Remember the Sandra Bullock movie with that title? Do you ever just wish you could spend some time in a coma and see how the world works without you? In the movie, the pieces of that man's very self-made messy life sort of realigned themselves in a way that he could wake up to a second chance to connect with his family and be accountable for the stupid.
The weeks leading up to Mother's Day were super-tough this year. I was feeling very much like not one ounce of the sweat, tears, love or body & heart stretching action I have taken in the last 20 years meant much to anyone else but me. (Which, in an alternate post, I could write platitudes about why that's okay. Not here though. This one is the almost pity party.)
Then, a letter showed up in my mail box from my 20 year old missionary birthson. His timing was impeccable. His gratitude, lovely. His successful attempt to improve his own handwriting, charming.
When the "I'm unworthy of the air I'm breathing feeling" continued the next morning, I got myself in the car and drove straight to the LDS Temple in Bountiful. The lessons opened up for me as I waited to serve in the Sealing Waiting Room were exactly what I needed. I was reminded of John the Baptist and his feeling unworthy to unlatch the sandals from the feet of his Savior, Jesus (see 1 Nephi 10:7-10) and how, sometimes that feeling is not an accurate representation of who we are or what we are doing in our life.
Mother's Day morning did not begin with breakfast in bed. In a moment of irritation with my husband, I noted that one has to "marry the right kind of man to get that," but that wasn't very fair. I happen to be the FIRST one up in my house. I am the epitome of the morning lark -- up before the alarm on a daily basis, smiling without any caffeine required. The kids have tried to make breakfast in bed for me before, but I get antsy laying in bed waiting for it.
Instead, they put together a thoughtful gift. At home on my mantle, there is a canning jar etched with the words "Because of You". Inside it, there are rolls and rolls of paper, each bearing a single line of something my children know or believe because I was there.
I'm getting teary-eyed just thinking of it. Here's to all the wide-eyed moments and the bleary-eyed ones too. I wouldn't miss it.
The weeks leading up to Mother's Day were super-tough this year. I was feeling very much like not one ounce of the sweat, tears, love or body & heart stretching action I have taken in the last 20 years meant much to anyone else but me. (Which, in an alternate post, I could write platitudes about why that's okay. Not here though. This one is the almost pity party.)
Then, a letter showed up in my mail box from my 20 year old missionary birthson. His timing was impeccable. His gratitude, lovely. His successful attempt to improve his own handwriting, charming.
When the "I'm unworthy of the air I'm breathing feeling" continued the next morning, I got myself in the car and drove straight to the LDS Temple in Bountiful. The lessons opened up for me as I waited to serve in the Sealing Waiting Room were exactly what I needed. I was reminded of John the Baptist and his feeling unworthy to unlatch the sandals from the feet of his Savior, Jesus (see 1 Nephi 10:7-10) and how, sometimes that feeling is not an accurate representation of who we are or what we are doing in our life.
Mother's Day morning did not begin with breakfast in bed. In a moment of irritation with my husband, I noted that one has to "marry the right kind of man to get that," but that wasn't very fair. I happen to be the FIRST one up in my house. I am the epitome of the morning lark -- up before the alarm on a daily basis, smiling without any caffeine required. The kids have tried to make breakfast in bed for me before, but I get antsy laying in bed waiting for it.
Instead, they put together a thoughtful gift. At home on my mantle, there is a canning jar etched with the words "Because of You". Inside it, there are rolls and rolls of paper, each bearing a single line of something my children know or believe because I was there.
I'm getting teary-eyed just thinking of it. Here's to all the wide-eyed moments and the bleary-eyed ones too. I wouldn't miss it.
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