A Perfectly Worded Surprise

About five years ago, my best friend and I decided to keep a “Best Friends Journal.” We would alternate writing in it. Being the reader/writer of the pair, I would diligently write in it when it was my turn, churning out three or four pages. On the other hand, my lovely friend would write perhaps a paragraph and then misplace the journal for months at a time. It was an ongoing joke between us about how scattered brained my friend was. Of course it was just for fun, but after a few years, the journal disappeared completely, from both our hands and our minds.

Yesterday, I received a package in the mail from my best friend. After going through an unreasonable amount of packing tape and stamps, I uncovered our lost journal! She had once again found it. After laughing at the circumstances, I opened it up to the newest (and rather short) entry…and started to cry.

In just a few words, my friend was able to put all of her personality, all of her quirkiness, and all of…well her into the journal. Her scarce words moved me far more than any 600 page novel ever could. She wrote from her heart and her soul. It was absolutely beautiful.

She wrote about how it only took her 4 years to write me back and how far we have come in those four years. We are both married and have careers when, four years ago, all of this would have seemed impossibly grown-up. She was unapologetic about being herself and how she appreciates how much I accept her. I will admit that I had to sit down in the middle of my kitchen (where I was reading the journal) and let a few silent tears trail down my face.

I guess the point of this was to show you that a few beautiful words can be just as powerful as a long, eloquently written letter. You just have to find the perfect words… 

Story Hoarding

by Patricia Cates

Has anyone else out there ever had an idea stolen by a friend or colleague? Or maybe had a coworker take credit for something that you actually did at work? I sure have. More times than I care to count. It’s a jungle out there. Okay so maybe some of it dates back to elementary school, but it still haunts me to this day. Call it baggage or perhaps a small case of paranoia if you will. Like the old adage says, “Once bitten twice shy.”

Sometimes I think I really need to get over it…but it’s hard.

So how does this pertain to writing? Sadly I now fear going to a publisher or having a face to face. I fear that they are going to give my brilliant (or very poor) book pitch to another, more popular and marketable client. I even have a fear of going to a writers conference, or being in a writing group, because someone there…with more time and talent…will take my story and run with it. Am I completely nuts?

Look what happened to the mastermind/creator of the Facebook concept! This worries me.

How many times have you seen two different movie studios come out with almost the same movie within a year? (Insert answer here.)

So I now refuse to share my WIPs, and I believe it is retarding my growth as a writer. I must learn to trust at some point. Honestly I cannot think of a single person whom I can completely confide in. Every single friend I have has another friend of equal value, or a spouse, with whom they share information freely.

Contracts are broken every day…as are confidences. Not always maliciously…but broken nonetheless.

So I stay holed up like a hermit. My flash drives under lock and key. My passwords thankfully encrypted and changed regularly. The funny thing is that I am just a run-of-the-mill, stay at home mom. That being said….if there are indeed any safe places to go, I would love to know. I will need to emerge from my shell at some point.

   

The Modern Bestseller: Written By Social Media?

by Kasey Tross

Image from NicholasCarr.com

Lately I've been reading a very interesting book by Nicholas Carr called "The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains" (spoiler alert: what it's doing to our brains isn't good). It's a fascinating look at neuroplasticity and technology; specifically, a look at how technology has changed and is changing our brains. The author starts with the invention of things like maps (which increased our ability to think abstractly) and clocks (which made us start mentally quantifying time) and books/publishing (which led to the advent of silent reading- a precursor to individual learning).

Now that I'm getting into the part about the internet, I'm finding that he's bringing up some interesting concerns for us writers, like the fact that the 3 best selling novels in Japan in 2007 were all written as strings of text messages, and all written on cell phones.

No, seriously.

So here is some food for thought for you today:

"...it does seem inevitable that the Web's tendency to turn all media into social media will have a far-reaching effect on styles of reading and writing and hence on language itself. When the form of the book shifted to accommodate silent reading, one of the most important results was the development of private writing. Authors, able to assume that an attentive reader, deeply engaged both intellectually and emotionally, 'would come at last, and would thank them,' quickly jumped beyond the limits of social speech and began to explore a wealth of distinctively literary forms, many of which could exist only on the page. The new freedom of the private writer led, as we've seen, to a burst of experimentation that expanded vocabulary, extended the boundaries of syntax, and in general increased the flexibility and expressiveness of language. Now that the context of reading is again shifting, from the private page to the communal screen, authors will adapt once more. They will increasingly tailor their work to a milieu that the essayist Caleb Crain describes as 'groupiness,' where people read mainly 'for the sake of a feeling of belonging' rather than for personal enlightenment or amusement. As social concerns override literary ones, writers seem fated to eschew virtuosity and experimentation in favor of a bland but immediately accessible style. Writing will become a means for recording chatter." (pp. 106-107)

The author also says that writing will become less permanent, as that is the nature of all digital media, especially social media. He says that authors will be less likely to care about perfecting our work:

 "It seems likely that removing the sense of closure from book writing will, in time, alter writers' attitudes toward their work. The pressure to achieve perfection will diminish, along with the artistic rigor that the pressure imposed. To see how small changes in writers' assumptions and attitudes can eventually have large effects on what they write, one need only glance at the history of correspondence. A personal letter written in, say, the nineteenth century bears little resemblance to a personal e-mail or text message written today. Our indulgence in the pleasures of informality and immediacy has led to a narrowing of expressiveness and a loss of eloquence." (pp. 108-109)

So, what do you think? Will digital media and the influence of social media have authors swimming into the shallows? Are we losing an art form here? Is it already happening? Share your thoughts in the comments below!

Dopple Gang

By Beckie Carlson
I recently went on a trip with my youngest daughter to Atlanta, Georgia. I had not been to Georgia before. I used to live in Alabama and Florida (at different times), so I figured it would be mostly the same. What I didn't know was that Atlanta is Gotham City. You may not have known this, and I'm sorry if I'm ruining some fantasy-other-wordliness aspect of Gotham City, but....it's in Georgia.
Our adventure began when we got the rental car and headed out in the safe hands of GPS (aka evil maniacal devil guide) to our hotel. I don't know when I decided Siri was a reliable source again. She has burned me way too many times in the past for me to have any sane reason to trust her, but here I was, across the country in the middle of a rainy night, trusting my life to the voice in my phone with a desire to kill me.
How do I know she wants to kill me? Let's recap. I have gotten lost more times than not when using her. Usually it is because she decides to tell me to take U turns in the middle of freeways or busy roads. Other times it is because she leads me to my destination which actually turns out to be a lonely spot in the middle of nowhere, perfect for murder. This time, it was to the back side of a prison. Yes, just pull into the guarded driveway...don't mind the guns..."your destination is on the right"....sure it is. I didn't fall for it.
I had a feeling that no matter what Siri said, I should probably head towards the taller, better lighted buildings in the distance. By some miracle, we ended up at our hotel. I prefer to believe it was devine guidance. On the way, we discovered we were in Gotham. It wasn't hard to tell, all we had to do was look up. The buildings were somewhat shrouded in fog. Did I mention it was raining? Constantly? The entire weekend? The fog swirled around the tops of the buildings. One building in particular had lights shining off the top, cutting through the fog, just waiting for the Bat signal to be blasted into the sky. It was Gotham. I'm sure of it. If that wasn't enough proof, the sirens that screamed all night were the clincher. I didn't actually SEE Batman, but I'm pretty sure I saw something dark and caped streak past my 9th floor hotel window in the middle of the night.
The rest of our trip went fairly well. We went to a Art walk/block party, very much NOT like the art walks here in Arizona. I expected to see cool art that made my mind scream, "How did they think of that!?" like what happens at the art walks here. Instead, what my mind was screaming was more of a, "WHY did they think of that? What is wrong with them!?" My daughter assured me it was all about the experience, not the product. That had to be the only resoning behind the live music in the "Mammal Bar" which turned out to be a very warm, over crowded room (bar), with a group of adult size toddlers playing on xylophones, recorders, and bongos....with no apparent melody in common. My brain hurt and I wanted to curl up with something familiar, like a cactus. It was painful.
All in all, I totally enjoyed my trip with my daughter. She is an awesome person. I'd want to be her friend if we weren't related. She's totally cool. She is also blessed/cursed with the same talent as I have. We both see celebrity faces in random people. On this trip we saw young DiCaprio, Ice T's uncle, A white Bruno Mars, and the perfect blend of Bradley Cooper and Will Arnett. I admit to following the latter around with my eyes for quite a while and even snapping a picture. Is that weird? It's not like I'm going to stalk him or google his picture online and find out his name and whether or not that girl with him was his girlfriend or send him bunnies or anything, it was purely for research.
Cause I said so.
Photo credit: www.dreamstime.com

The Truest Sacrifice

I’m going to begin with a reboot of the story of the Rich Young Ruler.

The not-at-all rich, not at all young, Mom prayed to ask the Lord, “what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” He answered, “Thou knowest the commandments. Love God, love thy neighbor, No killing, no stealing, no adultery, be honest…”

The mother interrupted and said, “Lord, I do all of that stuff (remembers the "be honest" thing)—or at least, I’m trying my hardest. What else do I need to do? What’s the secret?”

The Lord said, “Maybe thou shouldst go read what Joseph Smith said about sacrifice.”

Among many things about sacrifice that the Prophet Joseph Smith said, here are a few (from Lectures on Faith 6):

“An actual knowledge to any person, that the course of life which he pursues is according to the will of God, is essentially necessary to enable him to have that confidence in God without which no person can obtain eternal life … and unless they have an actual knowledge that the course they are pursuing is according to the will of God they will grow weary in their minds and faint … and it is through the medium of the sacrifice of all earthly things that men do actually know that they are doing the things that are well pleasing in the sight of God. …“It was in offering sacrifices that Abel, the first martyr, obtained knowledge that he was accepted of God. And from the days of righteous Abel to the present time, the knowledge that men have that they are accepted in the sight of God is obtained by offering sacrifice.“But those who have not made this sacrifice to God do not know that the course which they pursue is well pleasing in his sight; for whatever may be their belief or their opinion, it is a matter of doubt and uncertainty in their mind; and where doubt and uncertainty are there faith is not, nor can it be. For doubt and faith do not exist in the same person at the same time; so that persons whose minds are under doubts and fears cannot have unshaken confidence; and where unshaken confidence is not there faith is weak; and where faith is weak the persons will not be able to contend against all opposition, tribulations, and afflictions which they will have to encounter in order to be heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ Jesus; and they will grow weary in their minds, and the adversary will have power over them and destroy them.”

That’s a lot. It's deep stuff. The gist is that we can’t know that what we are doing in our lives is exactly what the Lord wants us to do, unless we offer up to Him everything that we have, and are. And if we aren’t utterly confident that our course in life is pleasing to God, we can’t have absolute faith. If we don’t have that faith, we will falter and risk being overcome and losing our way.

What are we willing to sacrifice? What do we hold back from the altar? 

I know that there are times I am terrified that Heavenly Father will ask me to let a child go.

When Simon was a newborn, I would sit in the chair and feed him or rock him, and I sat there sobbing, holding a perfect little baby, so grateful to have him, yet so afraid that it was only until Heavenly Father figured out that he was missing: 

(imaginary Heavenly Father conversation:)

Hey! Where'd Simon go? (muffled angel answers)

What? Who sent him down there?  I miss him! Bring him back, NOW!

Yes. I was truly convinced that any moment, I would have to give him back. And it still scares me to think of losing any one of my children, or my husband. I'm pretty sure I'm holding them back from the altar, or at least using my biggest puppy dog eyes and looking up at Heavenly Father begging him to not have that be something asked of me. So I am well aware that I may be lacking in the "willing to sacrifice" department. 

Some sacrifices are harder to make than others. 

I like the story of King Lamoni’s father. When he was taught the Gospel, he cried out in mighty prayer, begging to be saved, and promised to “give up all his sins” to know God. 

Are we willing to sacrifice, to give up, our favorite sins? This is what Moroni calls “denying yourselves of all ungodliness.”

Doctrine and Covenants 121: says:

“Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God; and the doctrine of the priesthood shall distil upon thy soul as the dews from heaven. The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth”

Speaking of how our righteousness impacts our confidence, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland told this story. He says:

The conference concluded with a testimony meeting in which a handsome, young returned missionary stood up to bear his testimony. He looked good, clean, and confident—just like a returned missionary should look.

As he began to speak, tears came to his eyes. He said he was grateful to stand in the midst of such a terrific group of young Latter-day Saints and to feel good about the life he was trying to lead. But that feeling had only been possible, he said, because of an experience he had had a few years earlier, an experience that had shaped his life forever.He then told of coming home from a date shortly after he had been ordained an elder at age 18. Something had happened on this date of which he was not proud. To this day I do not know the nature of the incident, but it was significant enough to him to have affected his spirit and his self-esteem.As he sat in his car for a while in the driveway of his own home, thinking things through and feeling genuine sorrow for whatever had happened, his nonmember mother came running frantically from the house straight to his car. In an instant she conveyed that this boy’s younger brother had just fallen in the home, had hit his head sharply and was having some kind of seizure or convulsion. The nonmember father had immediately called for an ambulance, but it would take some time at best for help to come.“Come and do something,” she cried. “Isn’t there something you do in your Church at times like this? You have their priesthood. Come and do something.”His mother didn’t know a lot about the Church at that point, but she knew something of priesthood blessings. Nevertheless, on this night when someone he loved dearly needed his faith and his strength, this young man could not respond. Given the feelings he had just been wrestling with and the compromise he felt he had just made—whatever that was—he could not bring himself to go before the Lord and ask for the blessing that was needed.He bolted from the car and ran down the street to the home of a worthy older man who had befriended him in the ward ever since the boy’s conversion two or three years earlier. An explanation was given, and the two were back at the house still well before the paramedics arrived. The happy ending of this story as told in that testimony meeting was that this older man instantly gave a sweet, powerful priesthood blessing, leaving the injured child stable and resting by the time medical help arrived. A quick trip to the hospital and a thorough exam there revealed no permanent damage had been done. A very fearful moment for this family had passed.Then the returned missionary of whom I speak said this: “No one who has not faced what I faced that night will ever know the shame I felt and the sorrow I bore for not feeling worthy to use the priesthood I held. It is an even more painful memory for me because it was my own little brother who needed me and my beloved nonmember parents who were so fearful and who had a right to expect more of me. But as I stand before you today, I can promise you this,” he said. “I am not perfect, but from that night onward I have never done anything that would keep me from going before the Lord with confidence and asking for His help when it is needed. Personal worthiness is a battle in this world in which we live,” he acknowledged, “but it is a battle I am winning. I have felt the finger of condemnation pointing at me once in my life, and I don’t intend to feel it ever again if I can do anything about it. And, of course,” he concluded, “I can do everything about it.”

Are we willing to sacrifice our favorite sins in order to have confidence in front of our Heavenly Father? 

I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God,
 that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice,
holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.

Elder Neal A Maxwell said, “The submission of one’s will is really the only uniquely personal thing we have to place on God’s altar. The many other things we ‘give’ … are actually the things He has already given or loaned to us.”  

The Savior taught the Nephites after his resurrection:

“Ye shall offer up unto me no more the shedding of blood; yea, your sacrifices and your burnt offerings shall be done away. … And ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit. And whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost” (3 Nephi 9:19-20).

To have a broken heart and a contrite spirit is to be humble and receptive to the will of God and to the counsel of those He has called to lead His Church. It also means to feel deep sorrow for sin and a sincere desire to repent.

The prophet Lehi emphasized the importance of offering this sacrifice: “Behold, [Christ] offereth himself a sacrifice for sin, to answer the ends of the law, unto all those who have a broken heart and a contrite spirit; and unto none else can the ends of the law be answered” (2 Nephi 2:7).

Those who show their willingness to sacrifice as the Lord has commanded will be accepted by Him. He taught in Doctrine and Covenant 97:8: “All … who know their hearts are honest, and are broken, and their spirits contrite, and are willing to observe their covenants by sacrifice—yea, every sacrifice which I, the Lord, shall command—they are accepted of me” (D&C 97:8).

Elder Russell M. Nelson has taught: 

“We are still commanded to sacrifice, but not by shedding blood of animals. Our highest sense of sacrifice is achieved as we make ourselves more sacred or holy. This we do by our obedience to the commandments of God. Thus, the laws of obedience and sacrifice are indelibly intertwined. … As we comply with these and other commandments, something wonderful happens to us. … We become more sacred and holy—[more] like our Lord!” (“Lessons from Eve,” Ensign, Nov. 1987, 88).

I love what Elder Neal A. Maxwell said:

“Real, personal sacrifice never was placing an animal on the altar. Instead, it is a willingness to put the animal in us upon the altar and letting it be consumed!” 

It is my hope and prayer that each of us, and especially myself, can place the parts of ourselves, the natural man, the animal, upon the altar and let go of our sins. I know that the Savior has already paid the price to have our sins be consumed and to purify us so that we can be clean. I know that as we sacrifice whatever it is that the Lord asks of us, --even our favorite sins-- that we will be strengthened and perfected. 

The Slump I Never Expected

by Mare Ball @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

In July, I self-published a non-fiction ebook called The 12 Days of Christmas. I worked on it for four years. I was obsessed with it for four years. I loved it, then hated it, for four years. I edited close to 500 pictures for four years. I pulled my hair out and drove my family nuts May through July, while I educated myself on the self-publication process.

And then...there it was, online July 9, 2015: THE 12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE. (my telling of our 20+ years of doing a wonderful Christmas project. If you have kids and want to have an adventure this holiday season, check it out. For Nook readers, the book is HERE)

It was a four-year pregnancy with a three-month delivery. It was my fourth baby. We celebrated with dinner out and my favorite wine.

The next day, I got up and didn't know what to do with myself.

It's a lag that's gone on for two months now.

Yes, I'm marketing the book and getting some interviews and doing give-aways and all that. I'm mainly attending to a bunch of emails. But it's not the same. The creative process for this endeavor is over.  And it's very strange. Not having a "project" feels like I'm walking around with only one arm. 

I've asked myself more than once recently, What did I do before I starting working on this book?  I have to admit, I don't remember. I was four years younger, so my memory has probably deteriorated a bit.

I just know I now have hours of TV options in the evening. My Saturdays are suddenly open. I'm not up 'til two a.m. anymore trying to write a tutorial about how to make a snowflake out of Q-tips.  Life is just so different when you don't have a monkey (although beloved) on your back.

I think I'm in mourning. Though I'm certainly busy with regular day activities, I feel like a dear friend has moved away.

I'm sure this feeling will pass. I'm directing myself take to new tasks. I'm making a baby quilt for our first grand child. I reorganized my craft room. I'm finally sorting through all the paperwork on my desk, stuff I haven't looked at in two years. I'm going to read Jen Hatmaker's new book, For The Love. I'm beginning to plan Thanksgiving.

Life will move on, and eventually I believe I will no longer feel this unexpected loss in my life. I still write for three blogs, and I have a novel (I wrote in 1984) I haven't looked at in six years. Who knows what the next four years will bring.

I'm simply grateful I can check one thing off my bucket list: publish my book.

Faith Precedes Miracles: My Adoption Journey

by Katy White

Six months ago, I was blessed to adopt my second child. This is a very intimate post, but I've been asked by a lot of loved ones about our adoption journey, so be prepared for something long and personal. 

The story of how we found our son is pretty amazing to us. Last year when we knew we wanted to adopt again, we looked at a lot of options to do so, including going through various adoption websites and agencies. In the end, we had a strong feeling that we shouldn't do any of those things but should instead try spreading the word through social media. We prayed to be guided on how to do that, and in mid-December, a friend texted me telling me that she'd seen something on Facebook about an adoption awareness challenge. My husband and I talked it over and felt like we should do it.

On January 1st, we started a 60 day social media challenge, where we (along with other hopeful adoptive parents) posted a picture with some information about us on all our social media platforms. Every day had a different focus--our home, our favorite foods, our most cherished traditions, etc. It was difficult to make every day informative, fun, and uniquely us, and I spent a lot of time on every post (a lot of time.)  We got a great response from our friends and family, and it meant a lot to us to see people sharing our posts in support of us. 

On day 36, a friend from an old ward (church congregation) shared one of my posts with her followers. Shortly after she posted, a woman replied telling my friend to have us reach out to her husband. 

Interestingly, the woman who responded was the daughter of our bishop and my visiting teaching companion in an old ward, the same ward where my friend still lives. The woman who responded is married to an attorney who facilitates adoptions for Marshallese families who live in the States (about 10% of the Marshallese population lives in and around Arkansas; the attorney served his mission in the Marshall Islands, so he speaks the language fluently and knows the people and their culture very well). Oddly enough, my old VT companion had actually mentioned him to me back when we were doing fertility treatments, but I didn't think twice about it at the time. My friend's referral couldn't have been more timely.


We spoke to the attorney on February 26th, and he told us that he had some placements to make soon and that we could be chosen by a birth mom within a month (which we didn't even remotely believe--we'd been in the praying-for-a-baby business for too long). But then three weeks later (March 14th), we got a phone call saying a birth mom had picked us and was due in a month. We were floored, and I can't begin to explain how excited and happy we felt. But almost immediately afterwards, I was struck with almost crippling anxiety that I couldn't shake. I was terrified this anxiety was a sign from Heavenly Father that we shouldn't adopt. I'd never felt real anxiety before, and it was awful. I couldn't sleep or focus on anything. I wanted to move forward, and when I fasted and prayed about doing so, I would feel peace instantly. But then it would be replaced with overwhelming anxiety again. I didn't know what to do.

All the while, I had this strong feeling in the back of my mind that I can't really explain, but it was essentially this: E (our daughter) was the child of my hope; my next would be the child of my faith. With E, my mom, who passed away when I was little, appeared to multiple members of the birth family (and I look just like her, so they recognized me instantly when they found our profile). There was no question about the Lord's will for any of us. But with this...I was afraid of making a mistake. I wasn't looking for another miracle, just an answer to my prayers, but the constant feelings of panic were obscuring my ability to receive that answer.  

After about three or four days of this, I felt prompted to call a dear friend who has dealt with anxiety for years. I told her everything I was feeling, and after she listened to me, she said, "I don't know if this is your baby or not, but I can tell you this: the Lord doesn't work in anxiety." 

Immediately, I felt the Spirit so strongly, the anxiety disappeared. It was an unquestionable confirmation that her words were true. I felt like I could see and think through things with complete clarity, and suddenly, the opportunity we were being presented with felt incredible and exciting again. When my husband and I talked and prayed that night, it was so obvious to us that everything about this situation was a direct answer to our prayers. We had felt we needed to do a social media effort instead of going through an agency. We had been led to a challenge that led a friend of ours to share a post, which in turn led us to our attorney, who led us to our birth mom. Everything about the situation was the result of very specific prayers, not just by us, but by our loved ones. It felt perfectly right.

The next day, we reached out to our attorney and told him we wanted to proceed.
 
By the end of the following week, we got the phone call that our birth mom had gone into labor three weeks early! After a full day of scrambling to get our last doctor's appointments and paperwork signed off, we packed up and were on a plane with our daughter the next morning to Arkansas, where our birth mom and baby were. Our daughter couldn't have been sweeter or more patient the whole day, despite the unholy hour of our wake-up and departure. We were all filled with a nervous excitement. 

When we finally walked into the hospital room and laid eyes on our son, the Spirit in the room was undeniable. I knew my baby, knew his soul. In that moment, I knew I'd been looking for and waiting for HIM, not just for a baby. It was like a missing puzzle piece was finally put in place. I just knew. 

After placement was official, I reached out to my friend who had connected us with our attorney. She told me how happy she was, and she told me her side of the story. In her words: 

This quote has been on our wall for the last 8 years. I've always been a firm believer that simple things make a big difference. I try to follow through on promptings I get to do good, but honestly, I have about a 65% follow through rate.  

These past months our friends were hoping to adopt and I felt prompted to pray with all my might and repost their message on my accounts. That led to a comment which I followed through on and a few FB conversations and now my sweet friend has a baby in her arms (obviously they had to do much more than that but my role was easy). Moral of the story: God knows we are imperfect. He knows we often fail. But often He prompts us to do small and simple things to bring about miracles...even if we only have a 65% follow through rate.

In private, she shared a little more of the story with me, including a comment that profoundly struck me. She said she felt my mom was watching over this baby, just as she was for my daughter. Then she said that she felt there was a Relief Society of sisters on the other side of the veil from all nations watching over us (and people in our situations). The truth of her words speaks to my soul.
  
Miracles happen. They have happened to me. In every way, I know that my baby boy was intended to be a part of my family (and I won't get into all of those reasons). He brings so much joy and love to our world. He truly is the child of my faith.

Punk time

By Beckie Carlson

I saw a post on Facebook today where a woman announced she had been married to her husband for 10,547...(or so) days. It caught me off guard. I thought we had moved on to months or years for big stuff like that. I did make me think though, what if we did keep track of everything in days or hours or even minutes. I wonder if we would be more conscious of how we spent our time?

A week isn't such a big deal to spend on a project. But what if we said we spent 168 hours doing something. Much more impressive. Looking back on my life, I had to wonder how much more impressive my accomplishments would look/feel if I changed the measurement device. These are all approximate.....Enjoy:

I was pregnant for 38,880 hours of my life.

I was married for 170,820 hours.

I did laundry for 2600 hours.

I went to school (college) for 5460 hours.

I was in the kitchen for 54,600 hours.

I didn't want to add up the hours on Facebook or other pointless social media because I was afraid I would go into a severe depression and jump off something high.

I also didn't add up the hours I've spent at the gym...it would be embarrassing. I don't even know the hours my gym is open. I feel more like I should write the money I spend on my membership off as a donation. I pay, but I get nothing out of it.

When it comes down to it, I don't think the time we spend doing something is really the point. I'm much more concerned with the quality of how my time is spent. I may have spent way too many hours/days/weeks watching movies, but I was usually with my kids and we were laughing together. I may have spent an obscene amount of time reading, but now I am extremely well versed and seemingly clever. I may have stayed up for hours watching netflix, but now I'm...well, tired. I don't think there is really a benefit to that one, except I do leg lifts to justify it.

How ever you spend your time, it is yours. It's really all we have, til it's gone. So, use it!

Cause I said so.

Photo credit: ashleyssuperiorcadproject.wordpress.com

Perfection, I must have prefection!

By Lacey Gunter

As my kids and I wandered the parking lot of the local, hip shopping center hosting a chalk art festival this weekend, I was fascinated by things people could do with several pieces of chalk and a parking spot. You can look at the pictures in this post to see what I mean. It was beautiful, it was amazing and quite frankly it was intimidating.

 At the center of the shopping plaza they were handing out a piece of chalk to whoever wanted to draw on the sidewalk areas not being used by the artists. My children gladly jumped at the chalk and immediately took to the sidewalks leaving their little mark on the plaza. I reluctantly grabbed a piece of chalk and went and sat by where my kids were drawing.  I thought about drawing something.  But after seeing such masterpieces in such vivid colors and detail, I looked at my single color of chalk and shrank at the task.  I racked my brain trying to think of what I could possibly draw that would look nice in just one color. All the while, my kids were relishing in the enjoyment of the moment, with little care as to whether their drawing stacked up to even the scribbles on the sidewalk next to them, let alone the master pieces in the parking lot. Who cares? They were having fun and drawing from their heart and that is all that really mattered to them.

 Why couldn't I be as free as them and draw because it was fun? Sure, I still had on my work clothes from earlier that day, but I could have at least manged to squat long enough to scribble out my name in fancy letters or some cute doodle.

Ah, perfectionism it is such a double edged sword. You can bet all those artists who spent hours, maybe days, slaving over their masterpieces in a parking lot stall were seeking for perfection. It is often how such amazing talent and such beautiful pieces of art come to be. And, yet, that same force which can drive an individual to do such amazing things can also cripple them from ever starting the task if it seems too difficult or they feel inferior to their competitors.

Does this ever happen to you with your writing? It does sometimes for me. If I don't quite know how to make a story great, I often have a difficult time getting myself to start on it.  I can also spend a week slaving over a single sentence, unwilling to move on because I know it is not perfect like I want it.

Perfectionism can definitely be a barrier sometimes. But it also seems like our ultra competitive, obsession based culture demands it. So how do we cope with this?  I don't have a lot of great answers, but here are few things I tell myself, that help me:

1. Great works of art and writing come in lots of different packages. Not every art that speaks to my soul is done in the same style as a da Vinci.  I can be just as fascinated with a beautifully cartoonish picture book. And a comical and silly chapter book can be just as wonderful to my children as a life changing novel can be to me. So my version of writing doesn't have to look or be like the lastest New York Times bestseller to be worthwhile.

2. It's okay to be by yourself away from the critiquing eyes of others when you want to try something new. You don't have to go to the center of the plaza to attempt a chalk art master piece as long as you are willing to try it out by yourself in the privacy of your own home.  Just be sure to promise yourself you will share your talents later when you are no longer a novice. 


3. Even the masters had to learn to be masters.  Don't look at the ending product of years of study and expect to achieve the same for yourself after only days or weeks. It doesn't mean you couldn't or can't achieve that level of skill, you just have to put in the time and effort.

So what about you? Are any of you MMW's perfectionists when it comes to your writing?  How has it helped you and how do you overcome the struggles? And don't worry, I'm not looking for the perfect answer.

Write Like a Child

Being an English teacher, I get to see thousands of stories pass through my classroom each day. I’ve had stories about Winnie the Pooh and Tigger. I’ve had princesses and Lords of Darkness. I’ve even had an amazingly weird/cool story that was reminiscent of Neil Gaiman.

Although my students may not be the best writers in the world, the potential is there. They are incredibly creative and their imagination has yet to hit the wall of reality. They write what they are feeling and what is going on in their drama filled world. Their love stories are cheesy, yet pure. They write of adventure and heroes like they are really living it. Their hopes and dreams come through the page.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat at my desk at the end of the day, re-reading these stories. They are so inspiring and uplifting. I used to think that teaching writing was a daunting task, but it’s not. Teaching the grammar, spelling, punctuation etc. is the daunting part. But the creativity and stories are already there. They just have to be cleaned up a bit.

The reason I’m telling you this is because I think we should all free write like this. Maybe not all the time, but perhaps every once in a while. Just let go and write what’s in your heart. Don’t worry about spelling or grammar. Just write!