What's in a name?

Chelsea: In the English: A seaport; a port of ships.

Compare that with my sister's name which means "very holy."

Most of my life, I had wished for a different name, including but not limited to:

Cassandra.

Melisande

Alice

Penelope

Molly

Guenevere

Genevieve and

Aurora.

I would have even been satisfied with a nickname and tried very diligently to give myself one all through school. Including but not limited to:

Waffles.

Frog

Queen Turky (it's a long story)

Kilshona

Apricot, and

Julio (which, oddly enough is the one that finally stuck!)

Many years later, I met a man. I loved him and he loved me. And then he helped me love my name.

Sea

Out on the sea I earn my keep,

A man just struggling to show

That he's got more inside him

Than many people know.

Gone from home

For what seems like ages

Many memories fade like

Ink on the yellowed pages

of my journal, my writings

Of all that has left traces

On my character and soul

So far from loving faces.

But one thing still remains

Untouched by time's cold hand,

A memory warm and clear,

Though hard to understand.

For in my minds' eye

And always in my heart

The memory's of feeling you

Although we're miles apart.

And through the sun and storms I sort

Through feelings true and deep

And there on reaching my safe port

Know who and what to keep.

I've been forever on this ship

Where sea meets heaven so near

Across the endless blue expanse

To reach my port so dear - my Chelsea.

~Muad'Dib

December 14, 2001

Two days before he proposed. I have never thought poorly of my name since. Though there was a little snag with my middle name. Until this same man introduced me to a certain author. I read one of her books and have listened to many of her ideas. I am now not only proud to be a port of ships, but also to share a name and spelling with a most brave woman.

Since then, I have also been given not only a love for my real name, but also a nickname I can be proud of: Sayyadina. That's just downright awesome!!

This is only a small sampling of the little joys in my life that are brought about by being married to Muad'Dib.

I spilled curry on my tunic.

This title is inspired by all the moments in my life that catch me by suprise. These moments are sometimes embarrassing. Sometimes they fill me with great joy. And other times, I am simply bursting with pride, and will remember them for the rest of my life.
Exhibit A:
Notice the little boy in blue coming up behind the shirtless man. Does he look familiar? How about now?
And here is the story:
We arrived at the temple parking lot on 21st street around 10:15 in the morning, hoping to watch my cousin and my brother-in-law cross the finish line. Lemur sees everyone running by and I try to explain a marathon to him. All he hears is "Race." So by the time we have walked to the corner of 22nd street, he is jumping and bouncing all over the place, simply antsy with excitement.
"Mom, can I race too?!"
I expect he would get tired after a block so I say, "Sure honey. Knock yourself out."

He's off like a shot.

I'm able to keep an eye on him for a few minutes, but it soon becomes apparent that he is not going to stop running. I no sooner realize this then I also realize I can no longer see him, because he is at least a block away. I still expect that he will eventually get tired and stop running, so I leave my Rivulet with my cousin and her two girls and begin to jog after my him. In sandals.

I yell to Lemur a few times, but he is always too far away to really hear me. By the time I finally reach him, we are well inside the chute between 24th and 25th Street that hails the end of the marathon. He has finally stopped to catch his breath, and I am happy to do the same.
"Oh honey, you scared mommy running off like that!"
He is beaming and panting and beaming, "I am super fast, huh!" It's SO not a question.
I laugh, "Yes, you certainly are."
We both pant and take a deep breath. he stands up from his squating position and heads for the finish line. I stop him, "No honey. This isn't our race. Let's go back and find our cousins."
He turns a stern face to me and answers with great authority: "No mom. This is our race. We have to finish."
"I can't honey. Mommy's too tired."
"Here," he says, "I will help you." He takes my hand in his and begins to run. "C'mon Mommy, we can do it!!"

I kid you not that my allergies began acting up. I ran with him despite my conflicting embarrassement and pride. Quickly my son got too excited to run slowly with me at the sidelines. He released my hand and yelled, "I'm going to win!!" as he took off for the end of the 'race.'
The announcer joked that he was the youngest kid they had ever had finish the marathon. I was again both trying to melt into the pavement and dying to yell, "THAT'S MY SON!!!"
After finishing, everyone was very nice to my little scene-stealer, and treated him like a racer. He was incredibly proud of himself. He drank his water and then told me he needed to rest.
But then!

He heard about the Kids K. He heard that he would win a medal for completing, and had been envying the medals he saw all the other people wearing. We decided to sign him up for the Kids K. Before that, I must tell you about another moment.

There was a rock wall. It was tall. Basically straight up. I was with my bestest cousin-friend and we decided that we wanted to climb it. Honestly, I wanted HER to climb it, and I'm not sure she would have done it alone. It was her first time after all. And perhaps I bragged about having climbed before one to many times . . . who can be sure?
Anyway, we had a race. I lost. I came down, actually quite satisfied with my attempt and my progress. I was much more excited to have come down on the hydraulic system giggling like a school girl and landing almost on top of my cousin on the grass, as she was also in a fit of exhausted giggles. But then I went to put my shoes on and noticed my Lemur looking a bit down.
"What's the matter son?"
"You lost, mom."
"That's okay, honey."
"No it's not. You have to try again."
I tried to reason with him, but it was to no avail. The lady running the rock told me I could try again: no charge. So despite my arm weakness and barefoot rawness, I harnessed back up and attempted the assent again. I made it halfway and gave up, content to ride the hydraulics back down to the grass. I was even prepared to meet my son's dissappointment. To my suprise he was cheering.
"Yay mom! You tried again! You won! You did it!!"
Who taught him this? For the second time in about an hour, I was bursting with pride!

Okay, to the Kids K. We packed Lemur and his 3 1/2 year old cousin into the double stroller, and my cousin took off with them at a steady pace while I meandered back with the two little ones each on their own harness. It was like having two pugs on separate leashes. Lemur and his cousin were signed up and suited up literally one minute before the K began. Then . . . they were off!
A wave of children, adults and strollers passed us by before I finally saw my own son trotting along with his cousin. He was wearing an official looking shirt and an absolutely official number. 504.

The K began at 18th Street and finished at 25th Street. By 20th, Lemur was exhausted. He began to tear up because he believed he would not be able to finish and wouldn't get his medal.
"I already ran my race, Mom. Why do I have to do it again?"
"Tell you what, son. Let me carry you."
He was hesitant at first, but soon I slung him up on my back and we continued the trek.
He laid his little head on mine and honestly: an extra 43lbs never felt so light!

By the time we reached the same place in the chute where we had stopped before, he was ready and raring to get back on his feet. He slid down my back and said, "Now I can finish."

He took off ahead of me, and finished the race. He recieved his medal: a red cowbell on a white ribbon. He was so proud. He asked me to wipe ice all over his head, and he drank water like a champ.

Below is the picture of my cousin finishing with her two daughters and a sleeping Rivulet in the back. We had already passed.

There are so many unexpected moments of joy in my life. I was just lucky enough to have pictures of these. Most are only kept in my heart. We so rarely acknowledge the moments that make our life worth living.

I am so grateful for a lesson I was taught a while ago: to let go of expectation. If I had clung to my expectation of the above described day we would have arrived, seen two people cross the finish line while I cynically wondered at the reason for the running, and would have walked away that day not knowing the answer.

Instead, I let my son run. I climbed a wall. I carried my son to his destination when he was too tired to do it himself. I diffused a cloudy situation with a bubble of joy that spread until it encompassed everyone around me. I allowed myself to accept the possibility that "The Universe" had a better day in mind than I did.

I cried throughout the day as I saw people running, stuggling and finishing. My son's race was a tiny blip compared to the miles and miles other people ran. And now because of his race, and being able to cheer others on, now I see the reason in a marathon.

Go Tristano! You are my hero. You are amazing. I know you are glad you ran the marathon for many reasons. I have a reason too: I 'm glad you ran so that I would come to see you finish and in so doing, be able to learn why you ran in the first place. Yay you!

"Like waving red flag in front of bull . . ."

Let's pretend that I have my own personal demon. Not a cute cuddly "Golden Compass"daemon that resides outside of myself and reflects my most primal nature, while sometimes making adorably perceptive comments. And not a dancing imp with horns and green leathery tail who cackles high-pitchedly while jumping from one of my shoulders to the other and poking my head with his silver pitchfork. No. Like a minion of the prince of lies. Once a brother of mine. Still a brother of mine. Even human looking, though much more diabolical.

Let's pretend that this demon is simply a son of a b . . .ear. Let's even pretend that his name is . . . Paul.

Now let's look at my life the past few months. Like looking out from the back of Mountain Road Ranch just after a rain, one would be at once moved by the beauty and sighing in emotional release. Wonderful. Awesome. A certain brand of perfect.

Enter onto the scene, the image of Paul, who has been silent for a time. Not because he chose to be but because he instead was giving me a little reign. How would this view look to him?

Like a red flag in front of a bull. Hence the title.

And once again I am in a position where I see my thoughts and my dreams - even my emotions - twisting and shifting as though an invisible person stood before me and while looking through him, he still bends my view and my reality just by being there.

I recently found it necessary to uproot a wicked residue of negative energy from my new abode. MINE! Sorry, that just popped out. Anyway, it has been an interesting experience the past month as I work on making this new house into MY HOME. MINE!!! Again, primal property possession passion surfacing.

In focusing on this change, this shift, I have let a few things slide. And my own personal demon has taken the opportunity to try and twist my good until it looks evil. Again.

I have tried a few experiments, hoping to truly HONE my self-mastery skills. I have learned a few things so far.
1. Guilt does me more harm than sugar does.
2. Lying does more harm than sugar does.
3. These experiments are a dangerous and slippery slope.
4. There are certain emotions that need to be . . . waited out. Not acted upon. Perhaps they are valid. If they are, they will be as valid and as painful tomorrow. BUT if they improve or diminish with the passing of a day, then I will have saved myself (and my husband) the grief of trying to persuade us both that what I'm feeling needs to be dealt with NOW.
5. The advice "Take time out of the equation" fits every problem or crisis I can or could be faced with.


A few things I still need answers to:
1. Does the fact that guilt is more harmful than sugar mean that sugar does no harm at all?
2. Does that make sugar "safe" for me?
3. Do I need to love Paul in order to send him away? Or can I go ahead and hate that dirty little cuss?
4. What does any of this have to do with my progression, temporal or otherwise?
5. How much can I take?
6. How much will it take before change occurs? Does change require a catalyst?
7. What sort of change am I looking for?
8. Who am I without my penchant for over-emotion?
9. Is not eating sugar worth it?
10. How can I spread joy if others repel it like a cloud of Anthrax?

If we continue to pretend that this personal demon has gotten his proverbial foot in the door, then there is really only one question that matters: What do I do to get that foot out and the door shut again?

Because, really, I enjoyed being a sunset: vibrant and drunken with color. I loved being a green valley after a rain storm: calming and inviting, truly a sight to behold. I loved feeling like that stream of gold that is laid out on ocean waves as the sun touches the water, leading from that bright orb to the very sands of the beach.

Sayyadina wants her soul to be free and on fire again. And knowing what I do about the creative power that I possess, and knowing the very high opinion I hold of myself, it should say something that I feel unable to remove this millstone from about my neck. No. It's more a feeling of Paul's hand securely holding my arm: holding me back. Pulling me into the rat wheel that is my same old crappy emotional cycle.

Yikes. Stupid rat wheel. Stupid Paul. Big dummy.

Okay, and here's this: I watched the old Subway 2004 video yesterday and SUPER YIKES!!

I'll simply say this: someday I hope to do that hike again and NOT be in defensive performance mode. My hope is that I am a real person now. Real. Not a performer. Not a walking sarcastic joke machine.

Something pretty: Rivulet's eyes. She said "Tick oo" this morning, meaning "Thank you." Lemur donated his toys to my mother's Lights Up! Yard Sale, which I thought was awful nice of him. My son was singing the high harmony on "Daylight come and me wanna go home." I played Rock Band with my husband last night. We got a lawn mower and now can mow our lawn. It rained this morning. I have three new roses about to bloom, and my very first rose on my very first rose bush bloomed this morning! It had the most romantic and intoxicating smell. I name it Tiffany.

I feel better now. A little bit anyway. It's really the lesson I learned about depression a few years ago: replace self-doubt with beauty. Wait it out, it will pass. Take time out of the equation and feeling better is inevitable.

How's that for waving a red flag. Stupid Paul.

But wait: There's MORE!!!

I'm seriously concerned that there may not be enough space on my blog: let alone in my LIFE for all the awesomeness I have been experiencing. Well, the best way to alleviate any burden, or blessing, is by sharing. So "here I go again."

Yesterday: Woke up at around 7:30. Jumped in the shower, dressed and fed myself, my Muad'Dib and my children. Headed to the new Lowe's in an attempt to circumvent the stupidity that has become The Home Depot and their "customer service" in the plumbing department. I wheeled the kids all about the place in a brand new blue Lowe's car cart while the faucet plumbing mystery was solved. Also while there, i discovered that Muad'Dib is partial to big red roses. Go figure.

Next stop: Mountain Road Ranch, where Dreampacker took us on a walkabout and pointed out the many different kinds of plants we could transplant to our garden. Included: lambs ear, chocolate mint, lemon mint, yarrow, and two others that Muad'Dib specifically picked out due to his childhood attachment to them. Cute sentimental ninny! We also took some dirt in a bucket.

Then we were back at our new place. For the next . . . uh . . . lots of hours, we set to pruning, cleaning, weeding, digging, pulling, sawing and in some cases cussing out our new backyard.

The most surprising events were:
*I didn't kill a single spider. Even the one that ventured into my glove . . . while my hand was still inside.
*Lemur tried to teach Rivulet how to pray over their snack - when he thought I wasn't listening.
*I got an adrenaline rush when I uprooted a stray tree sprout or sawed through a particularly bothersome tangent branch. In fact, once I surprised an elderly neighbor when I pulled up one such offending sapling and yelled, "Ah HA! I have TRIUMPHED!!!"
*We apparently have an evil vine in the back corner. Like Stephen King's worst imaginings evil. Fruit of the devil vine, I think it's called. I would pull up one end, just to find it attached somewhere else, and if I did finally get a "root", another would whiplash up and smack me in the face. It became downright eerie.
*After many hours of work, the yard was not done. I didn't even get to the front flower boxes.
*Muad'dib was able to repair the leak in the swamp cooler on the first try!

Oh: Muad'Dib was my hero like FIVE TIMES yesterday! Sweet man.
He even sent out for Chinese food (after giving our dirty and muddy kids a bath), so I didn't have to cook. Tropical chicken is delicious after a hard day's work!

After wards, we played Rock Band until bed time. Holy Fun Day!

That night I had very disturbing dreams. Of people intruding. I thought I heard Lemur calling to me when he wasn't. I thought he was walking to my room, but he wasn't. I thought I heard Rivulet walk up to my bed, but she wasn't there. I dreamt of people having keys to my house and giving me responsibilities that weren't mine and I didn't want. What was interesting was that I didn't keep these things. I told people where to go and how to get there. And not in a good way. It was a very unrestful night's sleep.

BUT! I woke this morning knowing that our trash was on the curb and all would be well with the world.
I got right up and went out to find me some rose bushes, purple petunias, creeping thyme and a lilac bush. I came home with all but the thyme . . . though I had to make four stops.
I made lunch for the love of my life, breakfast for my babies and sent my man off to work. I set to work almost instantly. In the windy morning that heralds a coming storm, I planted the two rose bushes and began cleaning out the front garden areas in preparation for planting. A few things I found:
*glass
*Beer bottle lids.
*plastic
*cigarette butts
*a hippo
*a beetle
*a LIVING huge furry spider with blue eyes, a yellow triangle on it's massive back end and a maternal feeling to her.
*Wood chips.
*Violets
*Some of the fattest earthworms I've ever seen.
*Plastic bags
*A die cast car.
and much much more!

Two bags of dirt garbage later, it rained and I put Rivulet down for a nap while watching the Bee Movie with my children. Lemur was a puppy. It was an adorable moment. Then I got back up and planted the petunias, my lavender and the other purple daisy like thing I bought. I came inside and Lemur and I planted a little forget-me-not seed in a tiny little pot. He was very excited.
I came downstairs intending to rest, but then saw a trailer on MySpace for TWILIGHT the MOVIE!!! Guess who plays Edward?! The guy who played Cedric Diggory on HP4! I'm so excited.

This day has been so great. And it's not even over yet. I haven't even included everything! I'm so tired my brain and my aching fingertips are skipping over things . . . I hope nothing important. Oh yes. Something important:

So I'm inside, we've planted the plants in the little planter and I am about to go rest. Then I walk into my room, the natural light dimmed by the darkening clouds overhead as another storm nears. A lamp sends a muted golden glow over the deep blues that make up my bed and I see the raindrops begin to fall. Like a dancer, like a ghost, I float to the sliding glass door, unlock it and slide it open just enough for me to step out onto my porch. Then I listen.

I listen to the sound of rain falling on the aspen leaves. I listen to the soft murmur of cars distant enough to refrain from being bothersome while close enough to make that rumbling chorus that can remind one of the sea if they are that sort of person.
There is no longing. I begin to cry a little. So relieved at having beauty right there. I don't have to seek it out, I don't have to fight for it. It has come to me. Releasing a deep sigh, I turn to see my son staring at me quizzically.
"Uh, mom? What'r you doing?"
"Listening to the rain."
His face lights up, "Ooo! I want to listen too!"
He brings his shirtless self over to stand next to me, and I slide the door open a little bit more to accommodate his little frame.
We are silent for a moment before he wisely says, "It sounds like a storm!"

Oh, another important! Lemur is on the phone with my mom, then hangs up without notice, while she is still talking. He has a smile like the very devil and starts to laugh a little. I tell him that it was very rude to hang up on Nanny.
The next twenty minutes are him trying to regain control of the situation through anger( I wonder who taught him that . . .;)
Then, as i sit down to the computer he comes to the office door and says, "I'm just so angry at you!"
My "Why?" is met with his attempt to slam the door while he huffs and puffs his little cheeks at me (he is embarrassed and searching for words.)
I remind him that he needs to Stop, Breathe and Think (once again, preschool was worth every penny!)
He does then says, "I'm so frustrated when you tell me I'm rude!"
My reply was this: "Lemur, do you know what my job is? It is my job to teach you how to grow up to be a great man like Daddy." his eyes get wide with surprise. "You like Daddy, don't you." he nods. "Grandma DreamPacker had this job when Daddy was just a little boy, and she told him when he was being rude or when he wasn't nice or when he did something not safe. Now he's a good man. And now it's my job to help you be a good man."
"You mean, like Daddy?"
"Like Daddy, and Papa and all your uncles and like Grandpa. They are nice, aren't they."
"Yeah."
"And they are smart, aren't they?"
He nods again.
"Do you want to grow up to be like them?"
He nods again.
"Okay. You need to remember that Daddy has his job and I have mine. My job is to tell you when you are being rude. To teach you to be polite and kind. To teach you modesty and truth so you can be a great man like Daddy. I'm sorry if that bothers you sometimes. But it's my job and I'm going to keep doing it."
He was remarkably calm and seemed to digest all of this very well. "But mom?"
"What honey?"
"You don't have to be mean when you tell me."

The student so often teaches the teacher.

How can my days be so full?! How can I survive when I am brimming over with all my life is and strives to be?! I don't know. And I'm not complaining either!

Yeah, baby!

What's Your True Color?

My Result: Red

Your color is red, the color of racy sportscars, blushing cheeks, and luscious roses. Red symbolizes passion, romance, and love. So, since you're ruled by red, you probably trust your feelings more than your brain and tend to act spontaneously. If you see something you want, you go for it without thinking twice — impulsive is your middle name. You don't wait around for people to make decisions, either; you dive right in. Quite the romantic, you pay close attention to your emotions. In fact, if your heart isn't in what you're doing, you won't be satisfied. Of course, even when you do pour all your energy into the projects you tackle, your impetuous nature means your passions can shift as frequently as the wind. That's why some reds have trouble with commitment. Our advice? Next time you're feeling fickle, think before you act, if possible. You might be surprised at the results. Overall, though, it's great to be red. No one lives life more completely than you do.

What are you?
http://web.tickle.com/jumpto?test=colorogt&c=50652

And they just keep coming!

My Sunday experience yesterday was fraught with learning, emotional and spiritual growth.

We are in a new ward. They actually have a choir! That people come to and sing in and they like it! So, Muad'Dib and I packed up our children and went to join the choir at 11am.

It was a great little choir. There were people who could and DID sing EVERY part. Even the men. They were great!
I listened to the choir director, and just sat there thinking, "I like her. I like her a lot." Then thought to myself that I shouldn't group people before I know them. So I tried to wait to like her, instead of liking her instantly.

She announced to us that we had a song where a real soprano was needed. The director (whose name I still don't know) automatically asked me to sing it, before we even began singing. I said I could, so on we went. Then we got to that part and I hit the note. Softly and without much power, but it was early and we had no warm up and I was sitting. But I still hit it. We finished and without even a "good job" or anything, she asked if anyone else wanted to sing that note. Someone raised their hand and said they could do it if she wasn't sick.

Now, here's what I believed to have happened:

I sang the note. The director cringed inside at either my pitch or my lack of vocal power. She realized that the choir would suck if she allowed me to sing it. So she asked if anyone - ANYONE - else could do it better than me. And someone else, also who had cringed inside, raised their hand and decided to take one for the team. She may not be the best, but she was at least better than this new girl.

Throughout the rest of choir practice, I tried to fight the feeling. The feeling of failure and unappreciated-ness. I was reminded of high school choir where my voice was all ways too much and at the same time never enough. My dear daughter, picking up on this feeling, began to act up. I began to mask my true feelings with that emotion which comes most naturally to me: anger. It was hard to combat the true feeling and the mask of the feeling at the same time.

We went home and let Rivulet sleep for an hour between choir and church. Then we woke her up and went back. She was too grumpy to go to nursery, so she came to RS with me. And who seemed so excited to see me (late as I was) and even pointed me over to the seat next to her? The choir director. She and I made comments all through RS, up until River could take it no more. No doubt she again was picking up on my hurt and confusion. This woman was so kind and obviously liked me. So did she feel guilty, or what?

Then I remembered last week's lesson in this new ward: Take No Offense. I had even contributed and made comments. While walking with Rivulet through the halls between RS and Sunday school, I reflected on the lesson and what - if anything - I had learned.
*"Assume everyone loves you. That way, it is easy to realize that they MEANT you no harm." *"If you believe someone hurt your feelings, go talk to them. I would always want someone to ask me to clarify."
*"Being over sensitive causes some to take offense."
*"Hearing what we THINK they meant, rather than what they actually SAID."

The lesson was riddled with fantastic insight from all manner of women in this little room. The first one was mine, by the way. And the oversensitive: that was the choir directors. It's impossible to believe that these comments were made simply to be forgotten. So now enter Sayyadina exercising WISDOM:

RS let out, and I went to the choir director. I told her how I had taken lessons for years, but had not seriously worked on my voice for over five. She commiserated for a moment and I realized this conversation was not going to go where I needed it to without just sucking it up and talking about it. So I asked her if she remembered the lesson last week. She said yes. I said, "Well, I know that you gave no offense, but I took some. And rather than assume it's what you meant to do, I just want to ask if I am good enough."

I know. It's a loaded question and it was probably not the best way to say it, but that's what came out.
She started laughing at me.
I was startled. It was a good natured laugh. It was kind. It was like two friends sharing a joke. "You're kidding, right?"
"To tell you the truth, I'm a little insecure. Right after I hit that note, you asked if anyone else could do it. What I heard was that you thought I couldn't."
Her face tried to be serious, but she couldn't muster it. "Do you know the look that all sopranos get when one soprano hits a high note?" I remembered the look - having made it myself a few times in High School. "Every soprano, after hearing you sing was giving me that look. I had done it wrong in the first place. We had never sung that song before and without even singing it through once, I gave it to the new girl. The other women looked hurt. I had no intention of letting you think you weren't good. The first thing I thought was, "Yay! There's someone who can sing the same range I can!"."

Notice that she never came right out and said, "Oh no, you are the best, you rock the vocal world" or all that sort of thing that people THINK make an insecure soprano feel better. She just told me the truth of the situation, and it spoke for itself. Honestly, I knew it was not the best I could sing, it certainly wasn't the best I could sing that note. I think she knew that. It turned out to be an awesome conversation. Not because I had fished for compliments and then lined my catch up on the deck (in fact, most of her compliments were for Muad'Dib) but her telling me the truth made a big difference in my day. I realized that I was right to like her instantly. She did compliment me for talking to her about it. She said, "Wow, if that's what you really thought, I'm surprised you came back today." We all know I'm not one to shy away from confrontation when I believe good will come of it.

Then we had a lesson in Sunday School coming from Mosiah4: 5-12. The concept that we all got hung up on for the majority of the discussion was the idea of mans "own nothingness." The teacher seemed to be trying to get us all to believe we were "worthless." Many others in the room were going along with that. I simply couldn't. Not at face value. Reading those scriptures, it seemed that Mosiah was not asking us to hate ourselves into humility, but to recognize the greatness of the Hand of God in our salvation and rather than thinking we are "nothing" to know that we are nothing without HIM. And to then reach toward Him. It turned out to be a great little discussion about the worth of a soul, the worth of man and understanding that we can't take a single line out of context and expect it to carry the same message with it. To become "awakened to a sense of your own nothing ness, of your worthless and fallen state" is entirely different when read with the entire quote.

"the knowledge of the goodness of God at this time has awakened you to a sense of your own nothingness, and your worthless and fallen state."

So, the day was awesome. Again.

I've had a few awesome days recently.

And although I have not been blogging them, I have made a record in my journal. And these days were so great and so much fun, that I am now going to type them in for you. Hope you enjoy the recap as much as I enjoyed living it!

April 28, 2008

"Tonight I smell of sap, steak, fire and sunshine. And dirt. Lots of dirt.

"Here's how today went:

-Woke up and made lunch for the love of my life.

-Discovered Rivulet had a nasty looking rash

-Almost took her to the Doc, but opted for the expertise of Dreampacker and Wildbound (who happened to be down) instead.

-talked with DP and WB while WB zoned DP's feet (and I turned a lovely shade of green with envy), after muscle testing to see about Rivulet's rash. (fresh fruits and veggies, less stress, pro-biotics - mom time . . .)

-Helped the kids make "waterfalls" down the driveway.

-Watched WB work Shrek

-Helped the kids make mud in the garden

-Looked away for two seconds and look back to see Rivulet up to the elbows and up to the knees covered in mud!!

-Left Lemur at MRR to play with his cousin and - after hosing off my muddy Rivulet - came home so she could nap.

-Watched Dancing with the Stars and Alvin and the Chipmunks with Lemur after DP brought him back.

-Looked through my scrapbooking stuff (I have a lot of stuff!!!)

- Tried to garden while my kids drew on the driveway with chalk.

-Became disheartened

-Talked with two ladies from my new ward as they came strolling by.

-Packed up the kids and bought new sandals.

-Went to Nanny's house.

-Worked in the yard for 1.5 hours.

-made steak for dinner

-roasted marshmallows over the bonfire

-came home, put my kids to bed.

-Scratched Muad'Dib's feet as I told him all about my awesome day. The end."

About a day later, I rode the FrontRunner with my mom and my kids and my brother. We went to Salt Lake and back, stopping in Layton on the return to eat at Doug and Emmy's (a super warm cafe where the portions frighten lesser men and ogres). The whole trip (with delays and great conversation) took about four hours. Even with Uno on the train, it was a long trip. We arrived in Ogden just in time for a dust storm, and then went back to Nanny's to wait for Muad'Dib to get off work.

The next day - I think - My father went out of town, but all the extra wood in his backyard needed to be burned before the end of April. So even though there was a forecast of snow, I finished hanging all the pictures in my new place and went to my parents house. There, in the hail and snow, I (with the help of Biscuit) burned the remainder of the wood. While attending the bonfire, I continued to read "Captivating" and explore the inner recesses of my soul. It was both enlightening and a little frightening. Discovering one's own worth - whether it be for the first time or the hundredth time - tends to take one's breath away.

May 2, 2008

"I'm just wandering around the new place today, listless like a great balloon floating in the wind. I'm not sad, instead I am in the introspective state that yields itself so completely to writing.

"The children are playing quietly downstairs while I putter. There are things to do and I simply don't want to do any of them. Normally I love being at home with no car, no contact and no responsibility to time.

"I suppose I am still contented that way . . . so why am I bouncing all around, looking for something to do while also avoiding or ignoring all that I have to do?

"My chin hurts. Perhaps I rested it for too long on my fist.

"Grandma gave me this table so that I could and would write.

"'Here Grandma! Watch me!! With both hands I am plunging into my mood and fishing out my thoughts! Watch them flop crazily on the ground!!'

"Except that my thoughts are more at home on paper than even in my head. Why is that?

"I want to call DreamPacker - but don't know what to say.

"'Please come over so we can talk and perhaps by talking I'll feel more desire to live today with vim and vigor.'?

"I should not even mentally place such responsibility anywhere outside of myself.

Yet I still desire her company.

"I also want to know why WB thinks I'm difficult to muscle test.

"Anyway: long story short:

I feel . . . longing. Longing for a nameless something. I can name it's parts or components but not it. I desire. I long. I wish . . .

It's no wonder so many people assume or accept that they have "depression." Even in a life as marvelous as mine . . . I have days where I long, desire and wish for something that because it is unnameable, logically it must be unreachable." I suppose some then choose to despair because they mistake the longing for lacking. I will no longer make that mistake.

"So I - as always - sign off with no answer. Having simply felt better for writing."

-Sayyadina.