You Just Never REALLY Know Some People

The morning after the Men's Halfpipe Snowboard final at the Sochi games, I read this article.  Now, I was never a HUGE Shaun White fan, but I could appreciate his talent, and saw my own son who, for a while, thought Shaun was V E R Y cool.  But this article made me a little bit bigger fan.  It was written by Mike Wise for the Washington Post.


KRASNAYA POLYANA, Russia — COLUMN | What happens when the story you came to write doesn’t become the story anymore? What happens when that story does a 180-degree turn in mid-air, then a 540 and finally a dizzying 1260, spinning your perception completely around?

I had heard Shaun White had become too big for his snowboard bindings. He didn’t hang with other members of the close-knit Team USA community. His “people” shut down halfpipes at ski resorts so White could ride by himself. He wasn’t the cool kid we once called the Flying Tomato anymore, a thatch of reddish-orange hair rising 22 feet off a wall of ice.

No, he was now the Descending Diva — S.W.E., Shaun White Enterprises, the $15-mil-per-year action sports icon — the world’s richest, most famous and now most isolated extreme star.
He needed to be put back in place, I thought. He needed to remember the, well, dudeliness that got him here.

Then the story forked. Maybe I should explain.

About an hour before White competed, I met a freckle-faced, St. Louis kid with a stars-and-stripes beanie and a little miniature flag named Ben Hughes, his mother Liz, and their friend, Kaitlyn Lyles. Turns out Ben and Kaitlyn are here because of the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

Ben got a diagnosis of acute lymphoblastic leukemia at 6 years old. He underwent 2 ¹ / ₂ years of radiation and chemotherapy. Before he finished his treatments at the end of 2012, he had found two new inspirations in life: snowboarding and Shaun White. He loved both.

Kaitlyn learned of White while watching the 2010 Vancouver Games on television from her hospital bed at Sacred Heart Children’s Hospital in Pensacola, Fla., where she underwent chemotherapy for osteosarcoma, a rare form of blood cancer. 

“I was literally in that hospital room for all of February,” she said. “Shaun White is what really got me through. I loved that even after he clinched the gold medal, he still went for it, trying tricks and refusing to coast when he won.”

Kaitlyn playfully vowed not to leave Sochi before she was Mrs. Shaun White. 

I asked when the kids would get to meet White. 

“They don’t,” Liz said. “That’s not part of the deal. We just get to watch. They go home Friday after we see a hockey game. This is our only day here. I know. What can you do?”

In journalism school, they tell you early on not to get involved in the story. Keep professional distance from subjects and sources to maintain objectivity or something like that. But these kids were thisclose to their Olympic dream. Shoot, Kaitlyn was the length of two snowboards away from her future husband. Two cancer survivors had traveled almost 6,000 miles to get within maybe seven feet of their athletic hero and some rule or protocol was going to forbid them from actually meeting?

Hell with Olympic rules. 

I went over to Nick Alexakos, press officer for the U.S. snowboard team, told him about Ben, the kid behind me in the beanie. I held back on Kaitlyn, thinking her chances of having a restraining order put on her were greater than meeting him if I mentioned the Mrs. White stuff. 

So now here comes White, finishing up with the TV reporters and about to meet up with the print media in the mixed zone, about 20 yards from Ben and Kaitlyn. “Hey, if I lift that 10-year-old kid over the barricade, will I get in trouble?” I ask my clear-headed colleague, Rick Maese, who gave me the nyet look. “I wouldn’t do it, dude.” 

I was torn when White suddenly made the decision for me. Alexakos directed him to where Ben was, their eyes met and that was it.

I don’t know if White has caught more rarefied air in that moment, catapulting himself in one leap over the barricade. I do know one 10-year-old’s life will never be the same.

He high-fived them, they all kind of hugged as Ben shook his head in awe. 

Said Kaitlyn: “I’m like, ‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh, my God. I love him. He’s cuter in person.”

Liz Hughes finally covered her mouth as tears tumbled from her eyes. 



“Thank you,” she said, grabbing my arm. “Thank you.”

“You’re . . . You’re . . .” I couldn’t speak. I just turned away, looked up at the mountains and wiped my eyes, finishing the “Welcome” part a minute later.

You think Ben was shocked? I came here ready to prick a legend’s balloon, resolute that the carefree kid I met eight years ago in Torino, who called his dad “The Rog,” was now an out-of-touch celebrity that didn’t connect with real people anymore.

And then that angle crumbled beneath a wall of emotion.

The truth is, it was gone the moment I met his mother behind the stands hours earlier, before White had hurdled that barrier. I asked Cathy White what she thought of the backlash against her son, including competitors using social media to skewer him for either pulling out of the slopestyle event or not being one of the guys. She felt bad for him, saying, “It’s funny: They will tweet things, but up on the mountain they will be right next to him and not say anything.”

She reminded me Shaun is a survivor of two open-heart surgeries as a young child, that he belongs to the “Zipper Club,” with children whose chests have been surgically cut open. He gives 8 percent of his $15 million a year to the St. Jude’s children’s fund. Shaun’s sister, Cathy’s daughter, underwent 19 brain surgeries as a child.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told anyone this, but when he was on that hospital bed during the second surgery and I didn’t know what would happen to my child, a family friend came up and said something to me,” Cathy said. “We’re not religious and he was a Mormon, an LDS elder in the church. He said, ‘Don’t worry. Your son is going to make it. He is going to be all right. He is going to grow up and become somebody special.’ ”

 

Shaun White did. He grew up to become the greatest snowboarder in the world, so famous and admired that in an instant he could change a child’s life by clearing another barrier.

“I wish him the best of health,” White said of Ben, hours later at a news conference, saying he really enjoyed the encounter. “For me to be remembered in this sport, I don’t know if tonight makes or breaks my place in the sport. I would like to be remembered as more than a snowboarder. This is one big part of who I am, but it’s not all who I am. So yeah.”

Did I mention he wiped out in his first run of the finals and ended up finishing fourth without a medal, the first time in three Olympics he hasn’t won gold? No. That’s because, in the scheme of things, it’s not tragic.

“He’s a very good guy,” Liz Hughes said, her eyes welling again. “He does a lot of good things for many people.”

For every kid with a terminal disease, for every reporter convinced he has found the essence of who a person is, there is a moral to this story:

Never be too sure of where you’re going because you might just end up someplace else, crying on a mountaintop with a mother whose child’s cancer is thankfully in remission, with a rich and famous action sports star who delivered the Olympic moment of his life on the day he failed to win a medal.

For more by Mike Wise, visit washingtonpost.com/wise.

I Should Have Seen It Before Now

I read this article after seeing a link on Facebook.  I loved it so much, I have to share.  Originally found at www.normons.com:

16 Reasons Buddy the Elf is Probably Mormon

By: Danny Rasmussen //
You may have been shocked to learn that your favorite rock star (Brandon Flowers) or your favorite DJ (KASKADE) is Mormon. But what about your favorite Christmas elf??

***We hope you’ll forgive us for the levity of this post. We couldn’t help ourselves.

1. He’s known for being happy.

 A 2012 Gallup poll found that Mormons and Jews are the happiest religious groups in the United States.

2. He doesn’t know how to swear.

  No, really…

3. He LOVES sugar.

See: The Mormon Dessert Party.

4. He’s not afraid to talk to strangers.

 I wonder where he served his mission? 

5. He’s exceptionally good at arts and crafts.

 Just search “mormon” on Pinterest or Etsy and see for yourself.

6. Like early Mormon pioneers, Buddy walked long distances through freezing conditions to find a place where he belonged.

7. He spreads cheer wherever he goes.

Hey, so do these guys!

8. He loves singing.

9. He runs away from naked women to whom he’s not married.

Nice to know that someone was paying attention during the Sunday School lesson about Joseph in Egypt fleeing from Potiphar’s wife.

10. He owns his weirdness.

 That’s what we Normons are all about!

11. He’s surprisingly good at basketball.

Jimmer, Jabari and the #1-ranked Lone Peak High School basketball team are proof.

12. He doesn’t always fit in.

See: The Benefits of Having an Asterisk.

13. He wants everyone to be on the nice list.

Literally, everyone.

14. His charm inspired a musical.

 Elf: the Musical doesn’t have as many Tony awards as The Book of Mormon, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

15. He consistently goes out of his way to serve others.

Mormons have been found to be some of the most “pro-social” members of American society. We do our best to dedicate our time and talents to serving our families, our church members, and our communities.

16. People accuse him of being delusional but, as it turns out, he’s not.

 And neither are we Mormons.

Like I Needed Another Reason

One of my favorite sites to read on the web is the Good News network.  Each week I get a little email newsletter with about 10 stories of Good News happening in the world.  Some are big deal prime time newscast items, others are small gestures someone saw and noted publicly.  This is an article they included in my e-newsletter this week...perfect for this weekend's holiday.

I've always tried to write a little note to those who have helped me out or who taught me a new way of looking at something,  I write thank you notes for gifts received and aid given.  It has always warmed my heart, but this research sounds like it does much more than that for me too.

Thanksgiving Power: The Benefits of Acknowledgment

By Good News Network Thursday, November 21, 2013 

Can you remember how it feels when someone tells you how wonderful you are, or when you receive an unexpected thank-you gift  in the mail?  You felt really happy, right? But, how can we sustain those feelings of happiness longer and more consistently on our own?

One author says we can actually generate those feelings more abundantly when we give them away. Judith Umlas studies why it is important to give positive acknowledgment to our fellow human beings. With Thanksgiving coming up next week in the US, Americans will be given ample opportunities to prove this theory and see if they can keep up their own happiness while boosting others. Check out this article by Donald Officer that first appeared in Positive Psychology News:

Give it away so you can keep it

Gratitude has long been appreciated as a powerful implement in the happiness toolkit. From early on Positive Psychologists have recommended the keeping of a gratitude journal. However, as Martin Seligman and others concede, after a while just recording blessings starts to lose luster. To keep energy high, gratitude must be paid forward – expressed as open acknowledgment which takes on a vibrancy of its own.
Judith Umlas, author of Grateful Leadership: Using the Power of Acknowledgment to Engage All Your People and Achieve Superior Results, has forged a successful, rewarding career out of acknowledging acknowledgement. As Senior Vice President at New York based International Institute for Learning Inc., she has lived her credo for 20 odd years. I heard it in her voice when I interviewed her. This is no mere mantra: she believes deeply in the value of actual practice to both the acknowledger and the acknowledged.

In this book, Judy buttresses her own largely anecdotal evidence with several well known gratitude and acknowledgment studies. Her material is thoroughly documented, often in the words of her clients. She has distilled her experiences into principles that even the gratitude averse can apply, which will be helpful to consultants, managers, coaches and other professional practitioners.
Umlas has written about acknowledgement before. She published The Power of Acknowledgment in 2006. Her focus was transformed, however, while working at CBS as an executive producer well into the final weeks of her pregnancy. She began to realize how many people go without acknowledgement throughout their working careers. Even while devoting the utmost care and a high-level of personalized service, working people are routinely let-down when their dedication is ignored.

Is there a price to be paid for overlooking the contributions of people we work and live with? Gallup surveys suggest a strong link between full productive loyal engagement and acknowledgement. Moreover, reports and exit interviews show unacknowledged high performing employees often leave their jobs even when extrinsic rewards and intrinsic satisfaction are high. How many other important relationships unravel for the same reason?

Like every important change in our lives, learning to practice acknowledgement is often difficult. Consider the ingrained culturally sanctioned habits that prompt criticism over appreciation, starting with ourselves. Gratitude is crucial to acknowledgement. But we need to embrace the habit to realize its importance. Umlas summarizes what it takes to practice acknowledgment as five Cs: consciousness, choice, courage, communication and commitment. Courage especially.

Corporate Culture or Laziness?

Judy Umlas lists several excuses associated with a reluctance to acknowledge. Some suggest it is cheapened by overuse or looks like favoritism.

Yet the author says simple thanks, plus recognition, plus acknowledgement constitute a three part “appreciation paradigm.” It is far more than a management tool, even though it very much contributes to the bottom line. The army, for example, has asked Judy to teach her acknowledgment approach in its program of suicide prevention.

In his forward Doug Rauch, retired Trader Joe’s president and current CEO of Conscious Capitalism Inc., expresses his belief that capitalism is changing. He observes that, “When you create a true culture of care, of gratitude, unbelievable things occur.”

Other CEOs agree. Leaders at Whole Foods Market, The Westervelt Company, General Mills and Prudential Annuities have all lent their profiles to this book. Their experiences remind us of the happiness dividend which is enabled by gratitude.

Judy Umlas is on solid scientific ground, too. She begins with citations from Martin Seligman’s landmark letter of gratitude study, and continues through Tal Ben-Shahar’s Even Happier: A Gratitude Journal for Daily Joy and Lasting Fulfillment. She cites specific studies including the 2003 Miami University study by Robert Emmons and Michael McCullough on gratitude’s effects on physical and emotional well-being.

All this research underscores the role that unambiguous, heartfelt enunciation of achievement can play in this virtuous cycle. For acknowledgement is much like mercy as Shakespeare writes in The Merchant of Venice, “…it is twice blessed; it blesseth him that gives and him that takes”.

Read the full article, with references, at Positive Psychology News

Donald Officer, MA '89 is a strategic thinking practitioner who melds problem solving and emerging research models to help clients anticipate unexpected scenarios and opportunities. In addition to coaching, facilitation, consulting and teaching, Don writes and blogs at Strategic Praxis, where he welcomes comments. He is a certified facilitator and member of the International Coach Federation and the Canadian Positive Psychology Association.

Guest Blogger: Madeliene Lousie Knudsen

This fantastic young lady is a former Young Woman in my stake with whom I was privileged to work while in the Stake YW presidency.  She recently wrote of her experiences as her parents divorced and remarried and have divorced again now.  Considering the affects of divorce I have witnessed, I asked her if I could share her essay--and she graciously granted me permission.  I love her insight here and the wisdom she shows, even as a young lady of 20.

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

From a Child's Perspective.

Alright, well... here is a long time coming.

I probably will blow up on my thoughts/emotions. 

I read this: "My biggest fear is marriage. I don't want my marriage to end up like my parents track record."

This... That statement, is normal. That is completely okay and completely valid. This is dealing with divorce. As a child, going through and dealing with divorce since I was 9 years old, I have learned a lot about myself and about others. I promise you I still do not understand a thing about it. Nothing. I do not know everything. I don't know anything actually. I don't have a cure to divorce, to pain, to heartache, to fear, to emptiness, to loneliness.. All I know is that it takes time. For myself, it has taken me a long time to let love in. To let anyone near me. To want to date and to be near a boy. This meant opening up and letting a part of me be seen, to be hurt. This meant that I could end up sad again. That the thoughts of the past could come back and hurt even more. This meant that the one thing every little girl dreams of having one day, was now my biggest nightmare. Something I never wanted.

It started out as a numb feeling. As a what is going on? This can't be real? I have to do what with my holidays? I have to share all my time between the two people I love the most? I have to sacrifice hobbies and friends because I just want to see my dad and spend time with him twice a week? I have to act okay and happy in front of everyone that asks me questions?
I remember walking out of that living room knowing, but not fully understanding, that my life will now never be the same. That I would never sit in that room again with all of my family. That my base as a whole was now gone. 9 years old.
Friends claiming I was making it up to even get attention. Teachers going out of their way to accommodate you and make you feel loved. People all of the sudden care. Save it, please. I can't feel right now, just treat me normal. I felt split in two. A different person. Torn in half. Grasping for something to hold on to and something to help me feel semi normal again. 

As time goes on you start to come to face the facts that your parents are dating other people. That your family will never be the same. That dad will never be in the household again. That I couldn't run upstairs to him if I needed him at night. That I had to call him on the phone for questions about homework. I remember cringing and wanting to scream every time I saw my mom or dad with someone else.. touching them, spending time with them, looking at them, taking them away from me and my siblings.. I remember holding it in to the point where I would just cry myself to sleep at night. I am strong. I am brave. I am not sad. I am happy. I am 9-11 years old. 

Eventually you start meeting extended family, you start getting attached, you start feeling happiness when you are with them. You learn, grow, and create memories. You start seeing that maybe this isn't so bad after all. You find yourself being okay with the present and looking forward to the future with these new families. You let someone into your life because you can and are able to care for someone else other than your real parents and siblings. Re-marriage. 12 years old. Divorce. 14 years old.

The hardest part for me personally was that I felt betrayed. I felt vulnerable. I felt weak. I felt that I let someone into my life that I didn't initially want there, learned to love them, and then they were gone. Not only was just one person gone but the whole family pertaining to that one person was gone. I felt that I shouldn't have this sadness because I am a happy person who loves life. I have no right to be sad because look at what I am blessed with. SO MUCH. 15 years old.

Here is where I started to learn a lot about myself. 

I was terrified of any boy that got close to me. Be my friend? Great. All I had was guy friends! More than friends? Uh... close off all connections. Bye.

As I started to let myself feel what I was feeling and to be okay with those feelings, I started to see myself heal. I started to open up my heart to others. To realize that I know how to fix something that is going wrong in my life. I know how to get up and out of bed in the morning and to walk forward with faith, even when I don't want to. With out knowing it, I was strong. I was faithful and I was able to be happy because of what I focused on. I watched all these wonderful people around me going through struggles just like me. I watched wonderful people go through more severe trials than me. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to be an example like they were an example to me. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to find happiness and to smile.

One of my best friends taught me how to trust a boy again. How to be friends and how to open up even when it was hard. How to trust a relationship and be okay with dating. He was my friend first, my best friend at that. Our friendship even ended and this was my first time learning that that is completely okay.

It's okay for things to end.

End.

Such a scary word. Closure. Risk. Loss. Heartache. Someone you love and care about, Gone.

August 2011. Ending. 17 years old. Senior Year.

February 2013. Ending. 18 years old. First Year of College.

All feelings of past loss and heartache brought completely back. Blown up in your face. Not easier, but harder this time. Numb. Distant.

No one in my family ever imagined that this would happen...
not once.
not twice.
not a third time.
or a fourth.
not ever.

I think it is safe to say that no one really knows about the trials and opposition they will face in this life. They just know that they will come. No one really knows how anyone else feels or what anyone else is facing. I honestly believe that we don't even know to a full extent how we feel at times. Sometimes we numb the pain to help us deal. We push it back to forget that its happening.

I know for a fact that I have NO clue what my mom is going through. Or what my dad has been going through. Even what Kate and Jake have been through and are still going through. I have an "idea" because they are my siblings and us three technically "have been through the exact same things." But we haven't. All three of us are Different. We all deal with things and cope with things in a different way. We all have small personal things to overcome in the midst of these trials that affect how we deal with divorce and those around us. That affect us each differently. We all have different feelings and are attached to different things and people. Somethings mean more to me than to them and vice versa. We all struggle at times. Sometimes one of us is feeling better or stronger than the other. I believe those are the times we look up to each other and lift each other up the most. We do it in more of a silent way. We deal with the bulk of emotions that we are feeling on our own time. But with out knowing it, I believe we all help each other cope and deal with the similar, on going emotions that we have been feeling for the past 10 years.

The anger and frustration I hold inside of me has haunted me for far too long. Although it gets better with time, it is still something I work on everyday. Sometimes I lash out at people because I have no other way to express how I feel. I find myself secretly holding things in and then they come out at the worst times. I know that fights could of been avoided if I would of just let myself realize I was hurting. And let myself deal with my emotions. If I just could of put down that brave face that I felt I had to put on for so long. For my siblings, cause I was the oldest and for others, so they wouldn't worry.

I DO NOT write this to exclaim that I have a hard life and to complain. I write this to hopefully help another child that could be dealing with divorce or anything of the likes. I write this to possibly put in a perspective of a child's point of view.

I write this to say that we all know that life is hard. That trials are real.

I write this to help myself and maybe others understand that comments like, "What's wrong with your family?" "She's been divorced three times... whats wrong with her?" "Can your parents just not figure it out?" "Are they just not good people?" "Is there any explanation?" "Wow. Your family is messed up." "Aren't you terrified of marriage?" "What if one day your marriage ends up like that?" etc... Wether these are said as a joke or straight forward and serious.. there is still a sting in those words.

I write this to express my feelings of worry and sadness for people. I write to say I'm sorry for the things that we are all dealing with that no one else quite understands. And the judgements that we as people place on others constantly. I struggle with seeing everything and everyone in a positive light. I feel bad and apologize for those hurtful comments that I do not even realize I am making. Making about myself and my family and about others in general.

I believe that we don't mean to be judgmental and hurtful. That we don't realize what we are saying and what kind of an impact we are making on someone else and on ourselves. The quotes, "Don't judge a book by its cover." and "Don't judge someone until you have walked a mile in their shoes." time and time again ring true.

But most of all I write this to the girl who made the above comment that started me writing. ("My biggest fear is marriage. I don't want my marriage to end up like my parents track record.") That ripped me apart and tugged at my heart. That made my eyes water and think, "No. Please don't feel this way. I don't want you to be where I was." These are my biggest fears wrapped into one. The fear of marriage and my siblings feeling this same way.

I write this to my sister.

I write this to a beautiful girl who deserves to marry someone wonderful. Who loves her and treats her like a queen. Who deserves to experience marriage and love even if it ends up how we least expected. Who deserves to experience life and grow as a person, looking back with no regrets, even when it ends up how we least expected. I write this to a girl who has hopes and dreams that any girl has. That has fears of the unknown and who refuses to be broken and to give up. I write this to a girl who has such a bright future and who has every right to look forward with positive hope and happiness.

I write this to you Kate because even though it can be scary at times.. and things hurt at times.. and you feel alone at times.. there is always someone there.

I hope that with time, we can all come to realize even just a fraction of our potential and what we have to offer in this life. I hope that with time, marriage becomes a strength, not a weakness. A happy thought, not a fear. Something to run to, not to run from.

My initial reply to Kate's comment: "Don't be afraid of love. I was this way at exactly 16 too. You write your destiny. Learn from their mistakes. Learn from yours."

Call them mistakes, if you will. Lack of better judgement. Something that happened that "wasn't" supposed to happen. That wasn't necessarily wanted. Lets call if life, learning as you go, making the best of what you have.

With out much detail, stories, and information of the past. All in all, I hope that Kate and I, together, can conquer are fears. Can see these fears and turn them into something great. I hope that children dealing with these same things can see that there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. There is always someone to turn to and something positive to focus on.

I do not believe that people get married, to get divorced.

I don't believe that people have kids to split apart after.

I don't believe that people intentionally make mistakes.
I don't believe that people want to hurt others.

I do believe that people learn from their mistakes and try to better themselves in all aspects of their lives.
I do believe that people can change.
I do believe that we learn as we go.

I do believe that marriage and families are the most sacred and beautiful part of life. I believe that family brings pure joy. I believe that your families are sent to you for a reason. I believe like my mom once put it, "That we couldn't make it with out each other."

My family is noticeably imperfect from the outside. But on the inside, my family is perfect for me. It doesn't always feel like it at times, but I wouldn't change them, or anything I have gone through, for anything. I have learned so much, met so many people, had incredible experiences and it would only be nice if the pain could just be swished away.

I could go on and on about my feelings on this topic that stems in so many different directions. But all in all..

These experiences lead us and turn us into the person we are becoming. When the option of marriage comes along we can decide for ourselves what we want to do. There can be a risk, a chance of heartache and failure. But with out that risk, there is no risk of meeting your eternal companion. No risk of falling in love and being with someone who works great with you. Someone that you could grow old with and be with for the rest of your life.

For me, I clung to the gospel and prayed to feel peace and comfort. I had always heard people say that Heavenly Father answers our prayers and that Jesus Christ knows what we are going through.

Through these experiences. I learned for myself (and keep learning) that Jesus Christ died for our sins. That he paid the price for me to repent and to feel happiness. To feel peace and love and to have hope. I know that Christ lives. That he loves us and that he is the only person who knows what it feels like to go through our trials. He has been through what we are going through and he cares. I know that Heavenly Father listens to us when we turn to him in prayer. And I know that this is the only way I feel peace.

Other people cling to different things. But whatever you are clinging to, to hold you afloat.. Keep holding.

"Everybody wants happiness, nobody wants pain. But you can't have a rainbow, without a little rain."

Happy Tuesday.

Love, Madeliene Louise.

Life Lesson From Pop Culture #2

As the coordinating echo from yesterdays shared article, today's comes from the father of a son, and what lesson can learned from the adult male participant in the MTV's VMA/Miley Cyrus train wreck.

I think they are very good bookends on what we can learn from popular culture and how to help our kids avoid mistakes that the media and entertainment worlds want us to think is "normal".  See what you think.

Dear Son article

Sheep Lesson

How much are we like this sheep?I saw this online and couldn't resist sharing.  so true.  Sadly.

This is Shrek the sheep. He became famous several years ago when he was found after hiding out in caves for six years. Of course, during this time his fleece grew without anyone there to shorn (shave) it. When he was finally found and shaved, his fleece weighed an amazing sixty pounds. Most sheep have a fleece weighing just under ten pounds, with the exception usually reaching fifteen pounds, maximum. For six years, Shrek carried six times the regular weight of his fleece. Simply because he was away from his shepherd.

This reminds me of John 10 when Jesus compares Himself to a shepherd, and His followers are His sheep. Maybe it’s a stretch, but I think Shrek is much like a person who knows Jesus Christ but has wandered. If we avoid Christ’s constant refining of our character, we’re going to accumulate extra weight in this world—a weight we don’t have to bear.

When Shrek was found, a professional sheep shearer took care of Shrek’s fleece in twenty-eight minutes. Shrek’s sixty pound fleece was finally removed. All it took was coming home to his shepherd.

I believe Christ can lift the burdens we carry, if only we stop hiding. He can shave off our ‘fleece’—that is, our self-imposed burdens brought about by wandering from our Good Shepherd.

“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30

Nodding In Agreement, Through The Tears

I was suggested this article by a friend.  And boy, did I need to hear it.  as I read it I feel the tears roll down my face.  It's true for this wonderful mom who wrote exactly how I have felt now for 18 years, and it is still true for me.  See if it sounds familiar to you:

Thursday, July 25, 2013

The Mom In the Mirror from her blog joy de vivre

This post is also appearing here as the featured blog on Huffington Post Parents 

It's about the baby not the belly 

Ruby was pretty obsessed with my belly while I was pregnant. Who can blame her?  It is utterly amazing to watch a body shape shift into a human incubator.  Even if you're still a baby yourself and don't fully understand what's happening -- you know the two things that really matter: Something's Up and It's Amazing.

I thought it was all-too-sweet the way she pulled up my shirt to hug and kiss my bare belly and was just devastated if she couldn't kiss "bee-bee" goodnight.  I'd pull her close and tell her all about this miraculous thing happening to my body (and to our family!) while we snuggled. They were sweet and tender moments I will always treasure.

Obviously, her fascination with my belly didn't end when we brought her baby brother home.  So I don't know why it surprised me when one of the first things she wanted to do was touch my belly.

Oh, I laughed, delighted by her curiosity, the baby came out!  No more baby in mama's belly.  He came out and he's right over there!

I don't think she had the slightest idea what I was talking about.

A dozen times a day she came over to look at my belly, but I tugged my shirt down as fast as I could and tried my best to chirp happily and with a shrug  No more baby - just belly!  I knew this was part of her trying to process this whole crazy thing so I tried to be patient.  She eventually got the message (or so I thought) and transferred her curiosity to the new little baby in our midst (she had so much poking to do!)

But then, seemingly out of nowhere, it started up again. She was suddenly consumed with my belly (and boobs! but that's another matter entirely) and my glib little answer wasn't working.  She knew all about the baby. She wanted to know what happened to my belly.

Can I be honest with you?  I didn't  want to talk about it. I didn't even want to think about it.

I was exhausted and emotional and unspeakably overwhelmed by the unceasing demands of a newborn and his (understandably) freaked out big sister. The last thing I had the energy for was to explain why my belly still looked pretty pregnant even though I wasn't. Or why none of my clothes fit.  Or why my belly - which was once a cause for such sweet and curious bonding - had suddenly become The Thing Which Shall Not Be Named.  Addressing any of that would force me to accept that my body was different now - I was different now - and that was kind of a lot to process when I was deep in the throes of just keeping a helpless little person ALIVE.

The persistence of that belly (and so many other vestiges of a rough pregnancy) made me feel like a total failure.

Shouldn't I be more ... together?

I wasn't asking to be posing in a bikini on the cover of a magazine  two weeks postpartum (because that's 12 ways to Crazytown) and even though I've done this before and should know better I was STILL HOPING that by 6 weeks postpartum (and now 12, oy) I would at least look like ME. Not, as someone so politely told me when I was pregnant -- me "in a fat suit."

I did not want to face the fact that the lumpy woman in the mirror could in reality be...ME.

So when Ruby innocently tugged on my shirt to check out the state of things in my midsection, I was in no mood:

No no Ruby.  No more baby in Mama's belly.  Just fat.  No baby.  FAT.  Mama's FAT.

I don't know what it was -- something about the way she looked at me ... almost through me ...  that 
s l o w e d everything down so that the two, unblinking seconds we stood staring at each other felt like a lifetime  --

but I knew she understood.

Not the nuance of my insecurity, of course  (all those cultural expectations so much heavier than the baby weight)

But the two things that really mattered: After a belly comes a baby. After the baby comes the shame.

When I saw the look on her face I wanted nothing more than to swallow those words I had so thoughtlessly spit out. The only thing I had to be ashamed of was feeling ashamed of my body.

I thought I was keeping a safe distance from all this "post baby bod" crap but it must have snuck in the back door.  Honestly, its pretty hard to escape these days.  Not just because it's splashed all over magazines - but because it's alive and well on my own little street corner too.  I ran into a neighbor last week who is currently pregnant with her second child and as we were talking about the fears and challenges that accompany an expanding family ... including her constant worry that her body will never be the same again... she gestured to my stomach and said, "Is it weird to still look pregnant after three months?" Of course, I wanted to die right there on the spot but I laughed and did my best impression of The Person I Want To Be and said, "Well I did just have a baby three months ago"

Because I DID.

I'm not sure when it became the highest compliment you can pay a woman to say, "You look like you never even had a baby!"

...Because I'm supposed to ... pretend this never happened? Is my body supposed to pretend it didn't rearrange all my organs and open my rib cage and my hips and grow a new human person who has never existed before and then proceed to feed and nourish that person from the very same body that delivered him, whole and perfect, into the world?

After experiencing something so miraculous that the only real way to describe it is "godlike" ... I'm supposed to want to go BACK?

To what?  Being fifteen?

Even if you somehow manage to look fifteen again (which, why would you want to?) you will never BE fifteen again (thank heavens). (Matthew Perry movies notwithstanding).

Once you cross the threshold into motherhood there is no going back.  You might feel instantly and with acuity "Help! What did I DO? I'm not ready for this! Get me offa this thing!  I don't know what I'm doing!" but it's too late.  The curtain is up on the most important role you will ever play and it's ok that you and your body have shifted so that it fits.  More: it is right and good. You're not supposed to zip up your old jeans and slip back into your old life.

Babies change us.

It's designed that way. 

If our bodies tell the story of who we are -  this is a story I don't want to forget.

And that's what I want my Ruby to know.

I dream of a world where a new mother can leave the house in the morning ---- in ill fitting maternity clothes because nothing else fits her large and slowly deflating belly, with greasy hair and puffy eyes from the hours days weeks she's been functioning without sleep, with a leaking shirt from her breasts that are constantly churning and adjusting to make just the right amount of milk for the tiny young babe who depends on her for every last thing ---- a world where this woman can leave the house with her babies in tow (up and out in the world because her toddler's need for playtime trumped her need for a blowdry. Or a nap)

-- And this woman TURNS OUR HEADS (not out of pity "oh bless her heart") and TAKES OUR BREATH AWAY (not because we think she looks like the "before" picture of an ambush makeover) but because she is LITERALLY The Most Beautiful Thing We've Ever Seen.

She is a superhero
She is a goddess
She is a Mother

Drop dead gorgeous - not in spite of the things that make her so - but because of them.

This is the woman I want my daughter to see when she touches my belly. This is the woman I want to see when I look in the mirror.  Not the ugly truth.  But the beautiful reality.

It's a thing I'm really struggling with at the moment.

Pregnancy is not easy for me. I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to it because my whole mind and body just kinda freaks out.  This last one was brutal and and my body is still shouting that story from the rooftops. Six months of bed rest and 60lbs, agonizing hormone shots, early labor, depression, migraines, insomnia, stretch marks (just to name a few). I will probably never look or feel quite the same again and that's exactly as it should be. I'm not the same. Bearing children has brought me a wealth of insight and experience I wouldn't trade for the skinniest pair of jeans.

Maybe some mamas can do all this in a size 2 right out the gate and good on ya. But I'd like to stop pretending that's the normal or even ideal thing.  For me, there is so much more to mothering than how my pants fit.  As a new mom - it shouldn't even CRACK THE LIST- but it does because people stop you on the street and say dumb things motivated out of fear they'll end up looking like you at 12 weeks postpartum.

Well, I'll tell ya something friend. This is what motherhood looks like at 12 weeks postpartum.

I caught myself in the mirror this morning ... and just about burst into tears when I saw that rumpled, lumpy, saggy woman staring back at me. This is not what I'm supposed to look like!

But now that my eyes are dry, I'm ready for a second look.  Sure, I can see a What Not To Wear episode waiting to happen. OR I can see a body - and a person - who is neither a shabby "Before" picture or a sleek "After" one but is every inch a walking advertisement for "Just Doing It."  I see a woman who knows that makeup is great but making a baby laugh is even better. That a chic haircut will make you feel like a million bucks but rocking a baby to sleep is priceless. That working out feels good but not half as good as the look in your child's eyes when you drop everything to read a book or play kitchen or just be together.  That every time you have to choose between worrying about yourself and caring for your children it isn't a choice at all.  I see a mother who knows how to dig deep and do the work and carry on when it is almost too heavy to bear.  

On my best days, I can see myself.  And in those moments I see the two things that really matter: I can do hard things and doing them in the service of something greater than myself is what makes me beautiful.

Now I'm ready to welcome my babies onto my lap.

Come, my loves. Let me tell you a story. Mama's belly is different because I had a baby. I had you! This is where I stretched and stretched so you could fit inside! See how even my legs and my knees stretched!  Everything moved around to make room for you!  I got these dimply thighs and these little purple veins and these roomy hips when I got you!  Aren't they beautiful?

It's a miracle and it's the greatest story of my life.

The Downsides For Lefties

The 18 Worst Things For Left-Handed People

I can no longer be silent on the daily oppression of the left-handed community! Hear our pain, world! posted on July 16, 2012 at 11:01am EDT

Katie Notopoulos BuzzFeed Staff

1. Spiral Notebooks

Hurts the side of your hand. The worst are the 5-subject with the extra big rings.

Source: buy.com

2. Writing in a 3-ring binder

You have to do that thing where you fit your hand between the top two, then eventually have to pick it up and fit it in between the bottom two.

Source: flickr.com

3. Only 1 gross lefty glove in gym class

The handsweat of a thousand lefties before you.

Source: baseballglovecollector.com

4. Only 2 pairs of the green lefty scissors in class, 3 lefty kids.

Scrambling through the scissors to find the ones with the green rubber handles, only to see they’re already all gone.

Source: flickr.com

5. Ballpoint pens don’t work as well because you’re pushing, not pulling the ball

The ink will never flow as well for lefties, so our pens stop up more.

Source: johnsadventures.com

6. Ink all over the side of your hand

Source: flickr.com

7. Bonking elbows with a righty at the dinner table

Source: flickr.com

8. iPad Kindle app - left side is back page

This is really annoying - if you prefer to hold it in your left hand, you have to move your hand all the way to the other side to tap. On a real Kindle, page forward is on both sides, thankfully.

Source: flickr.com

9. Driver’s cup holder is for the right hand

So you have to hold your cup with your right hand.

Source: bimmerfest.com

10. Numberpad is on the righthand side of keyboard

Source: bernskiold.com

11. Dying sooner, so becoming a zombie sooner

Studies have shown lefties die up to 9 years sooner than righties. At least we’ll get to eat their brains.

Source: zombiecombatcommand.com

12. These desks

College lecture hall desks with postage-stamp sizes desks. You have to twist your back and hold up your arm to use.

Source: flickr.com

13. Measuring cups show you the stupid metric side

The cups/ounces side is for the righties. You have to do that thing where you twist your hole arm around to be able to read ounces.

Source: google.com

14. You, old friend

Source: webstaurantstore.com

15. Made for righties

Apparently you can get modified lefty controllers, but maybe you should just go outside.

Source: google.com

16. Cord on the credit card machine pen never long enough

Annoying. Annoying. I’m annoyed.

Source: beccasheppard.wordpress.com

17. THIS

THE WORST

Source: sensesthroughdesign.blogspot.com

18. For which someone invented THESE

The saddest thing is that all the lefties in the BuzzFeed office now want these. The indignity.

Source: buywacom.com.au

 

You're Killing Me, Smalls!

It's been 20 years since The Sandlot was originally released.  Crazy, right?  The anniversary was celebrated by the reunion of the cast (and lots and lots of fans) on the actual Sandlot...right here in Utah this past weekend. The Salt Lake Tribune had a great story about it:  HERE 

I especially like the Wendy Peffercorn reference.  Awesome.  You've gotta love Squints...and the whole gang.

Internet Wisdom

Internet Wisdom today comes from an article from New Zealand's Kasey Edwards.  I loved the message here.   It was good reminder to me, as a mother to a daughter.

When your mother says she's fat

by KASEY EDWARDS

MUMS AND DAUGHTERS: "I don't want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. ... We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are."

 

 

Dear Mum,
I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful - in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I'd pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I'd be big enough to wear it; when I'd be like you.

But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ''Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.''

At first I didn't understand what you meant.

''You're not fat,'' I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ''Yes I am, darling. I've always been fat; even as a child.''

In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that:
1. You must be fat because mothers don't lie.
2. Fat is ugly and horrible.
3. When I grow up I'll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too.

Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself.

With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ''Oh-I-really-shouldn't'', I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.

Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good.

But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.

Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at 79 years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.

I remember her ''compassionate'' response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ''I don't understand why he'd leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You're overweight - but not that much.''

Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.

''Jesus, Jan,'' I overheard him say to you. ''It's not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.''

That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad's ''Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less'' weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else's food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.

As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth - as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own - paled into insignificance when compared with the centimetres you couldn't lose from your waist.

It broke my heart to witness your despair and I'm sorry that I didn't rush to your defence. I'd already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I'd even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ''simple'' process - yet one that you still couldn't come to grips with. The lesson: you didn't deserve any food and you certainly didn't deserve any sympathy.

But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it's like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up. No one is crueller to us than we are to ourselves.

But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better - better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise.

And it's not just about you and me any more. It's also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only 3 and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don't want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves.

The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends - and the people who love them - wouldn't give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body's thighs or the lines on its face wouldn't matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.
Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ''flaws'' is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back.

Let us honour and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.
Love, Kasey xx

This is an excerpt from Dear Mum, a collection of letters from Australian sporting stars, musicians, models, cooks and authors revealing what they would like to say to their mothers before it's too late, or would have said if only they'd had the chance.
All royalties go to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. Published by Random House and available now.