Dear Elder Holland,

Thank you and Amen!

Prelude to a Sabbath.

I spent three months AWOL from ward choir. Because going to practice at 9:00am is just as stressful for my family as starting church at 9:00am.

But something was missing so I went back.


And now here is how it plays out for me:

A verse, a line, a turn of phrase. A message meant just for me. Last week it was "I loved to choose and see my path; but now lead Thou me on!...Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!" The words find a home in my heart and I know without a doubt it is just what I need.

But it never ends there. If I am still. If I listen just right, the message will be repeated. In a talk. A prayer. A lesson. Sacrament Meeting. Sunday School or Relief Society. Sometimes in all three. Constant reminders of what will soon fade as I slip past the church-house doors and return to the mad, mad world.

Just enough to get me through another day. Another week. Bearing me up. Buoying me. Carrying me through till the next Sabbath morning.

This week it is "For I am called by Thy name." Over and over and over I need to hear the words. I need to feel the words. To want on the very deepest level to be called by His name.


I know how to look now. To listen for its repeated refrain.

Let me just say that I wasn't kidding about having a midlife crisis.

This week has been particularly difficult for me. I have found myself distracted by a part of me who is not who I want to be. I have doubted myself like never before. And I have dwelt on a deep ache inside that I generally try to ignore. Which more or less means I've been miserable.

But even so it's amazing how God sends you vital little messages just when you need them the most. They may at first appear to be coincidental. But I know most certainly they are not accidental.

Wednesday I was particularly sad. But I managed to keep that hidden as I went about my daily routine. So it was quite a suprise when just before he left for school my 17 1/2 year old son uncharacteristically came over to give me a big hug. As he left, I knew who had sent him over to hug me. And it was just what I needed to get through that day.


Tonight I've been in search of something my son requested of me. I failed to find it and thus failed him. But in the search I came across a bunch of memorabilia from my childhood. And a special folder I keep regarding my father's death. Somehow in the midst of a big pile of papers a certain letter tumbled out. I knew the handwriting immediately, although I hadn't seen it for over 25 years. It was a letter from my father, written to me during my Freshman year at BYU. In it he listed several traits he admired about me and told me how proud he was of me. And what a good person I was. He ended with his standard sign-off: "Remember who you are."

Thanks, Dad. I needed that.


My struggles are not over. But at least I know I won't endure them alone.


God does know your name.

Courtney's kind words to me today. Georgia's constant friendship and sincere concern. Good food and great friends.

That my 15-year-old son wanted to take a picture of a rogue crocus growing up through the lawn so I could put it on my blog.

When my workaholic co-supervisor responded to my self-deprecating comment about my aspiring to be an underachiever and keep under the radar with this, "There's nothing about you that is underachieving."

Spring! The sound of the birds singing every morning makes my heart sing. I have never before needed so badly for Spring to arrive. It's in the air. It's coming!

Watching my daughter carry one of her best friends through the frozen and ice-topped waters of Utah Lake today. Photos to come soon, I hope!

The other day I let my daughter out the door knowing full well she was dressed inappropriately.

Not immodestly but definitely inappropriately.

It was the day of the school music fest and she should've worn something other than her usual attire--boys' gym shorts and a printed tee. It wasn't even one of her nicer printed tees. I quickly realized my reasoning with her was in vain and in my "choose-your-battle" kind of way sent her out the door with my usual, "Bye. Love you. Have a great day!"



Later that morning, as I made my way into the crowded auditorium I spotted her on the front row. She sings in the school choir. She stood there, quite tall for her age, among the tiny princesses in their ball gowns and their updos and even in make-up (we're talking K-6 here, people).

My initial thought was, "There! That will teach her a lesson!" A lesson that had gone unheeded when I tried to teach it to her this morning before she left for school.

But then reason worked it's way through my clouded head and I had second thoughts. Maybe this is the lesson I'd prefer her to learn. That it doesn't matter what is going on around her. How the world or the school or the other princesses tell her she should look.

She stood there boldly. Sending out the message, "This is me. This is who I am. And I'm OK with that."


Later that night she dressed herself for the evening performance she appropriately donned a skirt. A nicer tee. And she curled her hair. The next night she left for the performance in distress because she ran out of time and couldn't get her hair just quite right.


I believe the second lesson may be the greater lesson of the two. It's the lesson with which I continue to struggle. Evidently as does she. But I will always remember watching her stand there a sum greater than that of her parts or her wardrobe choices or her hairstyle. Unphased and unfettered. Free to be.