frazzled & frumpy

I am a rock, sharp and uneven. I know my goal- smooth, polished, shiny- and I am so far from it.   But, the process to get there is not an easy one.  The past two weeks at church, I've heard and taught lessons on trials. We spoke of the early saints and the persecutions they endured. Specifically, Zion's Camp. They were a group of men (in Ohio) organized to help the saints in Missouri. After embarking on their thousand mile trek, they were tried by aching, bleeding feet, lack of food and water, oh, and cholera.  Weeks later, the discovered that their original goal would not be reached and they went back home. The journey, it turns out, was a test of their faith. I asked the kids in my Primary class (ten years old) why we have tests. I got several answers, but my favorite was, "To find out what we know and what we need to know." I believe we are given tests as a gift. Not one that we would put on a list at Christmas or our birthday, but a gift all the same...

I am a woman of faith. This is what I believe. I grew up going to church, praying, reading scriptures, I even served a mission. All because I believed.  Throughout my life, my faith was tested. But, I always came out victor-through trials and tests, my faith got me through. One test though, I wasn't ready for. It happened when Sadie was a newborn. She was my sweet baby girl, a gift of ease after a couple of trying boys. Her birth was easy, she nursed like a champ, and slept only in her own bed. Then, one day, I woke with a strange hardness in my breast. The lump was red and hot. Just touching it brought me to tears. Without a computer, or the ease of the internet, I turned to our medical book, scouring the pages as I was too embarrassed to call my mom. What I found was that I had mastitis--a nasty breast infection. This terrified me, not because I feared medical treatment, but because I feared the cost. We had no health insurance and I knew we couldn't afford a doct...

Sunday mornings have one thing in common, that would be Maxwell telling me he isn't going to church, "Church is stupid. Why do we go?" I guess if he were older I could explain. Since he's 7, I tell him he Jesus wants us to and then just tell him to get dressed. What I would tell him, if he were older, is that our spirits are like muscles. (This is something he would like to hear because he is all about running, jumping and anything that lets his body move.) Once in college, my roommates and I had a conversation about exercise. Wouldn't it be nice if we could just exercise for 12 hours straight and have it over with? None of this everyday thing. But, of course, that doesn't work. We have to work out regularly for it to have an effect. Spiritual matters are the same. The exercise of our spiritual muscles has to be regular or they will atrophy and become weak. That's why we go to church each week. Why we read our scriptures and say prayers everyday . An occa...