Ode to mentaltesserae - and mothers

FYI: I am currently working on a different blog entry to celebrate my mother, and that is why the essence of my incredible mother is missing in this post....
This post is born in the spirit of the one who inspired me to create a blog in the first place.

Today I taught Relief Society and I was able to choose any talk from this April's General Conference. I carry the responsibility of seeking out the needs of those I teach, and presenting the material to nurture those needs. I teach single female college students, and so I appropriately chose Elder Ballard's talk aimed at young mothers. Perfect. Really though, it was perfect. In studying the talk, I realized that the counsel he gave to young mothers applied equally well to single women of the same age. And so that is how I pitched the lesson. I felt completely guided in this lesson because these four points can be learned by single individuals, and enhance the quality of their lives. When it comes time to have a family, if that is one's desire, the tools will be available to create a more healthy and peaceful environment in which to raise children. I believe that God often gives us the opportunity to learn tools now that will prepare us for our futures.

He gives young mothers four pieces of counsel:

• First, recognize that the joy of motherhood comes in moments. There will be hard times and frustrating times. But amid the challenges, there are shining moments of joy and satisfaction.


• Second, don’t overschedule yourselves or your children.


• Third, even as you try to cut out the extra commitments, sisters, find some time for yourself to cultivate your gifts and interests.


• Fourth, pray, study, and teach the gospel.

Can you see how perfectly these words also apply to female college students? Well, anyway, I do. And here is the fun part - here is the part when I can say thank you to Julie for inspiration. She incorporates parenting with art on her blog.... Not only that, I recently attended her classes where she discusses the following two pieces. These two images represent the essence of Elder Ballard's first piece of counsel. On the left is a very tired and discouraged mother, drawn by Kathe Kollwitz. Down below is a Cassatt.

When I was first asked to be a teacher, I was told to avoid bringing in outside material, and to stick to the lesson. But I was also asked to use my talents. This is what gives me anxiety: I have to reconcile two vague instructions capable of contradicting each other. Well, today I used my talents. I love art, I get it, and so I used it to communicate what words cannot. I asked my girls to look at the two works with the aim of understanding what real life as a mother is all about. I related the story of Kollwitz, losing her son Peter on his second day in the Great War. She was hit by depression, and created haunting images of mothers and children. Then I showed the Cassatt, which represents a tender moment where mother and child connect and transcend the hardships of life on earth. I used these two works to inspire class discussion, about how real life is full of hard times, and when moments of joy come, all sorrow is forgotten. I believe that if unmarried women can grasp this concept before they are mothers, they will fare better through the rough years of raising children.

For Elder Ballard' second point, I chose another painting by Cassatt, because it shows a young girl - tired after being overscheduled and never having time to play in play clothes. She has to have etiquette classes, piano lessons, harp lessons, voice lessons, and more. (Thank you Katie, another amazing mother, this is more or less her interpretation of the work.)

At the risk of creating a post that no one ever gets to the bottom of, that is it folks. I had a ball teaching today, I even feel a little more like being a mother some day, believe it baby. And I love love love Elder Ballard's talk. Pick up your toys children.

USFS

Willow explained that skating connects mind, body, and spirit.

I love skating. I am learning to connect with myself, and with the world. Skating has become a language in which I can express how I feel about being alive.

This morning I passed my USFS test. For the last few months Afton has been drilling me and I have discovered what the body is capable of. She is such an excellent coach, and on days like today, I feel that she shines as much as her students do. Weekly she mentally trudges alongside me, trying to break down my stubborn walls. I often finish my programs without an end pose, I forget to smile, and I really, really, really dislike holding my arms out with pretty fingers. If I were six years old, she would simply demand it. But we have a really complicated relationship, where I refuse to do any of the pretty stuff until the actual performance. Ask her how much anxiety I cause within her. She threatens to stick her fingers up my nose if I don't do the pretty stuff. And when it comes time to skate for real, and a judge is holding my fate in her hands, I simply remember to be a pretty princess. I smile, my hands become porcelain, and the judge misses little errors because she is blinded by my confidence. And Afton is relieved.

During the time that I am on the ice for a test, competition, or performance, my mind and spirit are completely in harmony with my body. I feel an incredible fusion of all parts of myself and I am able to function under stress. It is the most beautiful rush, to know intrinsically that I am both spirit and body in one form, and that I can use resources from each. I feel alive and know that I always have been, and I always will be. The speed, the smoothness, the wind created by my own force... I play in a world that is nearly immaterial. Cement ceases to have ever existed, time melts, the ice is no longer cold, and I feel that I am a part of eternity. I ask people to watch so they can be there with me.

The reality of an imperfect world hit me a few hours after my test, when I found myself telling my little skating students to hold their arms up. I may have said it twelve times, to no avail. So funny.

Canoe

At age 13, that is when I first remember it.

It is Jessica who told me - she found out at work today. She just works at the office where people know things. And the lady called, the 94 year old one, and told her. Every year this lady goes to France, perhaps the French hide from her, and how does she get there? She sets out in her canoe and the coast guard picks her up and she gets there.

I need a canoe.

The dream consists of a faraway place, in either England or France, and I am in an apartment by myself with almost no money and it is spring and I am walking the streets to buy bread and sit at cafe tables. The streets are falling apart, there is loose gravel and weeds coming up in the cracks. I notice the smell in the air, and the faces around me. I will always writing, and looking at things - the shiny metals or the art in the museum or the splash of the Seine against the bank, really, and then writing. I realize the naivete... it isn't always spring, sometimes it is painful to be faraway, and it could be that I actually have no money. However, I only realized that part of the dream when Anca Sprenger threatened to help me make the dream a reality. I froze up and freaked out.

Now I just don't know.... But I could get started. I saw canoes in Costco yesterday....

Why live

There are many reasons.

Some live for food. Some live to laugh. Some live to make grandiose claims about life involving prestigious categorical databases. Some live to deconstruct themselves and this postmodern world. I live to love. I am not talking about kissing boys, no, definitely not. When it is 11pm at night and I am still on campus and Jessica sends me a text, "Are you alive?" And I can say back, "No. I not." I know it is only a matter of seconds, and yes, here it is, "i can save you." That is why I live. To love those who love me. Five minutes later, another text, from Afton this time, "eating nutella." To those who say that love cannot come across the communication lines of texting, hear this: it can. What these texts really mean: "Lily, I love you! Come home! We need to play! Are you okay, for real? I love the nutella you gave me. I love you!"
Of course, love is easier communicated in person. Tonight I had a conversation with Julie that expanded the range of our friendship. We discussed suffering and writing as separate subjects, though they go together well. I love her. And then I stopped by Katie's. I just wanted to be there with her, laughing and laughing in all the mess of grading. I love her. And when I finally did come home, there was Whitney with fresh chocolate chip cookies, "You can have one," she says in syllabic grunts with her toothbrush in her mouth. I love her. And Jessica and I did play. I love her.
There are no rules. I can speak in different verb tenses, construct awkward sentences to manipulate meaning and describe events in a baby voice and everything is sweet.
Except.
Not always.
It actually isn't that easy.
Sometimes, all of a sudden, when I am with someone I love, I am overcome by this intense salty wave that almost makes me cry the salt out, encompassing all of my soul with such a force that I need to shout, "I love you!" And just hug that person. But there are boundaries. Once, a middle-aged lady walked by my car and as I watched her I caught a glimpse of who she really is. I almost cried. I felt suffering and sadness and weariness held together by a rhythmic hope for something better. And I was filled with a feeling bigger than myself. Just love. When I taught preschool I had a little boy who cried when he woke up from his naps and needed me to hold him so that he could let his snot run down my shoulder. I loved him. He was precious. Or my therapist, I don't know what will happen if I just scream at the top of my lungs and let her see how much I really love her. And then there are those who never say "I love you" in return. What then? I can only assume there is love left unexpressed, because otherwise why go on?

If I were to really let people see how much I loved, it would involve some type of conglomerative dance. No sitting still, no standing still, but a very earthy transcendant physical ethereal string of movements. I need to use everything I have to express how much I love a person's very soul. This type of behaviour is seen as irreverent and inappropriate sometimes, ask my Bishop. I know there are those who feel that I should refrain from extreme displays of emotion but sometimes I see inside a soul and there is such beauty there that all I can do is love. My family members accept this, I have been this way always. I first learned to love them.

My life was almost lost once, and left hollow by suffering. That is one of the greatest gifts I have been given. Now I can experience life, love, vivacity, and joy to a like degree.