Blowing in the Wind

I was out jogging a few days ago, trying to clear my mind of all the craziness that has been put on our plate lately. We have had some huge (and painful) decisions to make. It has been difficult. It has been stressful. It has been hard. There have been days when I wake-up in the morning and just pull the covers over my head and pray. I have been praying for guidance, direction, help to find our way.

As I was out contemplating life, I saw this huge pile of tumbleweeds. There were so many of them. They were in a large pile, all smashed together. They had been blown by the wind -- at the mercy of the wind. They were tossed around because they did not have their roots firmly planted on a solid foundation. They were not "free" as they may appear -- they are subject to the wind. The wind could blow them wherever it so desired. The tumbleweeds had no control. Back and forth, to and fro. Wherever the wind might blow.

And there it was . . . my answer:

Roots. Solid. Foundation.

In all the decisions we have been making, the thing we need most is a solid foundation for our family. We need to plant our roots firm, so that we are not "blowing in the wind."

In our case, we need to get out of debt. A LOT of debt. (Law School Student Loans, Mortgage.)

And so, we are going to make some drastic changes.

Big changes.

I will let you know when we have all the details worked out, just what those changes are. It should be "exciting!"

To be continued . . .

Random

Sweet Sam and Sweet Henry 

Little Mommy -- don't know what I would do without her! 

Precious baby

Dairy Queen Tasting -- Yum! 

The kids all sleeping on Grandma and Grandpa's bed

Teething Baby

King Henry on his Throne

Cheese! 

We climbed Table Rock, it was a beautiful day

It was so nice and warm! 

Love the cross at the top

Cute boys

Pondering 

Looking over the edge

Fun times 

Love the guy's shirt (the one in green). It was inspirational. 

Happy to be out of the backpack into the carseat! 

Learning to Walk

I was so awesome. Leather jacket, Hyper-Colored shirt, Fur-Rondy Pin, Bangs, Black Jeans. Add the crutches, and it doesn't get much better! 

It was Saturday, February 1, 1992 . . . the day before my 12th birthday. It was the day before I would be entering Young Women's. I was so excited to go to my very first Young Men and Young Women activity. It was going to be really special . . . sledding with my friends, a birthday party in the evening, interacting with boys, fun times. 

Arctic Valley 

We drove up to Arctic Valley Ski area, in Alaska. It was an insane sledding hill (a ski hill, actually), it was what seemed like miles long. You would just keep going down, and down, and down some more. The leaders would drive us to the top in their trucks, and there was a bunch of leaders gathered at the bottom of the hill, with hot coco, and blankets. 

I got in a long sled with my friends, Lisa Weaver, and Jodie Holba. I was dangerously placed in the front of the sled. We were zipping down the mountain, having a blast. Then suddenly, the snow turned to ice, and the entire hill was glazed, and hard. We started going too fast, there were three of us in one sled, which was stupid. And then came a bump in the road. A big bump. We headed straight for it. The bump launched us into the air, my feet flew out of the sled and slammed straight into the bump, and we were spilled out onto the frozen ground. 

This is not me, but you get the idea

Everything went black. Suddenly the world of fun and teenage-invincibility was taken from me, and I felt excruciating pain. Everything went from super-speed to slow-motion. My friends were lying on the ground laughing hysterically, but I laid there, on my face, silent, in the dark. I tried to gather my thoughts to figure out what was going on. All I knew was pain. I hurt. Something was very wrong. 

As soon as Jodie and Lisa figured out I was not moving they rushed over to help. I came to, and was able to turn myself around. I felt pain all over, but it seemed to be radiating from my ankle. With the help of my friends I tried to stand . . . it was impossible. We still had a ways to go down the mountain. I slid down the hill on my backside, and when we got closer to the bottom my friends helped me hobble over to an adult leader. 

He assessed my ankle which was double in size and purple, and he determined it was "just sprained." I started shaking uncontrollably. I was loaded into the back of a suburban, and driven home. 

It was my last day of being 11, and I got to spend the rest of the day on the couch at home. I remember we were having steak for dinner, and the smell made me nauseas instead of hungry. I had my leg propped-up with ice, but I was still shaking uncontrollably. It hurt. My body was in shock. I knew something was wrong. I knew in that moment on the couch, that I was not going to be the same carefree girl that I had been. 

My parents decided to take me to the Emergency Room. I was really scared to be there. After an  X-Ray it was determined that it was not a simple sprain -- it was broken, in a bad way. I had cracked the growth plate on my left ankle. 

I was devastated. I was a very active young person, and I was in the middle of playing Volleyball, and other sports. All of that was put on hold. My life -- my junior high life -- turned from fun, into pain. I cried as I sat on the hospital bed. It was dark there. I felt a darkness descend upon me. I was suddenly full of fear, worry, and questions. 

I can remember feeling very sorry for myself. When I got home from the emergency room I can remember asking my mom, "Why me? Why did this have to happen?" She answered, wisely, "We can never ask why me?" I don't remember exactly what else she said, but something to the effect of, things happen and we just have to deal with it. And that became a new mantra of mine, "Deal with it!" I had a poster of those words on my bedroom wall. 

I remember sitting in the doctor's office, with my mother, discussing surgery. The doctor said, if I did not have surgery then it was likely my leg would not grow properly, since my growth plate was broken. I remember saying I was willing to take the risk -- but my mother wasn't. She signed me up for the surgery plan, and I was mad at her for it. (Don't worry I have forgiven her.) ;-) 

Look at all that crazy snow! 

The day of the surgery I was terrified. I had to wait for what seemed like hours. And then they loaded me on a hospital bed, put a mask over my face, and asked me to count to 10. 1, 2, 3 . . . Zzzzzzzzz. I was out. They cut open my ankle, and put huge pins in my growth plate. The next thing I knew I was screaming, and thrashing around in severe pain. I was coming off of the anesthesia, and it was awful. I finally calmed down, and I was very aware for the rest of my miserable experience. I stayed overnight, and my mom stayed with me. I was hating my 12 year old life, so far. 

I missed a lot of school. I became a total slug, and I spent a lot of time on the couch watching quality T.V. like Saved by the Bell. My active body became inactive. Moving around was difficult on crutches. It was especially hard in Alaska, in the snow. 

Mears Junior High. Anchorage, Alaska

I can still vividly remember walking into Mears Junior High. I would have to put the spikes on the bottom of my crutches down, so I would not slip on the ice. And then I would have to stop at the entry way and put the spikes up while trying to balance on the slush-covered floor. There were so many times that I would slip and I would slam my broken ankle onto the hard floor. It makes me shiver just recalling it. I can remember feeling the pins shifting in my ankle. Ouch. 

Quite the weapon

Over the next few months I would lose all strength in my left leg. It was shrinking. While my one leg was weakening, my arms were becoming super-strong from hobbling along on the crutches. I missed a lot of school, I missed my activities, I could not play sports, or do the things that I loved, and the things that were defining who I was as a young person -- that was all taken from me. Instead I got to sit, or hobble. I had a lot of quiet time. I got to become introspective. I got to think. I got to ponder. I got to consider who I was, and what my purpose was. It was hard. But I believe it was that experience that caused me to become the "thinker" that I am today. 

Being broken was a defining moment in my life.

After months of misery, it was finally time to have the pins removed, and it was time to take off my cast.  My slimy, smelly, signature-covered cast. Oh, how my leg would itch. I would take a hanger and try and scratch itchy places on my leg. I had just started shaving my legs, too, and so when they removed the cast my leg look like a shriveled monkey-leg, with pins sticking out of it. It was beyond nasty. 

How nasty is that . . . I kept my pins! 

I was free of my cast and pins, and I graduated to an air-cast. I still could not walk, but it was time to learn again. I recall one Sunday, I had someone line up the kitchen chairs in a row, so I could use them to balance myself. I started at one end, and I would place just a little pressure on my foot, and it hurt immensely. But I did not care. I knew I had to keep going. I wanted to walk! I wanted to be free again. And freedom was, in this case, on the other side of pain. I keep hobbling with my chair supports, back and forth. Over time, my shriveled leg regained it's muscle and strength. And I could walk again. 

It was, looking back, an amazing experience that I would never take from me. It was a roadblock in my life, that I did not want at the time. I sometimes wonder how my life would have been different had I not had such a disruption during my 7th grade year. I could have been awesome, right? A super-star or something. 

It was awful, but it was my life, my experience. 

I was broken, but I learned to walk again. 

A recovered Mari. Nice dress. :-) 

And that, my friends, is the point of life. If you fall down . . . get back up again. 

Thank you, broken ankle, for teaching me that while I was young. 

The Book of Mormon

This is an older copy I found at my grandma's house, it is from 1920 -- going on 100 years old.  

I was 16 when I knelt next to my bedside, wanting to know for certain . . . if The Book of Mormon was truly the Word of God. I had been taught about my Heavenly Father, and His son Jesus Christ, from the time I was a baby in my mother's arms. She would gently sing in my ear the words to I am a Child of God, and Where is Heaven? I grew up going to primary, learning scriptures stories about prophets, and apostles, of Jesus Christ. We sang simple primary songs of Jesus, faith, and prayer, that are still etched deep in my brain. I grew-up Mormon. I was exposed to The Book of Mormon from infancy. I played with the book as a toddler -- likely coloring on it, or wrinkling the pages (as my children now do). I learned to read from it as a school-aged child. It has been a part of my life from the very beginning of my life. It is all I have known. And being Mormon is not just having a religion -- it is a way of being, a way of living, the air your breath. 

And yet, I am a convert to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I was born into the faith, but converted in my youth. When I was a teenager, I never doubted the faith of my fathers -- I loved it, I thought it was great. I was not full of doubt and concerns regarding my religion, quite the opposite. It was not until high school when I was confronted with opposition to my belief. I was often challenged by my high school peers regarding religion, and I would fumble as I tried to give an answer to satisfy their accusations. It hurt sometimes. I shed tears. It made me sad that they would hate something that I loved. I loved my peers (friends), regardless, and I loved that they had faith in Jesus Christ. (Most often those accusing me were from other religions, who were taught false ideas about Mormons.) But, as these accusation and religion-challenges mounted, I realized I was spiritually weak. I believed in my faith, but I did not know -- with certainty -- the things I wanted to know. I soon found that I needed to know for myself, if the things I had been taught since birth were true, or not. Little did my accusers know that their actions just forced me deeper towards my religious beliefs -- not away from them, as they had undoubtedly hoped. They wanted to "save" me from hell, I believe it was. 

So, being who I was, and not being satisfied with my current spirituality . . . I was not content with relying on the faith of my fathers. I had to know for myself. I could not live a religion that I only sort-of believed in. Especially one that asks so much from it's members. I had to know. Being wishy-washy religious has never sat well with me. I knew I had pioneer ancestors willing to die for their Mormon religion . . . but what about me? Could I live my religion . . . despite my accusers? 

I was reading yesterday, and the light shone through the window and made an interesting symbol. 

I was determined to know for myself, and so I had only one option. I had to go to my Heavenly Father and ask. My experience was sacred to me, but I would like to share a little of it. 

My religion had been challenged. I was young and confused. I was struggling to know who I was, and why I was even on the earth. I wanted to know if God loved me, if He knew me, if He was really there -- like I had previously believed He was. I was literally driven to my knees, with no where else to turn. I plopped down by my clothes-covered bed, surrounded by my teenage-jungle-mess of a room. I bent my head, closed my eyes, and clasped my hands tightly together. And then I asked, "Dear Heavenly Father . . . . " I prayed and asked my questions. I begged for an answer. I wanted so much more than to just believe . . . believing was not good enough for me. I wanted to know. And without sharing too much, I will say, there was a light that filled my room. An unmistakable glory surrounded me as I knelt pleading. I felt my Heavenly Father's love for me. I knew He loved me. I knew He was there. I knew He could hear me. The Holy Ghost -- which I had never felt so strongly before -- had made manifest to me that my life was not meaningless. I am a Child of God, and He loves me. There is a plan for me, and you. And I knew that the book -- The Book of Mormon -- contained the answers I was seeking. I knew that the book, upon which my faith was reliant, was truth -- there was no denying it. 

I did ask, and He did answer. My faith transformed into knowledge. A knowledge I can never deny. So don't try and make me deny it, you will fail. And if you want to know for yourself, you can ask too. Of course, if you kneel down doubting and hard-hearted, then good luck with that. But if you approach God, humbly, and with real intent to know . . . He will tell you, as He told me. 

And since that day, so long ago . . . I have never doubted. I am confident to say I will never doubt. I know that The Book of Mormon is the Word of God. I know that God loves me. I know who I am. If you take my religion from me, I am nothing. So it is a good thing I have it, and that it is true! I am Mari, a daughter of God. I am a Mormon. And being Mormon makes me happy. 

For the Family not on Facebook

Video from Aunt Lorna's Funeral, thanks to Jeremiah. (Mom and her Brother's singing.) 

Rise of the Guardians of the Hearth

“You are the guardians of the hearth,” said President Gordon B. Hinckley, as he introduced “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” in the general Relief Society meeting in 1995. “You are the bearers of the children. You are they who nurture them and establish within them the habits of their lives. No other work reaches so close to divinity as does the nurturing of the sons and daughters of God.”

I think that mothers have come a long way. There was a time when mothers were chomping at the bit to get out of the house, and rush into the workplace, and away from their children and their prison-home. Often times they would flee the hearth out of a desire for self-fulfillment, self-discovery, or "something to do," rather than out of necessity. But I think there is a new "movement" of women who have witnessed the after-effects of such abandoning home and hearth desertions. There is a new generation of women who are fighting to "bring it back home." They are resuming position back at the battlefront. There is a new generation of "Guardians."  Mother-Warriors. Hearth-Heros. Lionesses at the Gate. And I am happy to now be one of those women. 

I was not always as passionate about staying home with children, as I am now. Actually, I was not passionate at all -- I was indifferent. (Which is a very dangerous thing to be!) 

Years ago, I had the chance to do things differently. I had the chance to flee the hearth, and I almost took it. 

When I was pregnant with my first child, I worked at a Child Development Center at Providence Hospital, in the infant room. My employers wanted me to stay there, and continue working after I gave birth. After 6 weeks postpartum, I would have been able to bring my baby with me into the infant room. I could have cared for her, along with many other babies, at the same time. I could have worked, and had my baby with me -- what could be better, right? 

I thought it was a great idea. 

We were poor. We were in the very beginning of college. We had nothing. We ate top ramen on a daily basis. We "needed" the money. I thought I should keep working, so we would not starve and die. I told my employer I was likely considering it. 

And then -- one fate-tipping day -- I sat pregnant and slurping my top ramen in the lunchroom (I know, really healthy). A girl that I worked with came and sat down next to me.  She took a deep breath, as if she had something important to say, but she was not sure how. She looked into my eyes and said to me, "Do not keep working. It is not worth it. You need to stay home with your baby, it is the only way." 

I was shocked. This girl was not a member of my faith, I barely knew her. But she was not messing around. She meant what she said. And she certainly said what she meant. I was perplexed. I was not expecting such a message to come from her. I nodded and smiled at her, and we chatted for a bit. But I kept her words with me, they had plunged deep into my heart, and I took them home to consider. 

I shared her powerful message with Charles, who favorably seconded her stay-at-home notion. He whole-heartedly, and 100% wanted me to stay home with our precious unborn baby, Sammi. He had hoped I would come around, and that I would see the wisdom and glory of the idea -- even though it made no sense financially. He knew we would survive, somehow. He wanted me to stay home, to full-time mother our children. And yet, he still left the decision up to me. Very wise. (Like forcing me to do something would work, ha!) 

So, after some internal-struggle, and many concerns (mostly about starving), and lots of prayer -- I chose to stay home with my precious first baby. After making that decision, I have been home with my children ever since - for 12 years now. 

Some of those years were insanely rough. But we did survive (and I mean survive!) without me working outside the home. Barely. Our days were spent with stress and worry over money, and our bowls were full of beans and rice. Charles ate goldfish crackers throughout the day, but no lunch. We managed an apartment building to reduce our rent, and add to our stress. We went without a car, in the winter, in Alaska. We did without, we used it up, and made do. We lived on hopes, and dreams, and love. 

It was not easy. 

Hope, dreams, and love . . . they do not fill the bank account. 

But when was the last time something worth doing was ever easy? Never. 

Our bank account was empty, but somehow we still survived. (Message on paying tithing/miracles for another day.) ;-) 

I am a stay-at-home mom. I am infinitely grateful to be so. Being home is a privilege, not a prison. It is not easy much of the time. But in my mind, it is the most worthwhile "work" I could ever do. This opinion may not be found true by everyone, but that is only because they have not caught the "vision" yet. I was there once, I know what it is like. To think all my current passion was once purely indifference. Funny how people can change. 

But all it took for me was one brave soul -- a courageous girl -- who sat me down and set me straight on the stay-at-home matter. I have never let go of that vision since that day. And I have been an avid mother-at-home warrior ever since I grasped the vision of at-home power. 

There is no amount of legislation, or lofty leaders, or laws, or programs, or schools, or government Band-Aids, that will heal this wounded world. There is only one power strong enough to really change things for good. And that power is Mothers. If every child had a loving mother (and father) the world would be a better place. No doubt about it. 

I do believe the time has come for the "Guardians of the Hearth" to rise and shine forth. You never know who you might influence for good. It was one girl -- not even a member of my faith -- who changed the course of my motherhood views, forever. Perhaps you can be that "one girl" for someone too. Sharing your light just might change the course of the very future. If it were not for that girl, my future, and my children's future, would be very different right now. Just think of it! 

As my beloved President Hinckley said: 

"God bless you, dear friends. Do not trade your birthright as a mother for some bauble of passing value. Let your first interest be in your home. The baby you hold in your arms will grow quickly as the sunrise and the sunset of the rushing days. I hope that when that occurs you will not be led to exclaim as did King Lear, “How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child!” (King Lear, I, iv, 312). Rather, I hope that you will have every reason to be proud concerning your children, to have love for them, to have faith in them, to see them grow in righteousness and virtue before the Lord, to see them become useful and productive members of society. If with all you have done there is an occasional failure, you can still say, “At least I did the very best of which I was capable. I tried as hard as I knew how. I let nothing stand in the way of my role as a mother.” Failures will be few under such circumstances." 

Rise, Guardians of the Hearth! 

Your time for battle has come!