The Jellybean Massacre of 1988

As I waddled down the dark, musty hallway, countless numbers of faceless students ran past me.  I was slowly making my way to the Crescent View Middle School gym for the Halloween Dance.  It was my first dance ever, a rite of passage for all seventh graders, and I was excited.  I had the Electric Slide perfected, and I was ready to Roger Rabbit the dance floor for the next two hours.

That morning I woke-up with the intense, youthful, anticipation that only a twelve-year-old girl is capable of.  I hopped out of bed and started putting on my costume.  Like most super-cool, junior high students, I thought long and hard about what to dress-up as.  The most logical conclusion was a gigantic bag of jellybeans. 

First, I put on my tights and leotard (yes, people you read that correctly, a leotard! TOTALLY NORMAL).  Then, with my mom’s help, I tied Saran Wrap around my thighs and neck and we began to fill the space between my body and the Saran Wrap with multi-colored balloons.  I was as big around as I was tall.  If that weren’t enough, we placed a paper plate, with balloons stapled on top of it, to the top of my head, fastened with a large pink ribbon tied underneath my chin.  My mom thought I was adorable.  I thought I was adorable.  Convinced I would win the school’s “best costume” award I headed out the door. 

With a spring in my step, I walked to the bus stop.  Suddenly, the air was taken out of my sails (but not my balloons) when I realized not a single person was dressed-up.  My friend, Missy, could see the horror on my face.  She assured me people would be dressed-up at school.  The only reason she wasn’t was because she couldn’t think of anything to be.  It certainly wasn’t because wearing a costume in junior high was the lamest thing ever! 

When the bus pulled up, everyone piled on; except for me.  I couldn’t fit through the door.  Sadly, I turned around and waddled back home.  I explained to my mom that no one was dressed up and I wanted to change.  Like all good mothers who play a part in making their children’s life a living hell, my mom convinced me other kids would be dressed-up, and she discouraged me from changing.  With salvaged confidence, I clumsily got into the van and my mom took me to school.

My fears were realized when I began to walk the halls and noticed very quickly, that no one was dressed-up.  Other than the occasional painted face, and the kids that wore their sports uniforms, I was the only one who took Halloween seriously.  I felt awful.  And I was itchy!  I barely got through fifth period without crying.  All day long, kids were pointing, laughing and chasing me through the halls with sharpened pencils.

Hope returned as I waddled down the hallway toward the gym.  In my mind I was planning out the logistics of executing the perfect Running Man, when I heard a boy yell, “Get her!”  A mob of ninth-graders attacked me from behind.  Before I could scream for help, every balloon on my entire body was popped. I stood there in shambles. Shredded Saran Wrap pitifully hung from my tiny body.  Fighting back tears, I entered the office and asked to use the phone so I could call my mom.  The Vice Principal asked what happened.  Like a complete idiot, I told him.  I get it ok!  I obviously was not well-versed in School-Yard Rules.  The boys, of course, got in trouble. Thus began the humiliating, frustrating and painful year I call seventh grade.
 

Whenever I recount the Jellybean Massacre of 1988, people laugh.  I laugh.  It is a funny, albeit, somewhat sad chain of events.  There is a part in all of us that can relate to that little girl.  You might not understand being emotionally, physically, and what would now days be considered, sexually bullied like she was that year. However,  I bet you have felt humiliation, isolation, loneliness, disrespect, rejection, disappointment, and/or fear.  Adversity is common to each of us individually and all of us collectively.  It is just packaged differently for each individual's journey. 

 

I wish I could say that was the last time I was forced to survey the shambles of my life.  It wasn’t.  As I matured, the popped balloons and shredded Saran Wrap came in the form of broken hearts, fertility issues, financial set-backs, deaths of loved ones, and divorce.  During times of trial we get to choose how the story ends.  We can either let it break us or strengthen us.  It was through the pain I learned the social rules of junior high.  Through the trials of life I am learning the lessons of eternity.   While they are painful experiences I would never want to relive, they have provided perspective I wouldn’t have received any other way.  And they certainly make for a good story. 

The Wise Woman Rebuilds Her House Upon the Rock

 

I thought the walls of my home were strong enough.  As the General Contractor, I built them to last.  They were seemingly built on a foundation of correct principles and righteous desires.  When the walls showed any sign of weakness I diagnosed and treated the problem with a good dose of indignation.  Slowly the cracks became so deep, my principles, determination and hope could no longer withstand the weight, and my home collapsed.

It was confusing standing among the rubble.  How could it have fallen? I followed the plan.  When I looked back at the blueprints there was no room for error.  So why?  Why did it fall apart? 

I couldn’t just stand around waiting for answers. I had a home to rebuild, so I got to work. 

First on the list, was reexamining the foundation.  Helaman 5:12 teaches, “it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall.”

More confusion.  Our family foundation was built upon the rock of Christ, so why did it not withstand the mighty winds?  Turns out the only foundation that matters is my own.  Naively, I believed I could build a foundation big enough and strong enough for all five of us.  I painstakingly tore out the shallow, giant slab and went to work strengthening and deepening my own foundation, while helping the kids pour their own. 

When it came time for reframing, I was smacked in the head with a 2x4.  The problem with the first home wasn’t the plan.  The plan was, and still is, perfect.  The problem was me.  At some point along the way I decided I was the General Contractor.  I referenced the blueprints, but I chose how our family was going to be constructed.  Each brick was in the right place, but I didn’t follow the architect.  I didn’t follow the Savior, to ensure the detailed mason work was done correctly.  From a distance, my home looked like the blueprint, but the construction was sloppy.  It wasn’t built with nearly the kind of precision that comes with patience, temperance and charity.  So, I did something I should have done a long time ago; I fired myself. 

I invited Christ to take the lead in constructing my new home.  Of course there are times, I still get in His way.  Foolishly, I believe I know better and can handle it on my own.  But then He sweetly reminds me that a bulldozer is not needed when installing flooring.  He puts his arm around my shoulder and says, “Come on Sweetie, let me show you a better way.”

As we are going through this process together He has taught me no matter how perfect my plan is, no matter how prepared, and organized, sometimes things just fall apart.  BUT, He is always there to help me rebuild. 

 

 

 

Pure Love Story

My broken heart was fragile.  Months of confusion, worry, and fighting had created deep cracks rendering it vulnerable and weak.  The small part of my heart that remained, completely and totally shattered on a beautiful spring morning.  The boys and I were on our way to church when I was confronted with a reality that for years I was desperate to deny. The details of my “discovery” are not important.  Yes, they make for a good Lifetime movie, but if my life were a Lifetime movie, this is the part where I end up dead.  This is a true and pure love story.  What happened next is where the real magic lies.

The sky looked bright and clear; a stark contrast to how I was feeling.  Feebly, I managed to get myself and my three young boys into one of the small pews on the left side of the chapel.  Charlie reached over and held my shaking hand.  Tears welled up in my eyes, but I knew if I let them go they would never stop flowing.  Throughout the meeting I desperately prayed.  I prayed to make it through church without throwing-up.  I prayed my panic attack would stop. I prayed for direction, discernment and for the assurance that I wasn’t alone. 

As soon as Sacrament Meeting was over the boys scurried off to Primary and my sweet bishop made his way over to me.  He knew something was wrong because he said I looked like I had just seen a ghost.  Finally, I released the tears and shared with him what had happened.  Immediately I was surrounded by friends—sweet sisters—who lifted, comforted, and sustained me.  The scene in the chapel that morning was Relief Society in action.  It was a tender moment I will never forget.

There was no doubt the Lord knew where I was and what I was facing that day.  One of the ways I was prepared for this experience was through the YW lesson I had prepared to teach.  I didn’t end up teaching it, but when I got home I studied it again, this time with new eyes.  Most of the lesson came from Elder David A. Bednar’s talk, The Atonement and theJourney of Mortality. 

In this talk he references the people of Alma who were being persecuted and put to death if they prayed, but the voice of Lord came to these people and said: “I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs.

“And now it came to pass that the burdens which were laid upon Alma and his brethren were made light; yea, the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord.

“What was changed in this episode? It was not the burden that changed; the challenges and difficulties of persecution were not immediately removed from the people. But Alma and his followers were strengthened, and their increased capacity and strength made the burdens they bore lighter. These good people were empowered through the Atonement to act as agents and impact their circumstances.”

I realized that for months I was praying for the Lord to change my circumstances, I was praying for him to change the heart and will of my ex-husband.  I wanted the Lord to force him to stay so our family could remain whole.  I wasn’t praying for the strength to affect my own circumstances.  I expected the Lord to do it for me.  I didn’t understand the enabling power of the Atonement.  I don’t think I would begin to understand it that way I do now if I hadn’t experienced the devastating events earlier that morning.  That day I started to understand that the Savior could not only put my heart back together, but he could also make it whole again.  My prayers changed that day.  I no longer prayed for my circumstances to change, I prayed for strength and increased capacity to endure.

As the most important relationship of my life was coming to an end, a relationship I had neglected to fully appreciate was beginning to blossom.  The Savior became the central figure in my life.  This is where the real story lies.  Accepting the pure love of Christ in my life, is the greatest love story I’ll ever tell.

I know the Atonement is real and it’s for every single person who has ever lived.  The Atonement is not only for the sinner.  It provides encouragement to the discouraged.  It is the healing salve for the broken-heart.  It provides comfort to the lonely, and strength to the weak and lowly.  The Atonement rights every single wrong, and if we are patient the promised blessings of our Father will be ours.  We can be secure in the promise of eternal life because of Christ’s victory in Gethsemane, on the cross at Golgotha and from the Garden Tomb. 

 

Woody

*based on real events

As I drive through life, my perspectives are constantly shifting.  Sometimes my world appears different in an instant, like when my first child was born.  Other times my shift in attitude seems to evolve over time.  Such was the case my junior year in high school when circumstances forced me to view life through a very ugly companion named, Woody.

Every birthday marks a significant milestone in a person’s life.  You survived mortality another 365 days.  However, there are some birthdays that alter your very existence. On September 17, 1993 I was finally attacking the world with a driver’s license!

I began to open the gifts I had received from each of my family members.  While I knew I wasn’t getting a car, a small corner of my heart thumped – maybe.  I went to bed that night happy with my new clothes, but disappointed. The big red bow vanished from my reverie.  My imagination tried to hold onto the car, but moments later it disintegrated into the cavern of lost hopes as well.

I was really good at being a 16-year-old girl.  I was highly emotional, bratty, and an entitled little snot.  Immaturely I wrapped my self-worth into “things”:  the shinier, the newer, the more expensive the better.  As I looked at the lives of my peers everyone seemed to have it better than me.  All I saw was their “successes”.  I didn’t notice the dents of others.  Now, I was facing the totally humiliating and unfair disadvantage of not getting a car for my birthday.  My parents were so lame.  They totally didn’t understand what it was like to be the only junior at Alta High School without a new car.  Were they like trying to ruin my life?

As I was laying in my bed convincing myself of my parents disdain for me, they opened my bedroom door and asked if they could come in.  My dad explained that they had one last present to give me.

Immediately I sat-up.  Pictures of me racing through the school parking lot in a brand-new-cherry-red Mazda Miata Convertible flew threw my head again.  The dream was resurrected!     

“Yeeees?” I questioned with my eyes closed and my hand outstretched.

My dad placed a car key in the palm of my hand and gently tightened my fingers around it to form a fist.  Before I could say a word, a silly grin jumped across my face.  I opened my eyes and looked down at the glittery silver beauty that was mine.  All mine!  I was in a state of complete ecstasy.  Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” seemed to musically score the moment.  

My mom handed me what could only be described as a baseball card with a picture of a Miata on it, then uttered words I will never forget, “This card is the closest you’ll get to owning a Miata. The key is to the station wagon.”

WAIT!  WHAT?

My parents, my mom especially, had a way of cracking themselves up.   They thought this little stunt was particularly funny.  I wasn’t about to let them see me sweat, so I didn’t let go of the tears welling up in my eyes until they left my room. Ugh!  How could they do this to me?  They were trying to ruin my life!

“I am not going to school tomorrow!”  I thought out loud.

The next morning, during breakfast, my mom informed me that I was free to drive the station wagon to school.  And just like that, my dream turned into a nightmare. I saw myself bouncing into the parking lot in the brown wood-paneled boat of a car, leaving a trail of sparks because the twine that was holding the rear bumper in place was coming undone.  I saw the judging, mortified looks of the kids in the car next to me when they heard ear-piercing screech the brakes made.  I couldn’t even fathom the jaw-dropped faces of my friends if, heaven forbid, the enormously, hideous fog lights my dad had installed to the grill himself were running.  Ultimately, I saw the entire student body ridiculing me for actually bringing something like that onto the grounds of Alta High School.

I rolled my eyes and faced my fate.

As I slowly rolled out of my cul-de-sac I pushed the front seat of the car back as far as it would go and slumped my body down underneath the steering wheel so all you could see through the front window, were my eyes.  I surveyed the parking lot and parked the embarrassing hunk-of-junk in the very last parking spot.

“Whew,” I thought to myself.  “No one saw me.”

As I was grabbing my backpack out of the back seat of the car.  I heard, “Hey Shannon!”

Startled, I hit my head on the frame of the stupid car and quickly twirled around.  Out of the 3000 students that attended Alta, I was now standing face to face with my everlasting crush, Justin.  Of course!

Suddenly my mind searched for the right excuse as to why I was driving the station wagon.  ‘I was visiting my elderly grandfather and he asked me to take his car for a spin… No that didn’t sound right.  It’s a rental; our car is in the shop…A RENTAL?  Come on Shannon!  I got it!  My dad took my car, the Miata, to work and I’m driving his.  Brilliant.’

Before I could stammer out my insane lie Justin said, “Cool car!”

WAIT!  WHAT?

As we walked through the parking lot together Justin told me to look around and see if I could find another car with as much character as mine.  All I could see were brand new shiny SUV’s, convertible sports cars, and luxury mid-size cars.  I could honestly say that I didn’t see another car quite like the station wagon.

It took some time, but I began to see the car in a whole new way.  Throughout the school year, more and more of my peers thought it was cool.  It was eventually named Woody and became the car everyone wanted to ride in.  My friends and I had a lot of good times in that car.

With time and perspective I have come to recognize that life is like Woody.  Sometimes it’s ugly and beat-up.  Sometimes it has screeched when I’ve applied the brakes to slow it down.  Compared to other people’s shiny lives, there have been moments where my life has been embarrassing and ugly.  But the memories of life, my stories, are in the rust spots, the torn ceilings, the dented bumpers and the screeching brakes.  I recognize that my life is a blessing getting me to my eternal destination.  I’ve stopped seeing it as ugly and embarrassing.  I’ve learned to love it and enjoy the ride.            

Dedicated Dads

My computer screen is blurry because my eyes are filled with tears.  When I wake-up (in three hours) it will be Father's Day.  I try not to write when I'm emotional or tired, so bear with me. :)

My Heavenly Father

Of all the people who have ever lived, and who will ever live on this earth, there are only two people who can call me "daughter".  My mom and my dad.  I love being their daughter.  I love them, because they first loved me.  Before my parents loved me, my Creator and Everlasting Father loved me. Of all the titles and names I bear, the one I am the most proud of is daughter of God. 

I believe in a Heavenly Father who is loving and giving.  A Father who blesses me and shows me evidence of His love on a daily basis.  I believe He is my greatest cheerleader and during times I lose my way He inspires me to take courage, have faith and walk toward Him.

My Earthly Father

I was born unto a goodly father who loves the Lord and loves me unconditionally.  I realize this was a blessing from the first breath I took. My dad has taught me many things.  He taught me to walk and talk (with a Southern accent).  He taught me how to ride a bike. He patiently sat at the kitchen table and taught me math.  He taught me how to drive.   He taught me to work hard and be honest.  He taught me about centrifugal force.  He taught me the scriptures.  He taught me swear words like "dadgumit" and "dadblameit".  He taught me to not gauge the butter.  He taught me how to balance a check book.  He taught me how to love.

If there is a word that describes my dad, it's charity.  My dad is long suffering and kind.  He does not envy and he is not proud.  He does not behave unseemly, he seeketh not his own.  He is not easily provoked (although the kid working at the Draper Cinemark concession stand might disagree).  My dad thinketh no evil.  He rejoices in truth.  He bears all things, he believes, he is hopeful and he endures.

My father is without guile.  He has taught me to love and see the good in everyone.  I don't think there is a person my dad has met who he doesn't like.  And if there is, he would never tell anyone. While my dad has taught me a lot, I think the greatest lesson he taught me was how to be a parent. 

The Father of My Children

My boys are with their dad, which is where they should be, but as I caught a glimpse of their empty beds I felt myself shrink for a moment.  I never thought we would be the "every other weekend" family.  However, I think we're doing a pretty good job. 

I can't write a Father's Day post without recognizing the father of my kids.  My boys adore their dad.  He is their hero!  They love spending time with him and he is really good about making and keeping promises with them.  He is a fun dad!  He works hard to support and provide for them.  He rarely takes time off from work because he takes his financial obligations seriously.  I am eternally grateful for his support and for his dedication to having good working relationship with me.

Father of Hope
dedicated to DSM

To his kids he is their father. 
Their trusted confidant. 
Their rock and one sure thing.
He sacrifices, works, worries, prays, ponders, listens, serves, encourages and loves. 
He thinks no one notices.
I notice. 

His influence reaches far beyond the walls of his own home. 
Teacher, friend, partner, coach, cheerleader,
Happy, but never content.
He is a doer and a fixer. 
He motivates and inspires. 
He encourages and blesses. 
He is steadfast and immovable.

He is a father.        

LOL

 

             I quickly made my way to the security checkpoint at the Hartsfield International Airport.  I was excited to be going home.  It had already been a long day at work.  I was the Store Manager of a busy clothing store, and the demands of running someone else’s dream were exhausting.  I was looking forward to settling into my first-class seat and sleeping for the duration of the four-hour flight from Atlanta to Salt Lake.   

As I hurried through the terminal, I caught my reflection in a store window and gave myself a little nod of approval.  I looked cute.  I was wearing a black and white herringbone printed skirt, a black long-sleeved turtle neck, black fishnet stockings and black knee-high boots.  Protecting me from the coolness of the crisp Atlanta winter air, was my black pea coat.  

I hoisted my heavy bag onto the conveyer belt at security.  It was full of binders, pens, large envelopes, and all the contents you would typically find in a woman’s purse.  I took my coat off, placed it on the conveyer belt and walked through the scanner.  I passed!  The scanner indicated I was not a threat to commercial airline travel, so I made my way to the end of the conveyer belt and waited for my things. 

When my bag hit the end of the belt, it tipped over and all of the contents spilled out. I gracefully squatted down and stuffed everything back in.  While I was still perched on the ground I reached up and grabbed my coat off the belt.  I slid my right arm in the armhole, then the left, and then I pulled the coat up onto my shoulders.

To get to my gate I had to go down the escalators and take a short ride on the airport train.  Then I had to go back up the enormously long escalators, and walk to the last gate at the end of the terminal.  When I finally sat down, at the gate, I realized something wasn’t right.  I looked down and thought, “What is wrong with my skirt?”   

I felt the blood drain from my face when, in horror, I realized the back of my skirt was tucked up into my coat!  I had just spent the last 20 minutes mooning the Atlanta Airport!

What does one do in this situation?  I laughed.  I laughed all the way to Salt Lake.  I laughed about it every time I told the story.  I still laugh about it today.  I believe the best way to navigate this messy life is to laugh your way through it.

I will never forget the day my grandma first taught me the lesson of laughter.  I was 10-years-old when she pulled me into her den and imparted the life-changing wisdom only grandmas can.  She explained that no one wants to be around someone who is sad and grumpy.  People like to be around people who make them laugh.  People like to be around people who don’t take life, or themselves, too seriously.  She went on to explain that when something bad happens in your life, you have two choices, you can either laugh about it, or cry about it.  My grandma and Marjorie Pay Hinckley must have been cut from the same cloth.  Sister Hinckley once said, “You either have to laugh or cry. I prefer to laugh. Crying gives me a headache.”  AMEN!  I prefer to laugh as well.

I love to laugh!  I’m the girl who will randomly laugh out loud at something that happened years ago.  I’m the girl who loves to be teased.  My best friends know that the best way to help me through a problem is to make a joke out of it. 

I can find the humor in almost every situation, including life’s biggest disasters (and no I’m not talking about the time my top came undone and I walked around Macy’s essentially topless).  I have been able to find reasons to laugh through fertility and health issues.  I found the humor in my financial woes, up to and including filing bankruptcy.  Remember when Michael Scott came out of the break room and shouted, “I DECLARE BANKRUPTCY!”  That was funny.  And I may or may not have shouted the same thing in the parking lot of the courthouse the morning we filed.  I have found my laugh amidst the tears when death has taken my loved ones.  I have even found excuses to laugh through my divorce.  Richard G. Scott said, “A sense of humor is an escape valve for the pressures of life.” Isn't that the truth!?!

Laughter is healing to my soul.  I crave it.  Every time I find a reason to laugh, especially in a difficult situation, I feel like I’ve won.  Bill Cosby once said, “Through humor, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers.  And once you find laughter, no matter how painful your situation might be, you can survive it.”          

The Moment I Knew

It was the last day of seventh grade.  The worst year of my entire life was hours away from finally being over.  I was tormented, bullied, and harassed the whole year, and I couldn’t wait to bid it adieu.  I was a tiny twelve-year-old.  Throughout the year I had become an insecure, worrisome, quiet little girl; desperate to belong. I looked forward to summer vacation with hopeful anticipation.  It was a time to gather my broken-little-self up and prepare to storm Crescent View Middle School, as an eighth grader, with confidence, style, and a much higher social ranking.

This last day of seventh grade was the beginning of my makeover.  My friends had asked if I wanted to skip school, and do the only thing suburban twelve-year-olds did in the late 80’s; walk around the mall.  I had never skipped school before, but I wanted to prove that I was super cool, so I agreed. 

We had fun, and I had the attention of a boy I had a big crush on.  That day Ryan Blair was the love of my life; my soul mate.  We were just so darn cute, we spent the day spitting water on each other and pretending to push each other into oncoming traffic.  You know, all the normal stuff a couple does to show one another affection.

Sheralyn Pratt was hosting an end-of-the-year party that night, and I couldn’t wait.  It was going to be the best night of my life!  I was sure Ryan was going to hold my hand and we were going to end up living happily ever after.

I got to the party and to my utter disappointment Ryan was holding hands with Natalie Jenkins!  What!?!?  I thought we had such a strong connection.  What about all the spitting and pushing, did that mean nothing to him?  I tried to put on a brave face and enjoy myself, but finally I couldn’t take the heartbreak anymore.  I started walking home.  I wasn’t ready to face my family, so I kept walking. 

I ended up sitting in a field at Crescent View Middle School.  I was sad.  Why didn’t boys like me?  Were my bangs not high enough?  Was it my glasses?  No, it couldn’t possibly be my glasses, Judith Light wore the same glasses on Who’s the Boss and she was the perfect woman for a twelve-year-old girl to pattern coolness after.  Right?

I lied down on the grass, stared at the stars, and wondered about my future.  I wondered about my future husband.  What was he doing at that very moment?  Was he sad too?  Was he looking at the stars and thinking about me? The song, Somewhere Out There played quietly in the background of my thoughts (oh, those cute little mice).  I was having a moment. While I was sad and overwhelmed, I felt the love of my Heavenly Father.  I knew everything was going to be okay.     

Cut-to 23 years later.  After my separation, my boys and I moved to a house one block away from Crescent View.  Their dad and I were in the midst of a last ditch effort to save our marriage.   All the papers were signed.  I was hours away from filing the final paperwork when he asked me to hold off and give us one last try.  All our cards were showing. We were facing an incredibly massive challenge in trying to repair the damage we had caused.  He was over at my house late one night, when we got into a heated discussion.  I told him to stay at the house with the boys, and I started walking. 

I ended up in the same field I had been 23 years earlier.  Suddenly I realized I was having a full circle moment.  I had again become that broken, insecure, worrisome, and desperate little girl.  As I lied in the field sobbing and contemplating my future, I asked myself questions like, “Is divorce really part of ‘the plan’?  Can I really do this on my own?  What about our eternal marriage?  How does divorce effect my salvation?” 

I had asked these questions several times during our ten-month-long separation, but finally the fog was starting to lift.  I had a clear picture of the Savior cradling my face in his hands and saying, “Shannon, I got this.”  I knew His promised blessings would mine, because I had honored my end of the agreement.  I saw a glimpse into eternity, and I didn’t see my husband standing next to me.  I knew it was time to move forward.  I knew I had given all I had to give.  I knew that Heavenly Father was pleased with my efforts.  I knew it was time to, once again, storm life with confidence, grace, dignity and courage.  In that moment, I knew.

 

3 Tips to Create Mediocrity

 

Other than my relationships with people, I have five true loves; Christmas, Project Runway, chocolate, Pepsi and Pinterest.  Pinterest is more of an obsession.  I have the app on my phone so I check her constantly.  She is updated so rapidly it’s hard for me to keep up with her.  She has such good ideas.  Every time I pin a recipe, beauty tip, vacation destination, or inspiring quote I make a silent promise to be better.  A better mom, health nut, fashionista, cook, photographer, homemaker, camp director, interior decorator, gardener, comedian and writer.  Then I remind myself, while I want to be all those things and more, I simply can’t do it all.  So let me share with you what I’ve learned about mediocrity. 

1.     Realize Your Best Is Good Enough.  As trite and cliché as that may sound, it’s nevertheless true. During my moments of inadequacy, and I have many, I remind myself, “I do the very best I know how – the very best I can; and I mean to keep doing so until the very end.”

 

PHAT!  Isn’t that a great quote?!?  I found it on Pinterest.  Haha.  I have realized that I do the best I can and there’s nothing else left.  So in the infamous phrase of mediocrity...

 

 

When my second son was born, my oldest was 15-months-old.  I would wake-up every morning with a laundry list of things I wanted to get done.  I was so disappointed when I got only a couple of tasks accomplished.  Inadequacy settled in my spirit. I felt worthless, incapable and overwhelmed.  One day I decided to log everything I did, instead of list everything I wanted to do.  Wow!  I actually got a lot done.  By the end of the day, the list of what I did was ten times longer than my typical to-do list.  When you focus on what you’re able to accomplish rather than what you’re not, you will be able to leave a sink full of dishes because you’ll know you did a million other important things instead.       

2.     Define Your Non-Negotiables.  These are things you do everyday no matter what.  The first thing you have to do is recognize your core priorities.  They could be things like health and fitness, child-rearing, spiritual-development, service, education, career, friendships, romantic relationships, church callings, beauty, hobbies and homemaking.  

After you have defined your most important core priorities, decide on one thing, per category, that if you did every day you would feel successful. 

My Non-Negoitables…  

- Take a shower and get ready every day (this goes for the boys too)

- Work 30 accts (job)

- Spend two-three hours per day on my homework

- Help the kids with their homework

- Read scriptures as a family and say family prayer

- Connect with the man in my life (whistle)

- Spend time in the scriptures and on my knees myself

Secondary non-negoitables are going to the gym and cleaning the kitchen before bed.  I can’t say these are absolutes because they’re the first to go on a crazy day.  I guess you could say they’re my usuals.  Other than those eight tasks, everything else just gets “fit-in”.  So when the laundry is piling up and I’m late getting Eli to preschool, I take solace in knowing the most important tasks, to me, are getting done.      

3.      Get Over Yourself.  For years I put on a great show of perfection.  I appeared to have a perfect marriage. My boys were always dressed according to current trends.  Every corner of my house was decorated how HGTV told me to decorate it.  I was always put together.  I magnified my callings (bigger is better, right?) and I did it all with a smile on my face.

 

When my perfect hubby left me, my seemingly perfect life shattered.  One of the greatest lessons I’ve learned through all of this is that no one is perfect.  There is no such thing as a perfect marriage, perfect children, perfect home and perfect body.  I ran myself ragged trying to chase after perfection and fell flat on my face.  So now here I am declaring to the world that I’M NOT PERFECT!  I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to raising my boys.  My house is rarely spotless.  In fact as I write, there is a banana peel swimming in a pool of syrup on my kitchen table. I have 856,000,000 insecurities about my body.  I worry A LOT.  My bank account is at an all time low.  But you know what?  It’s okay.  It’s okay to be mediocre.  I feel free from the shackles of perfection.  It’s exhausting keeping up appearances.  I’m sure it’s something I will always struggle with, but I‘m so much better now, than I was two years ago.

Now, to be clear that I’m not suggesting giving-up.  I’m merely suggesting stop being so hard on yourself.  Stop putting unreasonable demands upon your, already heavy, shoulders.  Progress through life at a steady pace.  Realize that along the way you will encounter detours you didn’t expect.  Roll with it, Baby!  Take a look around and redirect your course over and over again.  Your life is uniquely yours.  By divine design it’s perfectly imperfect.  Own it, love it, mold it but never try and perfect it.    

Mine Angels Bear You Up

As I tearfully stood at a counter, at the Salt Lake County Courthouse, watching a clerk stamp the date on my final divorce papers, I felt a strong impression to go to Temple Square when I was finished.  The sweet clerk finished the cold process of organizing my paperwork, glanced up at me and started to tell me that I had everything in order and was free to go, but she stopped mid-sentence as she saw tears streaming down my face.  She stood up from her office chair, reached across the counter and placed her hand on my arm and asked if I was okay.  I nodded and tried to tell her thank you, but no sound came out of mouth.  I managed a smile and walked out of the courthouse.  When I finally got into my van the tears fell like rain and I sat in the dark parking garage and sobbed.  Once again I felt prompted to go to Temple Square. 

 

I followed the prompting and made my way to the place where I had so often found peace and comfort.  I parked at the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. As I made my way into the main lobby I passed the office where I had sat 15 years previous and picked out the flowers, linens and food for my wedding reception, which was held on the top-floor ballroom of the building.  Once a place of happy memories, and now I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

 

I made my way out the doors of the Joseph Smith Memorial Building and entered the gates of Temple Square where I immediately saw a bride being fanned by her doting mother.  It was a hot summer day in Salt Lake and I was reminded of the hot summer day I was married in the Salt Lake Temple.  I was reminded of my own doting mother trying to keep me cool in my beautiful white wedding dress.  I kept walking.  It seemed like everywhere I turned another bride and groom were blissfully smiling at their photographer’s camera. 

“What am I doing here?”  I thought.  “I am just torturing myself.  I need to get out of here.”  But instead of turning around and walking back to my car, I kept walking.

Finally, I ended up sitting in a beautiful flowerbed on a raised sprinkler box facing the temple.  The temple where 15 years ago I was sealed to my best friend and the man I loved with all my heart.  “This is where it all started,” I thought.  “And now I’m back at the same spot trying to find some peace when it’s all ended.”  The marriage I had fought so hard for was now officially over and I couldn’t control the sadness and despair I felt.  I put my face in my hands and sobbed.

A man in a suit came and sat down next to me in the flowerbed.

“Do you like cookies?” he asked.

I lifted my tear-stained face out of my hands, looked at him and with a little giggle responded, “Who doesn’t?”

He laughed and handed me a cookie.  We sat there for a few moments.  He was quiet, and I was trying as hard as I could to stop crying.

Finally, he said, “You’re obviously sad, what’s going on?”

I told him.  A complete stranger, but for some reason I told him all about the nightmare I was living.  He sat and listened.  When I was finished he said, “My wife was horticulture major at BYU and flowers have always fascinated me.  You can plant annuals and they are pretty for a season, but then they die.  When you plant perennials they are pretty for the season but they don’t get strong and vibrant until they’ve gone through a winter.  What’s more, is that after they have gone through an extremely harsh winter the plant produces the prettiest, most vibrant blossoms.  It sounds like you’re going through an extremely harsh winter right now, but soon the snow will stop falling, the ground will begin to thaw and the grandest, prettiest and most vibrant flowers will begin to bloom in your life. 

Your Heavenly Fathers hears and answers your prayers.  How else do you explain why I bought an extra cookie today? Heavenly Father wanted you to have this cookie today,” he said.  

Steve gave me a hug and went back to work.  I knew my prayers had been answered.  I knew Heavenly Father had sent one of his angels to comfort me in one of my darkest moments.  My Father, your Father, knew one of his daughters was suffering and could use a cookie.  I’m so grateful I followed the prompting to go Temple Square so I could be taught the things Heavenly Father wanted me to hear that day.  I have been inspired to look for opportunities to be an angel in someone else’s life.  I have a small charm in the shape of a chair on a bracelet I wear to remind me to find empty places to sit and provide comfort for others who are suffering. 

D&C 84:88 And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angles round about you, to bear you up.       

It's About the Flowers

Let's cut to the chase, shall we?  I am a single mom to three amazing little men.  Charlie is nine, Oliver is eight and Eli is five.  They are talented, valiant, happy and brilliant boys with bright spirits and personalities.  I am so proud of each one of them and I thank God everyday for the light and joy they are in my life.

Their dad and I have been separated and/or divorced for a year and a half.  He is very much a part of the boys lives, and for that I am eternally grateful.  They adore him!  The ex and I have a good relationship, in comparison to other divorced couples.  We are friendly and kind to one another and treat each other respect.  I'm not going to pretend this is always the case, we definitely have our moments, but for the most part we do divorce better than we did marriage.  I like him a lot better as my ex-husband than I did as my husband, and I'm sure he feels the same way about me.

This blog is not about what led to my divorce, it's about the aftermath, it's about the flowers that have emerged after the harsh winter.  The year we went through our separation and divorce was hands-down the hardest year of my life, and the years leading up to it were not a walk in the park either, but I've chosen to let the pain go and focus on living the life I've always wanted.  I'm sure there will be moments in this blog where I will reference the "dark years", but only as a means to clarify and provide the back-story.

I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  My faith is the sun that has thawed the bitter winter of divorce.  My faith is not just a religion to me, it's absolutely who I am and what I'm about. For more information you can visit www.mormon.org.