My heart overfloweth with sisterhood

Chieko N. Okazaki, first counselor in the General Relief Society Presidency from 1990 - 1997, once said, “When our burdens are grievous to be borne, when we face a world in which it seems that there is only struggle and no rest, I hope we can remember the immense strength of our sisterhood, the reservoirs that we have within us, and the unfailing wellspring of the Savior’s love for us, even in the midst of adversity.” (“Finding Lightness in Our Burdens,” The Best of Women’s Conference). 


That feeling of sisterhood that Okazaki was talking about is exactly what these girls provided me last night:

We met in Jerusalem and became kindred spirits over pita, pillow talk, broken straighteners, and failed Old Testament quizzes. Having the four of us together again last night opened my heart to so much joy. I was reminded of how good it feels to be around women, let alone friends who listen, understand, validate, and want to help you in any way they can. 


As we sat at the table eating our scrumptious confetti cake, I couldn't help but feel like I was getting a great big hug from the Savior. We each took turns updating the others on our life story. I sat in gratitude as each of my friends expressed the joys and worries they'd been processing over the last four months. Their stories reminded me that nobody is ever alone, that everyone has trials, and that I'm not as crazy as I think I am. I left our girls' night feeling perfectly validated. I also felt hopeful and calm about whatever lies ahead the rest of this year. Sometimes, only sisterhood can cause that kind of peace in your life. 


There are many other women in my life who have stimulated this same sisterhood effect. And to you all I say thank you: for your prayers, gchats, emails, text messages, phone calls, lunch dates, blog comments, etc. You truly are burden lifters, joy givers and love providers. Thank you for sharing your reserviors of insight and charity; and your unfailing wellspring of friendship and service. 

Friendship

click on the picture :-) 

One Art 

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. 

None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

the art of losing’s not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Tan Walls and Red Paint: Making sense of what doesn't make sense

Be cautious of the expectations you hold over people. Sometimes expectations can be too heavy. Other times, too light. Believe in everyone's potential, but be grateful for their current state of openness and willingness to grow. Don't push too hard and don't pull too quickly. Most of the time, people are the doing the best they can.

That is why we need compassion. But compassion is an interesting attribute. It doesn't cover up wounds or weakness. Instead, it delivers something much sweeter and more glorious: hope. Compassion gives assurance that no matter how faulty or discrepant our souls might seem, we still matter. We still exist. We are still worth being loved.

But compassion doesn't come automatically. Developing such Christlike attributes requires personal experience, usually in the form of a trial--a family member dies, a friendship fades, a chronic disease limits opportunity, another's agency disappoints expectations, a church calling stretches you, etc. The scriptures even say that without opposition we could not experience the joy of life. For without sorrow there is no joy (2 Nephi). Therefore, without hardship and heartbreak and disappointment, we could not know what it feels like to experience compassion. And if we've never felt compassion, how on earth can we truly give it?
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I've been wondering: How do we stand up for ourselves without being overbearing? How can we be confident without pushing others away? How can we be true to ourselves and considerate of others at the same time?
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Our personal paradigm greatly affects our perception. Our paradigm determines our relationships and how we learn from our trials and victories. If our paradigm is cracked or tinted or clouded, then our whole existence will struggle to see the light of truth. I was reminded of these facts today. That is why correct principles are so important. And why resolving false understandings of gospel principles is incredibly vital to our happiness. Because if our perception of God's love for us is flawed, then our whole life experience is potentially miserable.

So then how do we correct our paradigm? Well, it's a process. It takes time, humility, and a desire for change. But the insights do come and the growth does occur. You just have to be patient.
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Those are my main thoughts for today. In closing, I just have to say--for my personal reference--that sometimes, it's more important to have tan walls and red shelves than it is to have red walls and red shelves.