close to heaven

In looking back through this blog, I realized that I never followed up with the story of my cousin Julie and her daughter, Ayla. Ayla passed away on January 15, at a little over four months of age. Julie joined us in Denver for part of our stay and had the opportunity to meet Asher. Her stay was full of tender moments, and we were sweetly reminded that heaven isn't so far away.

When Julie held Asher for the first time, I could see that Asher already knew who she was, Ayla's mother. He gave her big smiles and infectious giggles. We all agreed that Asher knows Ayla, that perhaps he is still close enough to the veil to interact with those on the other side.

Before Julie's arrival, though I was so excited to see her, I was hoping that Asher's presence wouldn't deepen her own pain. Julie expressed to me that on the contrary, Asher not only comforted her but also made her feel more closely connected to her angel babe. As we talked openly of Ayla and her life, I felt myself healed some. We shared both laughs and tears, rejoicing in God's plan of happiness for us.

Babes, whether in this life or in the one beyond, are sacred and precious. Though I felt it impossible, the love I hold for my son deepened further that weekend, for I witnessed the joy he could bring to a still-grieving mother. I feel the holiness of my calling to love and raise this boy. Both he and Ayla came straight from heaven, and both of their lives remind me that heaven is close.

For more about what I believe about mortality, heaven, and families, please visit here.

the importance of believing

I've had 25 Christmas Eve nights, but one in particular stands out to me. I remember sitting in my grandparents' living room opening our pajamas after our Christmas Eve program. All of my family was around and in the midst of Christmas excitement and conversation, I heard soft jingle bells. I called out, "Mom, did you hear that! That's Santa!" I believed that Santa and his reindeer had just flown over our house, and I believed it with all my heart.

Believing is harder now than it was all those years ago. Growing up is hard on believing, isn't it? All of us have dealt with broken hearts and unrealized dreams, with disappointment and grieving. Some days believing is just too hard. Sometimes the heart can't handle it. 

But what would happen if we all stopped believing? What would happen to our hearts? What would happen to goodness and innocence, magic and love? What would happen to our dear children?

So readers, with a heart heavy with our nation's recent tragedy and loss, I declare my belief. This Christmas, let's believe in Santa Claus again, believe in the magic of innocence. Let us strain our ears this Christmas season for the soft sound of jingle bells, for sometimes the good is hard to find, but find it we must. If we seek goodness and the light of our dear Savior, we will find it. We must keep believing.

Remember the Wise Men, who sought the Christ child, the shepherds who hearkened to an angel's call. Let our belief emulate theirs, let us believe in the saving and tender power of the Babe who would one day give His life for all of ours, for all of theirs.

I love Thee, Lord Jesus,

I ask Thee to stay

Close by me forever and

love me, I pray.

Bless all the dear children

in Thy tender care,

and fit us for heaven

to live with Thee there.

{Away in a Manger, verse 3}

In the middle of this national grieving, don't forget or diminish the importance of believing. Listen for jingle bells and seek good. Our belief will prevail--through tears and heartache--and will lead us to the Light we so desperately seek.

needed clarification

In light of recent political dialogue, let me set a few things straight.

I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints--I am a Christian. I believe that through Christ's grace--and only through His grace--are we redeemed from our sins. I believe that Jesus Christ Himself restored His church through the Prophet Joseph Smith and that we have prophets and apostles today who receive revelation from God.

I believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God, that He both lived and died for me, that through His atonement I am able to return and live with Him and His Father someday. My relationship with my Savior is what defines me.

I am a Mormon.

I am a Christian.

on feminism

When I was in high school I drove an awesome car. One time I was in a Walgreen's parking lot with a dead battery. I had my friend Rachelle bring her car around, and I took out the jumper cables to jump my little convertible. And really, guys, I am a pro with jumper cables. As I was setting up, this man came over and asked if I need help. I politely declined, because, really, I knew what I was doing. This man, however, clearly didn't believe me and stood by watching me connect the cables to my battery and offering unsolicited and condescending advice. Once my car started (because I knew it would), this man looked at me and said gruffly, "Well, I guess you did know what you were doing."

{So here's the thing, readers: I am a feminist, and my guess is that you are too.}

I'm not a bra-burning, men-are-the-worst feminist. I don't like that strain of feminism. I'm a feminist who subscribes to the most basic of feminist principles: equality. And by equality I don't mean that I think gender should be socially negated. Because it shouldn't. Gender is important. By equality, I mean that men and women should be given the same rights and have their responsibilities be treated with the same amount of respect. I don't think that men are inherently better than women and I also don't think that women are inherently better than men.

While the feminist fight used to be about voting rights and the glass ceiling (and maybe still concerns the latter), my own feminist fight is more about sex.

The media tells me that I need a waist two sizes smaller with a chest size two sizes bigger. I need a toned abdomen, a tight butt, and makeup that always looks professional. The media also tells me that as a woman, I really don't matter much. My body is sexualized to sell everything from shoes to burgers. The media tells me that really all I'm good for is selling beer and gum. And TV shows and movies often don't help. Just look at Penny on The Big Bang Theory, who, while likeable, is a valley girl with zero smarts. Or the girls in the Transformer movies, who play nothing but a damsel-in-distress.

What are my daughters going to think when they see their female counterparts plastered half-naked on billboards or—let's get real—half-naked in the classroom among their peers? What are my sons going to think when they see women objectified and debased so publicly? Don't women realize that by subjecting themselves to the media like that they're in fact diminishing their power?

Thankfully, positive portrayals of women do make a media appearance. I want to expose my family to strong female characters like Hermione Granger and Molly Weasley from Harry Potter, Jo March from Little Women, Elizabeth Bennett from Pride and Prejudice, Sarah Prine from These Is My Words, and Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables. I want my children to know about my grandmothers, both women full of faith, grit, and joy. I want my daughters and sons to look at Josh and me and see a marriage based on the gospel, on respect, and on teamwork.

Even though I see sexualized women—and even sexualized little girls—everywhere in the media, I do interact with real women everyday through church, work, friends, and blogs. I know what a real woman is, and she is the woman I aspire to be, even if that means I'm imperfect and struggling. I want to be real. While the world may disagree with me, I know that when I'm a mother I will be making a bigger difference in the world than any corporate executive or movie producer. I refuse to contribute to Satan's lie about women and sex.

As women, we are real. Flawed? Sure. Beautiful? Absolutely. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

new resolve

Working in downtown Portland has its pros and cons. Many aspects of downtown I like—Powell's for instance—but sometimes working downtown is hard. And in this post I'm not talking about the commute, the mundane-ness of my job, or even the pervasive cigarette smoke I smell outside. Sometimes working downtown is hard emotionally, even spiritually. Here's why:

{Portland is home to one of the largest homeless populations in the country.}

I see homeless men and women every single day I go to work. I used to ignore them and look the other way, because they made me uncomfortable. In general conference last month, I heard many talks about our duty to help the poor and needy. Then I realized I couldn't keep pretending they didn't exist. Because they do. And maybe it's a good thing they make me uncomfortable. Maybe I need that.

I saw a person last week huddled on the sidewalk as I walked to work in the morning. He (or she—I couldn't see a face) was wrapped tightly in a grubby sleeping bag, with feet in dirty socks peeking out the end. His shoes sat next to his head. That image burned itself in my mind, and my heart suddenly felt raw.

I used to rationalize giving cash to those who begged on the streets, thinking excuses like "They're just going to spend it on drugs and alcohol." And you know, maybe that would happen. Then again who am I to judge another's heart? I know that I am a child of God, and I feel so blessed to really know that. Most of the homeless here probably don't know who they are. But here's the thing: I know who they are. Our Father in Heaven cares just as much for that man sleeping on the sidewalk as He does for me. That is reason enough to care and to give.

I can't change the world, or even Portland. Whether through a smile, a greeting, or a few dollars tucked inside those worn shoes, I might be able to change someone's day or hour or moment. I might be able to help someone know that someone else cares. I know that God cares, that Christ cares. And if for no other reason, that's why I should care.

I don't know these people or what their lives are really like. But Christ does. Christ wasn't discriminatory in his love or service, and I shouldn't be either. Going forward I resolve to be a little more kind, a little more accepting, a little more aware, a little more compassionate.

a midweek temple trip

I feel my Savior's love

in all the world around me.

His spirit warms my soul

through ev'rything I see.

I feel my Savior's love;

its gentleness enfolds me,

and when I kneel to pray,

my heart is filled with peace.

I feel my Savior's love

and know that he will bless me.

I offer him my heart;

my shepherd he will be.

He knows I will follow him,

give all my life to him.

I feel my Savior's love,

the love he freely gives me.

"I Feel My Savior's Love," Children's Songbook #74