New blog

So, I'm venturing out. I write here about a lot of things I think about and I kinda wanted to make it more official. I originally started this blog to write about my family and our life and it hasn't ever really blossomed into what I wanted it to be. The new blog is a Christ centered blog that focuses on hope. Writing about hope makes me feel it. Hopefully, reading it will make you feel it too. Come by and visit.

www.brightnessofhope.blogspot.com

Watching

When Katrina descimated New Orleans I watched the aftermath unfold and paced my living room. I was tense and anxious as I watched the reports of suffering--completely helpless. I was talking to a friend on the phone and she asked me what was eating me and and I practically yelled at her, "I would strap my baby on my back and walk. I would try to find a way out, find water, find food. I would try to do something!" I was so frustrated watching people just sit in the Superdome and watch those kids cry and people live in awful conditions. But more than anything I felt so small and insignificant knowing that I was powerless to do anything. We weren't even in a position financially to give more than a few hygiene kits.

I think the reality is even more difficult when we must watch someone we love, someone who is dear to us, go through a difficult time. When we think we know what is best for them. When we think we know how much better their life would be if they made different choices. Sometimes the hardest thing is to love someone through their own failures and mistakes. Unfortunately, more than one person in my life is struggling, outside of my control, to make or find peace, to heal or even some days to just smile. I have to sit back, knowing what I know, having been where I've been, and just watch. And its so hard cuz the thing is--I've been there.

I gave a talk on hope once at church. I felt prompted to talk about my struggles with suicide and addiction and hopelessness. I shared this story and I wish so much that everyone who is suffering, everyone who has lost hope or faith in themselves or someone else could know the truth of this story. I have excerpted it here.

No matter what you do, no matter who you are you are God's child. The seed of divinity lives within you regardless of race, color, or creed. We came from the bosom of the Creator and nothing you can do on earth or in heaven can change that. I have witnessed many times the personal love the Lord has for me--and for each one of you. I took a Biology class several years ago that gave me insight into how precious we are. We had an interesting discussion in class one night about evolution. One student was particularly upset and challenged the instructor on several creation/evolution issues. I left with much on my mind. During that time in my life, I felt especially connected to the earth. I was gardening and learning about pollution and the devastating effects on the earth from our modern lifestyle. I struggled with the love I have for the earth and the difficulty it was to do much of anything without modern conveniences. It also saddened me that the earth was being treated so casually and without judgement or prudence. However, on this night in the darkness on my drive home I had a startling realization. The earth, matter, can be remade. New earths can be created. God has the capability to reshape matter to any of His purposes. He cannot (and trust me when I say I do not wish to catalog the things God cannot do but this is one thing), God cannot remake us. Part of the gift we are given is mortality and the agency to choose Him or not. He has created a bubble of personalized experience for each of us that is as unique and temporary as a snowflake. Who we are and the experiences we've had cannot be replicated. With all the feeling of a tender parent He sets us free knowing that some of us will not return. When viewed in this way, it is clear that we (human beings) are our Father in Heaven's most prized possessions. We are the jewels of the universe, more precious than galaxies, suns or moons, set on earth to glorify Him by choosing joy which the pure love of Christ--by choosing to love ourselves the way we love others.

The power of this knowledge is that nothing we ever do can destroy that value. Each spirit is unique, precious, infinitely more valuable than all the diamonds in the earth's crust. How then can we lose hope? How can we give up on ourselves when we are worth so much, when we are so loved? If you don't know how special you are, pray for eyes to see. He will show you and you will be amazed.

See with new eyes.

Every so often I encounter an artist of some sort that opens my eyes to the world in a whole new way. The show So You Think You Can Dance has done that for me. I love the artistry and beauty of Picasso which I've only just recently begun to appreciate. And now I have found a writer who has the most elegant, sparse prose I have run across in a long time. His name is Alain de Botton. I had to check him out because his name alone is delightful to say--especially with some French flair. I am reading his book The Art of Travel and have found myself stopping every few pages to record some insight or quote that I find deeply satisfying and wonderful.

In his chapter on art he says that the artists project is to "paint a portion of the world and in consequence open the eyes of others to it." What a simple and yet inexoribly difficult project! As a writer of memoir I have been attempting in my sad beginners way to encapsulate the whole of my experiences, the depth and complexity of each scenario and convey the entirety of my young life into a few pages of a book. This project is impossible, dry and unorganized. My life and the pitfalls and pleasures are not really important enough in the grand scheme of the universe to enumerate one by one. On the contrary, it is a few experiences, delicate and singular that shape my particular theme. The way I feel about them, what I have learned from them and how they have affected the ripples in my family are what readers want to know. I think I have been trying to hard to tell the reader everything instead of trying to tell them something.

Other places that de Botton has touched the nerves of my synapses:

In the chapter on the sublime, "Asked to explain why Job has been made to suffer even though he has been good God draws Job's attention to the mighty phenomena of nature. Do not be surprised that things have not gone your way, he declares: the universe is greater than you. Do not be surprised you do not understand why things have not gone your way for you cannot fathom the logic of the universe. Accept what is bigger than you and what you do not understand. The world may appear illogical to you but it does not follow that it is illogical per se. Our lives are not the measure of all things: consider the sublime places for a reminder of human insignificance and frailty"

In the chapter On Travelling Places, "It always seems to me that I'll be well where I am not and this question of moving is one that I'm forever entertaining with my soul" (This one is from Baudelaire, my new secret crush).

How about this one: Journeys are the midwives of thought.

Nuggets of wisdom tucked into a sleepy essayists thoguhts. I love the simplicity of his eyes and the ways that he has conveyed to me a new way of perceiving the world. It isn't that my story is insignificant, its that I haven't found the right things to make significant.

Enduring to the end. (warning long post)

Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures of myself at the marathon. They are on other people's cameras (hear that other peoples? I need pics). But I wanted to post about my experience because well I need to write about it.
When I started training, I could barely do three miles. I would sprint and then burn myself out. For several months, I ran the same route always coming home discouraged. I felt overwhelmed at the idea of the marathon (even though I'd already signed up for it). Three miles to twenty-six? Impossible. Injuries also played a role in my feeling defeated. First, wicked shin splints, then knee pain, then foot pain. It seemed that everytime I ran I hurt in different places. I would take breaks and then start again. After Christmas, last year, I really didn't believe I could do it. I felt weak and unprepared, daunted and pathetic.

But I kept going.

I kept running. I kept putting on my shoes and putting one foot in front of the other. Even when I was tired, even when I had papers to grade and dinners to cook and people to serve. I kept running. Even in the days leading up to the race I found myself having to cajole the defeatist. "Mimi, you can do this." Then that voice would respond, "no, you can't. You are hurt. Its Utah and the hills are steep. You are not prepared." I felt many times that I had not done enough. I had gotten sick. I had skipped work outs.

As I got on the bus to ride up the mountain, I almost turned and ran back to the car. My sister Rachel pushed me toward the van and said good-bye and I was stuck. In the van, several of the other runners were talking about how they qualified for the Boston Marathon. How they had run other races earlier this year. How fast they were. Even the guy next to me said he was so slow. He was going to try to get in at four hours. Four hours? I was prepared to be ecstatic at six. Six hours was my goal. I knew I couldn't finish faster than that. I didn't know anyone in the throng of people at the top of the mountain. We all stood around in the dark, waiting to use the restroom, eating our fuel and trying to huddle near the fire pits. I felt so isolated up there. It was beautiful and terrifying. The sun peeked up behind the mountains in the east and I headed to the start. I was in a surge of people as they began to move but in a very short time, I was running alone.

I watched people pass me. Move beyond my measley pace and head around bends and corners. I passed horses in fields who watched me run by and I thought they were probably wondering at my snails pace. I listened to my music and just settled in to my routine. Two minutes of running and a thirty second walk break. Over and over again I stayed on my break schedule. Run...walk...run....walk. I felt really good as I approached half way. I had seen people on the side of the road throwing up and I was proud that I felt so good.

At mile 14 a woman came up and started a conversation with me. Jeanette was running her second marathon. It was her birthday. She reached out to me, said she was feeling discouraged and wanted to stay with me on my pace. By mile 18 I hadn't even noticed the time. I was ready for the wall. The point at which you believe you cannot take another step. But we passed mile 18 chatting and sharing our lives with each other. Jeanette made me feel connected to someone else. She anchored me to the goal--helped me keep going. We both wanted to make it in by 6 hours. We kept up our pace. We smiled and laughed and even shared our testimonies.

Then, at mile 21 my next miracle. Todd stood by the aid station smiling at me. He bounced around from foot to foot waiting for us to approach. He fell in step with us and asked me questions. I was beginning to get tired and talking with Todd made me feel connected again. Todd, Rachel and David had stayed up the entire night before the race volunteering. They helped set up the finish line, cut fruit and directed the runners to their transportation. Todd jogged along beside me encouraging me and patting my back even though he hadn't slept in 24 hours.

At mile 23, Rachel was stretching. Getting ready to fall in step alongside us. Todd was supposed to duck out but he said he felt good and the two of them took each flank. They said I didn't have to talk if I was tired. And I was. So. freaking. tired. Jeanette had pulled away a little and was quiet. She was focusing on the finish. I started to cry. "I'm just so tired," I choked out.
Todd said, "You see that tall building over there. That's right by the finish line. You are almost there. You can see it."

I started half giggling, half crying, half hysterical. I could see it. I was so close but I was so tired. At mile 25, my next support team arrived. Erin and my dad stood on the side of the street. Erin, in her flip flops with her camera. Dad with a big smile and an encouraging hug. They ran with me. As I picked up my feet and made them move, made them run. We ran together toward that goal and we made it--together.

When I started this I didn't really know what it meant. I didn't know why I felt compelled to run a marathon. It seems crazy. Most women run the half or at least run some other races before signing up for a marathon. Why did I need this so much? The reason is because I needed to learn an important lesson:

In order to endure to the end, you must let people love you.

I've spent most of my life running away from people. Running from their love, their service, their friendship. I avoid intimacy. I avoid those obligations that tie you down to people. But that isn't why we are here. It isn't why we are placed in families, why we are called to serve others. We need each other. And the greatest blessing and lesson of my life thus far is realizing how much I need my family. How grateful I am for their support and their love and how much I long for us to endure together so that we can be an eternal family.

Dear Don

A revolutionary thing happened to me this week. Something that has never happened in the history of my history. I wrote a complete draft of a short story in one afternoon. I had a dream on Thursday afternoon as I was trying to sleep off what has been trying to become a head cold. The dream was vivid and interesting with strong characters and story line. I worked on it for hours. I finished it before I went to bed. Now, normally during the final week of the semester amid seas of paper writing and researching and grading I would not take the time to write a short story but this one just appeared and demanded attention and I gave it and it was wonderful. I had recently been having a conversation with a writing friend about the difficulty in carving out time to do what writers do. We were discussing the challenge of trying to devote time each day to writing. She recommended reading Virgina Woolf's A Room of Her Own which I have on my night stand. Another friend recommended I read Don Quixote as a fun summer read. I started that one first. In the prologue, Cervantes addresses the reader. He says of the writing process, "Repose, a quiet corner, fragrant fields, cloudless skies, murmuring brooks, spiritual calm--all contribute their share in making the most barren of muses temm and bring forth to the world such offspring as will fill it with wonder and delight." Funny that Cervantes recommends repose and quiet corners for listening in order to bring forth those wonderful words. It is in beginning to read my first novel of the year that I have rediscovered the joy of fiction. I haven't written any fiction for a while and it was lovely to just have fun with a story. Non-fiction is deeply introspective and ponderific. You have to think, think, think on life and what it means and how you want it to mean. I love this work and I am enjoying writing a memoir but fiction has the element of PLAY. That play is powerful, pleasurable and fruitful. Also, reading is magical. I haven't read something that opened up those neural pathways and gave me a reason to write for fun in a long, long time. I miss it. I miss the time when I could just enjoy my work without trying so hard. Graduate school, the masters portion anyway, is almost over for me and I am so looking forward to producing some things that I want to do. Because I am a writer.

Rebirth

If you don't know the story behind these photos, you might not be able to tell the difference between these two women. The one above, with the large pack on her back, is a teenage girl, confused, lonely and crushed by the weight of sin. She is carrying a heavy load, one that has caused everyone she loves to grieve. She is impulsive and adventurous but also unthinking and immature. She has carried the heavy pack on a long journey and adds to it regularly.

This woman is also impulsive and adventurous. She loves to explore and try new things. She has more wisdom and maturity than her younger counterpart but that is not the difference. The difference between these two women lies here:

Easter, for me, is about how we become new. How we are reborn as spiritual children of Christ. Through the resurrection we are reconciled to Him and all that we have been before is changed. The miracle of this is that, just as the two pictures above represent me, they are at the same time two different people. A self-centered sinner transformed into a humbled servant. The miracle of the Atonement doesn't erase the past; it transforms it. When we allow the Savior to do His work in us we have a path of growth to look back on rather than destruction. As I reflect today on the healing of the garden and the cross, this is what I come back to. This garden truly is a healing place.

Lake Murray

We spent a lovely few days in Oklahoma with our dear friends. The weather was comfortable and delightful.

Our hike was eventful. We saw a spider full of eggs, Abby got attacked by thorns and the kids climbed the rocks.

Stine has been a constant friend and support. She is a sensitive and quiet person who offers a great deal of wisdom and spiritual love in my life. I was most excited to spend the evening with her talking and working a puzzle together. The screened in porch was cool and peaceful. That alone was worth the drive.

Of course the kids wanted to be in the lake. However, it was pretty icy. They ran in and ran out. So, mud was the next choice. We spent four hours playing and laying in the sun. Long enough to get dirty and a little pink. We've made great memories with the Poyners and hope to for many years to come.

Spring Break Zoo Trip

Our first day of spring break was a beautiful day at the zoo. Everyone in Ft. Worth had the same idea but it was still an excellent time.

The big cats were a favorite.

Not having a stroller made the visit fun and enjoyable. As my kids are getting bigger I'm feeling more and more free to take the kids to do new things.