Which Mari do you like the best?

I had a long conversation with a friend, about feeling fat. This friend passionately expressed the same exact feelings that I have every single day of my life -- the same feelings I have had since before I can remember. My friend and I, we just don't feel comfortable in our own skin. My friend said she is ok with her appearance, she even thinks she is pretty (she is gorgeous). But regardless, she walks around, daily, ashamed of her weight. She went on, and on . . . unloading emotions that I could entirely empathize with, since her emotions were exactly the same as mine. She talked about the struggle that it is to balance motherhood, and taking good care of yourself. It is a daily struggle. And there is a constant voice which dwells in your head whispering loudly, "Your body is too big, and that means you are not good enough." The voice deceives, "No matter how talented you are, it doesn't count . . . you are not skinny." (Harsh, I know. But there it is.) It is an evil voice, to be sure. A very loud, and very powerful voice. 

Now, this friend is a completely beautiful, intelligent, smart, amazing woman  . . . she is witty, fun, and well-loved by others. She has a great, strong, healthy body. She works-out all the time to stay healthy.  I look at her with great admiration. She is an astonishing woman, really. I have learned so much from her, in a very short time. I would not change a thing about her. 

NOT. A. THING.

But she would. 

As I looked into her pleading eyes, and listened to her feelings, I realized that when I look at her, I do not judge her by her size . . . I love her because she is who she is. Whether she packs on 10, 20, or 50 pounds (or more) . . . I still just see her as her. She will always be her, no matter what size of her she is. She will always be amazing. She can't help it. 

And, as my friend was talking, I thought about me. (I know, selfish, right?) But right now, I am not in the best place for me. I am working-out and trying to regain my strength and health, after having a baby, and it has been difficult -- but I am determined. I will do it, because I like being healthy. However, I realized that no matter what size I am, I will still be me. When people look at me, they may see a bigger or smaller me, but I am who I am -- regardless. For example, in the images above, my weight ranges about 70 pounds -- but I look at the pictures, and I am still just me. The fat cells in my body may expand, or contract, but underneath it all . . . I am still there. 

I am me. I am not a number on a scale. 

My dear friend, you are you. I seriously don't care how much you weigh. 

I love you, because you are you! 

On this same topic . . . a few years ago, I had a friend who was a beautiful, tall, blonde, thin, fair-skinned, all-around flawless-looking lady. I envied her, a lot . . . anyone would. (Envy is bad, don't do it!) This lady had such a happy, pleasant face, too. She was everything lovely. Picture-perfect she was. Then, one day, I was at her home, and she said, "Mari, I want to show you something." She then lifted her shirt, just a little, and exposed her belly. She commenced in pulling out rolls, and rolls, of stretched-out sagging skin -- like nothing I had ever seen before. She had given birth to twins, and it had really done a number on her poor body. She talked to me about how she was plagued by this hidden pouch, and it caused her great pain, and insecurity. She was as plagued by her hidden pouch, as I was with my more obvious imperfections. And there I was, ridiculously thinking she was walking-around all physically perfect . . . judge not, right? 

My point (if I even have one), is that the older I get, the more I realize . . . we all have something we carry as a burden. We all have a "hidden pouch," or an "inner-voice," that plagues us, even daily.  We all have a "thorn in our side," that pricks us, throughout our days. The thorns come in all different shapes, sizes, and sharpness . . . but they are there, and we all have to deal with them. 

We can let our "thorns" conquer us, and keep us paralyzed with insecurity and fear -- or we can fight back! 

I would say to my friend (and I guess I had better say it to me, too) . . . 

You are beautiful. You are amazing. Do not be so hard on yourself -- you deserve better than constant mental-beatings over numbers on a scale. Do not buy into social-pressure to have the "perfect" body -- there is no such thing. I do not care if you are fat, or skinny, or somewhere in between -- you are fabulous. I know you still don't believe me . . . but try. Really try. Your thorn in your side is not fat, it is that voice which tells you that you are not good enough. Overcome it. Do not give in. Be strong, and change that voice in your head. Change that voice, so you can be happy. I love you for being you. And you should love you, too. 

But most of all, my friend, I want you to know that I understand. You are not alone in your battle. I am right there fighting it, too . . . that voice, that very loud voice, in my (our) head . . . 

We can't let it win. 

Oh, and to answer my own question: "Which Mari do I like the best?" (In the images above) . . .

There is only one me. And I am "me" in every picture. 

This and That

 The kids were super-duper lucky. Daddy took them to see The Hobbit, on Saturday. They saw it in 3-D IMAX. Their review was that it is amazingly awesome, beyond belief. Charles thought it was better than The Lord of the Rings -- and that is saying a lot! I have not gone, yet, but I plan to, sometime this week! I am way excited to see it! I had heard lame reviews from some movie critics, but Charles said they were a bunch of bunk, and that it is everything it is supposed to be . . . Yes, my precious. 

We are getting ready for Christmas day around here. I have thoroughly enjoyed having all the lights and and trees in our home -- it will be hard to take them down! Many nights have been spent in front of the lights, dreaming into the tree.

This is a picture of the back of my dad's head. My parents had some of their new friends over (The Roses) to watch the Canadian Tenors. And then my dad introduced them to the Piano Guys videos... Press the play button, you won't regret it. :-) 

 I captured the moment 12:12:12 PM on 12/12/12. I almost missed it, it was close. :-)  

 Sammi had her holiday band concert. They were pretty good. Sammi is one of two girls in band. (She's playing the saxophone.) The band is super small, and their teacher seemed really young to me? I guess I am getting old!

 Random Henry cuteness. 

 We like to watch movies, and the kids like to cuddle-up by the fire. Yes, that is chocolate on William's face. 

 Daddy was having a sweet moment with Henry, I tried to capture it, but it was dark. 

It "snowed" so the kids made a 4 inch snowman

Cute, huh?

 They went around to the front yard, and used almost all the snow, so they could make a little bit bigger one. Such a happy snowman . . . for 10 minutes, before he melted. 

 They will never know the joy of playing in the snow, like I did. Growing-up in Alaska, it is all about snow! Just look at ALL that snow! It was crazy! 

We went to a Christmas party, and Henry got to see Santa. He wrapped his hand around his beard and pulled really hard. :-)

FUN STUFF! 

Worth A Thousand Words

 May God be with the Families of this tragic day . . . for He is surely with the Children. 

Skirts

Just a few more brief thoughts on the topic, and then I will jump off of my soapbox, and move on . . .  

 I think that women are extraordinarily beautiful, and powerful -- even in skirts! Perhaps, especially in skirts! This movement for pant-wearing to church seems redundant, and missing the point. But it has reminded me how (and why) we should dress for church (purifying our insides, not outsides). So, for that, I suppose, I am even a little grateful. 

With all of this pant vs. skirt talk, it drew my mind back to the summertime, about a year ago -- during Trek. It made me think about skirts and pants . . . and the glory of women, and the strength of men.  

On our Pioneer Trek, "Women's Pull," the men were first separated from us, and taught about the power of womanhood. After a very spiritual lesson on the value of women, the men had to stand back, lining the path for the women, but they could only watch -- in reverence and respect -- as we pulled the heavy-loaded handcarts by ourselves. No help allowed from the men. They were allowed to sing for us, (which they did) but that was it. The Women's Pull took place on the second day of Trek, and we were tired. 

 It was very hard for many of the women and girls . . . straight up the hill, loaded carts, in scorching heat, and no stopping to breath. Those handcarts are HEAVY. I was surprised by the weight, and the awkwardness of pulling them. We had already walked quite the distance, it was in the middle of the day, and we had to keep walking for miles after it was over, too. It was hard. It hurt. My heart was beating insanely fast, and my breathing was deep and painful. 

(And I had been training for it!) 

One of my "tough girls" noted how sweet it was for the men to have their hats over their hearts. She was almost giddy with the amount of respect the men were showing for the women. It was such an enormous gesture by the men. I loved it. However, I may be unusual, because I wish men would still tip their hats and offer a, "Howdy Ma'am," as I pass by on the street. Too bad those days are gone . . . I will settle for a door being opened for me, that is still a wonderful gesture of respect. 

 It was very hard to manage the load without the men. It was difficult even for some of us "tough girls." 

I'm second to the right

 But we did it. And in skirts, no less. 

 Beautiful, beautiful, strong, skirt-wearing women . . . doing amazing things. 

 Now let's look at the men, as they watched -- not able to help or assist the women . . . 

 All they could do was show reverence and respect

 Look at their faces as they watched some of the women struggle, and fall. 

 Just look at them . . . 

 If only they could help take their burdens away . . . but they were not allowed. 

For me, it was fantastic to show-off how strong we were as women, as the men looked on in admiration. I enjoyed it, a lot. But, I must say, I was more than grateful to have the men back, to help carry our heavy load!  I fancy myself a very tough girl, equal to carrying heavy burdens -- but working together, with the added strength of the men and women, made it so much easier to manage. It was a huge relief to have their help again! I am so grateful for the strength of men! What wonderful companions they make. Pulling and pushing together, as men and women, boys and girls, was the best -- no doubt about it. There was strength and beauty, all around . . . it was marvelous to behold. 

And so it is with life. 

It is such a beautiful thing, when you are equally-yoked together, moving forward, carrying each others burdens, and sharing the load . . . there is nothing better! 

Look how adorable Charles looks . . . sure love him! The blue-bonnet lady is me. 

Skirts. Pants. Whatever! 

Working together is what it is all about! 

Giving

 The kids got to stand in front of Fred Meyers, with Grandpa, to raise money for the Salvation Army. It was a really good experience for them. I am so glad they had the chance to do it. (What great memories to make with their Grandpa!) During their shift they raised quite a bit of money -- people were even stopping to write checks! (It was not just the kids effectiveness -- my dad was quite the noticeable presence at the front door.) I was astonished to see in the short time I dropped them off, a lot of people were being very generous. It surprised me, because I don't know how many times I have rushed into the store, trying to avoid eye-contact with the bell-ringer, while also trying to avoid the guilt of not giving (maybe that's just me!). I do try and give in other ways. But from now on, I will not hide my eyes, and lower my head, averting the bell-ringer. No. I may not always drop money in the red-bucket, but I am at least going to smile and say, "Merry Christmas!"  

 The kids had a really positive experience. An older gentleman coming out of the store stopped and told them what a good thing they were doing. The kind man pulled a newly-bought box of chocolate Santa's from his bag, and offered them to the kids, as a "thank you" for their service. How thoughtful is that? There is some good in this world! 

Daniel was also excited because he got to bring the bell home. 

 May the Spirit of giving find a place in your heart this season . . . the Spirit of love . . . The Spirt of Christmas! 

Pants . . . to Church?

When my parents were serving their mission on the beautiful Island of Samoa, the Bishop got up from the audience to speak -- wearing a Lava-Lava (a skirt), and bare feet. 

 I just read in the news today, that some women in the Church (the Mormon feminists, as they call themselves), are calling for a "women wear pants to church day," this Sunday. The reason is to show their "equality" with men. They want to prove a point, make a statement, bring attention to themselves, and solidify their feminist platform. 

I think we are probably pretty clear on how I feel about that issue, if you read my post: HERE. 

(Weirdly enough, I had no idea about this "pants day" thing before I wrote it -- I actually gasped when I saw it as a headline.) 

So, as for wearing pants to church on Sunday . . . really? REALLY? Come on, ladies . . . who cares? 

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has issued a statement saying that church members are encouraged to wear their best clothing as a "sign of respect for the Savior," but that they don't dictate clothing choices beyond that.

If you want to wear pants to church, fine. Wear them! If you want to wear a dress, skirt, jeans, sweatpants, moon-boots, sandals, bare-feet, business suit, prom dress, overalls, flapper-outfit, tuxedo, tennis shoes, a plastic bag . . . you name it. God will still love you . . . and you will still be welcome at church. (I think I have seen everything -- except the plastic bag.) 

But the point is not what we wear on the outside . . . but what we wear on the inside, that counts. 

I have often said this before: 

Go to Church to worship -- NOT to be worshipped. 

Hence, our clothing choices might be made with that in mind . . . and that goes for anything we choose to wear into the House of the Lord -- and I am not just talking about pants. Perhaps we can remember we are dressing for church, not a cat-walk. It might be a good thing to keep in mind as we dress on Sunday mornings -- Church is not a fashion show. (I know, shocking.) Just consider, do we spend more time preparing our wardrobe, beautifying our faces, and gussying-up our hair, than we do preparing with prayer and fasting, beautifying our spirits, and gussying-up our hearts? I am sure we all have improvements to be made in this area. Especially me. Oh, yes . . . I am very flawed. I'll be the first to admit it! Whew! I have work to do!  

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, is a World-Wide Church. 

The people are as varied as their cultures, customs, and clothing . . .  and it is fantastic. 

Look at these beautiful children of God . . . I love them without knowing them! 

  Just beautiful . . .

So, on that note . . . my dear, dear, feminist sisters . . . whom I surely love . . .  

Perhaps it is not pants that need to be worn to church. Perhaps, my sisters, what needs to be worn -- is a broken heart, and a contrite spirit. 

Pants just won't solve your problems. They won't, I promise. 

But if you can change the fashion of your heart -- maybe open it, soften it, or heal it -- then you may just find the happiness you are desperately searching for. 

And that goes for ALL of us. 

Especially me. 

It's all about love . . . not pants. 

Wake-Up.

When I have a hard time pulling myself out of bed in the morning, I remember my new favorite quote: 

 I love it, and remind myself throughout the day -- this is MY life. 

The good, the bad, the pretty, the ugly.

This is my special occasion . . . I need to rise to it!