No one notices the pianist until she makes a mistake

During one of the early weeks after I was called as the secretary in young women, I was listening to the young women sing our one verse, a cappella hymn. I'm sure it was a joyous noise for the Lord to listen to, if not the room at large (seriously - try and sing with young girls. Their voices make noises that older voices just can't. It's difficult at best.)

I had the best idea I've had in a long time. Or maybe it was the worst. Being in a new ward meant that we we singing sacrament hymns to the piano, because most of our organists lived in the section of the ward that didn't stay with us. It also meant that Nicole, the lady who was playing the piano, learned how to play the organ in two weeks. In our young women class, every now and then one of the girls would volunteer to play top hand, but they hadn't practiced, and with them doing everything in the meeting (conducting, praying, leading the music, starting the YW theme, etc.) I didn't think it was fair to ask a girl to play off the cuff, without having time to practice. Inspired by Nicole, I decided that I should pick a hymn each week and learn the top hand to play for the girls. I ran my idea past the young women president and she gave me approval.

I became the unoffical young women pianist (snort!)

So here I am, three months later. I've decided it's the silver lining for my calling. I can't tell you how nervous I get when I play. Most of the time, even if I have practiced playing both hands, I can't manage the stress of playing both hands while people are singing along. But I'm learning and improving so much. I don't think it's anything I've done to get better; I think it's just a blessing that I'm getting since I'm playing for the girls. But whatever the source of my improvement, I'll take it.

Years ago, my BFF Melanie gave me a book filled with simplified Christmas music. Each year since, I've tried to play O Holy Night, with varying degrees of success. This year was the first year I've been able to get through the whole song with two hands. It makes me so happy! I also practiced We Three Kings (a much easier song) and was able to get through it with two hands most of the time. And for church, I played Silent Night, Angels We Have Heard on High, and Joy to the World.

It makes me happy. I feel silly, putting myself forward each week as the pianist. Because really, no one at church really pays attention to the pianist unless they make a mistake - which I do frequently. I've convinced myself that the girls roll their eyes at my playing, which probably isn't true, but I think it every time I miss a note. But I keep playing because I want to learn. I want this little hobby that makes me happy.

Gratitude, day 1

I have lived, very happily I might add, under the radar of big callings at church for 15 years. Sure, I've been a librarian, spent one year in primary, taught gospel doctrine (probably my favorite calling ever; it is so fun to get into nerdy gospel discussions!), and a few others. But I had never been in anything resembling a presidency. I had friends in high places, it seems.

But all of that came to a halt a few months ago. My ward split, and a complete stranger put my name in as secretary for the Young Women group. Gulp. I panicked hard when I was asked; how would I manage meetings, how would I manage the weekly activities, what would my family do while I was away, how would my husband react? I've lived for so long with a sure-fire, presidency-avoiding reason all my married life: my husband isn't a member, so how could I be expected to do all of that?

I found out how. After a long call with the complete stranger who was the YW president, I decided to give it a try. In the back of my mind, there were so many doubts about my own abilities. What would I know about young girls? How am I supposed to be an example to these girls, when I stopped going to my own young women class at 15, never setting foot in my laurel's class? I went so far off of the path for so many years, would I be a good person to influence the daughters of so many more (righteous, LDS, firm in the gospel, knowledgeable, etc..) people in my ward?

I feel like I am the back-door leader. The one who watches these amazing girls and their fierce personalities, and wonders which of them will stray. I wonder what I can say to them that no leader said to me, back when I still listened. How can I teach them that if or when they stray, they can come back? That they don't have to turn their hearts against God because of the things they have done? That He still loves them and doesn't want them to throw away their relationship with Him because of the paths they took, or the sins they committed, or the alcohol they drank. That they don't have to be angry with him that they don't fit the mold that people want them to fill; that they have a mold that He has given them and they can let Him help them to make it fit.

It sounds like the wrong approach. But it feels right, for me. I can't pretend to be anything other than me. I don't want to. I want them to know that sometimes, people have to step off the path to know what they really believe. I had to live my life for a few years without the Spirit to know that I wanted it. I'm not encouraging them to stray. I just think it's a possibility. I want every one of those girls in my ward to know that I would love them without judgement, no matter what or how or where their lives take them. They would know that if they got into trouble and needed a ride home, I would come and get them. That they could run into me in Target in 10 years and know I would be happy to see them, regardless of what path they were on. (Maybe this is the hope of every leader. What I'm really trying to say that I can imagine if my leaders had seen me at my worst, they would have just felt disappointed in me. I would have avoided them at all costs. I wouldn't want any of these girls to feel or do that.)

A few nights ago, I gave four of them a ride home. It was completely normal, something I do for my sons and his friends all the time. But it felt so...special. I could give these amazing, giggly, girls a ride. I enjoyed it so much. It's funny to see how different teenage girls are from teenage boys.

The funny thing is that I knew this calling was coming for a while. I expected to get something in Young Women when I got my gospel doctrine calling. It's working out (I really hope I'm not jinxing myself by saying that!) It's true I am the old lady of the group (everyone else is in their late twenties, except for the president who is 30. Gah.) But I can be the old lady, I guess. 
 
The amazing part in all of this, one of the parts that I'm most grateful for, has been the feeling of...insulation I've had. I can't describe it better than that. I'm able to go to the meetings and activities and feel just fine with what I'm able to do, on all fronts. If I go, I can go and not feel guilty. If I can't go, I can not go and not feel guilty. It's such a great feeling, and I'm scared to even admit I have it in case it goes away. But it lets me do what I need to do and not feel conflicted. I didn't know that feeling could exist; I never would have known to ask for it, nor would I have expected to feel it. It's a much-needed reminder that I'm getting help to be able to do what I need to do.

Gratitude #2: Mary.

One of my favorite categories of blog posts is the one I call "pagan at heart." For some reason, even though the are polar opposites, I lump my pagan proclivities in with my second-choice of religions: Catholicism (I mean no disrespect for the Catholic church in saying this; I just know that if certain parts of my testimony that keep me from changing religions ever changed, and if I were looking for another religion to raise my children in, it would be there.) So part of my excitement of going to Italy was knowing I would be spending time in centuries-old churches, wandering them, seeing their altars and saints and sculptures and basins full of holy water.

I read a book a few years ago called Expecting Adam. In the course of this book, the author has some very singular, sacred experiences while pregnant with her second child, who has Down's Syndrome. There is a moment in that book where she feels actual comfort from an angel that she can't see. In that moment, her heart cries out, wanting that comfort to come from a female angel. She immediately felt a change in the persona of the angel comforting her, and she knew it was a woman. Kind of strange in our world that doubts anglic visits, but in the context of this book, I have always sort of connected with the author in this desire of her heart.

Even being a non-Catholic, I see the draw of Mary. A female presence, a mother, a woman who can intercede on our behalf to the more patriarchal line of the Father and Son. There is a softness in Mary that speaks to my soul. And while I was in Italy, I saw depiction after depiction of Mary. Michelangelo's Pieta in St. Peter's Basilica is breath-taking, and seeing it was an experience I will always treasure. Additionally, I saw many representations of her in all her stages of life.

One of our final stops was in Bologna. I was having a rough day: the immense lack of sleep from jet lag had caught up with me; I  had stayed up late the night before talking with Amy and listening to an amazing thunder and lightening storm; and I had been late for the bus and made the whole group wait for me. We reached San Petronio's basilica in the mid-morning on a cloudy day. Bologna is a very northern Italian city; the countries to its north (Austria, Hungary, Germany) had a lot of influence in its architecture. Gone were the deep-set windows with shutters that you see in Rome. Heavy Gothic arches and windows are apparent everywhere. Further, it had been days since we had toured a church; most of the smaller towns all had churches that cost money, or we simply didn't have time to tour them. So it was a relief and a joy to tour another church, and such an interesting and historical one at that (the facade was never finished, and it fell a few years ago during an earthquake that rocked Bologna. Scaffolding covers the damage and shows a representation of what the church looked like before it was damaged). My emotional state led me to a side chapel in the church (San Petronio has 22 side chapels, 11 on each side, that each have their own art, relics, and saints) that had a beautiful statue of Mary wearing a golden halo ringed with blue stars.

I sat in front of this statue of Mary and had a Moment. She was so beautiful. Her posture showed her humility, her embodiment of the Sacred Female, her love for her son and the human family that his eternal sacrifice would redeem. I lit a candle for myself (the only one I have ever lit in a church; I so love the idea of lighting a candle, of giving light and hope to the dark world around) and wrote in my journal, tears streaming down my face. It was only 15 minutes, but they were minutes that I know will stay with me for the rest of my life.

This is part of what I wrote in my journal: "I am looking at Mary. She has a crown of stars. She is so kind and has such love. It reminds me I have a Mother in Heaven who loves me."

The next day in Venice, I found a glass pendant that had a ring of blue with stars in the center and I bought it so I could always remember that moment with Mary. I have scoured the internet looking for a photo of her, crowned with her stars, to no avail (imagine: no one has yet recorded all the art, sculptures, statues, and objects in a building that has 22 chapels. Lazy internet, lol.) I want to find a representation of her somehow. But, even with the lack of a physical picture, it's ok. I know how she looked in my memory. I know the pact that she and I made together as we watched my candle light up the darkness.

I am grateful for Mary and the hope she gave me.

Ben's Baptism

On Saturday, Ben was baptized.

That sentence is loaded. It means so many things depending on the angle that I look at it.

On one hand, I did it. I had two kids. Both chose to be baptized at 8. I worried about both of those days for years and years before hand. It is a relief to me. Our family isn't typical (are there really any typical families?) It has never been an assumption for me that my children would be baptized. A fervent hope. I've tried to set a good example and teach them the why's and the what's of the gospel. But 8 is really young. I am very grateful.

On another hand, it's bittersweet. I have two kids and both are older than 8. There aren't anymore children behind them. Age 8 isn't a "young" child. And while I can go to the gym without getting a babysitter or run to the store without kids, it is strange to know that my kids are this big.

But, hands and bittersweetness aside, Saturday was a good day. My nephew Clint baptized and confirmed Ben and did a great job. We had support from friends, family, ward members, and neighbors. The night before I panicked because I hadn't invited a man from our old ward. He was our home teacher for almost 10 years. He stood in the circle for both of my kid's blessings and for Thomas's confirmation. Shane and he were good friends - in fact I joke that Arkin has probably done more for Shane's eternal salvation than anyone else on earth. So I was sad I hadn't invited him. It was a tender mercy when I rounded the corner at the stake center and saw him there, helping to direct the flow of families as they journeyed from baptism to confirmation. I was glad I could ask him to stand in the circle as Ben was confirmed as well. I know it's cheesy, but God really is in the details of our life.I asked Kendell, my brother-in-law, to witness and also stand in the confirmation circle. I found myself down a witness so our current home teacher was able to stand in as well. I feel lucky that I have many people around me who can help. I missed my two nephews Jeff and James who weren't there. And of course, my dad. But he was there, I'm sure of it.

After the baptism, everyone came over for brunch. Despite my unintentionally crunchy breakfast casserolls, all of the food was wonderful. We had fruit and cookies and my mom's pull-a-part rolls and Amy's chocolate cake and juice and strawberries. The kids played Xbox and hotwheels and legos. My little great-nieces posed for me, using the bottom shelf of the bookcase as a bench. I sat on the couch with my sister Suzette and my nieces and my mom chatting. I loved seeing everyone enjoying themselves at my house.

I am so blessed. I feel so lucky to have so many people around me who support my family. It was a good day.

Now, some pictures. Forgive me - many of the group shots caught people mid- bite. It just means the food was goo--ood. 

 My cute family.

 Ben and Clint.

 My sisters and my mom. Love!

 Kaleb and Ben. We've been taking pictures like these since they were born.

 Me and Shelly. I wish she still lived by me!

 Ben and his cousins.

 Me and Vonnay.

 Shane and his mom.

 Shane's favorite ladies.

 Look at these cuties!

 Josie and Oakley.

Luke and Oakley.

February love number 15

Tonight we had our monthly activity for relief society. I had to do a little schpeel about doing chore charts for our spring cleaning/home organization theme. I said what I needed to say and then asked for a few comments. After I was done, I was free to mingle for a bit. I pulled up a chair next to my neighbor Karen and friend Michelle and started to chat.

Now, I need to back up a tiny bit. Two Sundays ago, I went back to my old ward for a missionary farewell. I was all excited to go to church there that day, imagining myself sitting in relief society with some old friends, feeling at home and what all. After all, I was going back to the ward where I spent over 10 years of my life, the ward where they watched me go from completely inactive to teaching the lesson on Sunday. I imagined it would feel like home. But you know, it didn't. I didn't really talk to anyone that I thought I would talk to. I stared eagerly at the priests blessing the sacrament - they were the kids I had taught in primary almost 8 years ago, all growed up with deep voices and bored teenage stares at the congregation in front of them. My kids even wanted to go back to our regular ward for primary - something I didn't expect at all. I agreed to take them back and so we sat through the meeting, listening to the talks. When it was over, we left the chapel, greeting a few people on the way out.

I wasn't expecting this. I've been holding on the idea that I don't really belong in my current ward but in my old one. But I don't. I was excited to get back to sitting with my new friends in my new ward that day. It's a little bit like high school - you watch the people that you are in high school with for many years. You might see them go from nerd to captain of the football team in the space of a few years. But you still remember that person being a nerd before they were cool. Everyone in my old ward knew I had Issues. I was other in so many ways. I felt a bit like a charity case - oh, she's the one who has to come to church by herself. They saw my struggles and remembered. I don't think they judged me for it, but they still knew me back when I was - - - whoever I was 10 or 7 or 4 years ago. Not who I am today.

But I have that in my new ward. I'm just me. I still show up by myself, but it isn't a big deal. Shane and I can go to scout pack meeting together and I don't feel like everyone is nudging each other --- look who's here! --- behind my back. I don't feel on display or someone to be pitied. I'm just Becky and my kids are just Thomas and Ben and Shane is just Shane. How awesome is that! I realized it again tonight when I went and pulled up a chair and sat by my friends. They weren't my new friends or my second-best-friends-because-it's-the-other-ward friends. I might not have watched all their kids grow up from birth to primary to mutual, but there's time for that. We have stuff we talk about. I still gravitate towards the same type of person - someone who has common interests with me - but I realized I was talking to a group of ladies who know me and accept me and don't expect me to be anyone else but who I am today. They don't remember me from then. How awesome!! I finally am feeling like I'm looking forward instead of back.

I'm feeling the love for my ward. I know, how cheesy is that. But it's comforting too and that's okay.

February love number 14

Today? It's Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday to those non-french speakers who might be reading this (because you know, this blog is so hip with the international crowd. Just check my stat counter. Heh.) Anyway, this particular hedonistic day is the final live-it-up day before the season known by most of the Christian world as Lent, the 40 days of sacrifice that lead up to Easter. I think there seems a little bit too much of an "eat drink and be merry for tomorrow we die" essence to Mardi Gras for your typical Mormon, but whatever. I did allow myself to go cray-zay and have 2 cokes from the food court at work. I like living on the edge.

So, tomorrow starts Lent. About 3 years or so ago I got all excited about Lent and did two things: gave up soda and fasted for all the Sunday's during Lent. I really enjoyed it but the whole fasting for 7 Sundays thing was really hard. I enjoy fasting and all, but I just don't have the energy to commit to that. But I've thought all day about what I want to do for Lent and I've come up with the following things:

1. I'm giving up soda, again. February has weighed in as a particularly hedonistic month with a grand total of 8 cokes being consumed. Mm. But, I do feel much better when I don't drink it, and I do better at giving it up when I have a definite goal in mind. So, bye-bye to the soda. Tiny sniff.
2. Run and/or Bodyrock 5 days in the week. Or more. I did the January Bodyrock 30 day challenge. I loved every minute of it. Okay, maybe not the burpees, but really burpees do make you strong even if they really suck. If you've checked it out and noticed that they always put a sex-ay picture of the host as a teaser to the workout - yeah. That's what they do. But, the workouts themselves are really intense and the hosts are genuine in the quest to help the world of living-room worker-outers who are out there body rocking in their underwear or whatever (but not me. I wear clothes, just in case you are wondering.) I dare you to try a week of workouts. It's 12 minutes of your life, you can use this online interval timer, and you aren't out anything. You might even like it. Let me know if you do.
3. Read scriptures or a church talk every day. One thing that I didn't anticipate from getting a kindle is access to the Ensign and other church magazines for frees. Now I have really no excuse for not reading this material. I used to use the excuse that I didn't want to pay for a subscription. That went away. I've read the Ensign two whole months in a row now. Who knew? Wow, I might be a real Mormon one day after all.

I'm going to leave it at that. A little bit of sacrifice, some attempts to make myself stronger with a little spiritual enlightenment. I like it. Oh, wait, no, I love it. Because honestly, I really, really do love the idea of Lent and am excited to have these goals for the next 7 weeks.

Do you have plans for Lent?

February Love Number 7

So, I'm going to try and keep this simple today because I'm tired and I worked almost 6 hours from home and I want to take a shower and go to bed. So there. Just kidding.

Although I don't usually talk much about religion, I was trying to think of something religious that I love, you know, like a scripture story or something. Since I never read any scriptures on my own (except at church) before the age of 14, I never had a favorite scripture story. They all seemed kind of hazy and mixed up. I knew who Jesus was, obviously, but the rest? Meh. All just names.

But, ever since I read the Book of Mormon all the way through for the first time when I was 20 I've loved Ammon. Ammon was a son of Mosiah. He knew how to party and have fun with his brothers and his brother from another mother Alma at one time in his life. Then an angel told him to shape up or ship out and he did as he was told. As a result, he left the safety of home and hearth to live among the heathen Lamanites. He loved the king he served and when asked, he shared the gospel. He stuck to it. People were eventually named after him. How cool.

Ah! such faith. He loved and served before he preached. Such a good example for me. I love this group - they weren't David's, who grew up being righteous with the expectation of doing great things. Nope. They were the rebels, the ones like me, hanging out at the Nephite version of Denny's, smoking and making fun of the nicely dressed people, trying to fight against the greater good. They knew what it was like to be bad, and then chose good. I love a good (and can relate to) a good 180 degree turnabout in life.

So how about you. What scripture character appeals to you?

June/July in review

I'm not loving my old 10 list format, so I'm trying something new. Hopefully it works out.

Things I want to remember:

1. Doing Ragnar with Shane and Amy and all my friends.  It was better than Christmas.
2. The barbecue we had at my sister's house for my mom's birthday.  My kids played in the pool for 5 hours straight and loved every minute.  My youngest great nephew and two great nieces were there and so it was a little like baby heaven (they were 3, 2, and 1 month, respectively. So cute!)
3. We celebrated my dad's 69th birthday.  Amy fed him cake, my mom gave him a diet coke, and I took pictures while our kids chased rabbits around the courtyard of the resthome.
4. Talked about blackmail photos with my niece Haley.  She apparently has some good ones on me, so I should be nice about her.
5. Turned 36.  Sigh.
6. Gave a talk in church. It was the first time since I've been an adult that I've spoken in sacrament.  I based my talk on Elder Bednar's talk on revelation.  I love the way  his mind works - he explains gospel concepts very logically and I'm all about logical gospel concepts!  I'm now set for another 15 years on giving talks I hope!
7. Found out my bestest friend Rebecca is going to have a baby. I am so excited for her and her husband Steve!
8. Sunday bike rides at the Jordan River trail with the kids.
9. Going to Snowbird to ride the tram look at wild flowers.  The weather closed the tram so we kind of had to kick it and find someway to entertain ourselves.
10. Thomas and Ben finished fourth grade and kindergarten in June, and then started fifth and first grades at the end of July.  I have two kids in all day school - I've reached Nirvana.  I'll let you know when I get more than one day in a row of being home to enjoy it. 
11. A night out with my sister at my work's retreat.  We giggled the whole way through Sundance's Sound of Music.  Someone around us in the audience even farted. It was awesome.
 

Books that took up my time:

1. Cold Sassy Tree.  It took 3 attempts, but in the end I loved it.
2. The Graveyard Book.  I had it on my list for a long time, and finally read it thanks to my lovely book exchange.
3. Til we have Faces. My first non-Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe CS Lewis book.
4. Matched.  This is a trilogy, so if you hate waiting for books for years on end, don't read it.  But it's really good and written by a lady in Salt Lake who has reached the shangri-la of coming from this culture and writing a book that doesn't end with someone dying or getting baptized (or both.) 
5. Spoiled (I heard about this on NPR and it was awesome. It kind of brought me out of my nearly 18 month long book slump.)
6. Currently, I am reading Ann Patchett's State of Wonder.  It is so good!

Things I worried about:

1. My dad.  He is declining, and will probably not last much longer.  I will miss him but will be so glad that he is no longer trapped inside his body.  He is actually home now and we are helping to take care of him.
2. The debt ceiling debacle.  I think it's ridiculous that the greatest country in the world allowed itself to get that close to the edge.  Everyone in Congress should get fired. That would teach them for worrying about reelection when the reputation of the USA is on the line.  I blame NPR for being so awesome that I even know anything about the debt ceiling crisis. I think I liked things much better when I was ill-informed and oblivious to the things going on in the world.
3. Finding runners for next year's Ragnar.  I know, it's a year away. But team Still Chafing Tail is registered and ready to go but still needs some runners.  If you don't sign up right away, you just don't get in.  Now we are in.  I have some people I keep telling that they are running. I think they think I'm teasing, but I'm not.  They'll come to see things my way soon enough (insert evil laugh.)

Stuff I purchased:

1. Headbands from Sporty Girl.  I love them!  I would wear one every day if I could.  I got 3 and wear them whenever I run or go out in the sun. 
2. Some new shoes to replace my broken wooden ones.  I aparently found the only pair of shoes at the Nordstrom sale that weren't one sale.  But they are cute and I'll wear them forever, so it's okay, right?  Right?
3. A couch.  Or rather a set of couches.  I can't wait for them to come in!  I will not miss my hodgepodge 10 year old furniture.  I won't.
4. Admission for the Halloween Half Marathon for me and Shane.  It's all fun and games and costumes until you actually have to run down the canyon 13.1 miles.

Things making us happy (I'm kind of blatantly copying NPR's Pop Culture Happy Hour here, but oh well!):

1. Handstands.  My kids are obsessed with them.  I should do a post just on handstands because my kids are constantly upending themselves all over my family room.  It's awesome.  They are getting so good!
2. My new camera.  It does HD video!  It can zoom!  It doesn't take crappy pictures!  I love it.
3. Social Media is making Shane happy.  He's helping some people market their ideas and he's loving it.  They had a lunch meeting to work out all the details.  He is so excited to be helping them. 
4. Being home with my kids after school every. single. day. of the week.  This is a new experience for all of us, and has brought much peace to our evenings.  It's ironic that my kids get into all day school and I start working less hours, isn't it?  but I love it!
5. Self-portraits.  It's the only way I get in pictures with my own camera, so I take them. I'm kind of perfecting the art of the self portrait.  Enjoy the fruits of my labors:

What made you happy in June/July 2011?  Will you remember these months for anything in particular?

Hark, those herald angels do sing!

When Thomas was little, Shane's mom gave me a set of Christmas picture books. One of them had the words to Hark the Herald Angel's sing with pictures.  I read this to him over and over and over, and then started to sing it to him over and over and over.  It was the first Christmas hymn to which I knew all the words.  Later on, I started to sing O Holy Night to him.  In fact, when he was 2, I took him to Walmart with me and a lady heard him singing Hark the Herald Angels Sing.  She told me how nice it was to hear a little kid singing a Christmas song other than Rudolph.

It made me feel awesome.

Anyway, whenever I sing Christmas songs to my kids, I include both of these songs.  They are my very favorites, and both my kids know all the words (at least to the first verse; not so much the second.)  Today in church, the last song was (wouldn't you know it?) Hark the Herald Angels Sing.  I have been waiting for it all month long.  To my joy, as the organist played the intro, Ben started belting out the words.  I didn't shush him, as I was hoping he would continue to sing when the song really started. 

I found myself singing this beautiful Christmas hymn with my boys.  They were both singing unabashedly for the entire song.  And even though Ben couldn't read the words to the second verse, he watched us sing and tried to follow along.  When the last line came, we sang together again: Hark the herald angels sing/glory to the newborn king.

It was wonderful and filled my heart with such happiness.  It helped me heal a little from yesterday's outburst.  It was a tiny tender mercy that was much needed.  We will never be much of a choir, and it certainly wasn't a very nice sound, but it made me feel so full of joy and hope.

Glory to the newborn king indeed. 

The four levels of Christmas

The year that Shane and I got married, I didn't have any Christmas decorations.  In the course of buying ornaments and tinsel and garland, I found a tiny white porcelain nativity at Deseret Book.  When I say tiny, I mean it.  It stands maybe 3 inches tall and probably that wide.  It has a stable with 3 figures underneath: a man, a woman, and a cradle with the shape of a baby.  It was the only representation of the real meaning of Christmas I had for for the first 3 Christmasses of my married life.  But I loved that little nativity and looked forward to getting it out each year. 

In a kind of related way, I learned a little about myself in church yesterday.  The lesson was based on the premise that there are 4 levels of Christmas.  The first is the Santa level.  The brightly wrapped presents, ribbons, tinsel, reindeer, and excitement that all go with Santa are in this level. I guess it is the most outward sign of Christmas (but it's still important in my book!!  Trees and Christmas lights are highly rated around my house.)

Second is the social aspect of Christmas.  This is where we enjoy the parties, the family get-togethers, the work socials that are so abundant. (So far, so good in my book. I love each part of this little 4 part premise.)  I love those gatherings of friends and family.  They are something I look forward to all year long.  It wouldn't be Christmas without them.

The third part is where Baby Jesus (and my little white nativity) come in. We remember the stable that the Baby Jesus was born in, the wise men who came from afar, the shepherds who ran to meet him under the star.  This is the level that I find myself in most often at Christmas.  You see, I don't hang a lot of church-related stuff around my house. That is, until Christmas.  I made it a goal this year to have as many of the nativities I've added to my collection as possible in each room.  I have one on a bookcase, on on the mantel, another in the spot in my kitchen window.  I have a table with a whole nativity set on it (all battered from my kids playing with it from year to year; Thomas particularly loved the donkey the year he was 1), and my Playmobile nativity on a table next to the couch.  (Which, by the way is awesome for kids to play with. My only rule is they have to keep everything on the table. Kids love it and usually keep the rule.  The only cause for alarm this year has been when Thomas introduced a Transformer into the game which was killing the baby.  I found myself yelling from the kitchen, "We do not kill the baby Jesus with Transformers!" It was awesome - who knew I would ever get to utter that sentence??)

So, Baby Jesus is my level of Christmas.  The fourth level - the adult Christ, who performs the role as savior - is still above me.  Don't get me wrong, I'm all about loving Jesus, whatever his age may be.  But my Christmas maturity level isn't there yet.  I'm still too enraptured with the infant that came into a stable.  I can relate to little babies who come into our lives, innocent and sweet and wrapped in soft things.  I understand the concern of a new mother; I feel for Mary and the circumstances in which she gave birth.  I sympathize with Joseph, finding himself with such an awesome responsibility to be the earthly father of the son of God.  These things I understand and relate to more than the things that come later.  Although I'm grateful for those, too.

We sang a song yesterday that I had never heard but was so sweet and made me cry.  It is called When Joseph went to Bethlehem. The words go like this:

When Joseph went to Bethlehem
I think he took great care
To place his tools and close his shop
And leave no shavings there.
He urged the donkey forward,
Then, with Mary on its back,
And carried bread and goat cheese
In a little linen sack.
 
I think there at the busy inn
That he was meek and mild
And awed to be the guardian
Of Mary's sacred Child.
Perhaps all through the chilly hours
He smoothed the swaddling bands,
And Jesus felt the quiet strength of
Joseph's gentle hands.

And close beside the manger bed
He dimmed the lantern's light,
And held the little Jesus close upon
That holy night.

So I'm alright with being a Christmas level 3.  It means I've made some progress, but still have something to work towards.  Truly, though, I am grateful for all the levels.  Because to have Christmas without any of them would be unimaginable.  To not have decorations, even if they are as hodge-podge and rag-tag as mine, would take out some of the warmth of the season.  To not give presents to my loved ones, however simple, would make me feel empty.  To not have my family and friends around to spend time with would be lonely.  To not see the representation of the nativity would be heartbreaking. And it is impossible for me not to acknowledge the person that Jesus became. 
 
So what level of Christmas is essential for you?  Is there one aspect that makes it all come together?

Wading in.

I went to church at my old ward today. I walked into the chapel 15 minutes early and took up our old seat (3 rows from the front, left side.) One of the girls I had in activity days was practicing a song she would sing during the meeting. As the room filled up, I chatted with this person and that, watched others come in with their kids and sit down in their customary pews. It felt like I was home.

I've been in my new ward for 3 days shy of 7 months. By now, I should feel a part of things, but I don't. In fact, most of church today was spent convincing myself not to simply go back to my old ward. Throw in the towel. Heck, it's the same stake; why can't I?

Then in Sunday school, we were talking about a scripture in Ezekiel about the waters of the temple filling up the valley of the Judean Wilderness. A man is measuring the depth of the water.  When he first goes in, the water was up to his ankles. A little later it goes up to his knees, then his loins (wow, never thought I'd have the opportunity to write "loins" on my blog. Giggle. Ahem, sorry.) Then it was deep as a river.

The class started talking about the water and how it symbolized life. One class member talked about how the man kept going into the water to test it. He didn't wait for the water, or the knowledge that the water represented, to come to him, but he "went forth."

I learned so much during that lesson.  I guess I have to be the one to "go forth."  If you would have told me 7 years ago I would be as fond of my old ward as I was when I moved, I would have thought you were crazy.  There is a special bond that comes from digging through the trenches of life for many years with the same group of people.  I came to love them because I came to know them; I haven't done that yet in my new ward.  They don't know me.  I hide in the corner as much as I can, holding on to the person I was in my old ward instead of who I am now.  They don't care who I was anymore than I care who they used to be. 

So, I'm going to go forth. I'm going to try to stop looking down at the water around my ankles.  I have to wade in a little further.  I can't really jump all the way in, it isn't in my nature.  But I can take some furtive steps and stop waiting for all the water and experiences and knowledge to come to me.

I'm going in, friends.  Wish me luck.