hearing His voice.

i used to think i was different, and not in a good way.

i would listen to them, standing at the pulpit, wiping their eyes and accidentally scraping their tissue across the microphone with a soft whiiiiiissshhh.  they would testify of the miracle that had occurred, the moment they heard God's voice telling them to get out of the fast lane now! while seconds later they sat safely a lane over in the freeway, horrified, as the semi truck that had previously driven behind them careened into the minivan that had previously been in front of them. i watched their faces crumple in gratitude as they announced to the congregation that their prayer was answered in exactly the way they needed, curing an illness they had been informed was incurable.  i listened to them weep over the day they used their last stamp and last check to send their tithing off in the mail, and how the next day some sort of money would be found so they had just the right amount to pay the overdue rent.

i'm not sure where i came up with the name, but i started calling these stories and testimonies "Angel Moroni Moments."  these examples were told to us sitting in the pews below, and i knew even as a young girl that they were told with the intent to promote and build my faith, while they testified of their own.

surprisingly, i realized some time later in life that they had the opposite effect on me.

the more i heard of these miraculous moments, the more inadequate i felt.  i must not be good enough yet, to hear Him warn me of upcoming danger, i would tell myself.  i must try harder.  if i try hard enough, and am better, and good enough, then he will speak to me/cure my disease/fill my bank account.  i just know it.  i'm not going to be perfect, they told me i never will, but

i
have
to
be
better.

growing up with this mentality can be dangerous for anyone, but especially for someone who was already predispositioned to feel not good enough.  i constantly doubted and questioned my abilities to even deserve God's presence with me as i fumbled my way through life, and for 18 years had no idea how to recognize Him, if He actually was there.  i read poems about footprints in the sand and being carried through trials, and they seemed nice enough, but i doubted their validity.  i wondered if people said these things to just make themselves feel better when they went through a rough patch in their lives, to give them something to hold onto and believe in.

i had read The Book of Mormon a couple of times beginning to end, taking Moroni's challenge each time i finished. i prayed and asked if it was true.  i would stand up after kneeling, and wait.

nothing??

i questioned the nothing, because maybe it was actually peace?  not nothing?  was this what peace was supposed to feel like?  there was no booming voice, or even quiet whisper, that i could hear or recognize.  and i had heard the stories, and realized deep down that i wanted what they had spoken of. i wanted to feel

something.

because either these people i had listened to all of these years were delusional, or they weren't.  it felt as simple as that.

so, i decided to take matters into my own hands.

i was spending my summer up in jackson hole, wyoming, a place that made me come alive from the inside out.  the majestic teton mountains spiking and peaking over a calm lake enveloped by hundreds of thick, green pine trees was where i found sanctuary.  this place spoke to my soul, and as i finished the last chapter of the Book of Mormon yet again, i knew that if i was going to hear God's voice speak to me, it would be when i was living surrounded by some of the most beautiful landscape He had created.

it was after 2 o'clock in the morning when i finished reading the final "Amen." and closed the book.  the rest of the rental home was dark, and quiet.  i was laying on the couch, which was my make-shift bed for the summer, and i stretched and looked over the back of it, squinting to see the tiny fluorescent green numbers of the clock on the stove in the kitchen.

i sat there for a minute, thinking.  an idea came to me, so i reached over, turning off the small lamp on the side table, and rolled off of the couch and onto my knees.  i had heard of others praying to God like he was there, standing in the room, but i wasn't sure about this.  i had been trained to speak formally, using "thee's" and "thou's" as a token of respect.  i didn't want to be disrespectful, but i wanted it to feel real...maybe for the first time in my entire life.

i closed my eyes, and started to speak, beginning the same way i had began all of my prayers.  "dear Heavenly Father..."

and then, the words poured out of me.  frustration and questioning became the theme of the prayer, asking aloud why i wasn't good enough to feel it.  to know.  and to know in the way people so confidently said, "i know it's true."  did they really know?  and if so, how?  and how could i get there? as i worked out my thoughts, the frustration turned to a challenge.  not me challenging myself,

i was challenging Him.

i said that i had an idea of what He felt like when he spoke to me, but i wasn't sure.  i described the chills starting from my lower back, working their way up and over my shoulders, the goosebumps that would inevitably line my arms, the tears that would easily spring to my eyes.  but, i said, this could just be me.

maybe all of this time, it's just been me, not really You, i said.

so, i told Him that i wanted Him to leave me alone, for 5 minutes.  to not let me feel Him near me.  to quiet whatever voice that may have possibly been speaking to my spirit for years, and to let me do this on my own.  i wanted to see if i could mimic this same feeling.  truthfully?  i was fairly confident that i could.

okay?  deal?  i asked.

silence.

i peeked over the couch again to look at the clock once more.

2:13.

here we go, i said to myself.  and knelt down again.  for those five minutes, i did everything i could think of.  i conjured up my most spiritual memories, and the feelings i had when i was in church, or on the temple grounds.  i thought of testimonies of those who were closest to me.  i thought of religious movies i had watched, and replayed scenes from their most inspiring moments.  i tried to cry, and even resorted to opening up the book of mormon to read 3 Nephi, which has always been my favorite part of The Book of Mormon. after all of this, i looked up at the clock.

2:19.

i was one minute past my time limit. and i had come up with nothing.  i knelt down again.

"well, i'm back,"  i announced to the darkness.  "and i couldn't do it.  but...can you?"  i challenged again.  i told Him that it was His turn.  but along with my challenge came a promise.  "if i can feel You, even if it's just this once for the rest of my life, i promise to never ever doubt this feeling.  i will never question whether it was really You, and not me.  i will never minimize it to myself or others.  and if i can continue to feel this feeling throughout my life, i promise to never doubt that You are here with me, and that this may not be how you speak to everyone, but this is the way You speak to me."

"okay," i whispered nervously.  suddenly i realized that if i didn't feel anything, what would i do after that? i hadn't thought through this spur of the moment challenge.  i resolved to deal with that when/if it happened.

"um, it's Your turn now."

and as i ended that sentence, immediately the chills started in my lower back, so strongly that i almost gasped.  the goosebumps covered not only my arms but my legs, and the tears began pouring down my face.  i knelt there, and just let myself feel Him cover me from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet.  after a few minutes, i spoke aloud again, and my prayer turned from a challenge to gratitude.

"so this is You.  it's so nice to know, thank you.  now, since i know now this is You, i have some questions for you."

my answers came again, in the same form.

ever since that night of challenging God, this is how i've been communicating with Him.  it wasn't an "Angel Moroni Moment," so to speak, and i've never shared the experience over a pulpit.  there was no life-saving miracle, but it was what i needed to stop wondering what He sounded like for me.

even though it took me years to be able to see His presence in my life, in His many different forms, it was the beginning of my recognition of Him.  and that night, it was what i needed to hear the voice that had been there all along.

finding the worth of a soul. {on mormon feminism and wearing THOSE PANTS!!}

I grew up feeling unequal and unworthy.  Feeling less than.  

Was it unequal specifically to men?  No, the inadequacy I felt had no boundaries, did not differentiate between race, color, gender, religion.  It was all encompassing and all-consuming.  

I have mentioned before that I also grew up believing that God's unconditional love did not apply to me.  That somehow I was missed, skipped over unnoticed, or did not deserve it.  I mention this again to talk about a different aspect of the places of my life--specifically in my LDS religion--where this idea and belief was affected.  

My religion is thick with culture.  One of my friends in high school was not Mormon and I remember his religion being the topic of conversation once, or maybe twice a year.  On Christmas and then occasionally on Easter.  This wasn't because we weren't open to talking about it, but more because these were the only times he would actually talk about attending his church.  As a young girl, I couldn't grasp the concept that religion did not mean giving of your entire life to dedicate to it.  Sundays were sacred and focused specifically on God and Jesus--whether it was attending a meeting to talk about Him, or following up those hours after the meetings to listen to music about Him, read articles and books written about Him, and spend the day thinking and doing as He did.  And it didn't stop on Sundays.  Throughout the week I attended family activities, meetings, and group service projects.  What I'm saying is this: as a Mormon, the religion becomes a way of life.

I also grew up fearing God.  Don't get me wrong, I think a little dose of God-fear can do a soul some good, but I took it to a place of unhealthy.  I was raised in a very black and white world:  don't consume alcohol, don't smoke, don't do drugs, don't have sex before you get married.  No rated R movies, don't date until you're 16, and moderation in all things.  Forgive 70 times 70, turn the other cheek, strive for perfection.  Wear skirts to the knees, one-piece swimming suits, and no swearing.  The list continues on.  I believed that if I--or anyone that I associated with--went against any of these rules, that it meant they were bad.  Naughty.  Rotten to the core.  The black sheep.  

And that...obviously...I, or they, would be disappointing God and he would no longer love or bless the sinner if there was any sort of rebellion against any of these expectations. I remember consciously thinking this about myself or others around me if we strayed, even just for just a small fraction of time.  

I know that this way of thinking is what fed upon my already planted seed of shame and unworthiness. Combined with other circumstances in my life, it is what created the perfect storm to attempt to squash the thread of self-worth that I was so desperately clinging onto, destroying it to become almost obsolete.  

When I finally came to the end of my frayed, self-deprecating rope, I had the choice to dig myself out.  But that meant truly finding a self-worth that was not built upon the often dangerous and even more often--faulty--opinions of others.  It was a heart-wrenching process, and caused somewhat of an identity crisis for a while.  

There has been a lot of talk of Mormon Feminism around these parts lately.  Now there is a growing number of women who are ready to show their feminism by wearing pants to church on Sunday.  From what I have read and researched, it appears there are many Mormon women who feel they have been dealt with unjustly, and they are tired of it.  They are demanding equality!  Respect!  For someone to finally stand up and say they have worth by allowing them to bless, ordain, hold specific callings, and pray over a pulpit!  To band with other women who feel this way and not feel alone anymore!

And, from what I gather, they want to see tangible results, not just hear someone say it.  But for it to be proven to them, in the form of:

-being able to hold the priesthood, along with other callings that are currently only held by men of the church
-going on a mission for a full 2 years instead of 18 months, and being allowed to leave on that mission at the same age as the young men leave
-feeling supported when they choose to work outside the home instead of rear children
-not feel labeled as a failure if they are un-married or child-less
-being allowed to say a prayer over the pulpit during General Conference
-balancing the budget between male and female extra-curricular groups and events so that it is the same amount for both sides

I know there are countless others, these are just the main points I've heard/read repeatedly.

Now.  I can't recall any specific times in my life where I have actually felt from another member of my religion that women are not worth as much as men.  I didn't have a traumatic experience where I was yelled at and told that I was less than by a male member of my ward.  I didn't look upon men in callings of authority as above me and all other females.  I just didn't.  

I understand though, there are women who have had those experiences, and I don't take them lightly.  I don't say, "just get over it" to them, even if I haven't felt their specific pain.  Pain is pain, and should be treated as such, regardless of whether I deem it pain-worthy or not.  

I have been in many situations where I was told by both actions and words of an individual that I was not worth much.  Not directed toward all women, but me in particular.  So I know the feeling, I know the pain, and I know what it does to someone's spirit when they actually believe the lies of their worth that are told to them by someone who is inflicting hurt.  

But what I feel about this Mormon Feminism wave, that seems to be gathering more and more force as it continues to progress, is this:

no one can define your worth for you except for you and God.

And whether or not you're granted the priesthood some day, or your mission is extended 6 months, or you're praised for your career choice outside of the home, or there is a parade thrown for you with every single member of your ward attending because you're unwed and not a mother, or you get the phone call from one of the higher-ups, requesting for you to pray during the Spring Session of conference next week, or you get to go on a boating excursion with the new and improved budget....

Those things may provide a temporary relief from your pain, but it will not cure it.  

I have come to know this in a very personal way.  Because it didn't matter how many times someone told me I was beautiful.  Or how many times someone's actions or words said that I had earned--and deserved--their love, or the various ways that I was shown and told that I was good and did have actual worth, 

those good experiences did not cure me because I did not believe it.

I chose to instead believe the ugly lies and thoughts and actions of the imperfect people who told me the opposite.  But guess who's fault that was?  Not the abuser's, not the disgusting pig of a boyfriend, not the teacher's or the bishop's or the prophet's....

It was mine.  My choice to believe it.  My choice to let it fester inside, and build and cause anger and bitterness with tentacles that reached and created,

a victim.  

Which in turn, led to a great struggle.  The tiny slice of my self-worth that was still in there, the last shred of my dignity began to fight this self-loathing victim.  It scratched and screamed and clawed and decided to finally DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT TO MAKE SOMEONE SEE THAT I HAD WORTH!!

When really, the only person who needed to see it and recognize it, 

was me.  

But it worked. This soul-wrenching temper tantrum.  In an extremely painful way...it worked.  I was brought to my knees, and found myself begging God to help me see my way through it and start to truly love myself for the first time.  To rid my spirit of the shame and loathing, to rip the tentacles from my heart and thoughts so I could see a glimpse of clarity for the first time in my life.  Looking back now, almost 3 years down the road from then, I am no longer

a victim.  

The great thing about choosing, even if at first you choose unwisely, you can always change your mind and choose a different path. 

Truthfully, for a while I did have to separate my way of thinking from the culture of my religion.  I didn't stop going to church, but as I walked through the double doors, I began shedding the skin of the little girl who believed she was unworthy if she made a mistake, or didn't live up to the "potential" of what the culture told her she needed to.  The imperfect culture and imperfect people of the church truly give it such a bad name, and a hard reputation to defend sometimes. 

As I shed that skin, my heart ached to find a world inside of this religion that was no longer black and white, right and wrong, good and bad.  Whether it could be defined as "gray" or not I don't know, all I knew was that I wanted to be able to see past another's actions and find their worth, regardless of their choices, because I needed so badly to see my own.

And I believe that I am finding it.  I am a member of this church because I believe in its principles, its doctrine {including all of it, that depicts our different responsibilities as men and women},and that deep-down, underneath all of its layers of imperfection...is love.  My testimony of its truth has never been more solid, and continues to grow daily in its solidarity. I no longer care whether someone comes to church as a homosexual individual, a pot-smoking individual, a pornography-addicted individual, a Mormon feminist, an unmarried individual, or a two-piece bathing-suit-owner.  Let them come and sit by me and know that I love them and am not there to judge them or burn a scarlet letter into their chest, just as much as I'm not there for their approval..... or for the male leader's approval, or for my husband's approval, or for the relief society president's approval. 

I am not there for anyone's approval,

only to worship my God.

I no longer live my life for anyone's approval.  The small and seemingly insignificant choices that I make daily, and the larger, more life-altering choices that I make in the grand scheme of things are made because they are what I believe is good for me, and bringing me happiness.  They're no longer made out of shame or fear.  

My worth as a child of God has nothing to do with which responsibilities I do or do not hold, or which callings I do or do not serve in, or whether or not I wear a dress or pants to church.  

God speaks to me now-- daily in fact, if I am listening.  There has been a peace that has come into my heart I have never had before, and I have become a vessel of his. I believe I would be this regardless of my gender, even regardless of which church I belonged to. I believe I would still have the potential to reach this as long as the way I am living my life is inside of truth for me.  As his vessel, when I am open and in tune, I have had the ability to reach those who have been unreachable.  I have had the ability to hear His words meant for others and have Him speak through me.  I do not need to lay my hands upon their head to know it, the words have simply been spoken to me to speak to another.  I also know that when there is no priesthood authority close and I am in need of His voice, or His blessing, or His comfort, I can kneel down and ask for the powers of heaven, and it will be there.

I know not everyone is at this place in their life, and maybe this movement is going to be a piece of getting them closer to achieving it, who knows?  

I have taught, and continue to teach, my children about the "fairness" game.  If they are constantly comparing themselves to another--feeling "less than" and yelling about how this isn't fair or that isn't--I teach them this feeling has nothing to do with anyone or anything outside, but only from the inside.  Insecurities, comparison, jealousy....they all spring from a lack of self-worth, when you really get down to it.  

So I guess what I recommend is asking yourself, while pulling on your church clothes this Sunday, one leg at a time is....

Is this just a cry for someone, anyone {even if it's for yourself}, to recognize and finally acknowledge your worth?  

I don't know....I can't speak for those planning on doing it.  I could be way off base here, and I'm open to the idea that I might be.  Maybe it really is just about women wearing their pain on the outside instead of the inside.  To prove to themselves that they matter, that their pain matters.  But if it were, why does church have to be the forum for that? I definitely have written about my own individual pain, and found outlets to talk about it and own it and show it and mourn it and I didn't have to read it over the pulpit in testimony meeting.  I didn't call my offenders to the forefront and demand change.  As I changed, and healed, the need to bring about my idea of justice and balance and equality to those offenders faded.  It was no longer needed, because I no longer defined myself from the opinions of anyone but me and my Father in Heaven. 

That doesn't mean that another individual's way of working through something is wrong. You want to wear pants?  It's going to help ease your burden, heal some of your wounds?  Then go right ahead.  And I think if I had read an article where one lady had done it and what it signified to her, and how it helped her overcome something, I would be standing up and applauding for her.  It just feels strange that the women who feel this way seem to be unable to voice it individually.  Why the need for a big group support moment?

It just feels like it's more than about being vulnerable and you've been through hard things and you're no longer afraid of showing it on the outside.  Because I believe deep down, that if that's truly what this was about, I would be able to feel that and run to start putting on my own pair of jeans.  But it's coming across to me more like a situation where there's safety in numbers, and hopping on a bandwagon, and proving something, which then eradicates the vulnerability aspect in my eyes and makes me question the sincerity behind the intent.  

I feel like if you really do already know your worth, you don't need to do or wear anything to prove it to someone else.

And I know that, because I have lived through it.  

my last lecture, if i had one.

i've been thinking a lot.

a lot about being a mother.

a lot about being a wife.

a lot about being a daughter, a friend, a neighbor, a member of my religion.

a lot about being a human.

about why we're here, walking around, living life.

i mean, honestly.  what are we doing here?

what's the point of us going to work every day....to school every day....making beds every day....doing laundry every day....loving, hurting, celebrating, living, enjoying, disappointing, dying, enduring?

is there a point?

i believe there's a point.  most readers know that i'm a member of the church of jesus christ of latter day saints.  and as a member of this church we are taught that there are reasons for all of it.  to gain a body, to be tested, to return to a loving Father in Heaven.

i am a big believer in all of this.

before i became a mother of real, live, breathing, screaming, smiling children, i was idealistic and naive.  i dreamed of adorable, chubby infants dressed head to toe in baby GAP clothing.  smelling constantly like baby lotion, cooing and giggling as if that was what they were born to do.

when i actually became a mother, my idealistic views wore off quickly.  oftentimes {more often than not} fear gripped my heart.  i was now responsible for this screaming, not-sleeping, pooping mess?  who in their right mind thought this was a good idea?  not only was i constantly worried about accidentally dropping the child, but also was i feeding them enough?  too much?  was that a temperature i detected?  a runny nose?  are they rolling over on time?  talking late?  talking too soon?  not to mention all of the extra complications that caleb brought with him.

there was so much to worry about.

and yet, i was so absolutely in love.

i also changed, as a human being.  i was pushed to levels i didn't think were possible during my single, idealistic, non-mother days.

so i became a mother for the second time.  and was again molded, formed, pushed, changed.  and my heart grew to let another little person in, with a love that is indescribable.  it's almost a painful type of love.  it's a constant ache, bursting-at-the-seams adoration.

for a while, my goal as their mother was to let them know that my love for them was unconditional.  that they would never have to go through this world wondering if they were loved by me.  that if i could do just that for them...no matter what other mistakes i made as their mother....i would consider my job as their mom a success.

i was a mother on a mission, a mother determined.  a naive mother.  

as my kids have grown older i've realized that my fears and worries have adapted.  now i'm more concerned with how they're going to do in school, with peers, will they make good choices?  will they stick up for the underdog?  will they be the underdog?  will they stay strong, even when they are hurt?  what do they worry about?  will they overcome their insecurities?  are they going to know how beautiful and amazing i think they are?

for the past 6 months or so, caleb's favorite song to sing at night is "april come she will" by simon & garfunkel.

the last part of the song has words that, if caleb is extremely tired, make him cry.

August, die she must,
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold;
September I´ll remember.
A love once new has now grown old

when he cries about the song i ask him what's making him sad and he always tells me that the song has made him think of me, and that he never ever wants me to die.  never ever ever.

it's really sweet, and i hug him and tell him that the most important thing to remember is that right now i'm alive and that i love him. and that even when i do die, that i will always be with him.  and that we'll have a chance to see each other again one day.  i tell him that he can say a prayer and ask for comfort in times when he feels lonely, and Heavenly Father will help him to feel peace in his heart.

i was thinking today about those conversations caleb and i have.  sometimes i feel like i'm at a loss for words when he says these things.  i want to reassure him that i won't die....or at least not for like another 60 years....but that may not be true.  so do i calm him down in the moment, so that he can go to sleep untroubled?  or do i tell him the truth in the best way that i know how so that i don't set him up with false hopes?

and that was when it hit me.  the naive mother had evolved.

the goal of reaching what i deemed "success" as a mother...teaching my children that i love them unconditionally..... was just a small piece of it.

because there undoubtedly will come a day when i die, and if all i teach caleb is that his mother loves him no matter what.....well, what happens when i die?  what will he hold on to then?  not only that, but there will also undoubtedly come a day when i fail him in his eyes, when i make a mistake or screw him up in some way.  there may come a day when he questions the love i have for him because of a mistake, or a different point of view.  i am an imperfect being, as much as i would love not to be.  the odds are high that i may be the very person whose relationship sends him bee-lining it straight for a therapist's chair.  

when we put all of our faith in people or things, even if it's with good intentions... like loving a child or loving a mother or loving a husband, or in our success, or in our education, or even sometimes in a religion....well, it's like putting all of our faith into a feather that we hold in our hand and let go in the wind.  we don't have control over any of these things.  

people are not perfect.  they have their agency.  i remember as a newlywed sometimes i would think to myself "if ben dies before me i have no idea how i'll be able to continue living without him."  well what if ben does die?  or what if he doesn't die, but decides to go through a mid-life crisis and leave me to marry some 18 year old bimbo?  the odds aren't likely, but it could happen.  it has happened, to men just as amazing as ben.

so if i've put all of my love and all of my faith and my competency as a human being in ben....where will that leave me if he decides to exercise his agency?

i did not know that at the time, i was naively setting myself up to fail.  to find someone to blame if life brought me pain, whether it was ben...or God, or whomever else who i could put at the forefront of an oncoming trial.

life is unstable.  our home could be hit with an earthquake tomorrow morning, wiping out all of our possessions.  or ben could be in an accident that causes permanent brain damage, making the past 2 years of pursuing his education worth nothing.  

last night, for family home evening, i wrote a kid-friendly version of the story of Job.  the man who had everything, and had it all taken from him to test his faith in God.  he lost his children, his home, his animals and wealth.  he had sores covering his body.  {my stick-figured Job with sores all over was pretty funny.}  he had all of his previous roles stripped from him; as a father, as a successful, wealthy man, as even a physically attractive person.

his friends came to him and told him to denounce God, that God had abandoned him in his time of need.  but he refused, and praised God even through all of his trials.  and finally, Job received all of his blessings back and more for never turning his heart away from his Heavenly Father.

i have heard many people go through difficult things in life, situations that i wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.  i personally don't believe that God plants trials just to cause us pain, or cause us hurt.  sometimes we are given trials to humble us, or to teach us.  sometimes we suffer trials at the hands of others, who are just exercising their free will and we are simply innocent victims along their path.  but for  me, the why is not the most important thing to worry about.  the why seems to be what people can get caught up in, and it actually can become such a distraction in the big scheme of things.  

i have heard many ask, "why would God put me through this?  why would he want me to suffer this way?"

and the answer for me is very simple:

to bring us closer to him.

whether it's a trial deemed by God or not, it doesn't matter.  a trial is a trial is a trial.  and you going through it may just be life.  but it's what you do with that trial that counts.  where your heart turns, where your thoughts turn.

i've thought so much about the post that my friend andrea wrote, and have re-read the scripture she referenced about a dozen times since.

And now, my sons, remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall."
Helaman 5:12

and then she wrote:  

God + ME = ENOUGH

and this is what it's about for me.  

if i could teach my children one thing, just one.  

it would be that no matter what, that they are not, and will never be, alone.  no matter how lonely they feel, or how sad, or how angry, or how unloved.  no matter what mistakes they make, or which path they choose.  which religion they decide to belong to, or if they decide none of them work for their needs.  

even though i know how important it is for them to know that their father and mother love them no matter what, it is more important for my children to know that they are loved by a God who will never die, who does not go through mid-life crises, who can't be destroyed by earthquakes or brain damage, or terminal illnesses, or hatred.

the rest of the things in life that i mentioned before.....going to work every day, to school every day, doing laundry, getting your heart broken, changing diapers, getting married, making friends....these are all amazing blessings and also simple distractions to what is most important.  but to live in this world, we have to participate in these things.  i just want my children to remember that all of these things are great, but they are also feathers in a wind that is always changing, and never in our control.

the only constant they have is our Heavenly Father. 

and i feel like....if my children really do come to know this, that the rest of their lives will be spent living in harmony of things that are good.  they will already be kind, hard-working, loving, honest, respectful, humble, God-loving people.  all of those things will fall into place if they truly know and feel deep down in their souls that they are important to the Most Important One.

i think that my role as their mother is also extremely important.  that by me unconditionally loving them, it is a small example of the love that God has for them.  to plant this seed of a foundation of unconditional love in our home will hopefully help them to someday see the bigger picture.  

i've gained a new appreciation of my role.  children learn by example, so my new goal is not just for them to have this foundation in their lives, but for me to have it in mine.  to live every day with the knowledge that i am also important, and that i know that Heavenly Father loves me as much as he loves them.  that aside from all of my roles, first and foremost, i am a daughter of God.  i have worth just by merely existing.

and yes, i am other things on top of that, but it is who i am first.

so now i walk around, picking up their laundry and driving them to school, supporting their father as he pursues his higher education, and changing their diapers knowing that there are greater purposes at work.

and that no matter what happens to me, i will not lose faith.  that the feathers i grasp in my hands are just feathers, but that my foundation is built upon my Rock.

and that there is a purpose in this life.