Refiner's Fire

This will be my final resolution post for the year.

I heard it before I saw it--my serving pieces falling from the display cabinet.

My favorite big bowl. The gravy boat. A serving platter with a small chip in it from carelessly being loaded into the dishwasher on Easter.

All of them were gone.

Much to my (and the unlucky child's) surprise, I wasn't angry. It was an accident, and I let it go.

The fragments of porcelain remained on my kitchen counter for days. I couldn't make myself just throw them away. These were memories--veggie trays, buttermilk syrup, holiday gravy, and endless batches of chocolate chip cookies.

Then, one day, I did just that. Threw them all away. And it was another surprise--painless.

I've come to a conclusion about this refining stuff I've been attempting this year.

For eleven months now, I've tried to force myself into something that just didn't fit. I dutifully wrote about it every month, and each entry explained my frustration at not being able to make this resolution work for me.

Here's the thing.

Refining isn't something that happens on our time. It's not like setting goals to lose weight through exercise and diet. It's not reading scriptures daily or keeping the kitchen clean. Refining is something you become when placed under pressure. It's something you can expect but not something you can entirely prepare for.

Like my reaction to shattered dishes, for example.

Initially, I thought refining was many small things that could be controlled to effect large change. I was wrong. Refining is a process that only comes under pressure--in situations where the only control you have is over your reactions. All year long I was trying to manipulate this process, force the growth. It didn't work. It will never work that way.

In October, I wrote about my lackluster experience with refining and how I was about to surrender to a failed yearly resolution experience. Yeah. That's when the rubber hit the road. November brought it big. Big questions like these:

What is forgiveness? 

Can I do it? 

Can I do it when I don't ever receive an apology? 
Can I forget--the pain, the grudges--all of it?

Do I want to do it? 

What about repentance? 

What do I need to change? 

How do Jesus Christ's grace and Atonement figure into the equation? 

How do I allow them to work for me?

I realized over these past few weeks that refining isn't something I can do exactly, but it's something I have to allow to happen. I have to be willing to give up pride, self-righteousness, hurt--and most importantly, control. Refining doesn't fit in a little box, and after three days--boom, you're refined. Refining is a process that has to be left in God's control.

Grace--God's love working in our lives after all we can do. I can try as hard as I can, but alone, I can never do it.

As with every other refine post for this year, I feel my writing inadequate to express my inner thoughts. I have a feeling as I work through allow this process of grace to work in my life--as I allow it to change me--that I will find myself (dare I say it?) refined. After a year of struggling, of fighting and forcing and expecting and demanding.

Maybe 2014's word of the year will be successful after all, and on 12/31 I will throw away the pieces like I did that day in my kitchen. And in the end, after all I can do, I will see that it wasn't me at all.

Refine--

 What? It's still 2014, and I'm still tied to this refine thing?

I've been setting year-long resolutions for six years now, and I would say that this year has been my least successful, least measurable, least life-changing resolution.

I struggled with the word choice itself from the very beginning, and I don't think it's ever really fit. It's all round and smooth and calm and . . . perfect . . .  and I'm the gangly, awkward, angular dodecagon trying to fit into its round hole.

I removed my necklace last night for a costume party, and the strangest thing happened. I didn't miss it, and I haven't found the pressing need to don it again. It's been around my neck every day for months, and its presence isn't even missed. Maybe I picked the wrong word this year. Maybe I just don't have what it takes to refine myself. Maybe I'm too overwhelmed or busy or prideful . . . or something equally abstract that I can't pinpoint.

If I were to be completely honest, I don't know exactly where I fit right now. Or where I'm headed. Sometimes, it's hard even hard to remember where I've been and who I used to be.

I don't like it. I hate feeling discomfited and out of place in my skin, but I can't seem to find what I'm searching for.

Like this iron bird on my windowsill, I often tuck my head and hide from what's really bothering me or from what I know I need to do. That's not like me.

Or is this the new me?

Already I'm looking forward to the new year, but I have little promise that I will find what I'm looking for in 2015.

It sounds a little heavier than it really is. I know there are real problems in the world and that mine pale. But they're still mine.

How's that for honest?

Refine--25 Years and Four Pieces

My word/resolution for 2014 is refine. For a little backstory on it, click here.

I haven't made time to fluff my nest in a long time. Family demands and my school's demands have overtaken many of the smaller joys in my life--setting a beautiful table, rearranging my furniture and tchotchkes, organizing a small corner of my world.

Dinner after Ben's farewell talk had to be different. I pulled out a big vase, cut a few branches off our tree, and arranged some miscellaneous stuff into a centerpiece.

Crash.

Twenty-five years ago, Brad convinced me to use much of the money and store credit from our wedding to buy all of the serving pieces and twelve complete place settings of our china. Noritake Spectrum. Wrapped in tissue and packed between sheets of corrugated cardboard, all 88 pieces traveled with us from Utah to law school in Chicago then home permanently in Arizona. They hid in their protective boxes under beds and high on storage shelves until Lily was a baby and I finally had a cabinet where I could permanently unwrap them and use them. I've been paralyzed with fear every time we use them that someone will drop one precious piece and break it.

The someone who broke the first precious piece of my fine Noritake Spectrum china was me.

Where were the tears and the hysterics? Where was the heartbreaking sob--"Now the set is worthless! One piece is missing!"

Much to my surprise, these feelings never came. Much to my surprise, it was okay. I don't think we see the progress we make over months and years and decades because we are too entangled in the minutiae of moments and minutes and days.

I was okay.

I've been struggling each time I look in the mirror or try to find something to wear or get on the yoga mat or treadmill. My face is not what it used to be. My body isn't the same shape as it's always been, and I can't run as fast or stretch as far as I've been always been able to before. I beat myself up constantly that I'm not good enough or not thin enough or not _____________ enough.

It wasn't until I tried to reassemble the damaged plate and changed my perspective to a view from above that I could truly see. The pieces of that broken saucer brought me something I never imagined. Those pieces showed me how far I've come and how much I've grown and mellowed over the years.

They brought me a glimpse of peace.

If I can be okay with this catastrophe that's played out dozens of times in my mind over 25 years, then why can I not be okay with myself? If broken china doesn't really matter, then why can't I take the time to get above the commotion, above the snarled demands of the daily grind, above the failures that tend to overshadow everything else--to see myself as Heaven alone sees me?

Broken, imperfect, struggling.

And it's okay.

No tears. No hysterics. Just see what's broken and fix it if I can. If I can't, then accept it.

It's all okay.

Refined or ReFIND--Which Is It?

In 2011, the word was balance. In 2012, I decided to think outside the box. Last year, it was act.

This year, I chose the word refine as my focus.

It's eight months into the year, and it still doesn't fit.

School's been in session for three weeks now, and I've been feeling lost.

I thought I would love being alone all day every day. I thought I would get so much done without little kids underfoot as I tried to fold clothes or clean the kitchen or run errands or do homework. I thought I would set life on fire and take no prisoners.

It's nearly impossible to explain, but I haven't found it in me yet.

It's weird, suddenly being alone all day every day. It's hard to do laundry or dishes or errands or homework when there are 6 1/2 solitary hours spread in front of me. No carpools or time restrictions. No naptimes or surprise plates. No telling time by the PBS schedule--in fact, no TV playing in the background at all.


One morning, blurry-eyed Evie and her starfish head wandered down to breakfast, lovingly burped her baby before she dusted her French toast with powdered sugar. I was busily serving breakfast, helping Micah prepare lunches, listening to Hyrum practice the piano, and generally commanding the commotion that is school mornings.

For an instant, I stopped and looked at my youngest child, no longer a baby but a big girl who needed to eat quickly, get dressed, comb her hair, and grab her backpack before rushing out into the world for the day. And in that instant, all I wanted to do was snuggle my baby in my lap, lovingly pat her, then spend the day with her--folding laundry, doing dishes, running errands, telling time by PBS, making surprise plates, and reading stories before naps. It was so overwhelming that it took my breath for a moment. I wanted her to stay home from school and PLAY with me and be my shadow. In that moment, I felt the loss of all of my children's babyhood and toddlerhood and preschoolerhood, and it hurt.

And because she is now a big girl, I had to swallow my hurt. Instead, I looked at her, scooped her up, squeezed her tight, then sent her upstairs to dress for the day--in a twirly pink tulle tutu skirt that still-little girls love but grown-up girls now wear to kindergarten.

August was not of month of refining for me. It was a month of refinding--refinding who I am, refinding how to manage my days, refinding schedule and motivation without someone around to care for 24 hours a day.

This growing up stuff is hard on moms.

If you need me, I'll be home. Alone. Waiting for the bell to ring at 2:15.

Resign. I Mean Refine

I think July 2014 may go down in my personal history as the busiest month of my entire life.

One day I need to write down all of that busy-ness, but that day is not today.

Today is July 31st, and the date nearly escaped me.

Today has been hard.

I've been working this entire year on refining myself. Some days I rock it. Some days I suck it.

Today I sucked it.

Do you know someone who makes you feel small? Someone who makes you feel worthless? Someone whom you can never please? Someone close to you?

Someone who pushes your buttons and ruins your mood and your day and your commitment with one offhand comment?

I need to get it together and get to a place where none of this derails me. Where none of this bothers me. Where none of this touches me. Where none of this hurts me. 

Do I resign to the negativity and pressure to explode? I shouldn't.

I did.

I'm sorry.

I'll try again.

And every time after that, for that matter.

This refining stuff isn't for sissies.

Good thing I'm not a quitter, because today may have been the final straw. If I were a quitter, that is.

Which I'm not.

Back at it tomorrow.

See you then.

Refining

For an explanation of my one-word goal for the year to refine myself, click here. For last year's word, act, click here.

My kids collect the eggs. Each day, they comment about the color and shape.

Their colors range from dark brown through lightest beige. Some look like they've been unevenly left in dye--fading from light to dark, or blotchy instead of speckled. Once, one was kind of purplish pink. One chicken always lays green eggs.

Their shapes vary as well. Big and small, rounder or longer than usual--even ridged and lumpy, on occasion.

Chickens squawk and cluck each time they lay an egg. I didn't know that. I don't think it hurts to lay an egg, but there is some discomfort and work associated with this daily process.

My work to refine myself this year is a little like laying that egg each day. Some days, my efforts are pretty--evenly colored and shaped. Other days are small, uneven, inconsistent, even lumpy.

I'm trying to see the beauty in each day and appreciate the work each day takes.

And trying not to squawk too much about it.

Saturday #22--Refining for May

I reached a conclusion this month--about all of this refining shtuff.

I can't spread myself as far as I always have in the past right now.

Like it or not, school takes a disproportionate amount of my time, and that needs to be ok.

We are only one week into summer, and my full-time school is clashing hard with their full-time vacation. I've implemented a few summer programs that will hopefully save my sanity (I'll keep you posted on that), but I know summer will be long and hard for Mommy/student.

And it's okay.

Just trying to get a little better every day.  That's refining.

At least for now.

Relearning

April 2014.

The month of the year where I can pinpoint the loss of my mojo and the beginning of overwhelming stress.

I never have enough minutes in a day, let alone hours.

My life is sorted into piles--of unfolded laundry, of articles to read, of dirty dishes, of mothering responsibilities, of unaccomplished tasks, piles of thoughts that never fully bloom.

I'm spread as thin as fine Swiss cheese--with the holes gaping ever wider. Sometimes I feel the crushing burden, while at other times I retreat to avoid facing reality.

School has kicked me hard this time, and I am looking forward to the completion of my last assignment later today.

Family responsibility has weighed heavily--I find myself making choices between each kids' activities and letting someone down with my decisions.

The joys of my life--loving my family and relishing each moment with them, thinking deeply and learning new things, serving others, and writing--are still there, waiting for me to embrace them again.

I hate to admit it, but my goal to refine myself and my relationship with God has fallen to the end of the priority list, buried somewhere in one of the detritus piles filling my mind. How could I let that happen?

To be completely honest, I half-hoped to avoid this post today, knowing that no one would notice or care that I had abandoned my goal for the year.  April 30th doesn't register as accountability day for anyone else.

Except for me.

That's when the truth hit me.

I've been stressed about others and their expectations and judgments, at the expense of what I need--time daily to fervently pray and study scripture, time to refresh my perspective, time to see the eternal in the mundane.

If I didn't account for my actions this past month, I would know. And that's what matters.

I know life has been off-kilter, and I know I need to change.

I know how to do it, and I know it will make a difference.

And now that I've acknowledged it, now I can . . .

Relearn.  And then, once again, refine.

Discomfort

REFINE Seemed like such a great word for 2014. Yeah. I still don't see how it fits me or how it's positively impacting my life. I feel slightly uncomfortable trying to carry it around. Quite frankly, "overwhelmed" isn't powerful enough for my life right now. I'm wondering what consumed me to start graduate school while still mothering five rambunctious kids. There isn't time in my days to focus on the deep thinking it would take to fully adopt a "refine" mentality--most days I'm lucky to get dinner made. Running along the canal has given way to rare, short treadmill experiences while I read about "constructivism" and "classical conditioning." I've even stepped away from the yoga mat more and more often. My body is softening as my priorities shift to mental exercises. I'm stretching thinner and thinner to accomplish less and less each day. I keep telling myself that this class will be over soon (this one is really a killer), but the next one is always on its tail. I always try to keep things real around here, and in that spirit, I have to admit to a small breakdown this month, a day where one smallish thing pushed me to the edge and over. As I took some time to cry and reconnoiter, I tried to put everything in perspective. My life is so good and so full and so wonderful, I felt guilty that I'd had a few rough days. Life is good. I'm still trying. I'm still fighting. I'm still moving forward, maybe not as fast as I used to, but it's still forward. Here's to a better April. I seem to say that every month, but this time, I mean it.

February 28, 2014

photo credit--Miss Lily Jane Denton

Refine, huh?

Now that's a word.  Just happens to be my one-word resolution for 2014.

How am I doing with it? you ask.  Funny you should ask that question. It's a question I ask myself many times a week, and I can't seem to get a straight answer from myself--just some rambly, disjointed ideas bouncing around, refusing to link together very coherently.

Today, however, is February 28th, and I am contractually bound to respond.  So . . . respond I will.

photo credit--Mr. Micah T. Denton

A few weeks ago, someone asked me what refine meant on my necklace. Before I could answer, he said, "That's your word this year, isn't it?  How's that going?"  I thought for a second before replying, "I don't know.  It just doesn't quite seem to fit me yet."  He caught my attention with his response: "That's okay. The year is still new.  There's still time."

He is so right.

Last month, I felt like Elsa from Frozen.  I tried to just "Let It Go," but as I tried to let go, I found I simultaneously needed to hang on, and that dichotomy almost paralyzed me.

February 2014 changed me. I don't know if I can articulate the change well, but I don't need to, because C. S. Lewis did. He wrote:

 “Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself."     --Mere Christianity

February was a time where I recognized change coming over me--a priority shift, a redefinition of myself.  I found February to be one of those pivotal moments in life--those times when you learn so much about yourself and your role in life that you are forever changed.  That sounds quite dramatic, doesn't it?

Well, it wasn't.

Like I tried to express in this post, my brain is constantly thinking and processing and applying and learning. As I experience this learning process from a more mature position than ever before, I am beginning to see a few of my flaws in more realistic light.  I see so many times that I've failed, but instead of lingering on the failure, I'm seeing the possibility to alter the future through active redirection, repentance, and action.

We don't have to ride in the same train car forever. We don't have to read the same books or wear the same clothes or be defined by who we've always been. The future is ours . . . to mold, to actively participate in, and to transform.

I don't know exactly where I'm headed, but I know that the ride is exciting--more exhilarating when I embrace God's hand in my life instead of thinking I know which track the train should use. I see that I don't need to have perfect attendance or perfect design or perfect children or perfect . . . ANYTHING . . . as long as I'm on the train (a train on a roller coaster track), and as long as I trust the conductor. I know I'm happier when I make sure I prioritize a few things in my day EVERY DAY, and when I don't, I no longer go to bed berating myself. Now I try to end the day by analyzing my efforts and forgiving myself, waking to the gift of a new day with a clean slate and fresh hopes.

I still have many days (most days, even) where I backslide. Days when I make big mistakes that I have to face. Days when I forget that perfect isn't the only acceptable outcome. Days when I wish I'd stayed in bed.

Samuel Beckett wrote:

 "Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better."

That's now my goal each day: Fail better.

Here I am, 44 years old, and I'm finally beginning to see.

January 31, 2014

It's the end of the first month of the new year, and it's time for my obligatory word-of-the-year update.

Remember my goal to "refine"? and how I struggled to put into words what I've been thinking?  I shared this quote by Joel Kramer:
"Yoga is a dance between control and surrender--between pushing and letting go.  When to push and when to let go becomes part of the creative process, part of the open-ended exploration of your being."

Funny thing about this goal?  I feel like I know less about it today than I did 31 days ago.

I spent half of the month telling myself that just letting things go was the right way to approach life, but that approach left me feeling lost and out of sync, as I wrote in this post.  Somehow, I slipped into the marshy waters of "let it all go."  And that's a dangerous place to be.  I stopped caring about exercise, because it's okay to let a day or two go by without exercising (then that turned into a week or more . . . ).  It's okay to sleep in once in a while, but every morning? The messes in the house no longer frustrated me, but they got more frequent and deeper.  I forgot how important it is to my mental health to avoid sugar (best documented in this post), and I tried to convince myself that it was okay--just let it go--but it wasn't. It was fine to forget prayers once or twice and not crack open my scriptures for days on end (because we all make mistakes, right?), and I shouldn't beat myself up about it when I occasionally forget.  Problem was . . . it became more than occasional.  It became the norm.

As I tried to surrender too much, I lost some of the daily passion and focus I usually feel in my life.  My camera was idle, but I had spent hours on Pinterest.  My scriptures were closed, but I knew everything that had been posted on Facebook. My alarm went off every morning, but I barely acknowledged its call before returning to sleep.

I didn't like what I created this last month, but I didn't understand what the root of my unrest could be. Letting it all go exposed a weakness in me that I'd never seen before, and I don't know how to explain it or define it, but somehow, by letting go of the control, I somehow lost who I am and who I think I was meant to be, frankly. I couldn't find the balance between control and surrender, because I've been a control monster most of my life, and without that monster ruling my life, my days became blurry and purposeless.

Fighting the nasty INFLUENZA for more than ten days didn't help, either. I lost almost a week of life as I fevered from bed to couch and back again.  When I returned from my sickbed, I had to address all the things that had been neglected in my absence, and that pushed my goal even further from my mind.

Now that the sick is mostly behind us, I've had a few days to reflect on what it is I truly want to do this year.

A friend sent me this quote one day:

Reading this sent me into the ugly cry--that place where truth strikes like a missile and you can't avoid it any longer. It was in that moment that I realized that I'd been on the wrong track with my approach to refining myself. 

Something was said in Church on Sunday that hit me hard:  "It's easier to see if you're out of shape physically, but it's harder to see if you're out of shape spiritually."

That's what I'd allowed to happen.  Not only had I lost some of my physical fitness, but my spirit was shouting for attention. I had surrendered some of the best parts of me, and that wasn't going to work. It never will.

Lucky for me, February is a short 28 days.  28 days to reconnoiter and reevaluate.  28 days to recenter and reset.

28 days to figure out where I'm headed on this journey to refine.

It's going to be much harder than I ever anticipated.

And I believe--I know--it's going to be worth every second.

My Word 2014

Yesterday I spent another entire day languishing with writer's block about this post.  I can't figure out how to phrase in words my swirling thoughts.  It's frustrating and not at all what I pictured for the beginning of my fresh new year.

Instead of fighting with myself any more to pen the perfect post, I'm just going to blurt this out and move on with a fantastic new year.

My word for 2014 is

refine

I want my life this next year to reflect this Finnish proverb: "Happiness is a place between too little and too much." I want to find that place.  

This is going to take much more thinking before I can fully articulate where I'm headed.

It's going to take a bit more refining.  

Get it?

Yeah, me neither.