Thoughts On Cleaning Closets . . .

Image via Bing

There's something about cleaning closets.  For an anal, control freak, type A kinda girl like me, it's completely theraputic. Last week I finally got around to cleaning my closet and putting my winter/fall clothes away until the chill comes back to the air and I want my long sleeves again.

When I clean out my closet, it is an all day affair.  It involves removing EVERY LAST THING from the closet and systematically going over each piece of clothing or pair of shoes while asking myself questions like, "Have I worn this in the past year?" or "Is this looking a little worn, dated, tattered or torn?" and my favorite, "Do I even like this?" which usually leads to "Why on earth did I ever buy this in the first place?"

The questioning eventually results in a pile of clothes on the floor that are symbolic representions of my impulsiveness, carelessness and regret.  I shove all those emotions in a bag and drop them off at the Salvation Army for someone else to deal with.  Then I go on with  my life until the next closet cleaning.

Last week I was at the usual presidency meeting for my latest church calling as Primary Secretary.  To start the meeting, one of the ladies shared a spiritual thought that pretty much rocked me to the core - especially when she looked me {and the other two women present} in the eyes and asked, "So, do you need to clean out your spiritual closet?"

The quote she shared with us came from a talk given by David A. Bednar:

The standard is clear. If something we think, see, hear, or do distances us from the Holy Ghost, then we should stop thinking, seeing, hearing, or doing that thing. If that which is intended to entertain, for example, alienates us from the Holy Spirit, then certainly that type of entertainment is not for us. Because the Spirit cannot abide that which is vulgar, crude, or immodest, then clearly such things are not for us. Because we estrange the Spirit of the Lord when we engage in activities we know we should shun, then such things definitely are not for us.

Then she challenged each of us to clean out our spiritual closet, ridding it of anything that may be preventing us from more fully feeling the Spirit in our lives on a daily basis. 

And so I came home and asked myself the questions, "In the past year, what has kept me from feeling the Spirit?" and "Are there pieces of my spiritual practice that are worn, tattered or torn?" and of course, "Why do I even do some of these things in the first place, if I know they don't bring me closer to Him?"  Then I went to work making a pile of impulses, careless actions and regrets to rid myself of.

I am saying goodbye to favorite TV shows {so long Glee}.  I am unbookmarking favorite internet haunts {adios People.com}.  I am carving out time for my own spiritual enlightenment {hello early morning scripture study} and I am once again putting things that matter most first {get ready for scheduled one on one time kiddoes!}. 

I recognize that this is personal.  I am putting this out here as a way to feel accountable.  I also recognize that just like my clothing closet, my spiritual closet will need to be cleaned often as it tends to pile up with junk rather quickly.  And the cleaning isn't always an easy job to do.

But for an anal, control freak, type A kinda girl like me . . . it's feeling good.




  

Thoughts On Bubbles . . .

Last week we introduced the wee one to that childhood joy known simply as bubbles. In the half hour he spent with bubbles, my boy oohed and ahhed. He cooed and giggled. He stared with wide eyes and wonderment. And I was there with my Edward to capture it all on film.

I re-learned - and quickly - the illusive nature of bubbles. So beautiful and transparent with their oil-in-rainbow color, so light and seemingly weightless, the bubbles would roll off the wand pushed only by the breath of my oldest child. And then they were there, dancing merrily on the air, so happy and free, bobbing to and fro as my infant son tried to catch a glimpse and I tried to catch a photograph before the subtle sound of Pop! Pop! Pop! signaled that the bubbles were gone.

The baby would wimper until his big brother worked to recreate the magical bubbles. Over and over, whimpering then bubbles, always ending much too soon for baby, blower and photographer alike.

After a half hour the big brother finally tired. He slowed down long enough for one grand finale and managed to produce The Bubble. The one that made Ollie's body stand still, head fixated, eyes wide. He reached out for it with his chubby little finger, hoping to touch the side of the smooth, glassy orb.

But before he could reach it, it lifted effortlessly off the wand, spent a brief moment in the air and landed quietly on the front of his stroller. It was his for the taking. He paused for the briefest second, reached out, grabbed it, and before he even knew what had happened, all that was left was a small wet footprint of the beautiful bubble. The crying ensued and I comforted my boy as the bubbles were put away for the day.

Now I'm going to wax all philisophical. Prepare yourself.

If your human, you've probably experienced the bubble effect at some point in your life. I'm learning that my life and the lives of others seem to be made up of a series of bubble moments - beautiful, effortless, enjoyable - followed by a series of bubble bursting moments - whimper, cry, deal with the aftermath while staring at the footprint of what was. And it's a cycle. Sweet, bitter. Joy, pain. Up, down. So it goes.

The good news is this: We can always enjoy the bubbles before they're gone. And there will always be bubbles because God wants us to have happiness in our lives. Does this mean life is going to be easy? No. But once a bubble bursts, we truly appreciate it's beauty and we immediately want for more. And He is waiting to give us all that we want, but we have to learn patience during the time it takes for Him to reload the wand and add his divine breath. He will never tire of blessing us, and He will never leave us alone in our trials.

Thinking About . . .

*this funny movie and how awesome Bill Murray was in it . . .

*the even funnier fact that for the first two years we were married the Hubby thought my birthday was on Groundhog Day . . .

*the truth that no matter who saw or didn't see a shadow today, we are definitely in for six more weeks of winter. . .

*the pan of warm cinnamon rolls sitting atop my kitchen counter.  Will they make it into my children's tummies after school today, or will the mom who made that promise break it? Only time and my guilty conscience will tell . . .

*the possibility that going to bed at 9:00 last night so I could get up at 6:00 to make cinnamon rolls actually meant I got more sleep . . .

* how much I love snow, but how disappointed I'll be if it cancels my book group tonight . . .

*how truly moved I've felt by all of the beautiful stories of love and affection that have been shared for the February give away . . .

*how I'd love to read more stories, so leave a comment before 5 pm EST today!  The winner will be announced tomorrow.

Thoughts On Mocassins . . .

Image:  PatrickJSparrow

I've been thinking.  About the earthquake in Haiti.  About the struggles and trials of friends and family.  About recent occurances in my own life.  All have given me opportunity to pause and reflect.  And I keep coming back to mocassins. Particularly this oft quoted saying:

"Don't judge another man until you've walked a mile in his mocassins."

I've been feeling the need to loan out my mocassins in the hopes that someone might like to see how I'm feeling.  I've offered up little glimpses here and there.  Every once and a while I just blurt out random truths.  Like when the cashier at Target oohed and aahed over Ollie and then said he must be an easy baby.  "Not even close!" was my quick reply.  She stared at me like was a horrible mom and I felt guilty so I quipped, "But I sure love him." And I do.

But I was offering her my mocassins.  And she didn't want to try them on. 

Yesterday someone offered me their mocassins.  And I willingly took them.  I wore them for the rest of the day.  It was heartbreaking.  Even when I took them off to go to bed, I could still feel the burden of being in those shoes. I lay in bed next to my Hubby, explaining the situation to him.  We committed to an increase of love, help and understanding towards the mocassins' owners.  I thought about it all three {THREE!} times I got up to be with Ollie in the night.  I thought about it first thing when I woke up this morning.

Once again I have greater understanding of this profound truth:  we can never know the private suffering of the individuals who collectively make up this human family.  And there is so much suffering.  I can say it from my own experience.  I'm pretty sure 95% of the people I see on a regular basis have absolutely no idea what the past six months have been like for me.  I can say it because I now know that my mom suffered silently for forty years at the loss of a daughter.  I can say it because of what I learned yesterday.  And I can say it because even though I will most likely never walk in their shoes, it is written on the grief stricken face of every Haitian in every picture from the earthquake aftermath. Suffering.  Sorrow.  Hurt.  Pain.

So today I'm pondering ways I can get into more mocassins more frequently.  Since people don't readily give up their shoes, I've decided I need to imagine what it would be like to try them on.  I need to consciously make a greater effort to imagine what it must be like to be the other person in any given scenario. To take into consideration what their life must be like.  To generally treat all others with greater compassion and care because I just don't know what burdens they are privately carrying.

I love shoes.  There.  I said it.  But more than that, I love human beings. And I really love it when human beings experience joy and gladness. I really want to love more fully and to be a part of bringing that to more people.  Maybe by doing this, I will once again feel more comfortable in the mocassins that don my own feet.

Not For Lightweights . . .

(Disclaimer: This post is in NO WAY meant to solicit comments about my current weight or what I look like 7 1/2 months pregnant. I'm currently feeling really good about those things.) I had an epiphany the other day while I was at the local rec center pool, where in an attempt to exercise, I was placing altered body into the warm water for a half hour of gentle swimming. In my black one piece maternity tank suit - not even rankable on the fashion spectrum - I fondly thought of myself much like a killer whale. There was just something about the way the water glided around the suit creating an ebony shine as it stretched tightly over my big belly.

Swimming felt completely theraputic and for a full half hour I was weightless and free, completely forgetting the additional twenty-some-odd pounds I am carrying as I grow a child in my womb. After endless nights of uncomfortable sleep and long days with back aches, being in the water brought relief to this body that currently seems so foreign to me.

The whole time I was swimming I thought about those whales - actual mammoths of the animal kingdom - who spend their days moving around in the water just like I was (albeit more gracefully than I was). Suddenly it donned on me that killer whales have absolutely no idea how heavy and ginormous they are! They are completely oblivious. And I'm really happy about it too, because I'm sure it's the only reason they are able to do this:

Can you think of any other explanation for something weighing 9 TONS to be that far out of the water? Meanwhile, it took me three, YES THREE, tries to heft my pregnant body out of the pool when I was done with my little swim. Okay, so maybe I'm not "killer" yet - just a whale, but I'm headed back to the pool again today nevertheless.