I Know

I found this several years ago and have found it to be true time and time again.
Thought I would share...


Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves...who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented or fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a Child of God.

Your playing small doesn't serve the world.
There is nothing enlightening about shinking
so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others the permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Marrianne Williamson

Car Facts

It was time to have my car serviced. You know that thing we have to do every 3000 to 5000 miles depending on what kind of oil that is being used. I usually have it done at a little car wash/service station that my son use to work at. Mostly because of loyalty. The people who own this particular business were very good to Mike and they usually do a really good job. But when we bought our car back in November,

the dealership gave us a coupon that I thought sounded like a pretty good price.

So I loaded up Mikael and we went to get the car serviced.

Now I probably ought to preface this story with some information about me. I grew up the daughter of a diesel mechanic who not only taught young men how to tear apart a tractor and put it back together but also "fixed" cars in a shop behind our house every night and Saturday to make extra money. I was a parts runner for a couple of years in high school for my dad. The smell of oil and fuel brings back some of the sweetest memories of my father. If I wanted to talk to my dad, I had to go sit on the stool in the shop and speak to the feet. He was usually "buried" underneath somebody's car where only his feet were visible. When I became old enough to drive, the requirements at my house were that you not only take Driver's Education but Big Jim Education. This meant you knew how to change a tire, change the oil and change a spark plug. So I am not some wimpy girl who knows nothing about air filters and manifolds. Now don't get me wrong, I do not love cars the way mechanics do. I am a nurse for a reason. So I am more than happy to turn servicing my car over to the professionals.

Ok, so Mike and I go to the dealership, hand over the keys to my Rav 4 and retire ourselves to this little room off the main shop to watch American Pickers on the History channel. Mike is not terribly happy that I have brought him along for the ride. We are there for about 10minutes when the first guy comes in and announces to me that my transmission fluid is black. Just black. "Oh...Ok...what exactly does that mean?" I ask him. He shakes his head and looks down at the floor like he is giving me the most tragic news ever. "Well...it means that it needs to be replaced." "And how much will that cost?" I ask him. I have become quite the negotiator in my economy situation. He quickly answers that it will cost approximately $180.00.

Now I remind him that I just bought my vehicle four months ago and shouldn't that have been something that they checked before they sold me the car (while I choke on the $180.00 prospect). He gives me some explanation of how they usually only replace it every 60,000 miles or so but mine is so black.

I realized how upset this young man is about my "black" fluid

but frankly it will have to wait I tell him.

So he leaves us to watch the two men on American Pickers "rob" an old man out of his hidden treasures, knowing all the while that they will go back to New York to unload their purchases on the wealthy

who in turn will pay top dollar for antiques.

10 minutes later another young man comes in with a filter of some kind. Not an air filter but something that filters my heater and air conditioner. He has brought it with him to "show" me exactly what the problem is. It is black. "How much does it cost to replace it?" I ask him. "$10.00" he replies. "OK...I can afford that. But again how is it that none of this was checked four months ago? He can't give me an answer

but seems a little happier that I let him change this.

10 more minutes and I look up only to see another young man rolling something our direction. Instead of coming and getting me and asking me to take a look at the atrocity on the tire of my car, he decided to bring it to me. "Mam, your tire has a nail in it." Sure enough, there it is. What has me baffled is why the whole tire had to give up its spot on the car to reveal itself.

"Do you want us to fix it for you?"

I am beginning to see a pattern and Mikael has begun to laugh himself into a coma at this point. "No...No I don't want you to fix it. I will take it to the place where we get our tires from...thank you:)" He continued to make quite a case about how it would be unsafe for me to drive any farther than I needed to. And I assured him that I wouldn't be driving more than necessary just to the other store where they would repair my tire for free.

Finally, with the car in moderate repair, we were given back the keys. Just as I had promised, I drove to the tire store and asked them to repair the nail in my tire. Mike and I go to the designated room where Myth Busters is on the TV. I like this particular store as they have windows and popcorn. The old fashioned kind with oil and real popcorn that cooks in one of those old popcorn cookers. We had settled in eating popcorn and watching TV when a nice woman who looks like she really loves tires (if you know what I mean) approaches me and Mike. "Um...we got that nail out of your tire but did you realize that your tires are bald?" "No...No I didn't...but you know what I will have my husband check that out and we will get back to you!"

I grabbed Mike and vowed to stay out of shops, car dealerships and tire stores for at least another 3000 miles or so.

Or send Tom next time.

Yah, I like that idea a lot better.

Fear

I am not a big fan of scary movies!

I am and for as long as I can remember have been afraid of the dark.

I have raised two children so far that are equally terrified of the dark...unless we are talking about night games in the yard. Then it is ok to be in the dark.

But usually with another person.

You know just in case.

JUST IN CASE WHAT?

I have been thinking a lot about fear lately.

I have come to the conclusion that it is far too overused

in just about every aspect of our lives.

Examples from my life...

The Dark

(it gets to be capitalized because it can be so scary)

driving on slick roads or in insane big city traffic

(just tried both of those recently on the way to Boise)

children driving

(being the parent of children who now have the ability to procreate (not by permission yet)

and destroy life puts everything into perspective)

technology

(someone can steal my identity or look at my pics on facebook

and I can't do much about it)

getting older

(my body stopped behaving itself)

Need I Say More

I have also decided that fear keeps us from trying things that just might move us in the right direction in life. I have come to believe that this happens to us throughout our lives.

I really want my children to be able to

Keep moving forward

in life.

I want them to make the choice based on right and wrong,

not scary or comfortable.

Fear verse Faith.

Faith to step out of the light and into the dark

knowing that if it is a decision based on righteousness

the light will follow.

I Often Go Walking...

Years ago, when I was a little girl going to Primary on Tuesday afterschool (that's how we did it in the good ole' days:) we use to sing a song called "I Often Go walking". I loved that song. Well really what Primary song didn't I love to sing? But that one in particular, I love to sing. I love how it talks about meadows and flowers and walking but especially I love it because it talks about mothers.

When I was a little girl, I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman alive. She always took such care to look and be her best. Being that my mother was a beautician (that is what they called cosmotologists back then), she knew how to "rat" hair. The back combing of one's hair was an art that took much practice to achieve. Blonde and beehive was the style and my mother could rival Mrs. Brady any day.

My mother learned how to be a good cook long before she married my father as she was the oldest of six children. But my father liked food and was easy to cook for. She could make the most yummy food out of little ingredients. There were many years when my parents were struggling with money because my brother had been very sick for a long time. My mother created "Hamburger Helper" before it came in a box. And soup...she made the most delicious soup. Every year for my brother Brett's birthday he would ask for potato soup as his special meal. She put love into every meal with the time that she spent cooking.

She was the master of hiding zucchini. Every year late summer, we would start to find green stringy things in very untypical kinds of food. I'm not talking about cookies and breads but hamburger helper meals, soups, cakes etc. But not nasty tasting like the carrots that the school lunch use to try to "hide" in the orange jello (like we were really falling for that one:( We learned to appreciate the different tastes and textures like it was a game to guess whether she had or hadn't used the mystery vegetable.

My mother was the champion of helping people. She was always cutting someone's hair or taking dinner to a sick neighbor or volunteering a school to help with something. She was busy but always found time to be home when we got off the bus to ask us about our day. Her house was immaculate and she expected us to help her do it. She arose earlier than us to start her day and went to bed later to finish things up. I remember one time in Jr. High, I wanted to go as Raggedy Ann for Halloween, this meant that my mother stayed up most of the night sewing yarn into a wig. She was so mad that I waited until the last minute to tell her but she did it.

When I was a teenager, I liked my mother. She was my friend. It wasn't until I was a grown woman with children that I really ever experienced a real fight with her. I am uncertain what I would have done without her the many years that I took care of Mikael's medical needs. She was my constant companion on our doctor trips to Utah even though she still had my brothers at home. She seemed to understand and listened when I cried about how hard it was to be a mother. I think that if I had paid better attention, I would have caught a glimpse of a smile on her lips. Not a mocking smile but one of "Honey if you think this is bad, just you wait". A smile of a mother who knew that motherhood never gets easier. It just changes it's needs as the children grow and get older.

The other day I as I drove to an appointment, I sobbed. I will tell you now that this is not good driving ettiquette nor is it safe. But I cried none the less. My children are changing and growing and becoming their own and all in one morning, they decided to tell me that I was annoying and controlling. I think probably because I am weary and stressed the words might has well have been knives cutting deep into my heart. But as I drove down the road (again not advised) attempting to rid myself of the hurt, I remembered that I was not alone. Many other mothers have gone before and will go after will hear those words as part of the "stretching" process that mother and children relationships must go through.

I discovered in that moment that this will pass and they will go...probably without me. And because of that I have to let them "kick the dog" (ME) once in a while and not take it so personally. Within reason, they should be able to feel safe telling me what they think about my parenting skills. Which by the way, need constant tweeking to get it right and I still don't. My mother use to say, "I did the best job with the information that I had at that point and time". I am beginning to see that now. I see my mother in a different way now than I did when I was a little girl. She is still beautiful. Older but the wrinkles are earned from lots of smiles and many hours of beautifying a yard. She is still a good listener but I find that I don't always agree with the things that she says. She doesn't always agree with me either but that's OK. We are grown women, we should have our own opinions. Especially on raising children.

I find myself looking at our relationship in completely new ways. Kind of like my relationship with my children. Contantly changing. Continually refining. I hope that my children as they look back at their journey with me, remember a mother who loves them, would do anything for them, constantly worries about them and prays that she will be able to help them move on to new adventures without her. Of course always thinking of her. Much like I know my mother did for me.

The Game of Life

My children play video games and really who doesn't these days. I have even been known to dabble in a golf game on the Wii. I can tell you it isn't pretty folks. Jaxon has several favorites that include many variations of the favored Mario games. It got me to thinking how our lives are a lot like being in a Mario game.

The fight never ends with what ever outside forces that comes to stand in our way. We have to keep moving forward. Standing still or going backwards is just not one of the options. If the character keeps moving to the "right", they will usually continue to move in the direction that keeps them moving forward. Occasionally a little side bar or bubble will appear with "notes" that tell us where or what we are suppose to be doing to keep moving forward. Which on a side note is my Jaxon's motto - Keep Moving Forward. It is from the Disney show, Meet the Robisons.

There is evil all around in one form or another. Sometimes the evil forces come in the most innocent form - even cute but they nevertheless they are dangerous and very destructive. There are portals or places that will move us onto the next level. Situations that once we have the keys that open the "door", we are allowed to move on.

As we do what is right, we get stars, hearts, or other things that are rewarded to us.

We all play at different levels. The level that I play best at may not be where another person plays well. That is why there is a beginning and expert and every level in between. There has to be a place where we can experience some level of success. Just because I have conquered a major villain, does not mean I didn't struggle to get there.

Often no matter how good I am, I just cannot pass a certain area or move forward in the game. There are occasions when no matter what I do, I expire. It is at those times that I hope that I have built up enough "lives" or good experiences to pull from that I can start anew and keep playing. In the game, I have friends who help me along the way. They are invaluable to helping me arrive at my destination. My weapons are usually the talents given to me or my character.

So in examining the world as if seen through the eyes of Mario, it really isn't too far off from what reality is like. Only I could use a little more time between what is thrown at me and definitely more motivational music. Also I could use a few more indicators when I am doing good and generally when I am just failing.

And if I am allowed to put in requests for what I want my game to be like, I would like to bounce just a little higher.

So the next time my children tell me that I just don't understand their games, I can honestly look at them and say, "I think I have a pretty good idea what it is all about. I have played this before:)"

Generations of Time

I have been born of goodly parents...and grandparents...and generations of parents that preceed those parents. There has always been the push for us as Latter-day Saints to find our ancestors but I have guilty of the "there will be a season for that and this is not it" excuse. Sorry I know that comes as a huge disappointment for those of you who thought that I was a avid geneologist. However, I have turned over a new leaf (get it, leaf on my family tree!) and I am going to try to do better. My thought process is that I can really only do temple work for one at a time anyway so if I start with one at a time, it is one more than I was doing. Ok, I know I should be doing more, but this one is going to have to have baby steps to get it done.

Anyway, I found a relative that is on my paternal grandmother's side and Alyssa is going to go do her baptism with the youth today and then I will finish it. I really am very excited to be a part of bringing progression to someone who has my genes or I guess I have hers. I remember going to the temple once - Tom and I thought we were suppose to be there to do sealings at 5 am only to find out that we were 12 hours off - so we stayed and did inititories as we didn't have time to do a session before Tom was suppose to be to work. I was so grateful that we decided to not waste the opportunity to serve as during the inititory process both the temple worker and I strongly felt that the person whose name we were doing was there. The sweet worker said with tears running down her face, "Can you feel that? She is here!" She, the woman whose name was on the pink slip of paper had lived four hundred years ago in a country far from mine during a time when religion was more of a cast system based on when and where and to whom a person was born. She had waited a long time for this opportunity and I believe she knew how important the work being done for her was to her progression. I was honored to be there that day.

I had been scanning through names and dates the other day and in the not to distant past on my mother's side of the family. I realized that my great-grandmother Hillegonda DeBoer died when I was nine years old. I do not remember her. I really don't remember anyone talking about her other than she and my great-grandfather Harm came from Holland to live in the Salt Lake Valley before my grandmother was born. That and they gave me a chest of drawers when I was born or very small which I still have in my possession. Because of this realization, I have decided that it is our responsibility to talk about our ancestors and their lives. How else do they become real to us? Or how else do we learn from their trials? I'm not talking about the preachy, "what not to do's" but respect for what they have been through and learning from it.

You know when you are a child and the teacher asks for some amazing ancestor story. Well I remember being the child who could lay claim to a relative knowing Brigham Young or something like that. Nothing too terribly exciting. Then a couple of years ago, a general authority stood up in our stake conference and told this story about a husband and wife who buried a son in Nauvoo just before the saints were drove out of the city, so they had to leave the grave and travel West. Later, the man was serving a mission and his wife had asked him to go back and rebury the child in another cemetary where he could be found later. He found the grave in disarray and thought not to move it, when a voice told him " Don't leave me here". The man moved the grave and placed a stone for identification so that future posterity would be able to find him. Everyone was so touched by the story about our responsibility to make our past part of our future. As it turned out, that husband and wife where my ancestors, Israel and Elizabeth Barlow. That would have made a great story in primary when I was younger.

Or the story of how Naomi Randell (the woman who wrote the primary song, "I am a Child of God") came to my Grandma Barlow (Helen) and asked her to put together a children's choir in Ogden so that they could sing the song. I didn't learn about that story until my grandmother died several years ago.

I have come to believe that if we want the past to become part of who we are and learn from those who have gone before, we have to know them. Learn to love who we are by staying in touch with that which is good in our own posterity. I am going to attempt to find myself by finding my ancestors. If nothing else, I will have a good story to tell the next time someone asks:)

Trust

I have been stressed a bunch lately. Some of it is stress that has come about because of the events of time. Some of the stress is the stress that I create myself. Some of it is just stress that happens from being a mom and then you put me into the equation and that doubles it. Type A personality doesn't even begin to express my mentality or demeanor. It has taken me years to "let go" of some of the control that I think that I need to have over situations. For instance, I have been the nurse manager of one clinic or another for more than fifteen years. During that time I have been in charge of other nurses and this includes scheduling. For that same amount of time, I have listened to nurses be unhappy with the scheduling mostly because they are only thinking of themselves and their own situations. I understand that. But I, for whatever reason, took this very personally even to the point of making myself sick about what was going to be said concerning the schedule. Recently, I came to the realization that I did not have to put myself through this every month and especially at holiday times, if I let them choose themselves what they would work and not work. Not always does it work out that they get exactly what they ask for but when grumbling arises, all I have to say is, "who scheduled you for that day?" Funny but rarely do I have to defend myself.

I have been racking my brain for a solution to the difficulties that we as a family are experiencing which range anywhere from financial to emotional to just simply what do we want to be when we grow up. I have made myself not just a little crazy attempting to come to a conclusion when today I attended an institute class that our Stake President puts on once a week. His subject was on the first chapters of Luke. I went with the attitude of learning and I am grateful that I did because I was most definitely taught. He talked about trust and faith. I never thought of them being interchangable in meaning and value. The commandments are there for our safety and benefit and how much do we trust or have faith in Jesus Christ that we will follow them. Do we just have a little so we rely on our own understanding and knowledge or do we turn it over to the Lord. I have fallen far short of turning it completely over to the Lord and frequently forgotten to trust that He knows what is best for me and my situations.

The other thing that President Marcum touched on was adversity. He asked who we thought we were that we didn't deserve adversity in our lives. Did we think were were above trials? Or did we think that we should just sail through life free of care or worry? After this reprove, I have attempted to rededicate myself to thinking more positive of the blessings that I have enjoyed because the Lord recognizes me, my type A personality and my constant pleadings with Him for help. He wants me to ask because it opens up the lines of communication so that He can hear and answer and I can listen and serve.