Right Now It Is Summer

It is hot here.

Most days, it is too hot to walk Auggie during the day.

This morning I woke up and we walked down to the neighborhood park early before the temperature broke 90 degrees. We were still both sweating, tongues hanging out, by the time we got back home.

Usually we go at night, when the sky is dark and the heat pulsing around us feels more like a blanket than a weapon.

We are adaptable, he and I. But when I put his leash on and we head out into the dark heat, he looks dolefully up at me for a beat. “Really?”

Don’t worry, I tell him, it won’t be like this forever. Right now it is summer. But it never lasts.

I know from experience.

Ethan leaves for volleyball camp in the morning. Most days he sleeps for half of it and plays video games for the other half. Which is exactly how I think it should be. During the school year, I don’t know anyone who works harder than him. Right now though, it is summer.

Savannah currently has two jobs. She starts early and ends late, swapping out her name tag somewhere in the middle for the next shift. Which is exactly how I think it should be. She will start at BYU in a little over month and the nice way to say it is that neither of us can wait for that to happen. Right now though, it is still summer.

Olivia is nannying and babysitting and doing odd jobs for me, doing whatever she can do to string a few dollars together before she heads to China. Which is as strange to me as it is to you. She will leave to live somewhere in China (actual location still unknown!) in less than a month and most of the time I think I’m making it all up. Right now, though, it is still summer.

Caleb is working hard cleaning dorms and making the most of summer in Utah. He is my long distance workout buddy and is pushing the weights, setting personal records in the mile run, and summoning the courage to ask cute girls on dates. Which is, happily, exactly how he wants it to be. His challenging course load resumes in a month. Right now, though, it is summer.

I find myself in the strange position of wishing that summer was over and also that it would last forever. In many ways it has been the hardest summer I have ever had. And yet, it’s still summer. Which is always the best time of year.

David reminded me yesterday that in five weeks my life will look completely different than it does now. I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad about that.

Right now though, it is summer.

I Sleep with the Bishop

I had to speak in church today.

Three of the speakers who were supposed to speak cancelled yesterday. So the bishop asked me to do it. And since I sleep with the bishop, I agreed.

It was hastily prepared and clumsily delivered. There were tears and disjointed thoughts throughout and plenty of recriminations once it was over. But there were also a few moments of insight and revelation—at least for me.

And since it is still swirling around in my brain and because I will most likely regive it a dozen more times in my brain before the night is over, I thought I would share a few highlights with you. For what it’s worth.

*****************************

When Christ came to the earth, he came for two reasons. First, he came to perform the atonement that all mankind might be saved and so the Father’s plan of happiness could be achieved—in other words, he gave us a way back. Second, he came to give us an example of what was possible in our own lives, to show us a better way to live—in other words, he gave us a way to live while we’re here.

These two things work together perfectly. The more we can practice living the way he demonstrated, the more peace and happiness we can have right now. And that practice is made possible through the chance he gave us to repent and try again and again.

One of the ways Christ demonstrated the way to live was in meekness. In a talk given in October of 2013, Elder Ulysses Soares said, “Meekness was one of the most abundant attributes in the Savior’s life. He Himself taught His disciples, ‘Learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart.’ Meekness is the quality of those who are ‘Godfearing, righteous, humble, teachable, and patient under suffering.’ Those who possess this attribute are willing to follow Jesus Christ, and their temperament is calm, docile, tolerant, and submissive.”

I have to admit that until I read and listened to this talk, I didn’t really understand what meekness was. Which may explain why I am so bad at it. I was under the impression that meekness was an attitude we had in relationship with God—being willing to submit to his will and obey his counsel. And perhaps that is part of it.

But in this talk Elder Soares confines the application of meekness to our interaction with each other. Meekness should define the way we treat those we love and live with and meet every day.

And now a little story.

As you know, when Joseph Smith first established the restored church, he and the Saints were heavily persecuted. During his life, though he was never convicted, Joseph Smith was summoned to court over 200 times on all kinds of trumped-up charges. In the meantime, he was harassed by mobs, tarred and feathered, the Saints were driven from their homes—all crimes for which no one was ever held accountable for by the law.

The Lord told the Saints to seek redress from the judges, the governor, and then the president.

When they sought redress from Governor Boggs of Missouri, he issued a proclamation: “The Mormons must be treated as enemies and must be exterminated or driven from the state, if necessary for the public good.” When they appealed to President Martin Van Buren of the United States, he told them, “Your cause is just, but I can do nothing for you.”

Eventually, their prophet was killed and everything they had built and owned was stripped from them and they were forced into the wilderness.

Here is the part of the story that amazes me.

Just five years after the death of their prophet there was a huge celebration in Salt Lake City on July 24, 1849.

The Saints built a bowery on Temple Square. They erected a flagpole 104 feet tall. They made an enormous national flag 65 feet in length and unfurled it at the top of this liberty pole. There was a brass band, President Brigham Young led a grand procession with the Twelve Apostles and the Seventy. Then followed 24 young men that each carried a copy of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States. After them came 24 young women who carried a Bible and a Book of Mormon and then the Silver Grays—all 60 years of age or older, which each carried a staff painted red with white ribbon and the Stars and Stripes.

Of this event, Elder Packer said: “It may seem puzzling, incredible almost beyond belief, that for the theme of this first celebration they chose patriotism and loyalty to that same government which had rejected and failed to assist them. What could they have been thinking of? If you can understand why, you will understand the power of the teachings of Christ.

“One would think that, compelled by force of human nature, the Saints would seek revenge, but something much stronger than human nature prevailed. If you can understand a people so long-suffering, so tolerant, so forgiving, so Christian after what they had suffered, you will have unlocked the key to what a Latter-day Saint is. Rather than being consumed with revenge, they were anchored to revelation. If you can understand why they would celebrate as they did, you can understand why we have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, in the principles of His gospel.”

Do you see?

This is the power of living like Christ and of choosing to live your life like his. Instead of anger and resentment and hatred, Christ offers us a way to meekness, peace, and love.

As humans we want to be right. But this is not the course that leads to happiness. Technically, the Saints would have been “right” in feelings of retribution and revenge and anger. They were misjudged and they were mistreated. Perhaps they even had a right to anger.

But here’s the thing and it is the most important thing: Being angry and resentful, even righteously angry, only would have made it so they couldn’t have access to the spirit—it only would have hurt them and made it so they couldn’t have revelation and peace and love as they built their new life in the wilderness.

Here is the problem for each of us: Because our spirits were put into a human body with human weaknesses, each one of us is subject to the natural man. It is the part of us that resists meekness and love.

The scriptures say, “For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father.”

So how do we do this?

How do we give up the need to be right and the urge we have for people to act the way we want them too? How do we drop resentment and anger and irritation?

We practice.

Yesterday I asked David to take my car to tire store and see why the back tire keeps going flat. As we were going to bed, I asked him what the guy at the tire place said. David said, “Oh, I didn’t go to the tire store. I just put air in the tire.” Inside, frustration and irritation perked up their heads.

Wait a minute.

Can you see the problem?

I’m supposed to be preparing a talk about meekness and the people in my life are not behaving like I want them to and making it terribly hard to love them and be meek. Sheesh.

I did my best and went to bed.

This morning, I backed the car out of the driveway to go to church and give my talk when the “LOW TIRE PRESSURE” light came on. Right on time.

I sat there in the driveway looking at that warning light and could see the choice in front of me. I could choose anger or I could choose meekness. I could be justifiably angry or I could have the spirit. The choice was mine.

The Father knew that our battle with the natural man would be frought with mistakes. He knew sometimes we would choose meekness and sometimes we would choose anger. And so he provided a way for us to try again.

As Elder Soares said: “Christlike attributes are gifts from God. [These attributes] come as [we] use [our] agency righteously.” We have been given the agency to choose. This means choosing the thoughts and feelings that will help us to be meek and love as Christ did.

Meekness is a gift from God that come as we choose to be meek. The gift part, I believe, is the chance to try again and again and again until we overcome the natural man and choose meekness every single time.

None of this is easy, which is why I worship Jesus Christ. He so mastered his life and his natural man that he could use his agency to choose the right every single time. Even when people were unkind. Even when people misjudged him. Even when they rejected him. Even when people scourged him and spit on him and hit him and judged him to be a thing of naught, and nailed him to a cross.

He came to be their Savior and they hated him for it.

And his answer to that was meekness.

In every relationship in your life the answer is the same. Christ says, Come follow me. Come live your life like I lived mine.

This is the way.

Seaside Donuts Forever

We have all gathered at the beach.

For one week, the band is back together.

These precious days are now few and far between, as my children grow up and insist on living their own magical lives.

I’ll take what I can get.

Yesterday, we rode our bikes down to the pier as the sun was starting to set. I watched as they pedaled ahead of me, their faces lit by the low, warm sun, mouths open and laughing, sharing their news, reminiscing, and trading movie lines back and forth.

As I listened to their joyful banter I was reminded of nights in the tent, long ago, when they would talk and laugh and read Calvin and Hobbs comics by flashlight while the crickets chirped around us and the stars rotated along their ancient paths above us.

A lifetime ago.

A moment ago.

I can’t be trusted to know which is the truth.

I can only be grateful that here in this moment, this week, under the sun and next to the waves, they are all mine again. And each other’s as well.

We will swim. We will boogie board. We will nap in the sun. We will pedal our bikes in the bright mornings and in the gorgeous gloamings. We will eat tacos and donuts and açaí bowls topped with granola and honey.

And I will stare. And stare. And stare.

And I will remember.

We have been making this same trip across the desert and down the boardwalk to this donut shop for ten years. Ethan couldn’t even ride his own bike when we first began. Now they are trading stories about their dating lives, their roommates, their study abroad adventures, and missions.

Life has changed. My children have grown up.

But when we ride in fading light to Seaside Donuts, it is as it always was.

Them, enjoying each other. Me, enjoying the view.

I plan to do it forever.

Divine Comedy

As you know, I’m in the middle of coach training.

It is, at once, amazing and terrifying. It is the most wonderful thing I have ever done and also the worst idea I have ever had. It is exactly and perfectly what I have always been meant for and also so far out of my comfort zone that I have never felt so lost.

This week I had a coaching experience that was so disastrous it broke my heart. And my spirit.

I told David and Savannah over an emotional video call that I was done. I said, maybe it’s like those people who hear a concert violinist and decide to take up the violin, only to find out that they can barely manage “Hot Cross Buns.” They realize that they should just appreciate the violin. From a distance. Watch with admiration and love and wonder, yes, but not make the mistake of thinking they should play the instrument just because they love how it sounds in someone else’s hands.

The self-doubt was crippling. The enormity of my inadequacies felt insurmountable.

In an effort to be encouraging, David said, “But every violinist has to start with Hot Cross Buns.”

“But no one gets hurt when they do,” I countered. “And that’s not even all. There’s Hot Cross Buns and then Go Tell Aunt Rhody and …”

“And Rigadoon,” Savannah said. “I hated Rigadoon.”

“Yes, Rigadoon and a million more tiny, excruciating steps before I’ll reach proficiency. And in the meantime, I am working with real life clients with real life problems. I can’t bear it.”

They bolstered and patched me up the best they could, but I went to bed sick and worried and uneasy.

Later in the week, I had another session that went remarkably well and even managed to get my first paying client.

I texted Savannah the good news. She texted back:

NO WAY
STOP IT
GO TELL AUNT
RODIE HERE WE COME
!!

I laughed.

But despite the little victory, the doubts and misgivings continued.

And then today, at the close of sacrament meeting we sang, “Lord Dismiss Us With Thy Blessing,” which just happens to be a hymn set to an old French folk song, that is the exact melody of “Go Tell Aunt Rhody.”

I grinned and wiped my eyes and my broken heart burst in my chest.

Because I have rarely felt so known and loved by heaven.

Do you see? We sang a song today that was picked out weeks ago at random by our ward chorister. And it just happened to be the very song that I needed to hear on the exact Sunday morning that I needed to hear it. Somehow through space and time with all that must be managed in a universe of staggering needs, heaven managed to coordinate a little miracle to send me an unmistakable message. It was an inside joke and heaven was in on it.

Do you see? There is nothing He doesn’t know.

Of course, the heartbreaks.

Of course, the doubts.

But also, the jokes.

Come on, that old, familiar melody said with a wink and a smile, I’m right here with you. I see you. I know you. I love you. Keep going. Someday this is going to be a really funny story: Remember that time I was a human being besieged and crippled by self-doubt? Now that was hilarious….You should have seen your face! I know! I thought I was going to die! And then we will laugh and laugh and laugh until we cry.

Alone At Last

I am alone.

We drove to Utah over the weekend to celebrate Caleb’s birthday.

We rode rollercoasters at Lagoon and rediscovered the joys of the tilt-a-whirl.

We sat next to each other on the bench at church. David had his arm around me the whole time.

David and Savannah flew back to Arizona to work. Somebody has too.

This morning Caleb and I worked our way through leg day together.

Afterwards I dropped Ethan off at EFY and then took Caleb shopping so he would have something besides four-year-old cargo shorts and worn-out tennis shoes to wear.

I helped him pack his car, bought him a soda and a cookie for the drive back to Logan, hugged him hard and waved him goodbye.

And then I walked into the little house I am renting, alone.

The house is quiet. I brought a lengthy list of things to tackle and accomplish, which looks ominous and overwhelming from where I’m sitting now. It’s so quiet I can hear the refrigerator running in the other room.

I have been looking forward to this open week for months. A week to work. A week to catch up and make serious progress and perhaps even get ahead. No laundry to fold or countertops to wipe or meals to prepare. Just me and my laptop and my own brain.

But now that it’s here, I’m seized by fear and doubt. Where do I start? Which is the right project? What if I don’t get it all done? What if I do it wrong? What if I waste this opportunity? Why is it so quiet in here?

I have had a feeling running under the surface since I said goodbye to Caleb.

It feels an awful lot like panic.

With just a smidge of bereft around the edges.

Because with everyone gone and my usual responsibilities momentarily abdicated, I am left with just myself and my own mind (and its serious concerns about my ability to do what I need to do) for company.

Compared to my hilarious and entertaining weekend companions, it is a poor replacement indeed.

And Then, Summer

It’s like magic.

One day life is hot and heavy, full of obligations and bed times and coordinating the weekly schedules, who has to be where, when. It’s all deadlines and consequences and commitments and dread.

And bam, just like that, summer arrives. Instead of hot and heavy, it’s just hot.

I will never get over the feeling of summer.

The looseness. The exhale. The long, deep breath.

I always wonder why I can’t feel like that during the rest of the year. Who says we have to go to bed on time? Who says we can’t play a game of 5 Crowns on a Tuesday night in the middle of our regular life? But it’s no good…I have never been able to recreate it.

Summer is its own kind of magic.

We swim. The kids watch hours of The Office covered in quilts under the air conditioning, while I write and coach. We eat off the grill. We go workout. We drink large sodas full of ice and shots of vanilla. When the sun finally sinks low on the horizon, I take Auggie for a walk and we walk as far as we want. It doesn’t matter when David gets home and it doesn’t matter that it’s after eleven before we think of turning off the lights, and even then David and I stay up talking in the dark like it’s a sleepover.

I am my best self in the summer.

I am the me that never gets tired, never gets overwhelmed, never gets anxious. I am the me without the have to’s and the shoulds and the judgmental thoughts. I am the me that believes nothing can go wrong.

I keep thinking, “What if I decided to live my whole life like this?” Ignoring the clock. Ignoring the calendar. Being in every moment, because no where is more important or more pressing.

If I could choose, I would be always be summer April.

In the fall, I am belligerent.

In the winter, I am self-righteous.

In the spring, I am a martyr.

But in the summer, I am content. With the world and with myself.

I am hot and in the summer it seems that that is enough. I don’t have to be anything else. The expectations fall away and the minutes stretch and I take one long breath.

It is hot. And everything is perfect.

Ice Cream Soup and Humble Pie

Some weeks are not as good as others.

When the week started last Sunday, our refrigerator stopped working. The guy who finally came out to look at it on Wednesday said that technically it was still running but it was no longer keeping things cold. Which seems like the entire reason it exists and runs in the first place. But whatever.

The ice cream turned to soup. Everything started to smell. We gave up, salvaged what we could, and started eating at room temperature.

Life is definitely harder without a refrigerator, but you know what I miss the most?

Ice.

Oh, for a cup full of ice. I might trade my first born son. (Not really, Caleb. You outrank ice every day of the week.) But it turns out that ice is one of the nicest comforts of life. I had no idea I was buffering with ice.

The whole week kind of felt like this.

Harder.

More uncomfortable.

I had to speak at a youth conference on Thursday and Friday. I spent the week thinking and praying and writing and worrying. I put everything else on hold as I prepared.

I gave two talks on Thursday afternoon and felt horrible about both of them.

I texted David that they were the worst talks I had ever given and cried all the way home.

I rewrote the talk on Friday morning and tried it again later that afternoon during two more sessions.

And I didn’t feel any better about it the third and fourth time. I still don’t know what went wrong exactly, but it felt disastrous. I was despondent by the time I drove home.

Sometimes this is how it goes.

Sometimes I think we just can’t overcome the fall. The ice cream melts. The chicken goes bad. No matter how hard you pray or fast or prepare, you can’t rise above your own weaknesses.

On Saturday afternoon I found myself dejunking our large storage closet. I pulled out every box and decoration and old halloween costume stuffed away and put it in the hallway for sorting. David came home from a baptism and bishop errands to find all the boxes pulled out and years of detritus stacked in piles along the floor. “What’s going on? You’re doing this now?”

The thing is I just needed to control something. I needed to make order out of chaos somewhere in my life.

I may not have ice or cold eggs and I may not have access to the spirit when I need it, but my closet is clean. So there, universe. I guess now we know who’s boss.

Turns Out, You're Amazing

Tonight my mind is spinning as I sit down to write, weighing a hundred different paths to take on the blank page.

I could tell you about graduation and how it felt when my gorgeous daughter all grown up and ready to fly, still looked for me in the crowd to make sure I was watching. Don’t worry, love, I’m always watching.

I could tell you about how I redid my third podcast three times this week before I published it and then still worried myself sick that it wasn’t good enough. Good enough for what, I wonder.

I could tell you how my husband turned 47 and how he is the easiest person in the world to love. He even makes loving me look easy which is utterly impossible. I know from experience.

I could tell you about how I had to teach Relief Society yesterday and how almost none of it went like I thought it should. And as I have an assignment to speak for two days at a youth conference later this week, I am now beating back the self-doubt demons at a near-constant rate. I really need an automatic weapon of some kind.

But what I want to tell you instead is that you are amazing.

And despite everything I just wrote, I am too.

No matter who we are, no matter what we are doing, no matter how hard we have tried, no matter how much we try to measure up, we are all equally terrified and also absolutely certain that something is wrong with us. Fundamentally. Irreversibly. Irredeemably.

You see? You are not alone.

Tonight we watched the documentary on Fred Rogers, Won’t You Be My Neighbor. At one point in the film, the creators of the documentary shared one of the many memos that Mister Rogers wrote to himself. It read in part: “Am I kidding myself that I’m able to write a script again? … After all these years, it’s just as bad as ever.”

We all have doubts. And they never go away. We are all worried about the ways we fall short and can’t possibly measure up.

What I want you to know for sure is that the idea that we are fundamentally flawed is a lie. It is also part and parcel of the human condition. When our spirits were put inside a human body with a human brain programmed for survival, we started to worry and compare and judge. Ourselves. Which only led us to look around and worry and compare and judge others. Mostly just for reassurance: “See, we’re okay,” we try to tell ourselves.

But living like this is just as painful as knowing deep down that there’s something wrong with us.

We hate ourselves. And then we hate others.

Which feels as horrible as it sounds.

Henri J. M. Nouwen wrote: “In a world that constantly compares people, ranking them as more or less intelligent, more or less attractive, more or less successful, it is not easy to really believe in a [divine] love that does not do the same. When I hear someone praised, it is hard not to think of myself as less praiseworthy; when I read about the goodness and kindness of other people, it is hard not to wonder whether I myself am as good and kind as they; and when I see trophies, rewards, and prizes being handed out to special people, I cannot avoid asking myself why that didn’t happen to me.”

See, the problem is that when there is the idea of “better” there is also the idea of “worse.” If we can be better, then we can be worse. And so can everyone around us. This is a seriously slippery slope of ranking and reranking that involves a lot of scrabbling and fighting for the top. Which, again, feels as horrible as it sounds.

Last weekend we rewatched the documentary, Free Solo. (Does it seem like I’m watching too many documentaries given the depth and breadth of my to-do list? I’m totally okay with you judging me for spending so much time in front of the screen. Don’t worry, I have thoroughly judged myself before giving you the chance to judge me first.) But this time, I was struck as Alex Honnold talked about how he thought life was about excellence and how if he could accomplish this thing—climbing El Capitan without ropes or gear or any kind—then he would have done something amazing. And that would mean that he would finally be enough and able to be proud of himself.

Heartbreakingly, you could see when he got to the top of this impossible climb, that he was surprised to find that he was still the same person. Alex Honnold had gone 3600 feet into the air without ropes or safety gear, accomplishing the impossible, and it hadn’t changed who he was or how he saw himself at all.

The problem is that your human brain is never going to let what you do be enough.

Which is why it’s high time to just ignore it.

It’s misinformed.

You have always been enough.

Last fall when I went to Spokane, my coach gave me this thought: I’m okay with being 100% awesome. I say it to myself nearly every day. Some days I believe it. Some days I don’t. But I keep saying it.

And I’m giving you permission to think the exact same thing about yourself exactly as you are right now. 100% awesome. 100% whole. 100% lovable. Right now. As you are.

I’m not saying it’s easy. You can see from how I started this post that I still have my fear and worries. I still battle my natural tendency to doubt my worth and my worthiness nearly every day.

The difference is now I know none of what my brain is telling me is true. It is the veil and nothing more. It is the curtain of mortality drawn over my mind. And when I really try, I can see the truth on the other side, I can see things as they really are: I’m amazing. And so are you.

Just thought you should know.

Ready or Not

Well, it took some doing, but we finally secured a cap and gown.

Honestly, it’s been a struggle. Between Savannah’s nursing class and my general disinterest in any kind of notification that comes from the school, we didn’t order Savannah’s cap and gown when we were supposed to.

Par for the course these days.

If there are balls to be dropped, you can be certain I’m dropping them.

But, there is an official cap and gown hanging in the closet, and tonight we even picked up her tassel with a shiny silver ‘19 hanging from the top.

Not a moment too soon. Graduation is tomorrow.

I have wondered if my reticence about preparing for the actual event tomorrow is indicative of my denial that we are here at all. At the end, I mean.

The other day Savannah was watching our old home movies. One of the movies showed her getting on the bus on her first day of school. Her bangs were tied back. She had a pink bow in her hair. She turned back to look at me as I told her I would be waiting right there for here at the end of the school day. She just nodded back at me and climbed the tall steps onto the bus, serious but determined.

I feel like I am right back there. Twelve years have passed and we are running the same scene. I’m off camera, in the background, reassuring and watching. But she is ready to go. She can’t wait to go. I will walk her as far as I can. But the next bit is hers alone.

Just don’t forget, I loved her first.

She used to call me “momma” with her raspy little voice. We used to lay with our heads together reading Little House on the Prairie and pouring over the American Girl catalog. And she was mine. For a moment. For a blink. For one long breath.

Tomorrow I will watch her climb another set of stairs that marks the start of her next adventure. She’s ready to go.

It’s time for me to wave and smile.

Ready or not.

Feeling Good About the Hardest Job in the World

I have a few things for you today. First, a thought for Mother’s Day:

Can I be honest?  I used to hate Mother’s Day.

It felt kind of like “Mother’s Yearly Evaluation Day” to me.  It was like a report card on my mothering and I used the day as a massive evidence-gathering mission on all the ways I was failing as a mother.

Which were many.

When my kids fought and argued on Mother’s Day, it was clear evidence that I was a terrible mother and hadn’t taught them how to love each other.

When nobody pitched in to help cook or clean on Mother’s Day, I used it as evidence that I’m the only one who does things around here and my family doesn’t really care about me.

When my husband didn’t get me flowers or the right gift it was evidence that he thought I was a terrible mother and wished he had made a better choice.  (I even used to compare the amount he spent on me with the amount he spent on his secretary for “Executive Assistant Day” and compared which one of us he thought was doing a better job—believe me, that felt good.)

When the speakers at church talked about how their mothers never yelled and were endlessly patient and always compassionate, I would use it as more evidence that I was surely the worst mother in the kingdom of God and my poor kids were the innocent victims of my ineptitude.

Do you see how fun Mother’s Day was?

But here’s what I want you to know. I was only wanting everyone in my life to give me validation of my worth as a mother because I did not believe in my own worth as a mother.  In other words, if I could find evidence that they thought I was a good mom, then maybe I could believe I was a good mom.

This was giving them an impossible job. Outside people and gifts and flowers and talks could never make me feel like a good mom, because deep down, I did not believe I was a good mom.  And then I blamed them for making me feel bad.  (Happy Mother's Day, to all of us.)

Here’s the thing: Each one of us gets to decide our own definition of what makes a good mom.  Keep in mind that your definition should never be based on other people’s results.  Your kids get to choose.  Your kids get to not believe.  Your kids get to be angry and sad and disappointed.  And none of it means anything about your mothering.  It just means they are humans (that you created!) with the agency to think and act for themselves.

For me, I believe that I am a good mom because I love my children and I taught them what I thought was important.  It doesn’t mean I did any of it perfectly.  That’s not in my job description, see?  My definition does not say love and teach them perfectly.  It just says love and teach them.  

The truth is I did this and continue to do this in the best way I know how and that (alone) makes me a great mom…in fact, it makes me the perfect mom for them.  

And the best part is, I just get to believe this.

When I really started believing this, Mother’s Day changed for me. Actually, when I started believe this, motherhood itself changed for me.

I’m a good mom.

And so are you.

Ether way, whatever you believe, you will always be able to find plenty of evidence for your thought. This one just happens to feel amazing and it is absolutely available to you.

Okay, next:

In addition to posting here every week, I have had a few other goals this year.

One of them includes going to the Life Coach School and starting my life coach training. It has been in simultaneously the best and the worst thing I have ever done. Mostly because I have spent a good portion of my year doing things that are way outside my comfort zone, forcing me to come up against my own fears and doubts over and over again.

And It seems like this will be the case for the foreseeable future.

It turns out that if you want something different from your life, you have to do things you have never done in your life. And that is harder than it sounds.

And so despite all my misgivings and all my doubts, I want to tell you about my coaching website and my new podcast. I write a new blog on my coaching website every week that you might enjoy if you enjoy my writing on The Two Regrets. Both the blog and the podcast are all about how I’m applying the incredible thought work I am learning about in coach training in my every day life. Maybe these ideas will help you in your life as well.

Finally:

If you ever want to try coaching for yourself, there is a place on my coaching website where you can sign up for free coaching. I would love to show you how getting awareness of your thoughts can change everything else in your life.

We all want to be happy. After spending years in misery I finally came to understand that I had the power to create whatever I wanted in my life. No matter what your dreams or problems or particular circumstances are, I want you to know that the life you've always wanted is absolutely available to you.  And I'm here to help you in any way I can. 

And there you have it. That’s what I have for you today.

My brain is already going to work letting me know that this was a bad idea. Don’t worry. It’s just doing its job. Thanks, brain.

Now I will do mine and manage my brain. Which I’m learning is the hardest job in the world.

Good thing I’m so awesome.