Muckprints

I’ll just say it. I don’t relate to the “Footprints” poem.

I grew up in a landlocked state and didn’t see the ocean until I was 22. It was a frigid November day in Washington state. My then boyfriend, now husband, took me to Kalaloch. I kept my shoes on the entire time on the rocky, driftwood-covered shore, unable to leave behind any prints in the packed sand.

My first trip to the Pacific Ocean. Rocky, cold, and beautiful…like my soul. ;)

Contrast that with my southern Idaho hometown. Known for its plethora of dairies, the human population was dwarfed by that of cattle. I didn’t spend time strolling along sandy beaches, I trolled mucky pastures.

We had boots for these outings. Doing chores on the farm called for rubber knee-high boots in a stylish shade of army green. Mud and manure were easily hosed off the surface as to not track any unwanted grime into the house. These boots weren’t pretty, but they were sure functional.

If you never walked through muck, let me describe it to you. It’s mud and manure mixed. In some areas, it’s deep enough to get your boot stuck. (Nothing like going to take a step and having your foot come right out of the boot, stepping sock-first into the stink.)

If there’s a harder surface underneath the muck, it turns, as my father would say, “slicker than snot.” Your foot will slide out from under you and you’ll do your darnedest to stay upright, but it’s likely you’ll land on your fanny and end up having to do a load of manure-covered laundry.

Regardless of its depth, muck stinks. Doesn’t matter the cows’ diet, their poop will always reek. The more cows you have, the stinkier the pasture.

Walking through muck is just a sacrifice you make to take care of the herd. It’s not fun, but it has to be done.

Going back to “Footprints,” I have since walked barefoot on sandy beaches, watching the water seep into the divots where I’d just stood. I looked out over a seemingly endless ocean, pondering where I fit into this vast universe.

I would take trials on a beautiful beach any day of the week. I wouldn’t care where Jesus was walking. He could be next to me, carrying me, piggybacking on my shoulders, wherever! Just the fact that He’s with me in that serene environment would ease my troubles.

Alas, my trials lie in the muck. In the stench of the pasture. No tide to ebb and flow, just a muddy ditch, dammed up in spots with tarps and stones. No limitless ocean views, just rocks and sagebrush and thistle.

Where is my Savior to lift me out of the mire?

As I look back on my life, I see where my trials were the most difficult because that’s where the most bootprints were. Not just my own, but those who God sent to pick me up and hose me off. Those who slogged into the depths to hand me a rope and pull my stuck self out in an epic battle of tug of war. Those who sat with me in the stink, not pulling or pushing, but waiting along side me until I could get up on my own.

They are my ministering angels.

My Savior may not be here physically to carry me through the hardest parts of life, but He knows in whom He can trust. I’m just grateful for those who heed the call to pull on the waders to trudge into my pasture of life.

It's Getting Hard to Pray

I bow my head, close my eyes, and don’t know what to say.

I have plenty to pray about. I tend to without a global pandemic on my mind. So why are the words not coming?

Is it because my mind is constantly racing, thinking about what is still in my control? Meals, dishes, laundry, online school, paying bills, the list goes on.

Possibly I have others on my mind more. Who can I help and how can I help them? Does anyone need something I have extra of? Why haven’t I gotten cards written and in the mail? People are waiting on them.

Maybe I’m thinking too much about the political climate. I had no idea a virus could be so polarizing. I thought it would bring us together, not drive a deeper wedge between parties. I was wrong.

It could be because I can’t shut my brain off about people not taking this outbreak seriously. Or others taking it so seriously they’re comparing their social isolation to the struggles of Anne Frank. It’s not remotely the same.

I would normally lay all my ramblings at His feet, asking for quiet and calm for my weary heart and mind.

It’s different now.

I’m afraid if I do that, He’ll bring peace and it’s not fair for me to feel peace when others don’t have it. For me to be calm and focused when there are grocery store employees that wonder if simply bagging canned goods will be what kills them. When nurses are writing their wills…just in case. When society is being asked to choose between economic success and human life.

I don’t deserve answers. I never have.

Maybe that’s the lesson I’m learning. That I don’t get anything from God because I deserve it. He gives and withholds blessings and I’m to be grateful with my lot regardless because I chose to feel the joy and sadness, pleasure and pain. It’s okay to ask for the good because we agreed to the bad along with it.

Maybe I will ask for a little peace today, for myself and for the world.

Three Dots

There are times when tender mercies are difficult to find. When the stress of a pandemic, earthquakes, and social distancing overwhelm the strongest among us. I learned something prior to the distress we’re currently facing that has brought peace adjusting to a “new normal.”

I was listening to the BYU Maxwell Institute Podcast episode "Briefly Jacob" with guest Deidre Green. She was interviewed by host Blair Hodges about the Maxwell Institute’s series of books, Brief Theological Introductions to The Book of Mormon, of which she authors the volume of Jacob. Hodges quotes her writing of Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection, “By viewing the duration of Christ’s death, we witness and embrace loss that has not yet found resolution.”

I think that we need to be instructed by the way in which Christ’s death and resurrection happen. There’s a reason it doesn’t occur instantaneously, right? There isn’t an instantaneous resolution. And I think there’s a type there, or a prefiguring of what we all experience at various times in our life. And if this is the way that God chose to carry out the most important event in human history, then we ought to learn from that. That this is how God wants it to be. There needs to be this sort of empty, ambiguous spaces in our lives. And that there’s something productive for us in engaging those with authenticity. – Deidre Green

That struck my heart. Why three days? What am I to learn from that? After Christ’s death, his apostles didn’t realize he would return so soon. Will I feel the same way when my own trials and struggles are over? Will I look back and think, “Well, that wasn’t long at all. In fact, it felt like three days.”

I searched for a symbol I could wear to remind me to be patient and wait upon the Lord. I wondered what piece of jewelry I could find to symbolize waiting upon the Lord. I didn’t really want to wear an empty cross, but wearing a closed tomb would have just been a rock around my neck. In the middle of a text conversation, while waiting for a response, I noticed the talk bubble with those pulsating dots and I knew I had my symbol.

…

The ellipsis. Three dots to represent three days. A reminder that answers will come, trials will end, and, eventually, the peace we all seek will return, punctuating all our waiting with a final period.

I was able to find a metal stamp of three small dots that would fit perfectly on miniature silver circle tags I had from making bracelets for Personal Progress. Since I had leftover waxed twine as well, I created a symbol to look to whenever I needed the admonition of patience.

I’ve been able to share these with friends and family who are struggling, enabling me to comfort those that stand in need of comfort. That’s brought me more peace than any symbol I could wear.

Vanity, Pride, and Withholding Judgement

A huge thanks to Avahlee Med Spa for working with me on my journey of self-care.

After my mother and sister both had skin cancer removed from their noses, I was determined to do whatever I could to lessen my chances of the same outcome. I shared the process on social media, partially to help others understand their options, but also to remove judgment so people wouldn't think I was just doing it to be vain.

After four months of laser treatments, a forehead full of Botox, and cheek and lip injections, I learned something about myself—I wasn't being vain, I was repairing the vanity of my youth. I was choosing to take pride in myself.

Getting stabbed repeatedly with teeny needles conducting radio frequencies into my face. NBD.

“Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.” – Mary Bennet in Pride and Prejudice

Covered in numbing cream pre-lip injections.

Even a hat can't hide swollen lips and a bright red face.

In case you couldn't tell from the posting of these photos, I don't care what other people think of me. I do, however, care what I think of myself.

It's not a bad thing to care for ourselves, including our appearance. To accept responsibility for the gift of these amazing bodies we have. If that means getting injected with Botox, so be it. If it means taking a laser to your face, go for it. If you’re tired of looking like the bearded lady from the circus, get hair removal for a silky smooth mug. If you are totally content with how you are on the outside, don't let anyone tell you you need to change, because what matters the most is what YOU think of you.

Being comfortable in your own skin is invaluable. If you need to set goals and make changes to have that happen, do it! But remember, transformations, whether emotional or physical, should all stem from self-care.

And for the record, I think you're pretty darn amazing just the way you are.

[For a chronicle of my laser treatments to help reverse sun damage, visit THIS POST on my other blog, Being Spiffy.]

Be an Instigator of Joy

It was one week ago today that I received the phone call telling me my aunt had been killed in a car accident. Though I was in a conference hall filled with people, it was as if everyone had suddenly shifted to the walls and I was standing alone. Tears threatened to fall as I struggled to process that I wouldn't hear my aunt's contagious laugh again in this life. My heart broke for my mother, who would no longer look forward to lunches with her best friend. It took time for the shock to wear off so that I could move past thoughts of how she died and, instead, focus on how she lived.

My mother, her hilarious aunt, and her joyful sister.

My aunt was a genuinely happy person. She allowed herself to see the good in situations and people and didn't let outside influences change her attitude. You couldn't help but smile when you were around her. She had a quick wit and didn't take herself too seriously.

She always had influence over others, but it wasn't always a good one. My mother related a story her mother told of my aunt when she was young. She loved friends and having fun, but if things got boring, she would remedy that. As a child, she was with a group of girlfriends. I guess things were getting dull because my grandmother saw my aunt create a rift among the crowd, then stand back and watch, entertained by the trouble she'd caused.

This story made me laugh because it was such a good description of my aunt's personality. She was an instigator. When she was younger, she may have caused some trouble, but it didn't take long for her to realize she would rather influence others for good. She spent her life as an instigator of joy. Serving others. Helping others to smile and laugh, even when they didn't see anything worth laughing about.

My mother said my aunt had, "never met a stranger." This was evident at her funeral. The chapel was filled to capacity and chairs flowed into the gym to accommodate everyone in attendance. They were all there to celebrate the life of a woman they considered a friend. She never looked past people or made split-second judgements. If you passed by her in a store, she would make eye contact and smile. Maybe even say hello. Everyone was a friend she had yet to meet.

I want to be that person. Someone who doesn't see strangers, but who treats everyone as they would a best friend. Someone who leaves people happier than she found them. I want to be an instigator of joy.