Content With What I Am

I went for a walk yesterday.
I walk/jogged somewhere between a mile and a half to two miles.
Then I went home and was too tired to fix dinner so I ordered pizza.
And made my husband make the 45 minute round trip to pick it up.
Okay, I didn't make him.
He offered.
But I like to sound bossy.  :)
I inhaled two pieces of that pizza and I didn't even feel bad.

I need to walk/jog more often.
I only do it about once a month.
That's far below the required exercise amounts required to be considered healthy.
I always have an excuse not to, rarely are they ever GOOD ones, but I have excuses, nonetheless.
So, for me, once a month is actually pretty good!

My mind, heart, and emotions are heavy today.
They have been for weeks now.
That's mainly why I went for a walk/jog yesterday.
I needed to relieve the tension I was feeling.
It helped, but I can already tell, today is going to need to be a repeat...
Except, without the pizza.
I better come up with something better for dinner tonight than pizza.
Homemade chicken noodle soup in the crock pot with hot wheat rolls sounds good...
Too bad I didn't think ahead better and get it ready before I left for work this morning.
I can't make pancakes and eggs again or my boys are going to have meltdowns.

My cousin-in-law posted this quote the other day and I can't stop thinking about it:

“We women have a lot to learn about simplifying our lives. We have to decide what is important and then move along at a pace that is comfortable for us. We have to develop the maturity to stop trying to prove something. We have to learn to be content with what we are.” - Marjorie Hinckley

I know this is such a hard thing for so many women.
We just have this drive to be perfect at everything!
We want everyone to think we can do it all and that it is all easy for us.
Sister Hinckley hit the nail right on the head.
This is where I'm at right now in my life.
I'm tired of trying to be good at everything.
I'm tired of feeling like I have to fit EVERY mold.
I'm tired of pushing myself so hard I crash and burn because I get over-committed.
I'm not going to do it anymore.
I'm just going to learn how to be content with what I am.
Flaws and all.
I hope you'll join me.
Let's do it together!

Mud Pies for Bertha

Many, many years ago there were two little girls.  Sisters.  They loved summertime.  It was the only time of year they could play in the water outside and not hear the wrath of mom from the kitchen window.  They loved when it rained and they could splash in the puddles.  Actually, any kind of water-related activity was the perfect diversion for a hot summer's day.  They loved sitting on the edge of the bank of the irrigation ditch as the stream moved down, feet dangling in the cool, dirty water.  They would keep their eyes peeled to the water, hoping a great treasure would float down the ditch.  Occasionally a rubber ball, a balloon, or a plastic toy of some kind could be found with just the right amount of luck. 

The water wasn't in the ditch every day so it was a treat when it would run again.  It was an even bigger treat when it was their father's turn to have the water and they could actually stomp and splash in the grass of the front yard.  To the father, the irrigation water was the lifeblood of the yard and the garden, but for the young girls, it was as good as any swimming pool... maybe even better! 

The next best thing to the water was the surprise left in the ditch after the water was gone.  There was always a layer of soft, sandy silt left over.  But they had to get to it soon.  It wouldn't last.  It was only fun to walk in when there was a little bit of moisture still left in the ground.  They would contend with each other to be the first to walk in it.  It felt THAT good on their feet and between their toes.  It warranted at least an hour's worth of entertainment... something not always so easily found on the hot, lazy days of summer for two young girls - banished by mom from coming back in the house until lunch time or dinner time, depending on whether it was morning or afternoon.

On the days where no water or soft silt could be found, there was the sand pile, installed complete with a red plastic bucket and a yellow plastic shovel.  There were even a few of their mom's good spoons and cups from the house... but that was a secret.  If their mom found out... oh... they would be in BIG trouble.   Somehow she always managed to find out anyway. 

It was nice and cool in that sand pile because it was underneath the branches of a big tree that offered just the perfect amount of shade.  It was the next best thing to the irrigation water.  The girls did what all little girls do.  They played house and made up stories.  They made sand castles and pretended to be princesses in far away lands.  The castles were very genuine.  They even had motes filled with crocodiles to keep out the bad guys.  After all, everyone knows ALL castles have motes.  With crocodiles.

Sometimes the girls just pretended to be mommies.  It was always fun to make mud pies and pretend they were real.  They would pretend to be fine ladies in a fine parlor having a tea party with fine dishes, eating pie and drinking tea.  The imaginary pies tasted just as good as mom's pies. 

But sometimes the girls were mean.  They would say things like, "We'll make this mud pie and give it to Bertha across the street!  She won't even know it isn't a real pie until she takes a bite!"  And then the sisters would laugh at how clever their plan was.  They were always nice to Bertha to her face, but they were mean behind her back.  Bertha always considered the sisters to be her friends, but true friends don't act that way.  The sisters weren't really Bertha's friends.

Bertha was different from the two sisters.  She didn't go to their church and she had really mean dogs.  Bertha's yard was always messy and her clothes were not very nice.  She was just... different.  She always seemed sad.  She had a brother too.  He was always angry and getting in fights with the other boys at school.  He would say bad words a lot.  The sisters decided they could never really be friends with Bertha and her brother for these reasons.

Part of the reason the girls decided they didn't like Bertha was because they were afraid of her house.  They could hear yelling.  Lots and lots of yelling.  In the daytime and in the nighttime.  Sometimes the sisters could even hear the yelling from inside their own house with the doors and windows closed.  It was scary for the sisters because nobody yelled like that at their house.  Bertha's dad had cages in the back of his truck.  He picked up stray animals for his job.  The girls were afraid that Bertha's dad would lock them in the cages if he ever caught them.  He looked mean and scary. 

The girls continued to make mud pies all summer long.  They continued to pretend to give them to Bertha.  They would pretend to be nice and friendly and then... POW!  Bertha would take a bite of that mud pie and realize it was mud and then they would laugh at her.  This is what they imagined would happen. 

One day, the sisters had been busy making mud pies for at least an hour and the mean role play ensued, 'baking' them especially for Bertha, when her father came home from work.  The sisters could soon hear the screaming coming from the house across the street.  It seemed louder and meaner than usual.  It was scary and the sisters were afraid for Bertha and her brother.  They just knew Bertha's dad was going to come out and bring Bertha outside and lock her in the cage in his truck. 

Luckily, for the sister's sake, that didn't happen.  It was then the sisters decided they would never make mud pies for Bertha again.  She had enough mean people in her life.  She didn't need the girls across the street to be mean to her too.  She needed a friend.  The sisters felt extremely bad for the way they had acted, even though Bertha never even knew they had been mean to her. 

It wasn't long after that, Bertha and her family moved away.  The sisters didn't know they were moving.  They just woke up one day and the house was empty and Bertha's family was gone.  The sisters never forgot this experience.  They always wondered what happened to Bertha after she moved away. 

One day the sisters met up with Bertha again.  They were all adults.  Bertha was so happy to see the sisters!  She never knew about the mud pies.  But the sisters remembered.  They were happy to see Bertha too.  Bertha was married and had a cute little boy of her own.  She was very happy.  The sisters were so happy to see her and to see that she was safe and her life was good.  They still felt bad for how they had treated her, even though she never knew. 

This time, there would be no mud pie for Bertha.  Instead, it would be the finest pie on the finest china in the finest tea parlor in the finest castle.  Or at least the sisters imagined it that way.  If they could have done that for her, they would have, to make up for the mean things they said about her.  And even as adults, the sisters remembered that they should not judge other people for how they looked or talked or for any other reason.  They understood that people's lives are not always what they seem to be on the outside.  Whenever the sisters thought mean things about someone else, they remembered Bertha and remembered that it is better to be kind and to be a friend because they might just be the only kind person to brighten their day and they might just make a difference for good in that person's life.  Being kind and being a good friend might just make all the difference, even when we think it won't matter.  It ALWAYS matters.

Huh... Weird.

Honestly.
I don't know what is wrong with me.
I just want to write.
And write.
And write.
And write.
And write some more...
Until all of my anxiety goes away.
I want to spill my guts.
Really.
But I know that I can't.
My family would be SO embarrassed if I did!
They all feel like I say too much already.
So I pull back on the reins and bottle it all up.
That's not such a good idea either.
I'm an emotional person, remember?
What happens to emotional people when they bottle up their emotions?
They become veritable 2 liter bottles of Coke just waiting for someone to drop a Mentos candy inside!
*KA...boom!*

Yeah.
That's me.
I'm there.

You know...
I always disliked English class.  (phew!  I almost said the H(ate) word again.  Boy! This is tough!)
It was agonizing torture to write a three page paper.
But now?
I can't stop.
I just want to write.
How can that be?
How can someone who has barely ever kept a journal and didn't like English class love to write so much now?
I never saw it coming.
Never.
Huh.
That's just weird.

Good thing I'm okay with weird.
I fit right in.
I guess I'm just going to have to write what I want and just keep it all in my drafts folder and not publish it.
But we all know - that's not any fun.

The Power of Prayer and The Holy Ghost

I was a nervous wreck to teach my Sunday School lesson today.  It was on Romans in the New Testament.  It was about the doctrine of justification.  It was a deep topic and I was nervous.  I had a hard time as I prepared the material to teach it.  I would study for a while and get distracted.  I would have to put it down with the resolve to come back to it later.  I had to do that three times.  I don't usually have that hard of a time in studying and preparing to teach a lesson on the scriptures.  But this lesson was tough.  It took some serious wrapping my head around the words "justification", "grace", "works", and how all of that ties in with faith and the Atonement. 

I don't usually get nervous anymore, but I still wasn't sure I had it all figured out, even this morning.  So I knelt down at my bed this morning and asked that the Spirit would guide me and help me to remember what I had studied.  I was still unsure as I got up and went about getting ready for church.  I expressed my concerns to my husband and he reassured me that it would be fine.  He promised me that he would say a prayer for me.

As my class began to fill up, I looked around the room to see who I could call on to give the opening prayer.  My eyes rested upon a dear man who has been a part of my life as long as I can remember.  He was my bishop when I was eight years old and I remember him giving me my interview to be baptized.  As soon as my eyes found him I felt prompted to ask him to give the opening prayer. 

So I let a few more minutes pass to let everyone shuffle in and find a seat and then got up and welcomed our visitors and turned the time over to this dear friend of mine to offer the opening prayer.  As he began to say the words of his prayer I also offered a silent prayer as well.  I needed all the help I could get today.  He prayed for me in that I would be able to remember all that I had studied and that the Spirit would be with me as well as with the members of my class.  I was grateful and as soon as he finished the prayer I knew it would be okay.

I rose and began my lesson.  I was nervous still.  I kept tripping over my tongue.  I kept stuttering.  It felt like it was swollen.  I couldn't get a grip on my thoughts.  The room kept filling up.  More people were coming in.  I think there were about sixty adults in my class.  I was feeling intimidated.  I was having a rough start and I was beginning to panic because I still wasn't sure I was ready to teach this material yet.  I was beginning to hyperventilate.  I had both hands on the pulpit for stabilization as I gulped for air.  I was choking, but after the first gulp I heard the counsel in my mind to slow down.  Breathe.  Calm down.  I only choked for air once and I don't think anyone noticed.  I tried to cover it up so it wasn't apparent. 

After a slow deep breath to calm me down, I explained that Paul wrote the letter to the Romans because they had been reverting back to living the Law of Moses.  They had somehow begun to believe that adhering to the letter of the law alone would gain them salvation into the kingdom of God.  They were faithful saints, but they were in some doctrinal confusion.  He wasn't writing to new converts to the church of Jesus Christ.  He was writing to faithful members of the church who already had the fundamental doctrinal foundations of the gospel.  He was writing to them with the premise that they already understood the basics.  He was building upon that and giving them a greater understanding of the plan of salvation.  He needed them to understand that they could not be saved by adhering to the Law of Moses.  It was no longer in effect.  With Christ's Atonement, a new, higher law was now in effect.  I tripped over this whole introduction.  I was crashing and burning.  Big time.

Then I wrote the word "JUSTIFICATION" on the chalkboard.  I asked the class what they thought it meant.  I had three or four suggestions.  I asked them to tell me whatever they thought.  I wasn't looking for right or wrong answers.  I just wanted to see if everyone else struggled to understand this as I did.  I had some great comments to get me started.  Then I wrote what it means to be justified on the chalkboard as it was written in my lesson manual.  To be justified is "to be reconciled to God, pardoned from punishment for sin, and declared righteous and guiltless."

Just then... it all clicked, and the Spirit took over.  From that point on it all flowed.  It all came together and the lesson shaped itself.  I knew those prayers in my behalf were being answered.  We talked about grace and works and the role that faith plays in all of this.  It was a good lesson.  I had great comments from the members of my class and they taught me things I hadn't realized.  As soon as the class ended I knew I had been blessed by Heavenly Father.  He allowed the Holy Ghost to be with me and help me.  All of my preparation came together.  I didn't quite understand it as I was studying and preparing to teach it, but as we made our way through the lesson, my understanding came.  It was a tender mercy for this - sometimes inadequate - teacher of Gospel Doctrine.  It began to register and I recognized the power of prayer and the role the Holy Ghost plays in my life as a teacher, helping me to learn - one experience at a time. 

I'm linking this post up with:

To Be A Storyteller

Since I was just a young child I've envied the people who had the ability to capture an audience.  I loved that people hung on their every word, captivated by what might come next.  My dad is like that.  He doesn't talk very much, but when he does, everyone stops to listen.  He always has a joke to tell.  He is a well of knowledge and all things humorous.  I love that about my dad.  Maybe that's why I always wanted to be a good storyteller. 

I wasn't born with that talent.  I can't ever remember the punchline or the key point in the joke to make it funny.  I can't tell a good story because I forget too many details.  I love that some people have the natural talent to weave a story that draws you in and makes you feel like you are there living it as you hear it.  I always felt bad that I wasn't born with this talent and I coveted it greatly. 

My dad is a storyteller and a scriptorian.  He can pluck quotes out of his head from who knows where.  He ALWAYS has a new joke to share to lighten the mood.  We never heard, "Let's have the blessing," before meals at our house.  It was always something like, "What did one skunk say to the other?  Let us spray."  And then we knew it was time for the blessing.  :)  My mom is an artist with fabric and thread.  She designs her own quilts and hand sews everything on them.  Her quilts are true masterpieces.  One of my sisters like to be in plays.  She has even written and directed some productions for church and community plays.  She loves to host parties with lots of guests where she can be an entertainer.  I have another sister who has a sense of humor like my dad's.  She can keep you rolling on the floor with laughter for hours without even an ounce of effort on her part.  It just comes naturally to her and people love her sense of humor.  I have another sister who is an artist.  Her sketches are beautiful and she is a master gardener.  She even has the certificate to prove it.  She creates masterpieces out of plants and soil.  My baby sister has a natural talent for homemaking.  She remembers everyones birthday and hand makes cards and writes sweet notes to let you know she loves you.  She loves to cook, play with her kids, and decorate her house. 


Left to right:
Artist/Master Gardener, Me, Actress, Funny Lady, Homemaker
Back:  Dad, aka: Scriptorian/Funny Guy and Mom, aka: Artistic Seamstress/Quilter

It has taken me almost four decades to figure out what it is that I'm good at and what it is that gives me that joy and satisfaction for what I've accomplished.  I've always wanted to be that engaging vocal storyteller, but didn't quite have the natural talent for it.  It's hard for me.  I'm stiff and stuffy and I say "umm" a lot.  I trip over my tongue because my mouth can't keep up fast enough with the thoughts in my head.   

My sister started blogging at the end of 2007.  She convinced me that it would be a good way for me to keep a journal and scrapbook for my family.  I tried paper scrapbooking for a while.  I felt obligated to do that for my kids.  But I disliked (I almost said the "H" word!  phew!  That was close!) scrapbooking with a passion.  I even quit taking pictures of my kids for THREE YEARS because I disliked it so much.  I figured if I didn't have any pictures to scrapbook I wouldn't feel guilty about not doing it.  :)  Good reasoning, huh?  ummm.  no.  I regret every day of those three years that I don't have those pictures of my family.  :(

So I bit the bullet and started my family blog in January of 2008.  I had a slow start to blogging.  I felt awkward posting things about my family for the whole world to see.  I was afraid a crazy maniac stalker would find us and stab us in our beds someday because they saw us on my blog. (I know... but you hear terrible stories from paranoid people.)  My writing was choppy.  My pictures weren't that good.  I was inhibited.  And then, last year, I had an epiphany.  I realized that it was okay to be myself and to let my emotions guide my writing instead of just posting the documentary family scrapbook type stuff.  It was exhilarating and I felt myself move with it.  I've grown by leaps and bounds and I continue to improve with every post I write.  I've come to understand things about myself that I never had before.  But more than anything else - I have found my voice.  It comes easily for me and the words just seem to flow right out of my mind, through my fingertips, and onto the screen with very little effort.  I am able to vocalize myself through the written word unlike any way I possibly could with my voice.  I'm learning how to become the storyteller I've always had the desire to become.  It makes me feel free.  And happy.  Satisfied.  I have found immense joy through the expression of my heart and soul.  I'm so glad I didn't give up when I felt discouraged and insecure about my blogging.  It has taken me almost four years to figure this out.  It just helps me to understand that when we have a desire for good things in our lives, we will be blessed with a way to accomplish them.  I'm so grateful to Heavenly Father for helping me to see this.  He is kind and great and good.  And I love Him.

Fresh Air Therapy

My attitude has really been in the toilet lately.

I was feeling sorry for myself again today.

I think I'm starting to sound like a broken record.

Sorry about that.

I've started four different posts since last Friday,

but I'm not happy with any of them.

They are getting deleted.

I think I've been a little self-conscious over my last post too.

I probably shouldn't have posted such a personal story on my blog.

You know how women always have different sizes of clothes in their closets?

You know...

Our "skinny" clothes and our "fat" clothes.

I had to wear my "fat" pants today.

I. do. not. like. my. fat. pants.

Does any woman like her fat pants though?

Umm... No!

But I don't do diets.

They don't work.

I've got to figure out how to quit stress eating.

It's killing me.

I've noticed I keep saying the word "hate".

That is such a negative word.

Especially when every other sentence out of my mouth has that word in it...

"I hate when this...."

"I really hate when that..."

"I hate cauliflower."

"I hate my husband's job." 

"I hate the phone company."

Hate, hate, hate.

You get the picture.

It's terrible!

I had no idea how negative I've been lately until I started realizing how many times I've used the word hate in my blog posts, in conversations with other people, and in my own thoughts.

IT'S GOT TO STOP!

RIGHT. NOW!

I am such an unhappy person because I keep focusing on the negative.

So I came home from work this afternoon and went straight to my room.

I laid down on my bed, mentally and physically exhausted.

I had every intention of taking a nap.

I think I was there for ten whole minutes.

My mind wouldn't quit pestering me.

My conscience nudged forced me to feel guilty for laying there.

So I got up, slipped on my tennis shoes, hung the camera from my neck, grabbed one of my favorite paperbacks - "The Social Contract" - and put it in my back pocket, snatched my sunglasses out of the car, and walked down the driveway and up the road.

No run.  No jog.  Not even any speed walking.  More like a stroll.

I didn't care.

I just needed some space and some fresh air.

I snapped pictures of the old farm equipment, the tire swing down at the cottonwoods by the river, the old fence along the road, the ranch houses behind a field of wildflowers, and the old John Deere tractor posing for me.

I tried to sit by myself and reflect with my book.

It was nearly impossible.

The vast amounts of rain from the previous weeks have done good work.

The grass is taller than I've seen it in a long time.

It's a good thing too, because the price of hay has doubled since this time last year.

We can't afford to buy as much as we usually buy to get us through the winter.

The ground is saturated.

There are even puddles still in the ruts of the road, even though our last rain was four days ago.

It's pretty unusual to have puddles left in Arizona after four days from the last rainstorm.

I found a spot to rest on a large cottonwood branch.

I found the passages in my book that I've previously highlighted.

I tried to focus, but it was hard to concentrate.

I was the main course on the menu at the Mosquito Ball.

The gnats and flys were almost as bad.

And then I noticed how hot it was!

I was roasting!

The walk home wasn't as enjoyable as the walk down.

But the fresh air helped.

The exercise helped.

I feel better tonight.

I've committed to myself to quit saying the word "hate".

It's imperative that I eliminate that word from my vocabulary as efficiently as possible.

It's a cancer and I need to cut it out.

I really need to do this before the negativity eats me alive.

My new goal:  I will not say, think, or write the word hate because it is damaging to my positive thinking.

So with that, I will leave you one of my favorite quotes from "The Social Contract", by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, published in 1762:

"Man acquires with civil society, moral freedom, which alone makes man the master of himself; for to be governed by appetite alone is slavery, while obedience to a law one prescribes to oneself is freedom."

The Truth About My Depression

Some of you know this, and some of you don't.

I have depression.

It is a disease.

I've had it since I was a child.  I didn't know what it was until my early twenties.  I don't talk about it as much as I used to because I am doing much better.  I know how to manage it now.  It's like any other disease that needs to be managed.  Sometimes I take medication for it and sometimes I don't.  It depends on how bad it is.  I've found blogging to be a wonderful therapy for me.  It gives me an outlet to vent. 

Depression is not "made up".  You can't "just snap out of it".  Some people think it is caused by sin.  It can be, but not always, although sin can contribute to the severity of the symptoms.  There are different kinds and different levels of depression.  My depression is hereditary.  I have a family history of it and I have that gene built into my genetic code.  It is a chemical imbalance within the brain.  It took a great deal of convincing from my doctor to finally accept this truth.  Over the course of the last ten years or so, I have become educated and now have a better understanding of the disease and how it personally affects me.  I know what triggers a 'low' episode and what symptoms to watch for so that I know when I can't treat it myself and I need to take my medication again.  Not everyone is this lucky. Some people require medication all the time - there is nothing wrong with that.  I just know that MY depression is mild and I don't have to take it all the time.   I know that poor diet, stress, a lack of sunshine (Vitamin D), not enough exercise, and irregular sleep are all triggers for me.

You may be wondering why I'm talking about this today.

I'm talking about depression today because I read a blog post this morning from the sister-in-law to a man who committed suicide last week.  Cheryl over at Happy Meets Crazy wrote this heartfelt post today and it pricked my heart.  I feel so extremely sad for this family today. 

You see - I almost attempted suicide eleven years ago... twice... in the same week.  I had quit nursing my youngest son a few months earlier.  It was so strange - I had severe post partum depression with my other two babies, but for some reason, I felt the best I had ever felt with baby #3... until I quit nursing.  As soon as I quit nursing him my hormones went crazy and I went into the lowest depression I had ever felt.  And then my grandfather died unexpectedly from a heart attack after spending his last day on this earth at my house.  I sunk even lower.  The funeral was in my mom's hometown - 3 1/2 hours away.  I was in bad shape.  As we were driving home from the funeral, my husband and children were sleeping in the car.  The route home went through some sharp turns and switchbacks up and down steep canyons.  As we came to a sharp corner with a steep dropoff the thought entered my mind to just drive straight - right off the cliff - instead of staying on the road and making the turn.  "It would be the perfect solution," I thought to myself.  Then my husband and children would all go with me and I wouldn't have to feel bad about leaving them behind.  I replayed it a dozen times in those few seconds coming up to the turn in the road.  At the last second, I decided I could not live with myself throughout eternity if I went through with such a horrible thing.  I didn't tell my husband until we got home what I had contemplated.  A day or two later I was in the tub taking a bubble bath - escaping.  Over and over in my mind I considered just sinking into the water and ending it.  I almost did it, but just like the cliff, convinced myself it would be a terrible thing to do. 

I was tired.  Tired of fighting to stay sane.  Tired of the extreme sadness.  Tired of the self-loathing.  Tired of the aches in my body.  Tired of the stress.  Tired of being tired.  Tired of life.  I was at my limit.  And I couldn't go any further.  I needed help.

I told my sister about it and she told our doctor (we went to the same doctor) what was going on.  She just happened to have an appointment the day I told her.  This wonderful doctor told my sister to call me and that he wanted to see me THAT DAY.  He made room for me and squeezed me in.  My sister and my doctor saved my life.  I have no doubt about that.

Let me tell you about the miracle I experienced that day. 

My husband went with me to see the doctor.  He was worried about me too, but he was too close to the situation and didn't know what to do to help me.  I know that he was grateful for my sister for saying something to the doctor.  Our doctor was in the next town over - an hour away.

I sat on the exam room table and cried.  I cried all the time at that point.  I couldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried.  He told me that I was depressed.  He told me that I needed medication.  I told him that I didn't want to take medicine because that meant that I wasn't strong enough, that I was a failure.  I told him that if I took the medicine, that meant I was crazy.  I didn't want to be crazy.  He was kind, compassionate, and understanding.  He explained to me that having depression isn't something someone chooses.  It means the hormones in my brain were messed up.  "It's been proven by science," he tells me.  I still didn't understand and didn't really believe him, but I took the written prescription he handed me with the instructions to fill it right away and not to wait.  I'm desperate for relief at this point so I listen to him.  I decide to trust him.

We drove the couple of miles up the road to Walgreens.  We decided not to wait and fill it at my local pharmacy at home.  It took forever to get it filled.  They didn't have any of my insurance paperwork.  They had to set me up as a new customer.  I just wanted my medicine and to go home.  It took almost an hour to fill the prescription. 

You know how it feels when you are in fog?  The fog is low, dense, and the visibility is low.  It's claustrophobic.  It can be frightening for some.  That's what depression feels like.  There is literally a 'fog' over a person's mind when they are suffering from depression.  The lower the low of the episode, the denser the fog is.  I can feel it.  I ALWAYS know when it is there.  It clouds my ability to concentrate and has a heaviness to it that permeates my head, from the inside out.  It's a relief when it's not there or when it's minimal.  That is the best way I know how to describe what it is like.

That day, eleven years ago, the fog was the worst it had ever been for me.  But I had hope as I waited in that Walgreens, even if it was just a slight hope.  I still wasn't convinced the medicine would help me, but I had nowhere else to place my hope at that point. 

So I finally got my prescription filled and got to the car.  I didn't wait.  I immediately opened up that bottle and took my first pill. 

We decided to take the scenic route home and drive over the mountain.  By the time we drove from the Walgreens to the other end of town, about 15 minutes, I felt it.  I still remember where we were when I felt it.  We were driving past Taco Bell.  I felt a tingling in my head.  It was like that tingling feeling you get in your foot after it has fallen asleep from a lack of circulation and then you move and the blood starts flowing again.  And then I literally FELT the fog lift from my brain.  I turned to my husband and said, "Oh my goodness!  I feel it!  I feel it!"  The heaviness was going away.  The pain was less.  I could 'think' again.  I felt like a caged animal who had been set free after a long period of captivity.  It was an actual physical sensation.  It was real.  What my doctor told me was true.  It really WAS the chemicals in my brain that were messed up.  It wasn't all my fault!  I wasn't imagining it!  It was real!  I wasn't crazy! 

And then I realized I had been blessed with a miracle.  A loving Heavenly Father heard my pleas, heard my family's pleas, and blessed me.  My doctor told me it could take two weeks for me to feel better and to know if the medicine was helping.  I felt it in 15 minutes!  How could I ever discount that and NOT say that that was a miracle?  What else could it be?

Not everyone is blessed with those kinds of results that are that quickly felt.  I was truly blessed.  I have not ever had that same experience with the medicine since then.  I still take the same kind, but I don't need to be on it all the time.  I am on the lowest dosage and can take it as needed.  But I never let myself get as low as I was then either.  I watch for the signs and I treat myself.  I usually need it during the winter months because extreme stress and being cooped up indoors are my worst triggers and almost always send me into a tailspin - the holiday season from November to New Year's Eve is hard.  So I listen to my body and I listen to my family and friends who watch out for me and tell me when they are worried about me getting low again.  I am blessed with a wonderful support network who help me along.  I am one of the lucky ones.  Not everyone is as lucky as I have been. 

I have told this experience to a few people.  This is the first time I have actually written it down for the whole world to know this about me.  But I do this for a purpose.  I want to share my experience in hopes that someone out there will find hope in their own struggle with depression or have hope for a friend or family member who struggles.  If you or or someone you know has depression - please love them, support them, watch out for them.  If you see them struggling and sinking, don't be afraid to talk to them about it.  Let them know you care and that you aren't judging them and that you want to be a support to them.  Most people will only take advice from someone they are close to and trust - a sibling, a spouse, a best friend.  If you are one of those people for someone with depression, don't be afraid to help them get help.  You may even need to go as far as scheduling them to see a doctor and then take them to the appointment - if you are close enough to the person to do that for them.  I do not doubt whatsoever that my sister saved my life by getting involved and involving our doctor.  I never would have made the appointment myself.  I will eternally be grateful to her for that. 

If you or someone you know struggles with depression and would like to talk to me about your experience I would love to hear from you.  You can email me at gingerblog@frontier.com.  It's never too late to fight depression or to help someone you love who has it.  Whatever you do... hang on a little longer.  Don't give up.  It CAN get better!  I'm living proof of that!

Waiting for Tomorrow



Taken this morning by my good friend.



Oh!  Why do I have to be such an emotional being?

All over the map...
varying degrees from one day to the next!

I can't quite seem to express myself the way that I want lately.
I trip and fall all over myself.
Writer's block plagues me.
It's frustrating.

I'm in the abyss of tomorrow.
I find myself here at least every few months -
usually with the pending change of the seasons.

I yearn to be in a different stage of life
because I'm tired of this one.
Not all of it, just parts of it.
It annoys me.

I'm tired of working,
having a dirty house all the time,
always being a day late and a dollar short,
finding little time to pursue those things that are of interest to me.
I want to be selfish for a day or two.
But I know that selfishness is bad.
Very bad.

I want to wake up in the morning and sit on the porch swing and watch the sun rise.
I want to piece together some blocks and make a quilt,
then quilt it with small hand stitches myself,
taking days, weeks, or months to finish.
I want to read a new book every week.
I want to have an exercise routine that I actually have time for.
I want to make bread or cinnamon rolls to give away.
I want to learn something new.
I want to practice my viola again and join a local symphony in the town that is an hour west of here.
I want to get in my car and go visit my sisters whenever I feel like it - just because I miss their faces.
I want to learn how to write a book.

But I know that when I have those things,
I will be missing other things.
My kids will all be grown and I know that I will miss them.
I will be older and my body won't feel as good as it does now.

Am I the only one who feels this way?
Sometimes it feels that way because people rarely speak of it like this.
It makes me feel alone in my desires for something new...  Something... Different.
I feel selfish.

This feeling will fade and I will get back on the horse.
I will recommit to be joyful for today again.
I always do...
but I have a need to express these thoughts.  These feelings...
so that I can put them back on the shelf in their rightful place.
Waiting for the right time.
The time that is not now.
Because - it is today.
I WILL enjoy, embrace, soak up - TODAY.
For all too soon it will be gone and I will miss it.
I will try to patiently wait... for tomorrow.

The Secret to Joy

The last month has been stress filled and crazy.

I've been a complete basket case.

Every person in my home has been on edge.

It's been rough.

But today...?

My heart is full.

I am grateful.

As I drove the 20 minutes to town with my two boys and my two nephews there was peace in the car.

I hummed along with the tunes on the radio.

As I made my way from the high school to the middle school, and then finally to the intermediate school, I felt joy.

As I proceeded through my route I began to notice my thoughts and my feelings.

I pondered on the joy filling my soul.

So I let myself feel it.

And I realized what true happiness is, once again.

I've felt it before.

Many times.

But I haven't felt it for a while now.

I've let the burdens of life get in the way.

I worked through it in my mind.

Even with the radio on and kids in the car.

I'm in tune this morning and it feels good.

I asked myself,

"What am I feeling? 

Why am I feeling this RIGHT now?"

And it came to me...

Line upon line.

It isn't lots of money,

a new car,

a big house,

a new camp trailer.

It isn't exotic trips to far away places

or eating in fine restaurants.

It isn't having the 'perfect' body,

the closet full of designer clothes,

the manicured nails,

or the perfect hair.

Joy is not in those... THINGS.

You can feel happy with all of those things,

but that is not where true joy is found.

Today I feel joy.

Joy is actually quite easy to find.

You just need to know where to find it.

It can be found in the words of God in the scriptures.

It's there every time I have a two way communication to a Father in Heaven who knows me and wants nothing more than to bless me and comfort me.

I felt it as I drove past a young mother on a morning walk with her baby and toddler in a double stroller and I remembered the precious time of my life when MY children were that age.

Or as I watched the little boy on his scooter with his hair combed neatly and his backpack on his back, reaching down to pick up the rock his mother will find in his pocket the next time she washes those pants.

It was in the air as my daughter walked out the front door and her dad and I both expressed our love to her and wished for her to have a good day and then she said, "I love you too".

It's in my children's laughter.

It's in the thoughtful thank you notes given to express gratitude for a kind gesture, gift, or service rendered.

It is found when the Holy Ghost fills the air in our home during family prayer.

It can be found in the notes and lyrics of good music - the kind that lifts us up - not the kind that tears us down.

It's in a smile from a stranger as we pass on the street, at the post office, or the grocery store.

It's in a hug from a friend when I am down.

It's in words of praise from others for something my child did without me knowing.

It's in my children's accomplishments.

It can be felt at the completion of a job well done - a clean bathroom, a balanced checkbook, a presentation that took hours, days, or weeks to put together, a well-prepared lesson that is taught by the spirit at church, when the laundry is clean and neatly put away, a flower bed full of colorful blooms, the harvest from a garden that has been tended for months - bottled, frozen, or eaten fresh -...whatever task requires our time, energy, talent, or expertise to complete.  If it is done to the best of our ability, we will find joy there.

It is in the good things in life.

It is in truth, honesty, and righteous choices.

Joy is easy to find if we truly seek it.

The more we open our minds and hearts to it, the more we will find it.

Life does have stress, heartache, pain, fear, and discouragement.

But joy is ALWAYS there.

Always.

Recognizing it helps to buffer that discouragement, fear, pain, heartache, and stress.

Mankind was never meant to be miserable.

Happiness and joy are meant to be a large part of our existence.

It won't be found in worldly pursuits.

It will be found in the small things - the acts of kindness, the smiles, the beauties of the earth, the simple things.

But more than anywhere else, joy can be found in our relationships - with God, Jesus Christ, the Holy Ghost, our spouse, our children, our extended family, our co-workers, and our friends and neighbors. 

The people who seem to have the most joy are the ones who diligently work to cultivate good and lasting relationships. 

They show and express gratitude regularly.

They stop to smell the roses.

They offer a kind word to a weary soul.

They place God above themselves.

They see life through the lens of eternity.

Their motto is not, "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die."

No.

Their motto is, "Charity never faileth." (Moroni 7:46)

May we all seek to find a greater measure of joy today.

I took this photo this morning when I pulled up to work at my office.
I've completely neglected my flower bed this year, but it has thrived with only a little help from me pulling a weed here an there.
I love flowers that re-seed themselves the next year! :)

I Hate When I Mess Up

I hate when I mess up.

I really, really do.

I don't handle it well.

Being a perfectionist is bad that way.

Let me give you an example:

When:  1st Grade

Where:  The drinking fountain in the 3rd grade hallway.

What happened: 

Remember in the 70's and 80's we used to have fluoride treatments at school? 

"Swish and spit." 

We got those little paper cups with liquid fluoride treatment in them.

We had to gargle for a minute and then spit it back in the cup.

We weren't allowed to swallow it or to get a drink for 15 minutes.

I hated it. 

It tasted bad.

So, after a few times of this, I got "smart", or so I thought.

I would wait a minute or so and then ask to go to the bathroom.

My teacher would let me go, but would give the instruction NOT to get a drink of water.

I would lie and say, "Okay!", in my sweet little 6 year old way with my big brown puppy dog eyes.

And then I would head straight to the 3rd grade hall and get a drink at the drinking fountain.

By the 3rd or 4th time, I was feeling pretty confident that I had successfully pulled the wool over my teacher's eyes and was in the clear.

Until the time that, just as I lifted my head up out of the stream of water after taking a large gulp, there she was... all 5'11" of her, towering over me... with her arms folded across her chest, with a look that let me know I was in BIG. BIG. trouble. 

"What are you doing, young lady?"

... "I'm... I'm..."

"Get back to your desk, right now."

And that's exactly what I did.

I laid my head down on my desk and cried, no... sobbed, the whole rest of the day. 

It was a very long day.

It devastated me enough that I never forgot that experience and decided it wasn't worth it to tell lies.

Now this teacher is on my Facebook friend list.

I saw her last week and reminded her of this experience.

She didn't remember.

I guess it wasn't as devastating for her as it was for me.  :) 

************************

Every time I mess up or fail at something it crushes me.  You would think it wouldn't anymore at my age, but it still does.  I have this ingrained push to be perfect... at everything.  It's bad.  Because I'm human and it's a 100% chance that I'm not going to be able to do everything I try perfectly.  I'm so much better than I used to be though.  I don't beat myself up quite as much as I used to. 

Today I got to work and got a phone call from one of our customers.  I work in a manufacturing plant.  I take the orders and put them into production.  I shipped an order last Friday.  That was the order I got the call on this morning.  It was delivered yesterday.  I messed up - BIG TIME.  I never caught my mistake.  I sent the order confirmation and my customer didn't catch the mistake either.  I had the guys in the plant make the wrong thing.  And it was completely my fault because the purchase order from my customer was correct.  I just didn't read it right.  Luckily, my customer has the capability to fix my mistake at his location, but it will be a headache for them.  I feel really bad.  I apologized profusely.  I sent this order out to the plant to be built last week when I was having my nightmare week of meltdowns.  It's not an excuse, but it is an explanation as to how it happened.

If I was still my 6 year old self I would run away and cry somewhere, but thank heavens I'm not anymore.  I feel bad, but everyone here has made a mistake like this before.  I'm not the first and I won't be the last.  This isn't my first mistake at my job either, but it is important that I stand up and take responsibility for it.  I place my name on that mistake and own up to it.  I admit that it's my fault and do my best to resolve the problem so that it won't turn into a bigger problem.  It's not okay to pawn off my mistake onto someone else.  It isn't right and it isn't honest.

It isn't the end of the world.  Life will go on and it will have to be chalked up to a bump in the road and a reminder that I need to pay better attention to the paperwork as it crosses my desk before I send it out to be built.  It's a life lesson.  One that everyone has to learn - preferrably sooner in life than later, and one that we as parents should take care in teaching our children.  We need to give them the freedom to fail so that they can learn that it is better to accept responsibility for the mistake, then fix it and move on, rather than try to hide it or act like it never happened.  If we give them a safe place to come to for help when they mess up, they will be less likely to lie or try to hide things.  It's important to let them be accountable for their choices and let them experience the consequences, but that doesn't mean we can't offer them a hug or a soft shoulder to cry on as they go through it.  It's important to teach them this when they are little, making little mistakes, so that when they are teenagers or adults and have much bigger problems, they will have the strength and the courage to overcome them and put them behind them without expecting someone else to take the fall for their choices.  It will teach them the importance of making GOOD choices to begin with and that life is so much easier that way. 

Everyone messes up.  It's inevitable.  It's part of living and maturing.  We shouldn't look at our mess-ups as a measure of whether we are a success or a failure.  Instead, we should use those experiences to mold and shape us into better people.  We can learn from our mistakes if we look at them in the right perspective.  Besides all of that, when we own up to our mistakes and take resposibility for them, others will respect us and trust us.  Being honest with others is just as important as being honest with ourselves. 

Hmmm... isn't it funny that my 6 year old self learned such an important lesson at a drinking fountain so many years ago and I didn't even know it until now that that's when I learned it?  Crazy how that happens, don't you think?

The Question I Get Asked the Most

There is one question I get asked more than any other:

"Do you like living on a ranch?"

followed closely by:

"What is it like?  Do you have cows?  What do you do with the calves?  How many acres do you have?"

Let me tell you about living on a ranch.

The history:

This land has been in my husband's family since the 1880's.  From what I've been told, although I'm not sure if it is completely accurate or not, the land was purchased for 600 bushels of corn by my husband's great-great grandfather who was a Mormon pioneer sent to settle this part of Arizona.  He settled along the river and eventually the river bottom was divided up amongst his children.  My husband's great grandfather lived here his whole life.  He farmed it, irrigated it, and raised cattle.  My husband's grandmother was born in a little house right across the river.  When her parents were getting too old to run the ranch by themselves she and and her husband moved down to take over.  His grandmother died in 2001 and his grandfather died in 2002.  We moved down to the ranch in 1998 and took over the cattle portion of the ranch along with my husband's brother and dad at that time.  His brother followed us and moved into his grandparent's house in 2004.   Our next nearest neighbor is about a mile up the dirt road on the adjacent property - they moved in last summer.  After that, our nearest neighbor is about a mile or so up the river as the crow flies, but about 5 miles by car.  We are about 15 miles from the nearest town to the south and about that same distance to the town to the north. 

People almost always automatically assume that since we live on a ranch we are "rich".  The answer to that is yes and no, but mostly no.  We (as in the family trust) are what you would consider land rich / money poor - as is the case with most farmers and ranchers, especially when the land has been in the family for many generations.  We constantly have to worry about how inheritance taxes might affect us.  We've seen many people lose land that has been in the family for generations because they didn't have enough money to pay the federal government for inheritance taxes.  That is where the term, land rich / money poor comes from.  It is very sad and should be illegal if you ask me.  It's just wrong.  It's a fear that never goes away because the laws are always changing.

We are very careful not to overgraze our land or damage it so that it will continue to provide for our cattle for the future.  We see ourselves as stewards over the land and it is our duty to maintain it and keep it healthy.  We usually run fewer head than what the land will actually support for this reason.  We currently have about 70 mother cows and most have calves right now.  The majority of the calves will be sold in October.  There isn't enough income from the sale of the calves to support a family.  In fact, there is usually only enough to maintain the costs of the ranch - taxes, hay, fuel, equipment repairs, fence supplies, and other costs associated with the cattle.  That is why my husband and I both work to pay the bills.  There isn't much money in cattle ranching unless you have many thousands of acres and several thousand head of cattle.

So back to the first question - "Do you like living down there on the ranch?"

Sometimes my answer is yes and sometimes my answer is no.  Generally in the summer time I will answer with a yes and generally in the winter time I answer no.  There are pros and cons as there is in any place you live. 

The pros:

-There is usually peace and quiet. 

-We have a good measure of privacy.

-I have a porch swing and a great deck overlooking a beautiful view.

-My yard is as big or as small as I want it to be.

-My kids know where their food comes from.

-They understand life, death, and the relationship between predators and prey.

-We see, or other people have seen, wildlife of all varieties at one time or another - bald eagles, hawks, owls, crows, wild geese, ducks, cranes, birds of dozens of species, coyotes, bobcats, mountain lions, elk, deer, beaver, skunks, raccoons, porcupines, rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, rats, mice,  prairie dogs, gophers, rattle snakes, bull snakes, water snakes.  Also our domesticated animals and livestock - horses, cows, goats, pigs, chickens, dogs, cats.  Fish in our ponds or in the river - bass, catfish, crawdads, minnows, etc.

-My kids know how to work and how to work hard.

-They understand an honest day's work for an honest day's pay.

-They have respect and reverence for the land and for the creatures that we share it with.

-We have ponds and a river to fish, swim, and play in.

-I rarely have visitors show up unannounced.  They don't want to drive all that way to find out that no one is home when they get there.

-We have lots of visitors in the summer and the teenagers love to come and play in our pond because we have a zip line over it.  I love having them. 

The cons:

-The driving - because we live out of town we have to drive a lot.  I figured the other day that between all of our vehicles and drivers we drive approximately 45,000 miles per year total for our family.  That is a lot of gas and a lot of vehicle repairs and maintenance.

-When my kids were little they rarely got invited to parties or over to a friend's house to play and vice versa.  It was just too hard to make it work with the distance.  That is a very difficult thing when you have a social child like my daughter.  We had to endure many tears as a result.  Having her turn 16 and getting that driver's license was the best thing to ever happen to us and her.

-Our cats are not pets.  They have jobs - to keep mice, rats, snakes, and other rodents away from my house.  They don't have very long lives because they are in the hawks, owls, and coyotes prey category.  My kids don't get attached because they know what happens to them. 

-The work is never done.  There is always a fence that needs fixed, a field that needs irrigated, a sick animal to tend to, hay or grain to be unloaded, problems with the natural springs that give us water to drink, broken down vehicles/equipment/trailers that need to be fixed, calves to be branded, wheened, or taken to the auction.  If it isn't one of those things there is always something else.  The work is NEVER done.  Ever.

-Since we do have an abundance of wildlife on our ranch we have to endure hunters from Labor Day to Christmas.  If they have the courtesy enough to come and ask us for permission, it's not usually a problem.  It is a problem when they don't care and cut our fences to get where they want to go or drive through our pastures where we don't have a road and ruin the grass for our cattle.

-My husband has spent many hours and lots of money on seed to plant some good hay fields, but it is always a waste of time and money because the elk come in and eat it all before it is ready to be harvested.

-We have the same problem with gardens - the raccoons ate my entire garden this year.

-When it snows in the winter I need  4-wheel drive to get up the hill.  Without it I'm stranded.  I don't have 4-wheel drive on my current vehicle so I have to drive my husband's Ford F250 crew cab beast when it snows.  I hate driving that thing.

-Nobody comes to visit in the winter time.  It gets pretty lonely and quiet.  The only people who usually see my Christmas tree are my kids or my father-in-law.  Sometimes on a rare occasion a visitor or two will come down to visit.

Overall, ranch life has been a blessing for our family.  It is not easy, by any stretch of the word.  It is a lot of hard work with sweat, blood, and tears to show for it.  Sometimes I wish I lived back in town because it would be easier in so many ways.  Ranch living isn't for everyone.  It is a lifestyle.  It requires a measure of sacrifice - a sacrifice of convenience, time, and money - all of which I used to take for granted.  I don't take those things for granted anymore.  But the rewards far outweigh the sacrifices.  My children will be blessed by the knowledge they've gained by our choice to live as we do.  They don't think that now, but some day they will.  And then - all of the sacrifices we've made to raise them on the ranch will be worth it.