In the event when something sad, hopeful, and destructive slams into the same cursed holiday weekend over and over

I haven't had the easiest last four or five years of my life. Mind you it's been a blessed time overall and even happy many times, but I have had some serious trials jam packed in five years and most of it in the last two that have dealt with infertility and dreading Mother's Day more and more. But I hope you all had a better Mother's Day than me this year. Mother's Day for me is a cursed holiday, at least for the past five years. In fact, I haven't been to church on a Mother's Day Sunday in five years.

My husband and I next month will have been married for six years. I don't have a shadow of a doubt that I picked the right man to be with for all eternity. When I met him I didn't have the faintest clue how much he'd be my rock in life. He's been with me through depression, job loss, bankruptcy, and probably the most important, infertility.

The first two years of our marriage we lived like any poor starving student family complete with both of us working several jobs and me going to school full time. We were happy and even happier when we found out I was pregnant, but then shocked when we lost the baby five weeks in and less than a week before Mother's Day. The irony in that did kind of sting (little did I know that the next four would be worse). We were sad but we new we could try again. Three months later we were pregnant again and then disappointed. A year later, the same thing. 

At this point we were going through our other trials including business bankruptcy and then a year later personal bankruptcy, then losing our car, and losing several jobs all due to the bad economy; we also finally diagnosing my 12+ years of depression and got on meds, however, that was after the Second Annual Depressing Mother's Day Colossal Breakdown (didn't cry last year so I ended up crying this year, plus my depression was almost at its worst at this time). 

We then decided to start seeing reproductive specialists. After hundreds of expensive medical tests, surgeries, and discovering new medical problems related to infertility (that has lead me to go from only having to take allergy medicine all my life to taking practically every drug in a pharmacy every morning and evening) it was determined that we qualified for IVF. Oh, and somewhere in the middle of all this, Mother's Day came around again, and me being in annual mourning ended up in the Third Annual Depressing Mother's Day Colossal Breakdown when I found out three (maybe one more? Can't remember) of my sister in laws had all just had miscarriages within a month of Mother's Day. 

And so, couple thousand dollars in meds and procedures later we found out we were pregnant. We almost got through the first trimester before the baby died. Disappointed again we decided to try again a few months later. Which was- you guessed it- right before Mother's Day. And right before that day we got a call from the IVF lab that all our embryos had died. Cue the Fourth Annual Depressing Mother's Day Colossal Breakdown. Oh so very disappointed Alex and I decided to take a year off from anything fertility. 

I spent a year taking better care of myself, serving others, and getting back to my poor starving artist days. I made new friendships, and lost some friendships. And the unfortunate irony, it was my best friend who dumped me two days before Christmas. (Why oh why do I still celebrate holidays!?!?!) For the next three months I fell into the deepest depression I had ever experienced. My happy meds were upped and I started taking another type of medication. 

I have to admit if I could get away from all the medications that have accumulated exponentially in my life the last two years I would. If I could heal all my ailments with herbs and meditation I would. But I haven't quite figured out how to do that successfully, so for the time being my happy meds are my best friend. Since they've added the new medication my world has turned upside down. If I thought my depression was better with the one pill I was crazy! The new medication completely made it possible for me to be a better me. Even with that small speed bump around Christmas, I found myself happier and healthier in mind, body and soul. Which was good because in march I was headed into surgery to prep for possibly our last IVF cycle. Then at the end of April we started the cycle. 

One day before Mother's Day (should've really avoided doing anything this day. Maybe hide myself in a deep dark hole where I couldn't see or hear anything. Then maybe this Mother's Day wouldn't have been so bad.) we traveled to the IVF center more than two hours away from our house. Minutes before we were leaving I started hurting in the abdomen (I was hyper stimulating). Over the next two hours the pain got worse, by the time we got there I was desperate to be on pain meds and anesthesia. I went under for the egg retrieval and woke up still in a bit of pain. There had been thirteen eggs collected, which was the most we'd ever gotten. We were very excited at the larger chances and as we went home we couldn't wait to get that call the next day to see how many fertilized. 

And then came the curve ball.

My dad was kind enough to have driven us to the IVF center and back. When we got home I got comfortable on the couch very much drugged to relieve the hyper stimulation pain. At some point my father started bursting into tears and told us, for private reasons not of my father's fault, my mother had taken my two younger siblings and had left him. When I learned why I, was crushed. Our family dynamic was suddenly destroyed. 

I won't go into anymore detail since my family is still struggling with this trial through counseling and pray (it is getting better and everyone is healing) and deserve the privacy. 

But the horrible thing about this incident, excluding the obvious, was this was the first Mother's Day ever that I had not visited, seen or heard from my mother. It was probably the first that I had ever hated her so deeply, as well (I've forgiven her now). It was one thing to have my Mother's Days crushed on one end of motherhood year after year but to suddenly and gruesomely destroy the other end was too much. This last Mother's Day was supposed to be a much more hopeful one, a bit sad from the memories, but hopeful. Instead it was the Fifth Annual Depressing Mother's Day Colossal Breakdown.

So, what am I going to do in the future to avoid that event when something sad, hopeful, and destructive slams into that cursed holiday weekend?

 I'm going to Fiji!

---Gretchen

More Than Just the Winter Blues

{Warning: This is a very personal post! You may or may not agree or understand, but this has been a recent and personal journey of mine that I feel to share…}

This past winter was a very difficult one for me. I’ve struggled on many levels. For the first time in my adulthood, I felt consistently down. I didn’t feel like myself. I got moody, irritable, and critical at the snap of a finger (Usually my own finger being pointed at someone else .) At first I just thought I had the winter blues. But after a few months it still wasn’t going away. {And I actually learned when it was time to put myself to bed, because I had nothing nice to say!}     

One day as I was feeling really down and out of sorts, these feelings took a name! I realized I was experiencing depression. As I validated what I was experiencing and was honest with myself, I realized I really needed the Lord’s help. Such a simple concept really, but many times, the answer is simple. I knew I wasn’t going to wake up the next day, “all better.” I knew then that I was being given a personal trial that could allow me to become closer and more like my Savior if I so chose.

I also took a personal life evaluation and recognized several contributing factors to my feelings of stress, discouragement, and negativity. Some of these factors I could control, most of them I could not. But either way, I understood that it was essential that my spirit be nourished on a daily basis. I began to devote more time to uplifting reading whether in the scriptures, conference talks, or church books. I had a newfound craving for spiritual messages. I could feel the hunger in my spirit. My personal prayers also became more meaningful and specific. I acknowledged what I was feeling, but sincerely prayed for the strength and guidance to overcome these feelings. I also focused on what factors I could control and strived to become at peace with those I could not. As I fed my spirit and tried to replace negative feelings with positive ones, I slowly started to feel better. I say slowly, because I had to work very hard at my negative feelings and they still got the better of me on many occasions. But I also saw progress, which renewed my hope and my resolve to keep trying. 

I also found Pres. Uchtdorf’s talk entitled, “Grateful in Any Circumstances,” most encouraging. He explained that we do not have to be pleased with our circumstances, but we can choose to be grateful for and acknowledge the blessings we do have. President Uchtdorf also taught the higher law of gratitude which is to be a grateful person, not just grateful for certain things. I’m encouraged by his words and feel a sincere desire to embrace this for myself and strive to cultivate a disposition of gratitude. 

I don’t remember the exact day anymore, but I do remember recently waking up one day and feeling like this fog had been lifted off of me and I felt more like myself again. In the spirit of gratitude I said a prayer and thanked Heavenly Father for this blessing. Although I still had a long way to go, I also knew that my prayers were heard and were answered.

My heart goes out to any and everyone who has experienced depression or may be going through it themselves. This is a very personal emotion because everyone experiences it differently and on different levels, but there are shared feelings. I’ve only shared from my own experiences. But I do know that we are loved eternally by our Heavenly Father. I know that our struggles are known and understood by our Savior, Jesus Christ.

I am truly grateful and humbled by His infinite atonement that extends us the grace and mercy we need to not only be cleansed but also healed. Although I would not choose to feel depressed, I am grateful for the deeper understanding I have gained because of this trial. I move forward striving to feel His love more abundantly, being more mindful and grateful for His bounteous blessings, and daily exercising the power of our Savior’s infinite atonement.

---Dalynne

Revelation

I taught a lesson recently in church about revelation. I have been pondering this topic for quite a while. Elder Bednar gave a talk about the different ways revelation can come if you have the Gift of the Holy Ghost. He mentioned some being: visions, dreams, visits from heavenly messengers, and inspiration. He then went on to say how many accounts in the scriptures are of visions, dreams, and heavenly messengers, and said that those do happen. However, they are more of the exception than the rule. He explained that the Lord teaches us line upon line.

Nephi did not know how he would obtain the plates from Laban. He had to try three times, with the first two being failures. The third time, he proceeded all on faith, and it was revealed to him how to obtain them when he stumbled across passed out Laban. How many times in our lives do we get frustrated because we are symbolically on our way back to Jerusalem and the Lord has not revealed to us what we should do? We have to have faith and proceed, doing the best we know how, until the path becomes clear. I dont think Nephi would have handled it very well if he knew from the beginning he would have to kill Laban to save the sacred text.

When I think back on the times I know i have had revelation, the revelation has come after my faith has been tested and before things fall apart. It comes at the perfect time for everything to fall into place and work out for my good.

I believe if we pray for inspiration and opportunities to practice communicating with the Spirit, those opportunities will be granted to us if we watch for them. Our loving Heavenly Father wants to communicate with us, and the more opportunities we allow ourselves to hear those promptings, the more familiar we will become with them. President Monson is a wonderful example of listening to the Spirit and has told many stories of times that he has acted on a prompting and has been so glad he did. May we all strive to have more faith in the Lord's timing and create more opportunities to feel the promptings of the Spirit.

-Jashley

An Experiment with Granola

Today I made some granola. I have made this recipe before, and loved it. It’s a
chocolate granola, so that will tell you right there just how delicious it is.
I had a hankering for this granola, and thought I probably had all of the ingredients.

After digging through my loose recipes in the cupboard, I finally found it and started compiling ingredients.

I realized I didn’t have the right kind of nuts that it called for. So I decided to use sliced almonds and walnuts instead of smoked almonds. I think that the last time I made this recipe, I used pecans…

Though the recipe didn’t call for it, I added some coconut, because I had it on hand and I LOVE coconut in granola.

I also decided to add some craisins. Chocolate and craisins would taste great together, right?

And a little extra honey wouldn’t do any harm, either.

After mixing all of the ingredients, I realized that I had followed only about half of the recipe. It had turned into a Carson Creation, with only the basics from the actual recipe. And you know, the last time I made granola I made it a little different from the recipe, as well. But not the same as today.

And I do this a lot in cooking. Do you? Decide to add a little here, or substitute
something else there? (Substituting has become huge in my house, because I almost always am missing one specific ingredient on the list. Lack of planning? Or intuitive replacement?!)

This made me think about life. There are so many ways to get to a great outcome. And each person can add their own flair of creativity to their recipe of life. Some people use walnuts instead almonds, because it’s what they have. And you know what—they taste great!

And sometimes, it doesn’t matter how amazing the ingredients sound that go together in one recipe, or how often you’ve made the recipe before—it might not
turn out. Even though the chocolate called for in this granola sounds amazing, I put a little too much in, and lost a lot of the taste of the other ingredients to chocolate. Also, I have made granola many times before—but today, I burned it.

    You can do so many little things to a recipe to make it better, but you can also do so many little things to a recipe to ruin it!

Fortunately, adding the craisins and some fresh (uncooked) coconut to my granola evened out the burned and over-chocolaty taste. And now the bit of burned is How about that? My mistake created an interesting flavor. Different, and not what I was expecting, but still delicious. Although I did learn that using foil instead of actually adding a kind of smoky taste that I really like. parchment paper will make it cook faster—and burn faster, too. 

And of course, I can always start over from scratch. There is always the option to try again.

If I make a mistake (I mean other than in cooking), I can fix it with a little help from the Lord. He can help me find a way to make it better, and even help me appreciate what my mistakes have added to my character. I have learned that with every mistake I repent of, I gain compassion and understanding. He can even help me have the courage to completely throw out a bad habit and start afresh. 

And you know, it might be a good idea to share what I have learned while making mistakes and asking the Lord to help me fix them. I may be able to help someone else feel less alone, or avoid the same mistake altogether.

Do you ever read reviews for recipes when you are getting them online? After many trials and errors, I realized that was a good idea. To get hints about what will help or hinder the recipe from those who have already made the recipe. If I add what I learned about using foil vs. parchment and adding too much chocolate, someone else might avoid a burned and over-chocolaty batch of granola.

It takes courage to try the same recipe again after learning from yours and others’ mistakes. But that is what creates perfect recipes, and really good cooks.

So here is my advice (at least, for chocolate granola :D )

 

The Carson Version of Chocolate Granola

½ cup (or a little more) of almonds, walnuts, or pecans (or a mixture)
½ cup shredded coconut (I like the sweetened kind in the baking isle)
2.5 Tbsp honey
2 Tbsp vegetable oil
½ cup semi sweet chocolate chips 

½ cup craisins or dried cherries
 

Preheat oven to 350. Line baking sheet with parchment paper (don’t use foil—trust me). Put oats, nuts, and coconut on baking sheet and toss.
Mix the oil and honey together, then drizzle over ingredients on baking sheet, and toss to combine. Bake in oven for 16-20 minutes until brown, tossing occasionally. When done, put hot granola in a bowl and add the chocolate chips. Don’t do more than ½ cup, or it will be too chocolaty (unless you added a significant amount of the other ingredients over what the recipe calls for)! You want to do it while it’s hot—the melting chocolate creates clusters of granola. Add the craisins and mix all together. Store in airtight container. Tastes really good on vanilla ice cream :D

So, how are you going to tweak this recipe?

-Carson

Tucking In Grandma

          My grandma and my uncle Gordon live in a senior center nearby, and I go visit every Sunday night. Most nights I’m there, Uncle Gordon asks if I can get Grandma ready for bed. She always says that I’m probably much too tired and shouldn’t have to stay and help her. I always say I don’t mind, that I’d be happy to help. Then I help pull her out of her chair, set her hands on her walker, and guide her as she shuffles through the bedroom and into the bathroom.
          The first time Uncle Gordon asked if I would get Grandma ready, I definitely minded. I had never helped anyone get ready for bed. Or at least, no one older than five. I frantically called my mom for instructions, then tried to stay calm and do my best. It didn’t help that Grandma was sick and I had to change all her clothes. I helped her clean up and get into her silky red pajamas. I put her black wig on the mannequin head on her dresser. Then she sat on her walker and handed me her teeth. Dentures are plastic and slippery, and I nearly dropped them. But I managed to brush them in warm water and Crest and hand them back to her all minty fresh. And all the while Grandma encouraged and complimented me like I’d been doing this my whole life. That’s just who Grandma is.
          When we were done with her teeth, I helped her over to her bed. We sat on the edge, and I held her hand while I said a prayer out loud that she would feel better and would be able to sleep through the night. Then I pulled the blankets back, tucked her into bed, and kissed her goodnight. It was probably the kindest thing I’ve been able to do for my grandma, and I wanted to go home and cry.
          Helping Grandma get ready for bed has become fairly routine now. Every Sunday night, Gordon and I sing a few hymns together while I play them badly and Grandma smiles like it’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard. I don’t know if she can really hear any of it. Then Gordon says, “After this song, will you get Mom ready for bed?” So we play one more hymn, and then Grandma and I slowly make our way to the bathroom.
          Now, as I help her get ready for bed, we talk. I tell her about the car I just bought, she asks about gas mileage. I tell her about the guys I just went out with; she asks which one I like best. She asks about work. We talk about Grandpa. She tells me I’m amazing, and I tell her I got it from her.
          She always tells me I’m amazing. And when I help her, I begin to believe she might just be right—and that I may have inherited more from her than I’d thought.
-Lori

Cleaning Frenzy

Growing up my amazing mother always wanted us to keep the house clean.  Her famous words, “ten people can clean in 20 minutes, what it would take one person to clean in an hour!” still ring in my ears as a clean my own home today.  While I never understood her constant need for our house to be clean, I would hurry through my chores as fast as I could so I could move on and play with my friends.  She was notorious for making us do things over and over again until it was finished met her standards.  Never before have I seen such perfect vacuuming lines as I have seen in my mother’s home.  At the time it was torture, but now I am so grateful for how she taught me.  I now understand that she was trying to have a clean home so the spirit would be able to dwell there.  That is not to say that it was perfectly clean all of the time, that is near impossible with no kids, let alone with eight, but it did make a difference in the spirit of our home when it was clean versus dirty.  The spirit likes to dwell in organized clean places. My mother has also often told me, “You wouldn’t see dirty clothes laying on the floor of the temple would you? Why do you think it is ok to leave your clothes on your floor?”  Oh mom, you are so wise.

The other part of a clean home is how it affects the contention.  It is amazing how different the day would go when we would arrive home from school to a clean home with church music playing softly in the background, as opposed to less perfect days when things weren’t as clean when we got home and we were loud and rowdy and itching for a fight.  There was definitely less contention when our home was clean. 

         Now that I am married and cleaning my home on my own, with the help of my husband of course, I find that I have a hard time keeping up.  I will see some dishes in the sink and think, “oh there is only three dishes in there, I will do it later” and three days later, there those three dishes still lay multiplied by four.  There are simply things that I like doing that are way more fun and exciting than dishes or vacuuming.  As it is probably apparent to all of you, I have come to realize that if I do just a little cleaning every day I can easily stay on top of everything and have plenty of time to spare doing the things that I enjoy doing. 

         I came across this cleaning chart that I have loved! It is easy to follow, colorful, and has pictures. It really gets the endorphins flowing!  I have used this chart for a while now and it has made such a difference.  The daily chore is so simple, and I finish so quickly that I feel like I can conquer the world! 

         I have found that I do so much better when I feel like something is “due” for the day. Having just finished college 12 days ago, I am still very much in the mindset of due dates and studying for final exams.  I like feeling like I have to meet a deadline, and this chart helps me do just that. I think the most important thing is to realize that you are doing you best, your house doesn’t have to be clean 100% of the time, but knowing that you are trying is what matters! So good luck to all of you out there! *I never in a million years would have guessed I would be writing about cleaning, I guess people really can change!*

-Kim

The Value of Motherhood and Womanhood

We live in a time when the idea of motherhood is degraded. A lowly station, not worthy of praise or recognition. Not to be aspired to, devalued and overlooked. And yet the time, work, and effort required of mothers is without price. Who can measure a mother's worth? Who can measure the worth of a child? It is unfortunate that the insignificance of motherhood is perpetuated by men AND WOMEN alike. How can women downgrade their own eternal value and nobility?

We are often overlooked, under appreciated, undervalued, even sometimes in our own homes. We are probably all guilty of overlooking our own mother. We often don't recognize and notice everything a mother does. It is all behind the scenes.  But to be a mother, suddenly all the invisible efforts come out of the woodwork.

I am guilty of expecting praise and recognition only to be disappointed. We have to find our own value. We cannot look outside ourselves. We have to find it within ourselves, and in God. We have to be proud of our motherhood and stand for it. We can change the world one day at a time, one child at a time.  I learning this slowly.  It's hard to recognize your own value when others don't. It's hard to think you are doing a great work when your work includes piles of dirty laundry, when you wade through mess after mess, find it hard to get yourself ready for the day, and struggle with how to teach your children to whine just a little less. The tasks of motherhood are usually very mundane. We are more than our surroundings. Our work is more than the mundane daily tasks. We cannot expect others to value us if we do not value ourselves and the nobility of our work.

This past weekend I stood alongside the bed of a woman who had just given birth to a beautiful baby boy. The father had tears in his eyes, for his son was not expected to live longer than a few hours. His mother held him tightly, but smiled down at him. I expected to see grief and heartache. Although I am sure she felt an abundance of sadness, she was just so grateful to hold him for a few hours and listen to him breath, and consider the hope of raising him someday, to get a glimpse of the future. They had called many loved ones to come visit, family and friends, to come and see their son before he was to be called back home. This mother knew she was giving up her son now, but knew she was not losing him forever. He would be hers to hold again because motherhood is eternal. She has no idea, but she inspired me.

As President Monson said so well, "Who can probe a mother’s love? Who can comprehend in its entirety the lofty role of a mother? With perfect trust in God, she walks, her hand in his, into the valley of the shadow of death that you and I might come forth unto life...  The 'Mother forgotten' is observed all too frequently. ... May each of us treasure this truth; one cannot forget mother and remember God. One cannot remember mother and forget God. Why? Because these two sacred persons, God and mother, partners in creation, in love, in sacrifice, in service, are as one."

I am making a resolve to daily find my own value in motherhood and womanhood, to rely less on the praise of others, and to find fulfillment with God in my sacred calling.

-Laura Morris

You Know Enough

http://www.mormonchannel.org/video/mormon-messages?v=911029441001

As human beings we are imperfect.  It’s easy to recognize all the things we do wrong in our lives, and that causes us to feel we are inadequate.  Heavenly Father sent us here to be successful, in every aspect of our lives.  He wants us to be happy, He wants to see us accomplish our goals.  Whether it be something we want to accomplish at work, in our homes, in a church calling, or any other goal we might have, Heavenly Father is there to help us, and He has given us the knowledge we need to succeed.

-Alyssa

Mothers

Happy Mother's Day 2014!

To commemorate the wonderful women in our lives, I'd like to post a quote that I feel expresses the sentiment perfectly.  This is from a talk given at the BYU Women's conference in 2010 by Dallin H. Oaks.

"The greatest example of service, because it is so unselfish and so expressive of the will of God, is the action of a mother for her children.  In her story, 'The Invisible Woman,' Nicole Johnson likens the mother's role to that those builders made great sacrifices to build a cathedral 'they would never see finished.' Though their individual efforts were 'invisible' to the world, their actions were 'fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.' She likened this to a mother's essentially invisible work with her children.  She wrote that her own invisibility sometimes felt like an 'affliction,' but she wisely observed that this was the 'cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness.' Nicole Johnson concluded: 'As mothers, we are building great cathedrals.  We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, [but] at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women."

Overcoming Sadness and Finding Joy

When I was in Nursing School, we learned about Postpartum Depression.  I passed the test, did all the homework, and thought "surely mothers are just being self-centered, and not appreciative of their new children"  Yes. I realize this was horrible of me to think, and you know what? I definitely learned my lesson.  That lesson was learned through having children of my own, and suffering myself through this depression.  

At the time, I didn't understand what was going on. Here, I had a wonderful baby boy who was adorable, I had a loving supportive husband and things were going fine. No major setback, no major trials, nothing. But I HATED life. I would cry every night, and would yell and scream for no reason.  At the flip of a switch too.  One second I would be happy and laughing, and literally 2 SECONDS later, I was screaming and yelling and crying. My poor husband. Here he thought he married a sweet girl, only to find out I was a total Monster!  The first year after my little boy was born, was absolutely horrible, in my mind. I seriously could not think of anything good. Ever. Any day or night.  It was hard, to say the least.  Several things made it harder than it probably had to be.

First, I was in denial about what it was.  Postpartum Depression?  Me?  No way!  Life just stinks.  I refused to call it what it was, and seek help for it. And because of that, I was in a constant cycle of happy...sad...try harder...nope, still sad.

Second, Even after I started to realize it was Postpartum Depression, I thought 'I can handle it', 'I don't need help'.  I was too prideful to even consider asking for help. I thought, If the 'pioneer women could raise 10 children by themselves, by Golly, I should be able to handle 1.  This is such a horrible thought process, because it minimizes our own trials ( or someone else's trials) by comparing them.  People can handle different things. What is hard for me, may be easy for you, and vice versa. 

Third, I had this crazy notion that I was the only one who was suffering through this.  I seriously thought, 'This is only happening to me'. Boy, is that wrong!  So many women are going through this, but we keep it to ourselves.  Its hard when we seem to only see the 'perfect lives' of people, but we need to realize we are not the only ones struggling with this, there is strength in knowing we are not alone.  

Not to say Postpartum Depression isn't difficult by itself, because it surely is!  but, I also think I made it that much worse because of these three things.  And the more I have talked to other mothers...the more I have realized many of us go through this and do these three things.  

So many women go through this struggle. We need to never be afraid or ashamed. There are those who can help, either because they have gone through something similar or because they simply LOVE you! 

But there is hope.  There are so many ways that we can endure through this struggle and come out of this trial with happiness and hope in the future!  We are here to have JOY!  and to focus on the good in our lives!  And no, I'm not saying we can just think 'I'm going to be happy'  and then, magically we are happy.  I know it doesn't work like this. And I know some people struggle with Depression for years, possibly most of their lives.  No, what I am saying, is that when we put forth effort, whatever effort that is, big or small. then we will be blessed for it. Our Savior has not left us alone. He is here for us and He wants us to succeed. 

Elder Scott, in a talk entitled "Finding Joy in Life" wrote: "Sadness, disappointment, and severe challenge are events in life, not life itself. I do not minimize how hard some of these events are. They can extend over a long period of time, but they should not be allowed to become the confining center of everything you do. The Lord inspired Lehi to declare the fundamental truth, “Men are, that they might have joy.”  That is a conditional statement: “they might have joy.” It is not conditional for the Lord. His intent is that each of us finds joy. It will not be conditional for you as you obey the commandments, have faith in the Master, and do the things that are necessary to have joy here on earth." You can find the talk here

I have learned that we can have hope for the future.  And this has come to me through faith, patience and understanding. 

To those who struggle with Depression, or any other mental struggles, I would suggest another talk, by Elder  Holland 'Like A Broken Vessel' found here.

-Cherstin

Dandelions

          Recently my two and four year old sons, came up to me with the kind of sweet eagerness that only young children possess, holding freshly picked dandelions. Being the younger two of my four children, this was not the first time I had been given dandelions. However, on this occasion, it was a moment where time seemed to stand still, as memories flowed through my mind; dandelions took on a whole new meaning.

          This is not to say that I’ve never cared for receiving dandelions from my children, rather, honestly speaking, I feel that I probably rushed through those moments; I didn’t stop and savor them. I just smiled, thanked them, and went on. But this time was different, I allowed myself to embrace the sweet innocence and tender thoughtfulness my sons were showing to me. I stopped to recall memories as they came back to me and smiled as my mind was on rewind. I took a picture of the now said dandelions to record this moment of deeper understanding. And now I’m writing a blog post about dandelions, because the more I’ve thought about them and the times my children have brought them to me, the more my appreciation of them has grown. 

         The special innocence of children is no secret. Specifically I’m referring to the kind of innocence they exhibit from about ages 2-4. (Give or take a couple ;) They are old enough to understand kindness as doing something nice for somebody else. However, they have not cognitively matured to the point of being able to fully think through their act of kindness to the person or situation; for example, dandelions. My sons know that I love flowers. At this age they see small yellow weeds growing in the lawn and conclude they’re flowers and pick them because mom likes flowers. They are eager to please and are thoughtful to take the time to pick them and bring them to me. I react in smiles and thankfulness for their kindness and seeing how eager to please they are warms my heart.

         This particular window of innocence lasts only a few short years. Soon they will learn of the yellow flowers true identity as noxious weeds and will no longer pick them. And with that newly gained knowledge means no more picked dandelions for me.

          For me, dandelions now represent a stage of special childhood years. This is a stage of sweet innocence and an eagerness for kindness. Thinking through this I’ve also realized that dandelions are not alone. During this stage there are many more acts of kindness from my children. They want so much to help and be part of! Mundane household chores are exciting and fun to them! Singing songs while cleaning up messes seems magical, and any time I need an extra hand, those tiny hands appear lightning fast! Common phrases such as, “Me do it, I do it myself, Let me, let me!” are heard daily; but so are, I help you mommy, I find it for you, I’m here, and Here’s a flower for you mommy.

        Especially now that my older children are clearly past this stage, I try harder to cherish this time with my two younger boys. Toddler years are very trying and tiring. With all the spills, ego struggles, temperament guiding, and foundation forming, their birthdays are as much of a celebration to me (we survived!) as they are for them. But now I have hindsight and greater wisdom. Those chubby fingers are so eager to show kindness to me, their tender hearts are full of forgiveness and unconditional love, and their rapidly developing brain still thinks I’m the smartest person there is. How could I not love dandelions??   

---Dalynne

Bullies

Last week I had the opportunity to sub for one of the younger primary classes. I knew in this class that there were two very good girls and two girls who had a little trouble trying to be good. One of them I knew well. I'm not sure why but she was always in a bad mood, she didn't like me much and wasn't afraid to say so. She also wasn't afraid to admit that sometimes she just didn't like to choose good over bad. The other girl was close friends with the first, I barely knew her so I didn't really know what to expect. I've been a primary teacher in the past and I've dealt with difficult kids quite easily. The angry girl I knew was easy to control and keep at bay. I did pretty well with the other girl too. 

However, during sharing time, I wanted to- for lack of coming up with a better figurative word to show my frustration (sorry!)- "throttle" her. Not because she was difficult to handle, but because she sat there hitting her friend, strangling her friend, and saying unkind things. Luckily this didn't seem to phase the other girl, it was part if the "friendship". I then later found this post about bullying in the church: http://www.mormonmomma.com/index.php/2007/bullying-at-church/.

This spun me into a whirlpool of memories. My husband is a fourth grade teacher and so anti-bullying is really important to him, especially because he knows how it feels having been bullied himself as a child. So in our house bullying comes up a lot. Up until I read this article I never thought I was ever bullied. But then I realized that at church, I had been. 

Substituting for that primary class isn't the first time I've witnessed bullying as a teacher. I taught the sunbeams for almost a year and had a decent size class for one teacher (about six to eight), and like last Sunday there were well behaved children and not so well behaved children. I had no problem handling them until one of the girls started bullying another girl. The bullied girl was very sensitive and did not particularly enjoy the company of others, especially when they we're mean. (Incidentally, both these girls went to the same preschool and had the same problems there). 

After about one Sunday of intolerable bully behavior I went to the bully's parents (the father happened to be our bishop at the time) and told them the behavior of the girl. The parents apologized and said that she probably learned it from her four older brothers. But they said they would talk to her. By the next Sunday she was still doing it and had added a new twist to it: licking. I guess I can't expect a three year old to follow the rules the entire time, but when that tongue made contact to skin, the germaphobe in me went into defense mode. After that sticky incident I talked to the parents again, and at one point my husband talked to them. By the time I was released from that calling, the bully girl had somewhat improved and at the most had stopped licking her classmates.

I wouldn't consider that year of incidents of bullying as great as what's described in the blog post link above. Most of it probably can be attributed to having four older brothers and being a typical three year old who still hasn't mastered the skill of restraining her awkward urges. But after reading this article, what I experienced as a youth would make anyone want to switch places and be a three year old being licked on.

When I was in primary I don't think I had bullying problems, but my memory from that age is pretty much gone or blocked. My trouble started when I entered my teen years. There were at least six culprits: two guys and two girls from my ward, my sister, and one or more girls from different wards. 

The guys in my ward were pretty much, I hate to say it, jerks. One, who was more a passive bully, would verbally abuse me any time I opened my mouth. By passive bully I mean someone who unknowingly or unintentionally bullies. This could be an aquantance, a classmate, or even a friend or family member. I would put the girl in the four year old class I substituted for in that category. I myself have accidentally found myself a passive bully and it wrecked my ten plus year friendship with my best friend. I didn't intentionally bully my best friend, I didn't even know we had problems until one day she confessed how she felt when she was with me. That was the last time I saw my friend. This really messed me up and made me more conscious of how I acted around people. And now, from that experience, I know how hurtful even unintentional bullying can.

The other boy- oh boy, that's a real long story that entangled my sister and the two girls in my ward. This other boy, I had a slight crush on (I don't know why, I didn't even really like the guy!!) At the time I kept a journal and had admitted this fact in it. One day my sister read that part of my journal (my sister was and still is a passive verbal bully) without my knowledge. A few weeks later the two girls in my ward started to spread rumors about me liking said boy without having any knowledge of what was written in my journal. 

The first girl was very much a verbal and physical bully and was the resident tyrant queen bee. I stayed away from her for the most part and avoided the physical aspect of her bullying, but couldn't escape the verbal abuse. (At one point said girl came back from a semester of college with a guy friend. Then, while driving and having three passengers in the car, proceeded to physically beat her guy friend with closed fists (and swerving around recklessly in the middle of the road).) 

The other girl, whom I call the side kick, was generally a nice girl, but was tragically influenced by the first girl to the point of almost making her into her personal slave. So she basically mimicked everything the first girl did, which made her rude and her actions hurtful. And most unfortunate, she bared the brunt of the queen bee's physical bullying.

On the day they were spreading their rumors they ran up to my sister (imagine two ditzy preppy school girls about ready to spill some juicy gossip) and flat out asked her if she knew that I liked said boy. And loudly, in the foyer of the church, crowded with people, my sister said "yes, I know. It's written in her diary!" I witnessed, a few yards away, the horridness of my personal, private feelings being broadcast for everyone in sight to hear. 

At that point, I felt my legs start to move. So horrified at what my sister did I didn't realize that I had sprinted into a run towards my sister and with all my body weight and a well positioned knee slammed her into a metal cabinet. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as the mean girls scurried off like sneaky, no good rats giggling and smirking, and looking over their shoulders with pointing eyes. I knew then that they were going to said boy and tell them that their rumor was true. 

Then began my year of hell. 

I was in middle school, and it so happened that said boy went to the same school, was in the same grade, was on the same team, shared some of the same classes, and the worst, walked to school the same route I did. Every day for a year, I would walk to school and have said boy and his buddies bully and tease me. Every day he'd say a snide comment, then ask, "so when are you gonna marry me?" And every day I showed a brave face and played it cool. "Oh not for a few more years." As it got worse, I went from "a million years from now" to "never". Looking back I'm surprised how well I managed at first to keep my cool, considering how I could never do that now. The teasing was relentless. Every time I saw one of them in PE, lunch, classes, after school, I got the same treatment. Then, at the end of the year it stopped. They tried to pick it up again the next year, but it was no longer interesting to them.

From then on I pretty much despised everyone in my Sunday school class. The interesting thing though, unlike in the article, I wasn't wanting to run away from the church. Most likely because I'd been blessed with SOME obedience to my parents and actually went to Sunday school. God blessed me in another way and I found myself being one of the few youth that went to Sunday school every Sunday. On those Sundays I learned and it was greatly lacking in noise of verbal teasing. When the bullies did show up to class none of them payed attention to the lesson. They were loud and disrespectful to the teacher. I, being hard of hearing, gave up on trying to listen to the lesson and spent most of my time and attention deflecting the verbal blows from the others.

By far my next worst bundle of bully crap happened at girl's camp. I love to camp, and I like the camp we were at every year for girl's camp, but I hated my age group. The tyrant queen bee had every one wrapped around her little finger. Those who were her closest friends became her worker bees and sniffed out their next victims. Because we were in the same ward, we all shared a tent, but there was enough room for other girls to bunk with us. If I had realized how miserable I was for those six years of camp, I would have gotten my own tent and staked it out in the loneliest spot on the camp ground. Through the week, each summer, I had this excitement to go to camp, only to remember later after getting there how much it sucks with the queen bee and her minions. Once a day, I found myself in tears, walking a lonely silent path that led to nowhere. Instead of making new friends I avoided everyone to escape with the pain I had. My last year of camp, I became a youth camp leader. The queen bee had already turned 18 so was too old attend that year. That year was my best year. The queen bee was gone, her minions dispersed, and I spent most of my days creating crafts and being a wonderful example to the younger girls.

As adults I don't see much bullying amongst each other, it's the youth and younger children I'm worried about.   I've watched the youth in my ward over the years go inactive to the point that, in the young women's program there is one regular active young women (who moved into the ward). Only a couple of the less active young women show up on occasion.

In our primary, we have a half dozen or so children that are difficult to handle during church. Many of them don't want to be there, some have behavior disabilities. They act up in class and sharing time, some are harmless to others, but some are inflicting pain on their fellow classmates. I know that in our ward there are only a few trouble makers, but in other areas, like Utah mentioned in the blog above, I know it's a lot worse.

Up until I read that blog, I didn't realize what had happened to me. It made me look back on my life and wondered what else I was oblivious to. Unfortunately, I don't have enough memory from that time, and before, to recall. By sharing the above blog and my own experiences, I hope as church members we can pay attention more to what bullying is happening around us and stop it. Church shouldn't have bullying, and it's sad when a place of worship does. I got lucky that the damage I received from bullying didn't affect my church attendance or my testimony, but not everyone is as lucky as me.

--Gretch