4:30 AM (or Early Morning Musings on Viruses and Emotional Styles)

It is actually 4:30 in the morning. And I am actually blogging. Not because I am an early riser. No, my baby is sitting on the floor fussing intermittently and playing with some toys. She gave up sleeping about a week ago so I have too. Sometime during the crazy that came after Mr. J was born I gave up sitting in dark rooms trying to rock calm an uber-fussy baby back to sleep. It makes me nuts so I come out and let them sit and play for awhile and then take them back in their rooms and go through the bedtime routine to get the child back to sleep. Hence the blogging.

The Little Cannoli and her brother, Mr. J (who is now three and a half years old; I sure do need to update my sidebar pic!), both have RSV (see above pic!) and I have spent the last week not sleeping. The three of us are miserable. I finally lost it this afternoon. Crazy Mommy reemerged with her volatile yelling and intrusive thoughts and intermittent bouts of crying. Within this haze of fatigue, steamy treaments (you know, when you turn on the shower and the sink as hot as they'll go and sit in the bathroom waiting for the coughing to subside), and doctor visits a single thought has emerged: I am an emotional endurer. (BTW, for some good practical advice on RSV check out this website.)

Now this emotional style isn't one of Oprah's easily identifiable ones. In fact I wonder if this isn't a particularly Mormon emotional style. I think int might come from the Mormon idea that if we just stick things out long enough we'll eventually get some blessing out of all the difficulties that surrounds us. We like to call this enduring to the end. But just like so many of us mistake spiritually enduring to the end for simply suffering through stuff, emotional endurance can get skewed too.

I'm not being very clear here. I think I should back up a little.

This quotation from Elder Wirthlin (Oh, how I loved his talks!) sums up spiritual endurance nicely. He says,

The question “Why me?” can be a difficult one to answer and often leads to frustration and despair. There is a better question to ask ourselves. That question is “What could I learn from this experience?” . . .The gospel of Jesus Christ includes enduring to the end as one of its bedrock doctrines. Jesus taught, “He that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.” And, “If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed.” Some think of enduring to the end as simply suffering through challenges. It is so much more than that—it is the process of coming unto Christ and being perfected in Him. . .Enduring to the end means that we have planted our lives firmly on gospel soil, staying in the mainstream of the Church, humbly serving our fellow men, living Christlike lives, and keeping our covenants. Those who endure are balanced, consistent, humble, constantly improving, and without guile. Their testimony is not based on worldly reasons—it is based on truth, knowledge, experience, and the Spirit.

See? Enduring to the end isn't actually about suffering; it's about staying true to ourselves, our covenants, and our God.

Likewise, emotional endurance shouldn't be just about powering through hard times. I had a lot of signs that my breakdown this afternoon was coming. I knew I was tired and I knew that tired=crazy for me. Fatigue makes my brain slippery and I fall back into all those old depressed habits very easily. But instead of listening to my inner voice and slowing down during this time of turbulence, I told myself I was going to emotionally endure this now matter what--and I kept telling myself that until I couldn't endure any longer, my emotions became unmanageable, and I fell apart. This faulty emotional endurance is very much like a virus that I keep getting infected with whenever life gets tough.

I think a better emotional style might be emotionally resilient. My spur-of-the-moment, 4:30 am definition of this is that I would be aware of those little warning signs that some crazy was coming down the pipe. I would be okay with cutting out the peripheral stuff, allow myself to feel whatever manageable frustrations I'm feeling, and remind myself that eventually I will not feel this way and things will get better. That way I wouldn't have to power through so much and wouldn't end up on the road to Breakdown-ville.

I remember early on during my therapy days my therapist telling me that the point of therapy was not to bail me out when I was at my wit's end but to teach me how to avoid getting there in the first place. That's what I'm talking about. I think it was something I was pretty close to after my struggles of winter 2009. It's the emotional style I need to reclaim.

Well, it's now been half and hour and hopefully the Little Cannoli is ready to sleep again. I'm certainly ready to! But, if you feel so inclined, tell me what your emotional style is. Are you an endurer/power-through-it-at-all-costs kind of person or are you something else?

Depression and Spirituality (more from BCC)

So I am horrendously late (in internet terms) when it comes to blogging about
this. But we've been busy (Sell house? Check! Find other house to buy? Check! Do all the mortgage junk? Check! Oh, and since Baby #4 is due in 9 weeks, see the doctor all the time? Check! Do all the normal life stuff? Check!)and now is the first chance I've had to get back to it.

They covered a lot of ground, starting with how some versions of Mormon thought promote black and white thinking patterns that exacerbate depression and then moved on to how depression has actually changed their religious lives. I hope you'll go over and read the whole post, but I wanted to touch on a few things here that I identified with.

"Depression can be a completely different animal than any other type of adversity, because it screws with your ability to access God. And you know God could break through that wall if he really wanted to, so you’re left with the conclusion that he didn’t care to."

The biggest way depression seemed to interact with the BCC-ers depression was in their connection with God. Most of them couldn't confidently assert any thing more than a tenuous connection with their Heavenly Father--and that made them feel like they were bad Mormons. This has been absolutely true in my life. When I am at worst is when God is hardest to access. Praying, fervent focused pleading, does little to no good. I don't know if it's because my brain blocks out the spirit (I firmly believe there is a link between our physical conditions and our abilities to discern spiritual matters) or because it is somehow God's will that I not feel Him, but when I am down I cannot feel His love or access Him. That's one of the most obvious signs of my own depression: sitting in testimony meeting and seeing that everyone else is feeling it and not feeling it myself. I've come to expect this spiritual loneliness now and don't take it personally, but in the beginning it was vastly disorienting for my Mormon perspective. I mean, God loves us and is supposed to be there for us when we need Him, right? But sometimes it doesn't feel like He is. Or maybe I just haven't learned to see His hand. Either way, it's lonely. And scary.

"It seems to me that we have become more comfortable in Mormon culture about talking about depression, precisely because it has been medicalized, and we can explain it in comfortingly technical terms like 'serotonin re-uptake' and 'dopamine receptors.' What we still can’t do is talk about the spiritual aspects of it–it’s ok to stand up in testimony meeting and say 'the Lord has helped me recover from postpartum depression through priesthood blessings and medical care,' but it simply isn’t ok to say 'I feel abandoned by God. When you talk about your close relationship with Him, I wonder why I can’t feel what you do, and it makes me feel terrible.'

We countenance talking about grief, depression, and anger only when they’re safely in the past tense, or when we can explain them away as a physical, brain-based phenomenon. It’s understandable, of course, because it is painful and unsettling to see someone suffering and have prayer or priesthood blessings seem not to work–'mourning with those that mourn' can be (perhaps must be) a genuine challenge to the faith and testimony of the comforter, as well as the comforted. What does it mean to bear one another’s burdens, when one of our brother’s or sister’s burdens is despair, or the absence of hope and faith?"

This is something I have struggle to articulate and one of the reasons I started this blog. Since I've been depressed, I've come to believe that as Mormons we sometimes spend too much time thinking about the end of the road and not enough about the path we take to get there. We're all about the tree of life(which isn't necessarily bad) and sometimes forget about the mists of darkness and the clinging to the iron rod part of it all. Being righteous doesn't always mean that our lives will be without trouble. We wish it did. But it doesn't. Life is going to be hard and when we forget that I think we neuter our spiritual growth because, really, you can't get to the tree of life without the long walk through the mists of darkness. I'm glad the folks over at BCC owned this and said it out loud.

A lot of the discussion also centered around how being depressed has caused people to rethink their testimonies. Several contributors said that their testimonies were smaller now--stronger but smaller. For almost all of them there came a point where they felt they might need to leave the Church, but they decided to keep working at it. This is true for me, too. I'm not comfortable saying that I know all the things everyone else in the congregation knows. I feel like my spirit has been shaken to pieces and my testimony has been rebuilt from the ground up. But the things I believe are truly mine now because I have gained them through experience.

"I’m starting to realize that one of the greatest gifts we can give another human being is to be willing to reconsider our version of reality for their sake, to make uncomfortable shifts inside ourselves in order to make room for them."

This was beautiful to me. This is the thing I think I need the most sometimes. I just need to know that other people aren't dismissing me simply because my reality makes them uncomfortable. That attitude is the heart of successful, Christlike parenting and marriages. I think it's that idea that shaped the Home Teaching and Visiting Teaching programs. The ability to "reconsider our version of reality" for someone else strikes me as one of the most loving things we can do and is what it means to be true disciples of Christ.

Boyd K Packer, Porcupine Love, and Self-Generated Warmth

So, I've had a lot of thoughts swirling around the ol' noggin about relationships--especially close family ones--and the emotional impact we all have on each other and I wanted to get all deep and philosophy-ish on ya . . . BUT turns out I'm too tired. So I'll just point you to the people who have been stirring me up and maybe they'll stir you too. In a good way.

The First Thing: I read this article, Solving Emotional Problem in the Lord's Own Way, by Boyd K. Packer in the January 2010 Ensign and was pretty offended. I was thinking, "What?!? You're going to tell already isolated and vulnerable people that they can't talk to their bishop as an avenue of support? How dare you!! Depressed and other mood disordered people need more support not less!!" But then I read the full text of the talk and backed off a little. The truth is this: your bishop, no matter how inspired he is, is not trained to deal long term with a real emotional/psychological issue. If you need real help--whether it's because you've got the crazies like I do or because your marriage is falling apart or because you just can't tell up from down anymore--your bishop is a starting point, but not the long term answer.

I think the thing that really bothered me was that the title of article made me think it was not just advice for bishops. I thought there was going to be some specific guidance for someone like me who has trouble telling the difference between her anxiety drive and/or intrusive thought patterns and the Spirit. But there wasn't and I felt let down.

The Next Thing: But then there was this video with Elizabeth Gilbert (who apparently I am the LAST person in the world to have heard of!) on the PBS special This Emotional Life , called Porcupine Love.



And that felt so true. And it was sort of the same thing Pres. Packer was saying. We've got to figure out how to make ourselves warm enough so that we can avoid getting pricked and pricking others. We can't ask our bishop to make the warmth for us, or our visting teachers, or our spouses, or whoever. Because if we do they are just going to end up pricking us. That's the nature of our fallen world. We've got to warm ourselves.(Why I took this message better from Schopenhauer/Elizabeth Gilbert is good food for thought. I guess I'm just a sucker for a great metaphor.)

The Final Thing: I found myself leafing through our copy of the last General Conference Ensign and decided to read Being Temperate in All Things. This talk blew my mind when I first heard it and it offered some good insights again. Turns out this talk was the one with the specific guidance about solving emotional problems! The thing I'm meditating on now:

"Being temperate means to carefully examine our expectations and desires, to be diligent and patient in seeking righteous goals. . . Security for [ourselves and] our families comes from learning self-control, avoiding the excesses of this world, and being temperate in all things. Peace of mind comes from strengthened faith in Jesus Christ. Happiness comes from being diligent in keeping covenants made at baptism and in the holy temples of the Lord."

Doesn't quite cover intrusive thought and over-active anxiety, but it does give some specifics (especially if you read through the 18th-21st paragraphs). And I feel comforted. After all, when it comes to being depressed I'm not necessarily searching for soaring, gleeful moments of JOY. I just want to be steadier, stronger. I want to be the kind of gal who doesn't break into jagged, harmful shards when under stress. I want to be, well, temperate.

(Of course, the bad news about that is that tempered glass undergoes a pretty stressful heating process to make it strong. But that's another post for another day!)

"It's Just Too Hard" : a rebuke, a problem, a lesson, and a goal

This last Sunday things were a little bittersweet: the choir sang (and did a fabulous job!) but I wasn't in it, which made me a little sad; Sunday School was spot on, but I probably talked too much so I felt a little embarrassed; and Relief Society was, well, where I got rebuked.

The Rebuke I was having a hard time paying attention to the lesson--probably because I hadn't done the reading or bothered to bring my book--and my mind wandered so I can't give you the context of the rebuke or what it had to do with anything, but here's the basic gist of what the teacher said: Just because something is hard doesn't mean you get to throw your hands up and say, "I'm done." Especially when it comes to Church stuff. God doesn't approve of quitting.

It struck me because that is exactly what I have done these last few weeks. I've just said, "I'm done," because it was too hard. Too hard to keep up with Christmas blither-blather. Too hard to do my visiting teaching. Too hard to reach out to others. Too hard. Walking away felt necessary and it felt right.

However, the teacher's comment made me panic a little. See, in Mormon culture, saying something is too hard is never an acceptable answer. I think a lot of members consider it doctrine. After all, don't we all sort of know scriptures that say something about strengthening our shoulders and being made equal to our burdens? In my mind, I always figured that meant that no matter what I was asked I was meant to say yes because, if I was righteous, God would make it all work out.

The Problem Things don't always work out. In fact, most of the time things don't work out. Especially not when "working out" is defined as being perfect and awe-inspiring and Ensign article worthy. I mean, I felt I had to forgo the visiting teaching this month because I couldn't find the time or money to make a cute, coordinated gift and card. Visiting teaching, after all, isn't just about showing up. It's about proving you care--which usually means coordinated gift and card. Or three course meal. Or both! That's when you know God is helping it all work out: things look good and appear seamless and come easily.

There's an even bigger problem of all this "working out" business, though. The implication that if things don't work out I am somehow less righteous or less worthy than others. That's why just showing up for Visiting Teaching isn't enough. The cute card and three course meal prove my righteousness and worthiness. They prove that God approves of me. Of course, if it doesn't work out then I am in big, cosmic trouble.

Hence my panic in Relief Society. There were a number of small but hard (for me) things that I had walked away from because it was simply too much. But the very act of walking away was damning because it was tantamount to saying, "I don't believe God can make this all work out and therefore I don't believe I am righteous or worthy. Because I can't do everything I am good for nothing."

(Side note: This kind of black and white thinking is a hallmark of my depression and is incorrect. When I am feeling low, not only do I have trouble making decisions but there are only two alternatives: 1) necessary but completely impossible perfection and 2) abject failure with cosmic implications. Even though there are clear lines between good evil, not every thing in life is all or nothing. There is a middle ground and it is Jesus Christ.)

As I mulled over how good I had originally felt about my giving-up-stuff decision and my real sadness about missing out on things like singing with the choir and going visiting teacher and my panicky, irrational guilt fest, something occurred to me: a fabulous and glowing middle ground of rational thought! God never meant for me to do everything. He meant for me to do only the things He wanted me to do--which, in the big picture, means using my agency to make choices, experience the consequences, and learn. As Joseph Smith said (the link is a little inexact, you'll have to scroll down a bit to find it),

“When you climb up a ladder, you must begin at the bottom, and ascend step by step, until you arrive at the top; and so it is with the principles of the Gospel—you must begin with the first and go on until you learn all the principles of exaltation. But it will be a great while after you have passed through the veil before you will have learned them. It is not all to be comprehended in this world; it will be a great work to learn our salvation and exaltation even beyond the grave.”

The Lesson I had taken on too much this year and in the process of trying to weed out the good, better, and best, I had given up some things that would have been better to hold on to. BUT,and this is part of the lesson too, things really were too hard this year. Besides being pregnant and trying to sell our house and having to take J off all dairy and having some other family issues pop up, I'm depressed. That really and truly does make things too hard. God gets that. He knows the reasons behind the choices I make and He understands.

The REAL Rebuke Of course, He also knows my eternal potential and He isn't going to fail to remind me that I have a lot of growing to do. Heavenly Father isn't mean but there is a germ of truth inside all my panicky thinking. There is a lot that God expects me to accomplish; He's not okay with my being lazy. God gets my reasons but He also isn't going to take them as an excuse. This is balanced by the fact that He also knows this life is a process of learning and He deliberately doles out weaknesses in order to teach. Ether 12:27 and 2 Corinthians 12:9 make that very clear. It is quite possible that God meant for me to get in over my head so I would have to learn to lean on Him. Striving for perfection on my own negates Christ's atonement and is not in harmony with God's plan. What better way to bring me to back to Him than through weakness? (Side note: Please don't think I think I am speaking for God here. His reasons are His and are probably much grander than I understand. These are just the parts He made clear to me.)

The Goal As with most rebukes from the Holy Spirit, this one came with a suggested goal: Takes this time to get my life in order so that I can be available to do what needs to be done (i.e. what God wants). I think I've only been patching up issues instead of delving into them and finding a long term solution--which will always eventually lead to chaos. I need to figure out why J screams and cries instead of sleeping, so that he and I can finally, after two-and-a-half years, get some sleep. I need to figure out what can be done to solve the reoccurring family issues. I need to avoid extremes or experiments with my depression treatments (just like spirituality, antidepressants are not a black and white scenario). I need to find what makes me stable and accept the fact that I have a mood disorder and it will always need monitoring. (I swear I have to face up to that last one at least once every month--probably when I'm picking up my Rx refill.) I need to get my life to a place where I can , at the very least, do my visiting teaching (with or without a coordinated card!) and actually attend all my Sunday meetings.

Of course, one thing I have learned by this point is that this will not be the only time I'll have to scale it back and regroup. There will be other times when life will overwhelm me and threaten to fall apart but hopefully when that next time comes I'll remember to avoid the black and white, perfectionist thinking of it all. Perfection is God's job. My job is to keep on making progress.

The Gateway Virtue of Gratitude

I gave a talk this last Sunday on gratitude and I really liked it. Since putting together a reader's theater on the subject a year ago for my Relief Society group and trying to write a sestina on the subject (um, yeah, right, Laura! The day I am a skilled enough poet to write a sestina will probably coincide with the second coming.) I've been thinking a lot about gratitude. So it was awesome to have the opportunity to put my thoughts down on paper in a coherent way. I prayed a lot and I spent a good ten hours researching and writing the thing and it's still imperfect, but I thought I'd share it with you all. Happy Thanksgiving and happy reading!

p.s. It's long--it was supposed to be a 10 minute talk and I talk fast--but it's worth reading the whole thing!

“To Live in Thanksgiving Daily”
The power of the gateway virtue of gratitude

“When upon life’s billows you are tempest tossed, When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost,” a favorite hymn begins. “Are you ever burdened with a load of care? Does the cross seem heavy you are called to bear?” it questions. Then it advises, “So amid the conflict, whether great or small, Do not be discouraged, God is over all . . . Count your many blessings; Name them one by one. Count your many blessings; See what God hath done. ” This simple admonishment of gratitude that we sing in buoyant tones is one that we hear often and one we probably underestimate the power of.

Science tells us about the power of gratitude. A 2003 study from the University of California showed that people who kept gratitude journals enjoyed a host of benefits: fewer physical ailments, more alertness and energy, a higher rate of personal goal attainment. They were more optimistic and were more likely help others. Children who practiced gratitude benefited as well, showing more positive attitudes toward school and family. ( ) A 2008 study from the United Kingdom concluded, “Gratitude is . . . uniquely important to psychological well-being.” For every thank-you we offer another our own self-esteem and mental health are increased.

The power of gratitude goes well beyond the psychological, though. It is a spiritual power as well. President James E. Faust said, “It seems as though there is a tug-of-war between opposing character traits that leaves no voids in our souls. As gratitude is absent or disappears, rebellion often enters and fills the vacuum . . . A grateful heart is the beginning of greatness. . . It is a foundation for the development of such virtues as prayer, faith, courage, contentment, happiness, love, and well-being.” When viewed from an eternal perspective having a spirit of thanksgiving within ourselves is a gateway to not just more optimism, which is a considerable benefit, but also many wonderful spiritual blessings. Gratitude is an important beginning step on the road to eternal life. We cannot live with God or like God until we learn to show gratitude in all things.

Gratitude serves us in such a major spiritual way because it is actually a “binding commandment” (Faust, “Gratitude As a Saving Principle,” Ensign, Dec 1996). In Doctrine and Covenants section 59 the Lord tells us, “Thank the Lord thy God in all things . . . in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things” (verses 7 and 21)—all things meaning the good and the bad, the easy and the hard. Both ancient and modern prophets have counseled us to live this commandment. King Benjamin in the Book of Mormon counseled that in order to truly take Christ’s name upon ourselves we must, “live in thanksgiving daily, for the many mercies and blessings which [God] doth bestow upon you” (Alma 34:38). More recently, President Monson has succinctly stated, “Think to thank.”

Like other binding commandments, gratitude is more than just a two-way street between us and God. For every little bit we comply we do get something back, but that is a narrow view. Heavenly Father does not work on a strictly this-for-that basis. If He did we’d all be doomed because no matter how valiant our efforts we are always “unprofitable servants” (Mosiah 2:21). Just like when we pay our tithing and the Lord blesses us in a myriad of ways so too are we blessed when we are grateful. It isn’t as if since we thank the Lord for our dinner He will only ensure that we get another dinner. Rather, because we have thanked the Lord for our dinner our perspective will change, embracing a more eternal point of view. We will appreciate all the effort that went in to preparing the food; the food will probably taste better because we are in a more positive mind-set to begin with; we will have a better idea of the greatness of God’s creations and the depth of His wisdom that those creations testify of; then our dinner isn’t just something to fill our bellies, but something to feed our souls. This can make us more grateful and will in turn further adjust our perspective. It is this reciprocal relationship between gratitude and spiritual insight that makes gratitude a spiritual gateway.

This commandment to thank the Lord in all things is one that most of us try to embrace—especially during the holidays—and most of us have seen the benefits of as we have increased our efforts in this area. In my life when I have made a serious effort to be more grateful I have seen many spiritual blessings, but there are two I’d like to share with you today: blessings of faith and blessings of repentance.

Gratitude is the foundation of faith; it is very difficult to believe in something we are not grateful for. True faith—the kind that leads to devotion, action, and testimony—grows through small expressions of belief, of which gratitude is a primary example.

This is something we can see in our own families. I have noticed in my own family is that when we go through busy and stressful times one of the first things to disappear is gratitude. When we are busy we just forget to thank each other for the all the little things efforts that make a family run smoothly. The more we forget to thank, the more we take for granted and soon that taking for granted turns into plain old taking or, in other words, selfishness. As selfishness takes hold inside us we are blind to other efforts and can only see our own work and frustrations. It divides us and makes us miserable. Then conflicts occur.

But a thank-you can turn all that around. When meetings and appointments and homework begin to encroach our family dinner time and I start to get stressed and frustrated, for example, just getting a quick hug and a quiet thank you from my husband puts things back in perspective. It pushes the pause button on my stress and reminds me that he believes in me and in my efforts to make our family a happy one. It makes the frustrations worthwhile.

The kind of faith we show family members when we say thank- you is similar to the faith that the tenth leper showed when he returned to thank Christ for healing him. After questioning the whereabouts of the other nine the Lord didn’t say, “Thy gratitude hath made thee whole.” He said, “Thy faith hath made thee whole.” When the tenth leper (who not coincidentally was a Samaritan) stopped to thank the Lord, inherent in his expression was the acknowledgment that Christ was his Master and the source of all blessings. After all, scripture tells us that the leper offered a true sentiment of gratitude. He didn’t only thank Christ but also glorified God. It was those inherent statements of faith that met the demands of the command for gratitude and that opened the door for spiritual blessings-- because when Christ made the leper whole he had already healed him physically. The wholeness given, the resultant blessing, was spiritual wholeness.

Our own expressions of thanksgiving can must us spiritually whole too. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that so many of us start our testimonies with statements of gratitude for the scriptures, the priesthood, temples, prophets, and especially for our Savior. When we stop and realize that depths of gratitude what we are really realizing is the depth of our faith. Which is one reason Elder Ballard has encouraged us to move from only stating our gratitude to also stating our faith; one kind of statement implies the other.

I think a similar relationship between gratitude and faith is evidenced in our prayers. When we take time in our prayers to really converse with our Father in Heaven and thank Him for our blessings what we are actually doing is acknowledging His hand. We are testifying that we know He loves us, we know He takes care of us, and we know He is the ultimate source of power and goodness in our lives. When we properly, mindfully thank Heavenly Father we are placing our trust in Him and aligning ourselves with Him thereby making a powerful statement of what we are and will be faithful to.

I think it is because of this reciprocal relationship between gratitude and faith that I have seen my understanding of and my ability to receive forgiveness grow. A weighty expression of a Latter-day Saint’s faith is his or her weekly partaking of the sacrament. When we partake of the sacrament we renew the covenants we have made and we ponder on Christ’s sacrifice for us. When we chew the bread we are, as the sacrament prayer says, to remember how Christ’s perfect and unblemished body—the body that walked on water, healed the sick, and raised the dead—was broken for us. We remember how he was tied up, beaten, spit upon, scourged, stripped, whipped, and hung on a cross. We remember how the nails pierced his hands, feet, and wrists and how the soldiers stabbed him in his side. And we remember his willingness to endure those things for each of us. President Eyring has said, “Remembrance is the seed of gratitude,” and for me it is impossible to remember those wounds and those hurts without feeling grateful—extremely and inadequately grateful, but grateful all the same.

It is similar with the water for, as the prayer reminds us, the ounce or two of water that we drink each week is in remembrance of Christ’s blood—the blood that was shed drop by drop and pore by pore for each and every one of our sins, mistakes, and weaknesses. Each week, there are so many sins that I need to cleansed of that they, drop by drop, can fill that cup. It is hard for me to not look at that cup and not think of the pain Christ suffered for me so that I could be relieved of those burdens. And that makes me grateful—again, inadequately so, but deeply grateful.

Over the course of time, when I let it, that gratitude for Christ’s sacrifice has a surprising effect on me. It softens me and makes me aware of how far I have to go. My gratitude humbles me so that I can see how many weaknesses I have. It strengthens my love for my Savior as it makes His suffering more real and allows Him to work with me in my daily life. Gratitude for Christ’s atonement, when I really feel it, takes away my desire for sin. It helps me to truly repent and helps me to receive forgiveness and to change my habits and to become born of God. It is this kind of gratitude that helps me be grateful for my weaknesses and for hardships in my life because it changes my perspective. Deep, knowledgeable, and heartfelt gratitude is a prerequisite to that all-important change of heart.

This kind of powerful gratitude was chronicled in the Book of Mormon when King Benjamin said,

“And again I say unto you as I have said before, that as yea have come to a knowledge of the glory of God, or if ye have known of his goodness and have tasted of his love, and have received a remission of your sins, which causeth such exceedingly great joy in your souls, even so I would that ye should remember, and always retain in remembrance, the greatness of God, and your own nothingness, and his goodness and long-suffering towards you, unworthy creatures, and humble yourselves even in the depths of humility, calling on the name of the Lord daily, and standing steadfastly in the faith of that which is to come, which was spoken by the mouth of the angel. And behold, I say unto you that if ye do this ye shall always rejoice, and be filled with the love of God, and always retain a remission of your sins; and ye shall grow in the knowledge of him that created you, or in the knowledge of that which is just and true.”

Gratitude leads to faith and repentance and forgiveness which then leads to more gratitude, and the cycle of growth continues.

President Benson remarked, “The Prophet Joseph said at one time that one of the greatest sins of which the Latter-day Saints would be guilty is the sin of ingratitude.” We arguably live in the most blessed period of history, and yet how often do we stop to utter thanks, to God and each other? When we fail to be grateful for our blessings—all the blessings, from the small ones like salt for our potatoes to the big ones like temples and the Restoration—we not only lose the opportunity for growth but we risk backsliding into selfishness and ignorance. A lack of gratitude closes our minds and hearts and is a “form of pride” (President Faust). Ingratitude is a great sin.

But when we remember to be grateful it can open us up to so many, many blessings—especially as it works within us to increase our faith and our desire to repent, rooting out selfishness and ungodliness and guiding us as we seek to link our lives to our Father in Heaven and our Savior Jesus Christ.

Since I opened with a modern hymn of gratitude, I’d like to close with an ancient one, the 100th Psalm:

“Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands.
Serve the Lord with gladness; come before his presence with singing.
Know ye that the Lord he is God; it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.
Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise; be thankful unto him, and bless his name.
For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations.”

Turning for Peace

I'm not sure why but sometimes churchy stuff seems to exaggerate my mood disorder more than help it. Maybe it's because Church stuff is all pre-scripted. Like, my Primary teachers and YW leaders (who all meant well; this is not a criticism of them) told me how I should feel about stuff, but my feelings didn't always match up with the expected feelings and that spiritual dissonance took root in me. I think I felt (feel?) guilty for not feeling what I'm supposed to feel.

This last fast Sunday was a little like that for me. Really, my feelings were all over the place. I was annoyed when we got to Church. As I took the bread and water, I was overwhelmed by Christ's sacrifice for me and my heart fell to pieces. Once testimonies started I was tired. The mood swings just went from there. I was substituting my oldest daughter's Primary class that day and by the end of sacrament meeting I was oished. There was no way I could sit through opening exercises and sharing time with a bunch of rowdy CTR 6's without snapping at someone. One of them started complaining the minute I sat down. I looked him straight in the eye and said, "I don't care. Let it go. Don't tell me about it because I don't care."

Probably not what a kid is looking for when he comes to Primary.

So I left for a little while. I turned and walked out of that room. I found a shady spot outside and pulled out my Ipod. When I turned it on I was happy that the first song was one that always brings me peace. I worried for a minute that it wasn't a Church song but since it calmed my heart I went with it. The song is from the movie Uncorked. (Which is my favorite movie, despite what the users at imdb think. It rocks. You should watch it.) Sometimes to find peace, we have to turn away from all our obligations for a little bit--even the spiritual ones. And that's okay because by turning away you're giving yourself the option to turn back and do better.

I thought I'd post the song here for you in case you were in need of a break too. The first version is the song with a nice wannabe arty photo montage. The second is the version from the film. Enjoy!

Putting your Heart Before the Course

Hi friends. Life feels a little pointless today so I thought I'd solve that by blogging.

Here's a thought that's been rolling around my head for awhile now: a lot of Mormons struggle because they put the cart before the horse. Or, a lot of LDS people have internal struggles with their faith because they usually implement the action before they figure out their feelings about it.

Let me say right now, this isn't necessarily bad. I'm a big fan of the fake-it-till-you-make-it school of thought. My writing is a good example of that. I'm not a great writer, but I'm going to pretend like I am one until I figure out how to actually be one. That idea works for some church principles too. Like being a good parent. You may want to smack your kid every time they dump their snack out all over the pew and you may want to cuss when they break the DVD player for the second time that week but, since you want to be a good parent, you don't. You fake the more adult response until it is your first reaction.

I think spirituality doesn't always work this way though. You can't fake what is in your heart. Very few people can bear a testimony that they don't believe in and keep bearing it without getting bitter. Another example, you just won't keep making visiting teaching appointments if you don't understand and believe in the principle behind the program. People who do keeping trying to fake their spirituality get bitter and leave the Church.

So what's a believing (or wanting to believe) Mormon to do? Well, for me the answer has come in putting my heart before the course. For example, our stake president has recently asked every member to bring a family name to our stake temple day in the fall. My knee-jerk-happy-Mormon self nodded thoughtfully when I heard about this, but my heart screamed out, "No! You cannot make me do one more thing! I have enough to do!!" My husband and I talked and I calmed down. I decided that I am not going to do any name finding until I feel the need in my heart. Now, I do sustain my stake president and believe he receives revelation for me. I do think I should be doing this assignment at some point. BUT, I am going to work on my heart and my feelings about it before I work on the actual assignment.

(Of course, it also helps that my husband is interested in genealogy right now and working on finding some names and I will probably just grab one of his.)

I've done this before. Taken a deep breath and evaluated my feelings before jumping in to some Church assignment and I have to be honest: it felt good. I'm not advocating inactivity or anything like that, but I am saying it's okay to ask some questions about yourself and your relationship with God before doing something you aren't invested in. God wants us to gain a testimony before we try to bear it.

Well, now movie time is over and my kids are sure on my case! Thanks for indulging me, folks :)

Going Quiet

Adenoid update: gone. J's adenoid's were successfully removed and the whole process took less than 40 minutes. Seriously, we were at the surgery center for a mere two and a half hours. I asked if we could stay longer since it was so nice and quiet, but the nurses politely (and forcefully) kicked us out. J is doing very well. Too well. They told me it would take at least twenty-four hours for the anesthesia to wear off and he would be pretty groggy. What they should have said was that he would basically be a drunk toddler: as much energy as usual but none of the coordination and prone to lots of mood swings. He is blissfully asleep right now and my husband even witnessed some nose breathing. There might be hope. (In answer to the question of the day, "What the heck do adenoids do, anyway?", here's a link.)

I wasn't so sure of that a few hours ago. Like I do in most stressful situations, I had a break down just after the crisis was done. I threw a toy, cussed a little, cried a lot, argued with my husband, and vowed to make an appointment with my therapist.

However, like scripture tells us revelation is not in the earthquake or the wind or the fire but, rather, in the stillness that we feel after those things. Once my fire burned itself out I heard at least one of the things God has probably been trying to teach me all my twenty-seven years: be quiet.

For my birthday my parents gave me Madeleine L'Engle's Walking on Water and, while the book was not everything I wanted it to be (which of course it couldn't be because L'Engle is like a surrogate mother for me and, at some point, all mothers must fail their children so they can grow), I got something very important out of the book: a new prayer, "Lord, slow me down."

I think part of my reaction to my depression is to push myself. I'm so afraid of falling apart I overcompensate by trying to do everything at once. It's a good distraction to the gnawing emptiness. I also think it's just part of who I am. For as long as I can remember I've always wanted to feel everything and know everything and be everything--I'm always seeking the next step or sensation--preferably all at once. Knowledge and experience are heady drugs and fill up all the places inside me that are empty. I think that's one reason why I like to be pregnant; somebody else's being fills up my emptiness and I can slow down for a little bit.

Of course, part of managing my mood disorder is learning to appreciate the present and experience it fully instead of shunting things away to be dealt with later. It's about not distracting myself. It's about listening to what message the chaos is hiding. It's about slowing down. So, like Madeleine L'Engle, I've been praying that the Lord would slow me down. That He would make me quiet.

Be careful what you wish for.

Apparently, the only way the Lord could slow me down was by giving me enough rope to hang myself. Or, more aptly, by giving me enough projects to exhaust myself. Tonight I finally quit trying to fight the exhaustion and I'm slowing down; I'm going quiet.

For the first time in my life I'm cutting back and saying no. I've already backed out of a couple obligations and my blog is the next step. I'm a little bummed--I'm always sad when a friend gives up blogging because I love hearing their stories (even though I'm terrible at commenting!)--but it feels right. I need to quit focusing on my noise and busy-ness and start finding the slow and quiet things and listening to them. In my haste to become some sort of awesome writer I forgot the number one rule of good writing: listening. Good writers listen to everything around them, whether spoken or unspoken. And to listen like that you have to slow down and you have to be quiet. I've scratched the surface of that idea in relation to my kids and it's been amazing. It's time to open up the rest of my life to the quiet.

I'm not going to quit blogging entirely. This thing is an important brain dump! I am, however, going to be sporadic. In my mind once or twice a month should do. The cutbacks include Mirthful Mondays. Sorry. Maybe one of you should take that over that segment on your blog! Let me know if you do and I'll link to you. Anyway, if you haven't before, now is the time to sign up for my feed.

So, with all the extra time you will have because I'm not blogging as much, you should read this memoir: The Year My Son and I Were Born by Kathryn Lynard Soper. Amazing. Amazing. Amazing. If I had the money I would buy every single one of you a copy. This is a must-own for every mother. In the story of her baby with Down Syndrome and her struggle to love him and herself, Soper has embedded the story of every mother and the divinity that motherhood can cultivate within us. Soper is writing from a beautifully transcendent (and perhaps fleeting) place. And because of that the book is never preachy but still guides and uplifts. It is honest and gritty but never depressing.

Seriously--tell your husband or father or whoever to buy you this book for Mother's Day. You'll want to read it again the minute you finish it.

And as a final touch, here's some quiet for you to meditate upon. These are the mountains I live by. I think that they embody some of the quiet I need to find. I need to go lay on one and fell the earth supporting me and radiating God's power and beauty.



photo credit

By Way of Update (Lessons Learned from Sleepless Nights)

So, if you are readers who also happen to know me in my real life (or you happen to also be a friend on Facebook or you are a family member) then you know that my toddler is going in for surgery on Thursday. J has obstructive sleep apnea caused by enlarged tonsils and adenoids. Since he is too young to have his tonsils removed the surgeon is only pulling out his adenoids but she is hopeful that this will do the trick. J has had sleep problems since he was born and all 21 months of his life have been a test of my endurance. I feel like I have a lot riding on this surgery--you know, like my sanity--and if this doesn't get us all some sleep I'm not sure what we'll do.

Anyway, I bring this up for a couple reasons:

1) to apologize for low quality blogging of late. All the sleepless nights have caught up with me and I feel like I'm hanging on by the skin of my teeth (forgive the use of a cliche. I'm tired.). The other day I told my father I was overcome by a tremendous sense of ennui but since reading this post by Patricia Karamesines I have come to realize that what I am feeling is torpor. My blog posts have really been reflecting my torpidity lately, sorry. Several readers have emailed me topics to muse on and I'm excited to get to those soon!

2) to explain the soapbox I'm about to get up on :)

*Warning* Soapbox!! *Warning*

Being awake a lot at night with a cranky baby (who is now a cranky toddler) has given me a lot of time to reflect. I've learned a lot about my patience threshold, the importance of napping (aka cognitive consolidation time), and--this is the most important one--the necessity of listening to your children.

Thanks to my PPD and my young age, I was completely lost with my first baby. Naturally I did what any good college graduate would do and scoured the library for parenting books and read them over and over and over. When I came across confident so-called parenting experts I believed them, regardless of their credentials. This was especially true when it came to sleep.

My oldest, N, was also a terrible sleeper. She would wake up every forty-five minutes at night and cry and cry. I would have to rock her endlessly while singing every Primary song I knew. A lot of the time I cried with her. I was exhausted and miserable and she was moody and anxious. I knew that sleep was part of the issue and, at the recommendation of lots of friends, I tried to "Ferber" her when she was six months old. It was a complete disaster. I remember putting earplugs in and sitting outside the house just to drown out her screams for a few minutes. She would cry for hours and hours. The book, and my friends, were confident that the method would work and that I just needed to give it time and no matter what I shouldn't give up and hold her. After three or four days I did give up and snuggled her to sleep and we resumed our truce of rocking and singing. Now, I don't think that N had acid reflux disease (like J) or sleep apnea (like J--he's a complicated kid!) but I do think that this reaction fits her personality. Because she is naturally anxious and distrustful she needs/needed a lot of reassurance that she would be okay. When she was ten months old she started having nightmares and night terrors. She could talk a bit by then and would tell me about them. When she woke up screaming at night I just went in and snuggled her because I knew that's what she needed. Around the same time she learned to fall asleep on her own. I don't think that's a coincidence.

My second, E, was a relatively good sleeper from the start--she would only wake up two or three times a night. More of an observer than an emoter, it took a lot to get her really wailing but once she started there was no turning back (that's still the truth to this day). I started working on my book about the Holocaust shortly after she was born and I found that it made me grateful for her. Reading and studying about all the women who lost children and who were forcibly sterilized made me cherish her and when she would wake at night I would hold her and love her and she usually settled back to sleep easily. And, on the occasions where I did let her cry, she would fall asleep.

J, is a special case because of all of his conditions (have I mentioned the eczema? Oi! The eczema!), but I had learned a lot from my first two and I was grateful for him. I felt like I could trust my gut a little more. J wouldn't/couldn't lay flat and had a lot of gas. He would startle and wake up screaming. He would flail his arms and scratch his face and rub his feet on any rough surface. He sounded honestly distressed. So he and I co-slept for the first 7 months of his life. I had always said that was something I would NEVER do, but it was the only thing that worked. I would prop myself up on pillows on the couch so I was sitting up and lay him across my chest and he would sleep. We would still pace the floor at night sometimes, but he was calm and I was calm. Once we started treating the acid reflux disease and the eczema he improved a lot and was able to nap. Since the new year we've been figuring out this whole sleep apnea thing and, while I am exhausted, I am so glad that I followed my intuition. And, you know, I'm still willing to hold him and calm him through the bad times because I know that's what he needs.

So here's the gist of my soapbox (in case you couldn't find it in the midst of all my ramblings): Listen to your kids. As children of God they come with an innate wisdom in their spirits. They'll tell you what they need if you stop and try to see things from their point of view and really listen. Throw out all the "experts" or anyone else who touts a one-size-fits-all answer. Each child is unique and will need an individualized approach. Don't be afraid to give them what they need--even if you don't understand why they need it. And never hesitate to be compassionate. Compassion can get you a long way in stressful situations. I think there is a communication between parent and child, something special that comes with that holy bond, your spirit and their spirit can understand each other. As long as you try to listen.

Oh, and if you're still reading, thanks for taking the time! You made my day :)

The Gift of our Spiritual Childhoods (or, Praying with My Mouth Full)

I have a hard time keeping my eyes closed these days during prayers. This mostly has to do with the fact that my children don't keep their eyes closed during prayers. You know, they are always looking around, picking their noses, giggling, or, if it's a meal prayer, they're stuffing their faces.

The usual culprit on this last one is my youngest. J is always hungry. He usually walks around the house with a bag of cereal or a box of crackers in tow. He also checks all the cabinets, the refrigerator, and even occasionally asks me to open the oven so he knows where all the food in the house is located. If one of my girls leaves food unattended--you know, like if they drop their fork on the floor and have to pick it up--J is there finishing their food for them, whether they wanted him to or not. I don't usually hound him about his face-stuffing habits because I think he's still making up for the weight he lost as an infant due to his acid reflux disease, but, well his behavior during prayers is something else.

J is always the first one at the table. In fact, he follows me around while I cook and questions me. "Food?" he asks. "Snacks?" "Cheese?" "Juice?" "Cracker?" "Food!" From the moment his plate is on the table he is shoving fistfuls down his gullet. I know it's a meal he really likes when his utensils hit the floor and he's asking for more before he's done with the first helping.

There is no stopping his quest for satiation, not even asking him to pray breaks his stride. He's only a toddler so at best his prayers are guttural approximations of the words I tell him to repeat. At his worst (read: normal) his prayers are unabashed shows of what he has already eaten through sprays of chewed up sustenance and drool. This, of course, makes the rest of us giggle quite a lot. The best part is that J doesn't seem to notice how bizarre or ridiculous his behavior is. That's the gift of childhood: the oblivious ability to meet your needs regardless of how inappropriate your behavior is.

I was watching him pray tonight and was quite surprised by the emotions that filled me. I was so touched by his messy, chimpanzee-like behavior. It's the only really babyish thing left about him and it charms me. As I watched him trying to say "Jesus" around an impossibly big mouthful, and felt a smile spread across my face, I wondered if that is how I look to my Father in Heaven. I wondered how many of my spiritual efforts are akin to praying with my mouth full.

I mean, think about it. How often do we read our scriptures while simultaneously tucking ourselves in bed? How often do we fast with most of our hearts and minds while planning our big dinner with the rest? How often do we bear testimony with our logical, socially acceptable phrases instead of the words the Spirit is trying to get us to articulate? For me, I think that the demands of my temporal existence infringe on my spiritual efforts more often than I realize.

The other part of this realization is that, just like I can't help but smile when J prays with his mouthful, I think Heavenly Father smiles when we do the same thing. After all, no matter how old we are we are still spiritual children. Compared to the greatness and the glory of our Father in Heaven, we basically are spiritual toddlers. And maybe the blissful ignorance of our inconsistencies is the gift of that spiritual childhood too. J's ignorance leads him to keep trying even when he's inconsistent because that's how he'll learn; he's not afraid of failing or doing it wrong. What matters is that he's doing it, figuring it out.

So often I get discouraged because of the distance between me and perfection. But maybe it isn't distance that keeps me from my eternal goals, it's time. I just need to grow up and that's something that really only happens day by day, food-filled prayer by food-filled prayer. J is going to grow up and he will eventually stop praying with his mouth full and we too will grow up and be able to give our hearts more fully to God. Life--existence!--is like that. We learn and progress sometimes imperceptibly but we are learning and progressing all the same. And that's why God can smile when we are praying with our mouths full: it's a temporary phase and He knows our potential and He knows we will grow out of it and He can enjoy the small successes we have. That's what makes Him our Father in Heaven, as opposed to some impersonal god, He knows us that intimately and loves us that deeply.

Maybe learning to bask in that love is as much a step on the path to perfection as learning to wait until after the prayer to eat.

Something to Consider

Hi guys,

Thanks to a snow day yesterday and some other writing projects that have required my attention, I don't have an official post for today! I figure that's all right, though, since my numbers have been dropping pretty consistently for a couple months now. Anyone who is still reading must really love me! *wink*

Katie posted a beautiful post today, Thoughts on Doubt and Love. The idea that Christ is there for the weak and unsure is the thing that keeps me going some days. We all have challenges in our lives and Christ expects us to struggle with them. That's why He gave His life for us. I think as LDS, in all our somewhat-faulty striving for perfection, we forget this. Thanks for the reminder Katie!

Depression in the Ensign: "Not all imperfection is sin."

For a long time I was under the impression that being depressed and being a good latter-day saint was impossible. I thought maybe it wasn't okay to take medication because it meant I was lacking faith or that if I admitted my problems out loud it would mean I was a sinner. Then a few years ago, it was in the October 2005 Ensign actually, the Church ran an article about depression that helped me realize how off-base my fears were. Perhaps individual members would think those negative things about me, but the Church--the actual apostles and prophet, the people who are closest to Christ and Heavenly Father and KNOW the Truth about things--wouldn't think that way. Since then I've been referring people to the few Ensign articles I've been aware of to help dispel false notions and misunderstandings. In my research I discovered that the Ensign has covered depression, mood disorders, and mental illness a number of times. So I am going to do a running feature here on the ol' blog. Every Wednesday, for the next while anyway, you can look forward to summaries of and links to helpful Ensign and New Era articles.

For today I'm going to point you all to the article in this month's Ensign. I was so happy to discover the article, "Bipolar Disorder: My Lessons in Love, Hope, and Peace".

Something I'm glad the author pointed out:

"Mental illness is unique from other human frailties since it can impair our ability to think, reason, and feel the Spirit. I believe it is for this reason that mental illness is often feared and misunderstood. We live in a wonderful time when the Lord has blessed us with all the marvels of modern science, including improved medication. Where mental illness might once have destroyed lives, many of those who deal with it can now control their illness and live relatively normal lives" (p 66).

These ideas cannot be reiterated enough! I hope many, many readers make it to that page of their Ensign--it will save those of us with mood disorders and mental illnesses so much breath!

"The gospel teaches us about perfection and the joy that comes with it, but some of us expect perfection of ourselves instead of seeking to be perfected in Christ. I struggled with the large gap between perfection and where I perceived I stood, made even more obvious by my illness. I regained hope when I realized that although sin is an imperfection, not all imperfection is sin" (p 63, emphasis mine).

I love that! For a long time I kept wondering what the magical spiritual bullet would be for my depression. If I prayed harder, studied my scriptures more, or was better at sharing the gospel, or had more kids, or whatever, I thought God would fix me. I thought that my imperfection was sin and that I could make it disappear through good works. Not so.

Which brings me to another favorite part:

"When the Savior was asked, 'Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?' He answered, 'Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him' (John 9:2–3). Mental illness is not a punishment from God, but His works are manifest in each of us when we allow the Atonement to work in our lives. We may not be healed immediately as the blind man was, but no matter what pain we bear, the Savior will heal us. Through His love and sacrifice we can find strength to overcome our trials, since He has already 'overcome the world' (D&C 50:41)" (p 67).

That part actually makes me cry. I love the idea that my struggles aren't punishment or just part of our crazy, hard, fallen world. My struggles are part of God's plan and actually, amazingly, are a way for Him--and maybe even me?--to testify to the world of His goodness and love. Blows my mind how God can take hardship and ugliness and make them right and wonderful. That is the power of the Atonement. That is the power of Jesus Christ. It is my prayer that we can all find a way to access that power in our most blinding and discouraging down times.

It was the strangest thing . . .

Yesterday after I posted I tried a number of things to break up the depressed-thought-cycle but nothing was working. When I found myself standing in the kitchen contemplating my selection of knives I knew whatever I was doing wasn't enough. Since my husband was working from home I decided to ask him for a blessing. When he distractedly looked up and asked, "Why?" he got waaaay more of answer than he had bargained for.

After crying so hard I made my nose bleed (seriously. Who knew you could do that?) and getting the kids somewhat settled he gave me the blessing. As he pulled out a chair he said, "I don't exactly know how to give this kind of blessing."

"What's that supposed to mean? It's just a blessing," I snapped.

"Well, usually there's a little more faith involved. You don't seem to have any right now."

"I asked for a blessing didn't I? That's as much faith as I can muster."

He looked me up and down, took a deep breath, and placed his hands on my head. He started the blessing and I didn't feel a thing. I was a little irked by this but I also kind of expected it. When I'm feeling really down I can't feel the Spirit. It just can't get through the crazy. I took mental notes of what he said and gave him an empty hug when he finished. Then I cleaned the front room. Then I made dinner. Then we had family night and put up Christmas decorations. By the time I went to bed I was quite surprised by what I got done. I figured the day was a bust but I was starting to think maybe it was okay.

This morning I woke up late and remembered that I had a visiting teaching appointment. I was a half hour late but I did get there. My companion had the flu and couldn't come so it was up to me to supply the message. When I finally cracked the Ensign I was surprised to find the quotation from President Uchtdorf:

The gospel of Jesus Christ has the divine power to lift you to great heights from what appears at times to be an unbearable burden or weakness. The Lord know your circumstances and your challenges. He said to Paul ad to all of us, 'My grace is sufficient for thee.' And like Paul we can answer: 'My strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.'

Those were the words my husband had said in my blessing. He didn't say it exactly the way President Uchtdorf did but that's what he said. I'm still surprised--and grateful. The Lord gave me the blessing twice; once when I needed it and once when He knew I'd hear it. That means a lot to me. He truly is the God that knows us so well he can number the hairs of our heads.

Oh, also in the blessing the Lord reminded me to reach out to the support systems I've built. So thanks to you all for being a part of my support system and for reaching out to me. Your comments really helped!

Finding Joy

When I first started this blog I spent days writing my initial post, Finding Happy. In this last conference President Monson gave a talk entitled Finding Joy in the Journey. He, of course, offers way better advice than I do!

Here are some of my favorite quotations:

* "This is our one and only chance at mortal life—here and now. The longer we live, the greater is our realization that it is brief. Opportunities come, and then they are gone. I believe that among the greatest lessons we are to learn in this short sojourn upon the earth are lessons that help us distinguish between what is important and what is not. I plead with you not to let those most important things pass you by as you plan for that illusive and non-existent future when you will have time to do all that you want to do. Instead, find joy in the journey—now."

* "If you are still in the process of raising children, be aware that the tiny fingerprints that show up on almost every newly cleaned surface, the toys scattered about the house, the piles and piles of laundry to be tackled will disappear all too soon and that you will—to your surprise—miss them profoundly. Stresses in our lives come regardless of our circumstances. We must deal with them the best we can. But we should not let them get in the way of what is most important—and what is most important almost always involves the people around us. . . We will never regret the kind words spoken or the affection shown. Rather, our regrets will come if such things are omitted from our relationships with those who mean the most to us."

President Monson also quoted a scripture, Doctrine and Covenants 88:33, which says, "For what doth it profit a man if a gift is bestowed upon him, and he receive not the gift? Behold, he rejoices not in that which is given unto him, neither rejoices in him who is the giver of the gift.” This is a scripture I have never really considered before, but the art of receiving is one I definitely need to work on. Receiving blessings graciously, it seems, is the first step of faith in God. Perhaps it is the first step in really learning to give my life over to Him. Perhaps it is the first step to finding joy.

p.s. A big thanks to my Visiting Teachers for using this talk as part of their lesson today. You ladies are such a good influence on me :)

Just because something is hard . . .

When I first started going to therapy (for real, the first first time I saw a therapist I wasn't really sure about it so I didn't do the work so it doesn't count)I talked a lot about my kids and my husband. After all, they were (are!) the people I spent most of my time and energy taking care of and supporting. Back then I felt like I was sacrificing so much to be the wife and mother they needed and, well, I wasn't sure I felt very good about that. It was just so hard. So hard that I was drained and frustrated and angry all the time. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Something, somewhere must have gone wrong. I was in therapy to ferret that out and exorcise it.

I got married pretty young (19) and had my first baby pretty young (21). Being young and naive, I thought that because I had married a righteous priesthood holder in the temple and because I had received spiritual confirmation about getting pregnant that I was doing everything right. I mean, I knew I had little weaknesses; I knew I needed some tweaking before I would be ready to meet my maker, but I was doing all the important stuff right. I figured my life would be easy because I followed the path that my Primary teachers, Young Women leaders, and my parents had laid out. I mean, that's how it's supposed to work right? God told the Nephites and Lamanites over and over that if they were righteous they would prosper in the land. It was only hard when they were bad. Temple marriage was like a fairy tale. As soon as you got the girl in the beautiful dress with the handsome RM at her side in front of the castle-like building the battles had already been fought, the dragon slayed, and it was time for the happily forever after. Right?

Wrong. Very wrong.

Look at Nephi. He was a prophet who never failed to declare the word of the Lord--even when it made his brothers time him to the ship's mast for days. Remember Abinadi? He was pretty righteous and he got burned at the stake. And then there's Jesus, our Savior and Redeemer. He suffered tremendously--words are inadequate to express what He went through in the garden of Gethsemane and on the cross--and He was perfect. Hard things happen for a lot of reasons, many of which are not the direct result of the individual.

Don't misunderstand me. When we intentionally sin the consequences are real and painful. Even when we don't intentionally sin, when we only trangress or make mistakes there are consequences. But everything in our lives can't be traced back to our own choices. There are too many other people in the world for that to be the case.

My therapist is not LDS and didn't think to point out the cosmic nature and purpose of trials. (Which is probably for the best because I sure wasn't hearing that lesson. I mean, how many had that been taught in Church and I didn't hear it? Apparently I needed a different presentation of that truth.) Instead she listened as I dissected every choice that lead to my marriage and my children and my life. She listened as I unburdened and re-burdened my weary mind. And then she quipped, "You know, just because something is hard doesn't mean it's wrong. It just means it's hard. Some things, like marriage, are just hard some of the time."

I snatched an appointment card off the table and scribbled her words on it. I told her I wanted to believe it but I wasn't sure if I could. What did it mean? "Just because something is hard doesn't mean it's wrong." Did it mean that I could make good choices and some things in my life would still be hard? Did it mean that I had no control?

Yes. And no. Yes my life would still be hard--the Lord chastens and scourges those He loves--and no because I still did have some control. I didn't have control over all my circumstances or my trials. I didn't choose to have depression or the other things that made me feel like my life was headed for the trash can. God was (is!) the one in control of all that. My job was to figure out how those circumstances and trials would change me and my relationships. Would it be a refiner's fire or just fire and brimstone? That's all I need to figure out. The rest I can give up to God.

Of course I'm still working on figuring all that out--it will probably take me the rest of my life and maybe even some of eternity to really get it--but when things get rough, on the really bad days when the house is a wreck and the kids are all screaming and I just want to lay in bed because I can't face it all, I remember, "Just because something is hard doesn't mean it's wrong. It just means it's hard." And I breathe a little easier.

Why ARE Mormons so depressed?

A few posts ago, in the comments Katie asked me this, "How [do] you see Mormonism intersecting with mental health? Specifically, do you think there's something in the culture or our teachings that tends to create this high incidence of mental health problems (depression, anxiety, etc.) in Mormon women? Or do you think we're pretty representative of the population as a whole?"

I've taken a while to respond to it because I've been trying to figure out how to go about this. In my mind there are a few facts about depression we need to lay out first.

Fact #1: Depression IS an illness--a permanent, although ebbing and flowing, condition of the body. But, the term is also used to describe an emotional state--which may or may not be a long term condition. Not everyone who is having a hard time and views the world pessimistically is depressed in the clinical sense. The difference is that for some people feeling grouchy and pessimistic gets in the way of life, sometimes to the point of hopelessness and self-harm. These are the people with clinical depression. It is hard to talk about depression in cultural terms without accidentally conflating the two meanings, but I usually talk about depression in terms of the illness.

Fact #2: Clinical depression can manifest itself in a number of ways. Stereotypically speaking depressed people have no motivation, cry a lot, stay in bed all day, and wear pajamas to the grocery store. (You all know what commercial I'm referencing here!)However, depression also manifests itself through explosive anger, anger that never goes away, anxiety, racing thoughts, and inability to sleep. Through the ups and downs of my depression I have experienced both types. It's important to remember that depression has a wide set of behaviors when discussing it culturally.

Fact #3: It is almost impossible to pinpoint a "cause" of depression. Depression, in the clinical or temporary sense, usually occurs due to a constellation of factors including genetic predispositions, environmental conditions, previous emotional education, and other things.

So, to get to Katie's question: Why ARE Mormons so depressed? Is it a cultural issue, a doctrinal issue, or physical issue?

Mormon Matters blogger Andrew Ainsworth took these questions on in a couple of posts earlier this year (you can read Part One here and Part Two here. In the first part he talks about the biases in the study that concluded that Utah is the most depressed state in the nation and in Part Two he talks about some interesting theories (genetics and the lack of alcohol are among them) as to why Utah is depressed.

For me I would say that I do not think it is a doctrinal issue, but I do think there is an issue in the way many, many LDS people digest the doctrine. I think there are way that we internalize ideas that furthers our depression. For me, since I am depressed in the clinical sense, I think of these issues as triggers. Triggers are something that set off a cascade of negative thoughts which in turn transform themselves into negative behaviors. For a long time a big trigger for me was the scripture, "Be ye therefore perfect, even as my father which is in heaven is perfect." I'd read this scripture--almost compulsively and times--and tally my imperfections and fret about what to do. Sometimes I would stay up at night praying and praying myself to distraction. Other times I'd try to come up with some sort of penance--I think I usually picked not eating or abstaining from TV--to ease my anxiety on this issue. Another doctrinal trigger for me has been "No success can compensate for failure in the home." In my mind that meant that mothers had to be perfect or we, and possibly our children, would be damned. That created a set of impossible benchmarks and a flurry of nervous activity that depleted me and left me discouraged and not wanting to get out of bed.

Of course, there is nothing inherently wrong with either of those doctrines. Neither of them is saying to make yourself nuts or intending to drive people insane--it was simply how my set of experiences and circumstances interpreted them that made them harmful in my life. An important facet of cognitive behavioral therapy is being able to examine your thoughts and find the parts that are NOT true and being able to dispute them. I was able to do this by looking at the big doctrinal picture and viewing things through the lens of the plan of salvation. When I looked at this life as a time to learn and grow and that the next life was the time to find perfection, well, that eased my mind.

(Now, all this is rather OCD of me, but depression and OCD are sort of sister disorders and, from what I understand, there is a high incidence of OCD in the Church also. That is an issue that definitely needs more discussion.)

Those kind of misinterpretations and misapplications tend to feed off each other, especially in the community of the Church. Our church is unique in its efforts to build a social structure within its members. This social structure is a good thing most of the time, but one unintended consequence (that is perhaps also due to pride) is the idea that our place in the social structure reflects on our righteousness. Many wards have "power couples" and cliques--they don't mean to, but it just happens. These can phenomenon can further isolate people who are predisposed to depression.

There are a lot of issues like these and I can't cover them all in one post--or even in a million posts. That's why it is so important that we talk about this stuff and help each other work through it. That's why we need to read our scriptures and attend our meetings even when we don't feel like it. We need to give the Spirit as many opportunities as possible to correct our misinterpretations!

Of course, there is one HUGE doctrinal misapplication that I haven't mentioned yet and that is our relationship with our Savior Jesus Christ. As Katie mentioned in the comments in another post, many LDS people misunderstand the relationship of grace and works. We mistakenly believe that our efforts make some sort of difference in how we are perceived by our Father in Heaven and what our eternities will be like. The truth is the only thing our righteousness does is signal to the Savior that we need His help. As scripture tells us even if we were to be perfect in all that we do every day of our lives--which we can't--we would still be unprofitable servants (Mosiah 2:21). After all, the Savior lived a perfect life and it was still required that he give his blood and body for us. We need to be righteous so that we can access His grace, but it is HIS GRACE that redeems and saves us--not anything we do. Trying to learn and accept that in my life has been a humbling process, one that is ongoing.

What roles the Savior's atonement and Heavenly Father's plan play in my depression I have yet to figure out, but I do know that my depression is a part of those two things. Because Jesus suffered for me He knows how I feel and is with me in my trials. Because my depression is part of Heavenly Father's plan for me I know that there is a reason for it and that it is in my (eventual) best interest. Anything beyond that, I still don't know. But what I do know is enough for now.

Katie, does that answer your question? Let me know what you think!

Like a little seed

(I know, two posts in two days! It boggles the mind! Anyway. . .)

I love to watch things grow. I would say that I love to garden, but I don't actually garden. People who garden know plant varieties and sow their seeds in neat little rows and mounds. They understand terms like "vermiculite" and "drip system". They actually spend time on their knees weeding. I don't do any of that.

What I do do is watch things grow. Every spring, as I anxiously wait for the robins to return and the buds to appear on my trees, I find myself going outside and poking the ground. I go around to the different parts of my yard to see if any of them have softened yet. As little green daffodil shoots pop out of my dirt a primal urge awakens inside me. I must start digging. Of course, the dirt it is still frozen solid and out here in Colorado the frost danger doesn't disappear until May so my desire is thwarted.

It is then that I go to the greenhouse. My kids run in crazy circles while I stand in the humid mist and soak up the bright colors. Soon, I soothe myself, soon. I pick up packets of seeds like they are loaves of bread and I am in Communist Russia. Greedily I hoard the spinach, the peas, the basil. These are the seeds that I can never get enough of, that the stores always run out of. I pick up pumpkins and zucchini, cucumbers and cantaloupe, fantasizing about their colors and smells. Then I take them home and, counting the packets, I wait.

Finally, in late April, I can dig. I buy bag after bag of mushroom compost waking up my muscles as I heft them around the yard. I pull out our bags of leaves from last fall. I bury my nose their scent, letting it wash over me as if it were Chanel No. 5. I start digging up the compost pile, ignoring the rank globs that fall on my feet. I dump and mix and dig and sweat. This is what is means to be alive.

Everything is ready to plant. I check my strawberries to make sure they have the room they need and that their runners are all running in the right direction. I tuck my tomato starts in, folding some compost around their roots for extra comfort. The zucchini, pumpkins, squash, cucumbers and melons all get plopped in their own areas two or three seeds at time just in case one decides not to wake up this year. Broccoli, radishes, spinach and carrots are sprinkled willy-nilly across the shadier portions of the garden. Their seeds cross paths in the air and I have to smooth them down into the dirt to make sure the birds don't eat them. My kids, caught up in the excitement, dig and plant with me glorying in every worm and marveling at each ant. It takes at least a week, sometimes more, to get every thing in the ground.

We water and wait. We water and talk. Please little plants, grow, grow, grow. It is like a prayer and my heart is anxious. What if they don't sprout? What will our summer be without these plants?

Then, every morning is like my birthday. It's like a scavenger hunt as we search the ground for new sprouts. We count them and celebrate them. As my garden fills with shoots and leaves I am filled with child-like awe at the resiliency of our earth. No matter how cold the winter, no matter how late the frost, no matter how hard the earth, new life comes. Each plant is a revelation--a testimony. And I was lucky enough to be a part of it.

From there it is wildness. I relinquish control. Some years I forget to cage my tomatoes and they grow up and out and down and everywhere, romas mixing with cherries mixing with beefsteak. The pumpkins and zucchini and cucumbers battle for ground and eventually grow in and through each other. Spinach and broccoli and carrots all grow together like the salad they are. The peas and strawberries come up quick and sweet and are eaten so fast they never make it into the house. Every time a leaf is lifted it reveals a different treasure.

From my garden I harvest more than food. It allows God to work His will in my life in one more way. My plants grow faith and happiness, making what is intangible real. I cannot be thankful enough.

Do any of you guys watch things grow like I do? What have you planted this year?

Depression, Intuition, and The Spirit

For me, one of the hardest things about being LDS and depressed is listening to the voices in my head. I mean, really, I've got a lot of traffic rattling around in there.

The depressed voice in my head is always throwing out things like, "You idiot! I can't believe you did that!" or "Oh, now you've really screwed things up. How on earth do you ever think you can make it right?" or "You are such a *&%$#" Thankfully, that part of my mind is not too creative and I've learned (yay for Cognitive Behavioral Therapy)to tune it out.

My intuition voice is also pretty noisy. Unfortunately, since I am a mother of three children, my intuition is usually attuned to things like "She says she washed her hands but you'd better smell them to make sure she used soap" or "The beloved blankey has been stashed behind the wheat in the food storage cabinet" or, my personal favorite, "You'd better get off the computer because someone is sneaking candy!"

And the last but certainly not least voice, the Spirit, is, reserved for spiritual things, like: "A soft answer turneth away wrath." (Since I have so many anger issues it makes sense the Spirit would address those!) More often than not though, the Spirit feels like an urge to do something and doesn't manifest itself as a concrete thought.

And that's where things start to get complicated.

I've learned to manage my depression on a cognitive level and I've kind of figured out how to listen to my intution and the Spirit, but some days I have a hard time telling which is which.

For example: after Number 1 was born I was quite anxious (and depressed, but I didn't know it yet) about her getting kidnapped. This is a pretty normal new-mommy fear, but my anxiety took it to a new level. Not only did I worry about this in public places but I constantly had visions of someone sneaking in her into room and stealing her from her crib while I was in the bathroom. Now, we lived in a third floor apartment but I was still convinced. Whenever I left her out of my sight, which I only did to use the potty, I tried to mentally calculate how long it would take the baby thief to scale the balconies up to our floor, sneak through our sliding glass door and down the hall to her nursery, grab the baby, run out our door and down three flight of stairs to his getaway vehicle. I actually would argue with myself about how likely the scenario was and what I would do if I ran into the thief.

Eventually my worry got so intense I didn't want to leave the house. Every trip to the grocery store (since that was the only place I was still going) was full of stress. I began to develop little rituals to ease my mind. I always parked in the same spot. I always went through the store in the same order. I never walked more than an arm's length away from the cart. I always kept one hand on the baby (that way if someone tried to take her I could tug back). And I never turned my back to her.

I now know that most of the paranoia and need for ritual was linked to the post partum depression, but at the time I wasn't so sure that it wasn't the Spirit trying to warn me of some tragedy that was waiting for me down the next aisle (or at the cart return, those things were so scary to me!). After all, the Spirit communicates to us in our minds and in our hearts and my brain and my feelings were in constant agreement that something bad was going to happen. There was a part of me that knew my worry was excessive but, then again, maybe this was the "mommy mantle" so many women talked about. Boy, was I surprised when I started treatment for the depression and all those "impressions" disappeared!

I still struggle with it though. Like on days when I wake up feeling like garbage and I don't want to get out of bed but I do because my kids need me and then I yell at them and the thought "No success can compensate for failure in the home" goes ringing through my brain and I feel worse than I did before. Was that a spiritual reprimand? Or, was it my depression mocking me and trying to discourage me? Or maybe it was my intution telling me that I am a failure and no matter what I do nothing will make up for the way I'm screwing up my kids. Or maybe it's some bizarre concoction of all three. . . Either way, there are plenty of times when I can't tease out the depression from the Spirit. Or my intuition from my depression. Or my intuition from the Spirit. All the urges seem to run into each other and trying to distinguish one from the others is like trying to keep track of which hat the magician put the little ball under. They just keep moving faster and faster and my best guess is only a shot in dark.

And really, I guess there's no real way to know--well, maybe in the next life the Lord will explain it all to me. Personal revelation is one of those tricky things about our Church. It's a gift from our loving Father in Heaven, but it certainly takes effort to figure out how to interpret it and use it. If I ever figure it out, I'll let you know!