

Because what having a Vision Board has really taught me, is that I have always gotten what I wanted.  I just didn't tell myself about it first.

Ever get to the end of a shopping trip and wonder "How did marshmallows, 10 lbs of $3.99/lb grapes, four candy bars and a stuffed camel end up in my cart?"  (Let's hope your list is different than mine, but I"m pretty sure you catch the drift.)

When we go shopping without a list, we end up grabbing whatever "looks good."  And it can get even worse than that.  Sometimes I have actually bought and paid for things, only to get home and realize that I had picked up only cereal the kids liked, or that I already had a box of hair dye.  Two, in fact. Ugh!  Now I've spent my money on things I didn't need and can't sustain me!

This has been my life in many ways.  I have gone shopping in the universe without a list.  And then I wonder how I ended up with all this stuff I don't need and don't really want.

Well, now I've made a list. I take the list to the store. I'm actually getting what I want.  Now, God is in the picture for me, so sometimes it's what I want, though not exactly in the way I was expecting...but I'm still getting what I want.

I feel nervacited for the future. (That's nervous and excited, for those who are not familiar with My Little Pony).  Because in a world where I can and do get what I want, well, that's just brilliant!

Evidence of Love

I have talked about opening the love letters. Specifically I was talking about the many letters and cards people had written me over the last year or two which I had kept closed and locked away in a “special place” where I could not see them. 

Out of sight, out of mind.  Isn’t that how the saying goes?

This idea - that of opening the love letters - applies all over the place. I’ve been seeing it everywhere since I wrote it. 

I have found myself saying more and more often this phrase: Look for love where it is not where you want it to be.

For example, if I was looking for love everyday in the mailbox, I will find it rarely. But if I look at the compiled evidence of love, I find it daily. 

The same with God (who is my Higher Power). The same with spouses, children, angels, friends and other family members.

There was once a few years ago that I was struggling in my dance with depression. I call it a dance because sometimes I lead and sometimes depression does. In 2009 I was struggling to move my feet as depression led me in dizzying circles around the proverbial dance floor.

I turned to a new crutch (candy bars) until an old crutch (theater performing) presented itself. I must have been bad off, because my husband encouraged me to be in - not one - but two plays a the same time. Which meant he would have to watch both children on his own for quite a while every night after work.

We had quite a mess in the first production - a Shakespeare - and I had been asked to be the stand-in Musical Director for the second, which was a beloved Sondheim Musical. 

I remember one particular night that I came home and I must have brought some weird gunk home with me because my husband sent me straight to bed saying, “You are acting weird and I don’t want you projecting it on me. Go get some sleep.” 

I beat myself up in my journal. I beat myself up in the mirror and I beat myself up on the scale.  I even beat myself up in my prayers. Until the last few seconds before I fell asleep on my knees, tears still fresh on my cheeks, and I finally spoke to Him. I don’t recall the words, but I know it had something to do with love.

I woke the next morning to another bright, shining, sun-soaked July day. I thought I would be sick. Birds were singing. It was warm and people walked about the place with grins plastered to their un-depressed faces. 

I got to rehearsal and a few more little things fell apart. I was feeling utterly useless and forgotten.

Then I heard the thunder.

I looked out the window and saw thick grey clouds, complete with a platinum lining, pouring rain upon the thirsty ground.  I love the rain so much.

And I knew it.  I even said it out loud, “Oh!  God loves me!”

A woman in my cast overheard and said, “He must not love me; I hate the rain.” And she laughed.

I cried. 

Ever have those moments when you just know something?

I have. And this particular time I knew that the rain was a sign God loves me. It could not have been more clear if He had walked in with a dozen roses. 

Similarly, on closing night of the second production, my husband brought me a delicious mango smoothie.  He picked up the children and he went home. This bothered my castmate.

"Isn’t he staying to watch you?" she asked in a snarky tone.

"I don’t think so," I say, smiling.

"Didn’t he bring you flowers or a card or anything?"

"Yeah, he brought me a smoothie."

She rolled her eyes and grimaced, “Not much of a closing night gift, though. I mean, doesn’t it just make you mad that he doesn’t support you?”

I laughed. I mean a giant, shake the rafters, throw back my  head and just laugh laugh. 

"Wait," I said when I could catch my breath. "Which part of his actions is un-supportive? When he encouraged me to be in these plays?  When he takes care of the kids for hours at a time so I can rehearse and perform?  When he has to spend his days off without me because I’m HERE? Or when he brings me one of my favorite treats that would not interfere with my performance?”

She was stunned. And so was I. 

"Wow," I said. "I don’t think I realized until just this moment how much that man loves me."

I suggest we make a list today, just sometime on a scrap of paper somewhere. And list all the evidences of love in our life. 

I sincerely believe you’ll be surprised at the answer when the question you ask yourself is, “How am I being loved?”

You are. Perhaps you’re just looking for it in the wrong places.

 - March 6, 2014