Category: Uncategorized

When my dad brought home the singing machine–complete with microphone stand–I fell in love. In love with singing, in love with Yaz (the group my sisters and I sang to most with on our new fangled machine) and in love with the idea of someday singing on a big stage.

Until–as a freshman–I didn’t make it into the top choir at my school. And tough I did make it into the second highest choir, with several opportunities to sing solos, I believed myself not good enough, thus ending my singing career–and singing all together.

Sadly, I had not yet learned the ways of successful people. Successful people like Tyler Joseph and Josh Dun of the band Twenty One Pilots.

The Twenty One Pilots video for their song “Ode to Sleep” inspired me as I watched them persevere with patience, playing for a group of 12 people then 300, then on to a crowd of 12,000.

Watching this video I thought, that’s the key. The key to success. And why I never achieved it in areas like piano lessons, choir and writing (and by success–I’m not looking for grandeur–I’m talking about just doing something, anything at all).

I never learned the lessons of pursuing talents with patience, of doing things simply for the love of it and of pleasing myself first–free from worry about the opinions of others.

I never learned to say the words spoken by Tyler Joseph when, in answer to the critics who told him, “You can’t be all things to everyone.”

He said, “I’m not trying to be! I’m being what I want to be for myself.”

But, although I may not have learned these things before, I’m learning them now.  And I can honestly say that I’m loving the process of allowing myself to be a beginner. A beginner in pursuit of being what I want to be for myself.

 

 

I think I offended my inspiration today. So we took a break from each other while I got rid of about fifty percent of the contents in my closet (yep, even shoes).

Maybe tomorrow–if I’m a little bit nicer–my inspiration will come back to play.

I promised I’d return to you, perhaps tomorrow or the next. But the lessons wrapped inside of your beauty, your interactions and whispered inspirations came as timed images sent to me through Snapchat.

And this scribbled line in my notebook–meant to remind me of you, to save your place in my heart–cannot restore your splendor.

You beckoned me to capture you. To take a “screenshot” with the words that you sent dancing through my senses. But I promised to return to you, perhaps tomorrow or the next.  Foolishly forgetting that tomorrow–with a story of its own–is a very jealous dance partner.

I played piano for the first time in a very long time. And I fully enjoyed it for the first time in forever.

I enjoyed every plink, sputter and clunk that naturally occurs when one hasn’t played piano in a very long time. I was patient with my pace. I rejoiced in the sounds of the intermittent melody that my fingers fought hard to create. And I felt absolute, undeniable, loving acceptance from my Savior that my offering–in all of its imperfection–was enough.

And then–amidst my joy–something strange happened.  I cried. I teared up thinking of all of the plinks, sputters and clunks I’ve missed out on in my life. I don’t want to miss anymore.

So when–after questioning the prompting to start writing my novel again, with the argument that, “I don’t think I have the ability to write a really great novel.”–I was told, “Then write a really bad novel.”  I thought, now that I can do.

And I plan to enjoy every plink, sputter and clunk of it.

 

The purple ring seemed to give me superpowers. But I know it only worked because I made a choice. A choice brought about by the ripple effect created through the choices of another.

The ripple effect of these choices–choices of love, service and selflessness–made by this, my new found mentor, took seed in my heart immediately following her funeral service.

The ripple effect of her choice to always help the poor and downtrodden caused me to give money–free from doubt or reservation–to a woman outside of a restaurant.

The ripple effect of her choice to do what she loved even if it meant “dancing with the bookshelf” caused me to sing karaoke with my kids–because I secretly love karaoke–when normally I would have allowed fear to keep me as a silent spectator.

And the ripple effect of her choice to be a “do-er” with a zest for celebration caused me to take a late-night, impromptu trip to Walmart with my girls to fetch a new karaoke machine when the old one wasn’t cutting it.

But perhaps the ripple effect that I’m most grateful for came from her choice to love.

She would look at me–whenever I had the privilege to speak to her–with genuine eyes full of wonder and curiosity. It was an expression reserved not only for me but for all she met. I believe it is because she had eyes that truly looked outward, focusing on, and being interested in the light and life of others.

And as someone who often looks inward–focusing on my own fears, insecurities and need for comfort–this was the ripple effect that I needed the most.

So this morning I put on my purple ring–because purple was her favorite color–and I prayed that the Lord would bless me with eyes that looked outward. A prayer that was answered in ways that I never dreamed possible.

The purple ring may not have given me superpowers, but my choices–choices brought about by the ripple effect created through the choices of another–have forever changed my life.

“It was clear to me that a self-absorbed natural woman ‘is an enemy to God’ and to the people in her sphere of influence.”                                           ~Neill F. Marriott

I recognized the woman as I walked past her toward the door and I knew that I should know her name, but I didn’t.

When she stopped me to express how much she loved my dress I wanted to ask her name, to explain to her that I recognized her but had failed to remember why, and to ask her about herself.  Where she was from. What had brought her to this small town. And how she liked it here.

But all I managed to say–though I felt impressed that she needed me to say more–was “thank you” and walked out the door.

I have found myself in this position–in these moments of unrealized connections–many times before.

I remember–several years ago–dismissing the promptings to speak to a woman I saw standing alone in a hallway, with the excuse that I simply felt “too shy” that day.

It was then that a tender voice spoke to my heart, telling me that, “To be shy is to be self-absorbed.”

I did not take offense to this criticism because with it came understanding.  An understanding that my “shyness”–born from feelings of self-doubt and insecurities–was an act of selfishness. When I put my needs first–fiercely protecting myself from vulnerability–I robbed others of moments of connection and acceptance.

Tomas Jech perfectly captured my feelings about this when he shared the story of an unrealized connection with a co-worker.

“My insecurity was having an effect on other people and who knows what else it had been affecting. I had stifled another person in his moment of vulnerability when he was reaching out to me. Once I realized this, I got a determination to never be like that again. I want to be someone that people can be vulnerable around.”

I too am ready to shed the protective cocoon of self-doubt and insecurity and walk in vulnerability so that you–when we meet–will feel safe to do the same.

So please–if our paths should cross–stop and share your stories with me and I’ll promise to do the same with you. And who knows, together we may just discover that we are worth so much more than we ever imagined ourselves to be.

“If you don’t go up to somebody today and act and perform like they’re your friend and ask them about their lives and their big ideas, you will miss something that is going to change your life. So I’m begging you to act anything else but indifferent to the people around you today.”           ~Mark Bowden

When I first saw the old painter’s stool, I saw him. And more than that I felt him, there with me in that St. Louis antique store. I felt his energy, his love, and the life that still remained, somewhere very near.

I knew we had a long road trip home, in a car that barely held our luggage, but I also knew that I couldn’t walk away from the emblematic embrace of that old painter’s stool.

I now catch my family–when they visit my home–staring at my vintage stool in a way that tells me that they see him too. “This stool,” They’ll ask, a universal longing reflecting in their eyes, “Didn’t Dad have one just like it?”

For us this stool, painted and worn, is evidence of his existence and of the bond that death has failed to sever. And though it may not be his actual stool–

when I see it, I see him–

and this always makes me smile.

“Death is nothing at all. It doesn’t count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!”  ~Henry Scott Holland

When the voice on the blog tutorial I was listening to said, “It’s all about quality over quantity” it almost did me in.

As someone who is working very hard to reform my perfectionist ways, this was a bitter pill to swallow.

I reflected upon the words given to me in a dream when a man–after reviewing a book of my life and all that I was meant to accomplish–gave me this warning, “But your perfectionism will stop you from doing any of this. These things shall never come to pass.” He then shut the book–the book of what my life could have been–with a finality that I wanted to protest but knew I couldn’t. I knew he was right.

For me the pursuit of quality has robbed me of a quantity of life experiences.  Quality has kept me in my seat when I wanted to dance. It’s kept me silent when I wanted to sing. Quality has extinguished my passions and it has stilled my pen.

And I can’t–I won’t–let quality rob me anymore.

I will break open that book–the book of what my life WILL BE–and I’ll fill the pages with quantity over quality because only then will I really live.

I’ll fill my life with a quantity of failures so that I can taste success. I’ll endure a quantity of vulnerable moments to find what makes me strong. And I’ll live through a quantity of “No she didn’t!” to reach a quantity of “Yes she did!”

So to the voice on the blog tutorial, I’m afraid that I cannot heed your advice. To do so would mean that this blog would go the way of the countless unanswered pursuits that came before it.  All in the name of quality.

Besides–when I look back on my life–the everyday, unpolished, imperfect moments are always my favorite.

“When thou didst create man, thou placed within him part of thine omnipotence and bade him choose for himself.” ~David O. McKay

Our stay at the posh Scottsdale resort was brought to us by a decision. A decision that–though controversial to some–for us was perfect.

While watching my girls relax by the poolside at this posh resort, I reflected on one of my favorite things about being alive–our right to choose. I love the diversity of the human spirit and that ideas, thoughts and decisions can, and should, be custom made to fit our own life experiences.

“Never, and I mean never, allow anyone else’s ideas of who you can or can’t become sully your dream or pollute your imagination. This is your territory, and a ‘Keep Out’ sign is a great thing to erect at all entrances to your imagination.” ~Wayne Dyer

If ever I forget that this life is not a one size fits all experience and I find myself judging others for having different ideas than my own, I try to remember my Dad’s words of wisdom when he’d say, “What’s it to ya fish face?”

Similarly, the Savior gave us these words on the matter,

“Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? follow thou me.”

This verse always makes me smile as I imagine looking down and seeing the words,

What’s it to ya fish face?

written in the footnotes.

The decision that brought us to the posh resort in Scottsdale–though controversial to some–was made under the loving assurance from our Savior that He thought it was right for us.

So with His command to, “follow thou me” that’s exactly what we did.

And… well… What’s it to ya fish face? 🙂

 

I promised to write everyday within reason.

And today it simply wasn’t reasonable.

See you tomorrow.