True Thanksgiving

Today, I am grateful for everything obvious and the least obvious of them all.

First, the obvious. I am grateful for my wonderful husband who is the only one who at least halfway gets me. I am grateful for his love, for his amazingly helpful attitude, and for how hilarious he makes life.

I am grateful for the gospel and all things related to it. The scriptures, prayer, the Holy Ghost, Jesus Christ and his atonement, Heavenly Father, resurrection, Joseph Smith, the restoration of the gospel, and covenants.

I am grateful to live in America and for the freedoms I enjoy. I am grateful for the food I so easily obtain and for Peter's job, health insurance, and for a roof over my head.

I am so grateful for so many other things, but I won't bore you with the list.

The most unobvious of them all is that I am grateful for the greatest trial I have ever faced. I am grateful for last summer when my world fell apart. So many things happened that I can't even talk about, but it was much more trying for me than anyone outside of my immediate family knew or will ever know.

My brother and his wife died. That was excruciatingly tough. I loved them both so much and it was so hard to mourn the loss of two people you love that much. Your mind plays back memories of one and then the other like a tennis match. You think about their last moments and what they were thinking, what they felt.

That was tough, but it only got tougher. As someone who has never had children, and the real possibility of never having them, I felt strongly impressed to take on raising their three young children to whom I was very close. I was soon faced with people stating my biggest fear, they didn't think I was good enough. Things were said that I have had a hard time forgiving for, but it wouldn't be fair for me to talk about because this is a one sided story.

So, after imagining having children in my home and having that strong feeling that I should do that, I was faced with the toughest decision of my life. I had to give them up. I did it to maintain peace in our family. For months I was plagued with the question of whether it was right. I knew it was, but the question lingered. I could only turn to the scriptures and remember the women who fought over a baby. When they were told the baby would be split in half, the real mother gave him up for the baby's benefit. It wasn't that I thought I would get them if I gave them up, it was I had to make a decision to do what's right even if it means I would really have to follow through with giving them up.

Beyond that, at the same time I was faced with another family trial, the one I won't talk about, but it was a doozy. Combined with the others, this made up the worst time of my life. It's times like those that make you wonder what you did to deserve it. The answer was nothing. Every trial began out of my control. The only control I had was the way I reacted to it.

I was able to humble myself more, and I prayed so much more for help, for comfort. I found out how strong I can really be and I learned to let the Lord direct my life. This trial period was one I will never forget. I am grateful for it and the way it shaped me and my life. It became a great awakening for me spiritually and it strengthened my character in ways unimaginable.

Thus ends the, however many, days of gratitude.

Wednesday's Gratitude

I'm grateful I'm almost done with listing what I'm grateful for...just kidding. Today I am grateful for a dirty word I call infertility.

Man I hate that word. It sounds so personal, and it is.

Peter and I have tried to have a baby for years...over seven. It's tough because unless you went through it, you don't understand it. You suffer through people's insensitive comments and misunderstandings. People have stood in Sunday School and said, while looking directly at us, "It is a commandment to multiply and replenish the Earth and nobody should put it off for any reason." Yeah, that's awkward. And then there are the comments that backtrack..."Oh, yeah, it's great to be a mother, but I think that those women who can't have them are strong enough that it is a trial they don't have to go through." (Said while rubbing my back in a soothing manner.) That was even more awkward. It was a sweet thought, but honestly, I don't need to be defended.

The worst are comments like, "Oh, someday you'll understand when you're a mother." Or "You don't understand because you don't have kids." As if I've never been near a child or watched my own family. "Oh yeah, but it's different."

Beyond the outside world, into my own heart, is my own feelings. I'm broken. Something about me won't preform this basic commandment. Maybe if I was a better person. Maybe I've done something wrong. Maybe I can't be trusted with a child. I'm not good enough. I can't give Peter a child. He probably really wants one. He would be amazing.

I have friends with this problem and they are at a stage of immense anger and bitterness whenever someone get pregnant. Suddenly they are the judge for who shouldn't have children.

I'm not there anymore. Yes, I cry sometimes, but not so often. I've learned that through my trial, I have been brought closer to my Heavenly Father. I really learned that I need to trust him. He knows what is best for me. If it happens, it happens. But if not, then I can be happy knowing that I did my part and someday I will be blessed with that opportunity if I live righteously. I'm okay with either scenario.

It has also brought me closer to my husband. I get to spend so much time with him with out getting a babysitter. We get to lie in bed in peace on Saturday mornings. He buys me cool things and I get to listen to him without interruption.

I don't have to change diapers everyday, or potty train (well, too much). I don't have to listen to my child scream at me in public (just my nephews) or tell everyone all the embarrassing details of my personal life. I don't have to remember what takes crayon off the wall, or marker (I hear bread works for something). I don't have to make emergency room trips for the skittle they shoved up their nose. I don't have to be at their beckon call to give them food while I am famished. I get to be a little more selfish. I still eat the last cookie. I don't feel trapped at home, and quick trips to the grocery store aren't huge chores.

Don't get me wrong. I love children. I want children very much, and I admire the mothers out there that do such an amazing job. I just have learned to love the freedom I enjoy. I appreciate the money we get to save. I also have way more energy and desire to play with my nieces and nephews. I get to be fun. Then I get to send them home.

So, though infertility has been a major trial for me, I am grateful for it. I'll be grateful when it's over, but right now, I love my life. Dreaming of having a child is much easier and more romanticised than actually doing it.

Tuesday's Gratitude

Today, since I didn't mention this crazy little ritual yesterday, I am thankful for Dungeons & Dragons.

I only wrote it and you will never catch me saying it out loud. But, yes, I am thankful for dungeons... because they keep the bad people put away in a nice dark depressing prison. And I'm thankful for dragons because they are so darn cute and hilariously funny. Have you ever seen Pete's Dragon?

So with dungeons, Even if it is a good person stuck in the dungeon...Let's say a cleric, a lawful good human cleric, level 5, who only chose to be that for the good of the team (cause let's face it, they are boring). So, let's say he is put in that dungeon while on a campaign gone awry. Will he punish the guilty that wallow in their own filth in the dungeon for the sake of justice? Will he try to breakout for his own good, or will his criminalization of self interest hold him captive in favor of seeking justice for the other lowlifes in prison? Will the other members of his party save him? How will they save him? How much longer will this campaign go on? What will his crazy dungeon tattoo look like? All these complex answers and pivotal points can be answered with the simple roll of a dice.

So, basically, dungeons are cool because they create a safe barrier between us and the bad guys, or they may create a side adventure that can take days to accomplish.

With Dragons, forget that they're hilariously funny, that they are almost impossible to kill, and that they are pyromaniacs (Well, the red ones are), I am grateful to them because they create a horrifying challenge. I mean, seriously, the last time you even saw a dragon, you messed your pants, right? How could something so big, so terrifying, so fire breathing, be killed with a few rolls of a dice? Yes, there is strategy and all that, but honestly what else can be more empowering than to say, "Why, yes, Gary and Dave, I did slay that dragon. It was easy. It's all in the wrist. Just a flick of the wrist and a chant to the demon gods I call the Wizards of the Coast." "Did you use a sword?" "Nope." "Battle axe?" "Nope." "Quarter staff?" "No, I used a pair of dice." "No way? That rocks!"

So, basically I'm thankful for Dragons because they make you feel like you can accomplish anything...and if you don't, your toast.

So, to put it all together now, I am thankful for Dungeons & Dragons and they way they make you laugh, boost your self esteem, and create a crazy long and often entertaining story that only weirdos remember in detail.

Monday's Gratitude

Today I am thankful that my whole family is made of nuts.

Seriously, I think every family has a silly person, but mine is all way too crazy. The funny thing is they think they're sane.

One of my family members, (names withheld to protect the mentally ill) he counts things. It doesn't sound so weird, but it is. Anything in a room he has to count. The number of pictures on a wall, number of points on a cardboard crown, number of light bulbs, etc.

Another one types words. If you say a sentence, they will make small movements with their fingers, typing out a word that stuck out to them from that sentence.

You can't tell just by watching them that they are nuts, they have to let you in on their secret.

Someone very close to me talks to stuffed animals, and they "talk back" using a totally less than heterosexual voice and the toys are fully animated when he moves the toys arms, tentacles, or whatever.

An older relative talks back to those machines that call you about your interest on your credit card accounts. Yeah, he tells them off. He complains that I don't talk back to him when he gets my voicemail.

A brother uses phrases like "you mean wall candy?", "Speaking of words that sound like ______(insert random awkward body part here)..."(hint- nothing was ever said that sounded remotely like said body part), and my favorite "it tastes like an angel peeing on your tongue".

So, it only makes sense that I act the way I do. I come from a family of crazies.

What do I do that is nuts? I guess it's only fair since I just outed my entire family. So here it goes, and if you still like me after this, then maybe it's because you're crazy too.

I put peanut butter on the floor to prove a point, talk to myself (It's not always what I say, but how I say it), I play along with other crazies delusions...and stuffed animals, I really do think dolls talk and move when I'm not in the room (I spend my spare time trying to convince them that the jig is up and they should talk to me. I promise I won't tell anyone. Yeah, Toy Story was a trip.), I shout violent things at the television when there is a fight or a football game (Get him! Kill him! Kick him in the shins! Knock him unconscious! Break his arm!), I will do anything to get out of going out with another couple (I'm super antisocial), I often check how long my tongue is (can it touch my nose today?), I answer people without realizing it and most of the time it's the wrong answer, I like to read books upside down, I think that Listerine cures almost everything and if it doesn't crackers will, and the number one crazy thing about me is... there is always a part of me that thinks no one else really exists, you are all a figment of my imagination. Sometimes I don't even exist. I don't connect with my body. I am just an observer. Even my past is just a memory put in me, not something I lived.

So, yes, I am glad I come from a Family Nut Tree. It makes me feel better about how strange I am. It also lets me know who feels close enough to let me in on their little secret. Maybe all of you "figments of my imagination" really are all nuts too. I just haven't gotten to that revelation in my delusion yet.

Sunday's Gratitude

Today, I am thankful for a certain broken television.

It gave it's life that I might have faith.

So, here's the story:

One day, when I was a teenager, I was talking to my friend. She was talking about her family life and how hard it was to always be good. So, just off the top of my head I suggested that she try to watch less TV and see if it makes a difference. It evolved until together we decided that we both would not watch TV for a week.

I went home that night and prayed for help in my effort. The exact phrase I used was "...help me to not watch TV..."

So the next day I went to school which obviously presented no temptation. When I got home, I went to my room, flipped on the television and started on my math homework. I had completely forgotten.

It was a couple minutes later that I looked up from my books. The sound was on, but the screen was black. I was totally confused and started to play around with it, but no matter what I did, the screen was completely black, with the sound on.

The words of my prayer came to my mind, "...help me to not watch TV..."

My prayer was answered, very specifically, I might add. Heavenly Father broke my TV. It never did get better. (No, it wasn't just the tint, color, or brightness settings messed up.)

Through this broken television, I knew that my Father in Heaven listened to my prayers and was willing to help me. It gave me the faith to know that no matter what I asked, he would answer.

It also demonstrated to me that I needed to be more specific on what I ask for. I now include an idealized plan of attack for whatever I pray for and I detail the things I don't want to happen in order to get what I'm asking for. (example: no breaking things, people dying, etc.)

So, yes, I am grateful for a broken television. It was way more valuable to me broken than working anyway.

Saturday's Gratitude

Today, I am grateful for all those little challenges your church leaders give you.

I think it was a couple years ago that President Hinckley gave us the challenge of reading The Book of Mormon by the end of the year. I'm a slow reader and really have a hard time understanding the scriptures. I read the challenge in the Ensign, but I quickly ignored it thinking no one else would pay attention to it either. Apparently I was wrong. Within a month the whole church was buzzing about it and I was a month behind. I did it...barely.

About a month ago I was given a challenge by my Young Women President, passed on from the Stake Presidency, which was given the challenge by the General young Women's presidency. The challenge was this: Read The Book of Mormon with the Young Women in mind for at least 5 minutes each day, Pray each day, and Smile.

So each night I postpone my reading. I don't know why I do this, but I do and so I usually end up doing it pretty late when I'm getting tired. It sounds awful, but it isn't. I have never felt like I've gotten so much out of the scriptures. It's quiet and I don't get distracted once I start.

I think the key to my success is that they gave us one of those free Book of Mormon's (They scrap booked a cute cover) and told us to mark it up. I have. I know it isn't a coloring book, and I don't have a pattern to why I mark them the colors I do, but it makes me pay better attention to mark words that stick out and to write what I'm thinking it means in the margins. I would never do this with my nice scriptures, but I feel good about doing it with these.

Last night I felt icky so I decided to lay down for a couple minutes. I fell asleep and woke up around 1:30 or 2:00 in the morning, realizing I hadn't done my reading. So I got up did some other things I needed to do (put Peter's lunch together, he had overtime), and then said my prayers and began reading.

If it hadn't been for this challenge given by my leaders, I wouldn't have done it. My excuse is there's always tomorrow.

What's the difference if it is today or tomorrow? Let me tell you. It is the obedience that makes the difference. It is them giving you a challenge, you following it, then you being tested on that challenge (The temptation to skip one night...after all, you have a good excuse). The blessings come when you prove faithful to that challenge. When you let the Lord know you take it seriously, that is when His Spirit can be felt more strongly and your understanding is quickened.

So, even though I might want to groan when I'm given those challenges that add another thing to my to do list, I am grateful for those challenges and the opportunity it gives me to prove myself to Him and to myself.

Friday's Gratitude

I am so grateful for my old dirty tennis shoes.

When I got them they were a pretty white with a little bit of light blue trim. They were sturdy and advertised as running shoes. They were perfect!

Today they more brownish gray and some of the pretty blue trim is a dingy blue and threatening to come off. The heel inside is worn, and the fabric around the ankle is not only worn, but torn. The laces are tattered and dirty. The label on the tongue is worn enough so the size is unidentifiable. Permanent wrinkles embedded with dirt line the toe and sides. The tread is worn down so that I slide easily across surfaces and, like the trimming, it also threatens to come off.

If you showed me a before and after picture, I wouldn't believe you.

So, why do I love them so much? Nice and broken in, they mold nicely to my feet. They are comfortable and I know that what ever the task, unless it's fashion, they are up to it. With them I've hiked with the girls at girls camp, played volleyball, sat around the house and watched TV, mowed the lawn, gone on major shopping trips, and just about everything else you can think of.

I know these old tennis shoes were advertised as running shoes, but they are so much more to me. They are my comfort and reliability. I've grown accustomed to their hideousness, their leaks in puddles, and their tendency to make my feet sweat if I keep them on all day.

Yep, I am grateful for my old dirty tennis shoes and dread the day I have to give them up for something unfamiliar, rigidly unbroken, and too white to risk dirtying up doing normal everyday things.

Thursday's Gratitude...and Counting

Today, I am thankful for car accidents.

No, I'm not trying to be insensitive, and I hope I'm never in one, but I am grateful for them and have a lot of respect for how easily and fast they can turn peoples life around for good or unfortunately sometimes bad.

About an hour or so ago, I got a call from my dad. First thing he says is, "David is okay, but..." So right off, I know something isn't okay. David is my youngest brother and he is serving a mission in Texas. He is everybody's favorite just because he is so easy going. He took all the good character traits from his siblings and none of the bad.

So anyway, I don't know all the details, but it seems David and his mission companion were in a car accident, or I guess I should say truck accident. His companion was driving apparently and they rolled over a couple times (or so it sounds).

He was taken to the hospital and I guess his legs hurt, but he is alive and trying to walk around.

Car accidents are a reminder how precious life is. They can be accompanied by miracles and/or disasters. Sometimes it is both.

When my brother and his wife died, it was like that. It was tragic and it hurt me so bad. Then again, it was a miracle they both died together and none of their young children were with them. I mean, how often do couples with young children go places together without their kids. They had an amazing few days together, celebrating their anniversary and driving past the site of their first kiss, and I know they were happy.

Anyway, I don't take car accidents lightly, but I am thankful for them and how thought provoking they are. They make you think about how precious life is which I think a lot of us forget. (Some people drive like they're invincible.) On the obvious side, I am so grateful that David is okay and hope and pray he heals fast.

Wednesday's Gratitude

I am grateful for the monster headache and nauseous feeling I have right now.

My last 24+ hours have been spent making two checkered cakes and a whole bunch of Oreo truffles for our Young Women's in Excellence tonight. We had a Black and White theme. I messed up the middle layer of one cake, but I pieced it together anyway. As I frosted the cake, it got all crumbly and spotted my nice white frosting. I used Oreos chunks to hide it.

So, why do I have a headache? Because running around like a chicken with it's head cut off makes it hard to eat anything good for you. All I have had is the part of the cakes that I leveled off.

No Breakfast + No Lunch + Cake - Dinner= Monster Headache + Nausea

I'm grateful that I have nausea and a headache because it means my body is strong willed and won't put up with my abuse. If I am not eating right, it lets me know and believe me, this feeling can not be ignored.

It's nice to know my body resorts to violence when it doesn't get it's way... just like me!

Second Tribute to Gratitude

I am thankful for the scar on my chin.

When I was little, my parents went on a date and left my second oldest brother, Jason, in charge. (Apparently the oldest wasn't responsible enough.) They left one specific instruction: "No playing tag in the house."

So what did we do? That's right, we played "Hide and Go Seek Tag" in the house...in the dark. Jason was "it" and I thought I had a good hiding spot in the basement, but he saw me so I bolted for the stairs. They are wooden stairs which makes them not just hard, but slick. I could feel him on my heels and was afraid he would swipe at me at any moment. Almost to the top, I slipped and landed hard on my chin. I remember crying and Jason cleaning my wound in the bathroom. He wouldn't let me see it in the mirror, so I knew it was bad.

I cried myself to sleep waiting for my parents to get home. When they did, they took me to the hospital for stitches. I remember being shoeless and telling my dad that I had forgotten my jellies (shoes) and they wouldn't let me in. He laughed and told me they wouldn't even notice.

I got stitches and it actually tickled.

I don't remember my parents saying one thing about us disobeying them, but did they really need to? No, the scar on my chin is a reminder that sometimes someone knows better than I do.

Luckily the scar is on the bottom of my chin and people barely notice it. I actually like it now. It's my war wound. It's my reminder that if I choose to do wrong, there may be consequences that last a lifetime. So, yes, I am grateful for that inch long scar on my chin.

Thanksgiving in Review

My mother-in-law had a great post on what she is grateful for. I am inspired and hope to share one thing or experience each day, until Thanksgiving, that I am truly grateful for.

I am grateful for so many things. All the obvious things, the gospel, family, roof over my head, but I really want to express my gratitude for the not so obvious.

Tribute to Gratitude #1

I am grateful for the time in middle school that I got a really bad case of tonsillitis.

It was awful at the time. I couldn't swallow anything. I really do mean anything. I had a cup next to my bed that I spit in because I couldn't even swallow my own spit without crying. It was the only time in my life that I really thought I just wanted to die. I spent day after day for a week, just lying in bed in pain while I starved myself. I became dehydrated and weak. On the rare occasions that I forced myself to drink some water, the pain was unimaginable.

It was a Friday when I had finally been able to swallow things without it hurting so bad. It still hurt, but I was getting better. I was home alone with my oldest brother while everyone else was at school.

Let me just explain, that my oldest brother used to chase me with black widow spiders. We had a few years age gap, and I didn't like him. I thought he was a bully.

So that Friday, I realized how starved and weak I was. I needed food, but I had no strength to make anything myself. It was that day that my brother did something so simple, but it changed our relationship forever.

He took me to McDonald's. He had never taken me in his car anywhere. He didn't really even talk to me much, let alone buy me anything. But he did that day. He bought me my usual at the time, a strawberry shake, fries, and a cheeseburger.

That was the day that I learned to love my brother. I found out how compassionate and fun he really was.

Not long after, he went on a mission and I missed him terribly. A little over a year ago he and his wife died in a car accident. I hate to think how I would feel if I hadn't had a good relationship with him.

I hated being sick. I hated the pain, the starving, and spiting into a cup every thirty seconds. But I would never give up that experience. It was that experience that showed me my brother's other side. It showed me his compassion.

Though at that time I never would have thought it would ever be possible to say this, I can now say that I am truly grateful for tonsillitis.

I Want to be a Senior Citizen Too!

Have you noticed how good old people have it? Cheap movie tickets, discount meals, parking spots right in front of Shopko, not to mention Social Security benefits and free health care. Another year older, but not old enough.

Proposition 8? HA! I say that the gay rights activists are fighting to change the definition of the wrong word. Change the meaning of Senior Citizen! They have way better benefits than plain old married people. Yeah, let's change the age to 26, in a year, you can change it to 27.

I know, I don't see it happening either, but when the new proposition fails, I can't wait to see their protests against the senior citizens. I don't see the elderly taking it lying down.

Watch out for canes (or as I like to call them, camouflaged beating sticks) and elderly drivers (They drive that way on purpose. They learned it from the Japanese. It's their kamikaze). Graffiti their fence, and you'll end up whitewashing it while they shake their fists and recount stories of the good old days.

Remember World War II? Of course you don't... yet.

The Sanctity of the Peanut Butter Cup

Okay, I have no idea if this even makes sense to anyone but me, but I wrote this anyway because I'm weird and I'm just putting off scripture study.

The Sanctity of the Peanut Butter Cup
There once was a Chocolate. Chocolate met a Peanut Butter. As everyone knows, every Peanut Butter loves Chocolate. They fell in love in Hershey, Pennsylvania when Peanut Butter hugged Chocolate. Chocolate melted and soon Peanut Butter had Chocolate wrapped around her little Peanut Butter self. They became one and together they were pronounced Chocolate and Peanut Butter. This union of Chocolate and Peanut Butter, they called a Peanut Butter Cup. Together they made something good, something they could not make on their own.
One day a different Chocolate fell in love with another Chocolate. They wanted what the first Chocolate and Peanut Butter had. Chocolate and Chocolate wanted a union together and they wanted to call it the same thing. They wanted to call it a Peanut Butter Cup.
We tried to tell them that Chocolate and Chocolate don't make Peanut Butter Cups, but they cried discrimination. How can it be discrimination if they still had every right to get with a Peanut Butter and have a Peanut Butter Cup just like everyone else had a right to? They set out to try and make laws that would change the meaning of the word Peanut Butter Cup, instead of coming up with their own word.
The land was fraught with two Chocolates and two Peanut Butters that wanted a Peanut Butter Cup, they just didn't want half of the formula of a Peanut Butter Cup. They wanted to just be two of the same ingredients, which actually just makes them blobs of one ingredient, unless they have cool styling skills and can make Chocolate sculptures out of themselves.
When Chocolate and Peanut Butter listened to their friends cries, they wavered out of sympathy. Chocolate and Peanut Butter still loved the Chocolates that wanted to be with Chocolates, and they loved the Peanut Butters that wanted to be with Peanut Butters. They didn't want them to be unhappy or to feel cheated, but as Chocolate and Peanut Butter thought about their little Peanut Butter Cup, they knew it was still not the same thing.
To call two Chocolates a Peanut Butter Cup or even to call two Peanut Butters a Peanut Butter Cup would change the definition of what they had together. Peanut Butter Cup would no longer mean Peanut Butter hugged in Chocolate and even the flavor would not be even close. They had to stand up against their friends and let them know they were wrong and that what they had was not a Peanut Butter Cup even if other Chocolates and Peanut Butters would be mad at them and key their wrappers for encouraging others to help them keep their Peanut Butter Cup's integrity.
Peanut Butter and Chocolate got a law passed to define Peanut Butter Cup as a union between Chocolate and Peanut Butter, but it's not going to be over. There are still going to be Chocolates and Peanut Butters that will never understand and will fight to change the meaning of Peanut Butter Cup.

All who have a Peanut Butter Cup or who will ever want a Peanut Butter Cup, and all those who understand the reasons we have a definition for Peanut Butter Cups will need to forever stand up and fight for the sanctity of the Peanut Butter Cup!