Here's a picture for you... I'm sitting in a booth at Zane's, (It's a great little place in downtown Glendale. The egg rolls are to die for!) looking over the menu, already knowing what I want, but pretending to act like I don't so Dave can feel better about taking so long to make up his own mind. I swear, every place we go it's the same. He doesn't want to pick something he may not like, so he takes forever deciding. It's a decision just as big as deciding who to vote for in an election year. He's so funny. I love Dave.

Years ago, I was offended by a man
in our ward during a meeting.
His tone, his words, his arrogance--
just smacked me
upside the head
and landed right in my heart.

His comment was so rude
that I looked to my Bishop for defense--
which he quickly offered
and gave a “look” to the guy, that said,
“Shut up. You're a Jerk with a capital “J”.”
At least, that's what I think he was thinking,
because that's exactly what I was thinking.

The meeting ended.
And I left with very hurt feelings.
Did he really think so little of me?
Did I say something to deserve his remark?
I reviewed the events of the meeting
over and over in my mind...
I told my husband about it
when I got home.

Since we were new in the ward,
we really had no idea who this guy was--
only his name.
My husband assured me I didn't deserve
the remarks,
and like a good husband,
made me feel better that day.

But--
for months,
and I mean
for over a year,
I avoided that man.

My stomach would drop
if I happened to cross paths
with him in the halls
of the church building.
My circle of friends
did not include him or his wife--
whom I only knew by sight.
And even then, I always
averted my eyes when I saw her.

It was all very civilized
I thought.
No need to say anything to anyone else.
I didn't speak ill of this man behind his back.
I kept my distance, and that was sufficient for me.
"I can do this."--
Or so I thought.

Girls Camp a couple of summers later
forced me to speak to him--
my daughter had a huge backpack
chock full--
too full,
to hike into the campsite
for a few miles,
and this man--
carried her pack for her.

His act of charity
put me in a position of
being grateful to him.
Grateful—can you imagine?!

So the next time I saw him at Church,
I took a deep breath,
silently coached myself to breathe calmly
and walked up to him and said,
“My daughter said you helped her at Girls Camp
last week. I just wanted to thank you.”

He must've said something in response.
I don't know what he said
because I was freaking out in my head.
I just remember walking away with tears in my eyes.
That was tough.
But I did it. “Yea, for me!” I thought.
But that wasn't the end of it.

About a year later,
I was in the Temple.
As my husband and I were participating
in a service there,
I looked across from me,
and there he stood.
It was so awkward.

What was I going to do?
While I had not sought evil against this man,
I had not forgotten his offense against me.

One cannot,
should not
attend the temple
with anything but love in their hearts.
And here I stood
in the same room,

ready to pray for others...
and someone whom I had
avoided for years
stood directly across from me.

Thoughts raced through my mind,
while old feelings surfaced in my heart...
how could it be
that he and I
were in the same session together?

I came up with two options:
I could walk out.
Yeah, just excuse myself
and without a word,
leave the room,
and go out and wait for my husband
in the lobby.

Or
I could forgive that man
right there
on the spot.
Let it go.
Give it up to the Savior
with full confidence that He
knew my heart
and how that man had been careless with it.

I decided I could do that.
Rather than miss out on special temple blessings,
I could forgive in that exact moment.
Fully, completely forgive.
And I did it.
Tears flowed down my cheeks
as the spirit welcomed my
sweet release
of past pains.
I saw that counselor
as my brother--
who is also working out his own journey in life;
who is in the Temple,
refining himself
in God's house.

I felt a holy peace come over me and reside in me
so deeply
that when I see that man
or hear his name,
I am reminded of the goodness
and beauty of the Temple.
When I see him,
I just see another traveler on this road
we call
Life.

“...first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift” Matt 5:24.

----


The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe has nothing on this Momza of Seven, mil to two, and recently crowned "Granma" to a Ninja-Baby who has stolen her heart with his toothless grin. Dawn is a Midwife Assistant/Doula, Home Stager, Writer, and Convert to the LDS faith--living the dream in the Colorado Rockies! She blogs at Momza's House.

Dear Dave Ramsey,

I feel like we should talk. Not just chit chat, but TALK talk. As you may or may not know, Lover and I recently incorporated your debt solving antics into our lifestyle. With our law school loans making us feel like we had been punched in the stomach, we felt it necessary to try and dig ourselves out of this hole we’ve created for the sake of “an education”. I will admit, I can’t entirely blame our debt on law school. There were a few (hundred) trips to Target that MAY have played a small role in the money issue that we now have.

Although I know this program you have us doing is for a greater good, it’s really a thorn in my lifestyle. To be completely honest, I’m not a big fan of keeping my money all budgeted evenly and tucked away in white envelopes. It makes me feel…well, budgeted. I don’t like when I have to go to the gas station and thumb through all my 12 envelopes to find the “gas” envelope just so I can pay for my fill up. It’s kinda embarrassing. And my “allowance” envelope? Well, the problem with that one is that it never has enough money in it. I always spend my allowance in like, the first 3 days and the rest of the two weeks I’m left wandering parking lots looking for loose change just so I can get a route 44 ocean water during Happy Hour at Sonic.

I would have to say that my very least favorite part of using your technique is having to plan ahead. I hate planning ahead. I hate budgeting my money and then having to withdraw all of it. I hate having to go to the teller and ask for 4-100’s, 2-50’s, 6-20’s, 3-10’s and 4-5’s just so the money is divided perfectly in their individual envelopes. I hate having to make a grocery list. I never used to use a grocery list. Now I can’t even walk INTO the grocery store unless I have a list, and not only that, but I have to USE the list. I hate having to write down the price of EVERY item that goes into my cart and I ESPECIALLY hate having to pull my cart over when I’m done shopping and ADD UP EVERY ITEM to make sure my total is STILL within my budget. I usually try to hide in the dog food aisle to do that because I’m SOOO embarrassed. Ugh. Who DOES that?!?

Okay, Okay, I will admit, we are seeing some wicked results. We’ve only been using your system since January and we’ve already been able to pay off one credit card which DID make me feel like a rockstar. I guess if you want something bad enough you’ll do whatever it takes. Even if it means telling your BFF’s you can’t go to girl’s night out because Dave Ramsey won’t let you. I know once this is all over, I’ll be so thankful that I stuck to it and sacrificed so much (like those Jessica Simpson black platform pumps I wanted SOOOO badly). I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to have absolutely NO debt. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll EVER know that feeling.

Anyway, I started writing this letter because I was annoyed and tired of using your debt solving plan, but now that I think about it, I’m just grateful that I HAVE a plan. Thank you, Dave Ramsey, for being the jerk that you are. I love that about you.

Your new BFF,

Jessica Lowe

---

Jessica is a TEXAN. She’s also a mother of 5 (4 boys and 1 girl) who has been married for 11 years to a super hot US Marine that she likes to call, “Lover.” She and her family live aboard Camp Lejeune in NC and they fantasize about the day they can move back home to the great state of Texas and build their dream home. She writes on her personal blog about other crazy adventures at www.thelowefamilynews.blogspot.com or you can hear her craziness live at the HunDuddle Hussy.

One day, many years ago, I decided to take six small children to the State Fair. This was a family tradition, and even though their father was gone, I felt that it was important to still maintain our traditions. They loved to go to the fair. It was full of sights, sounds, noise, rides, food, and wonderful things to see and touch.

I had never tried to take all of them before, but wasn't particularly worried about it. (Oh for the innocence of those days!) We loaded up the big yellow banana, (read yellow VW Van) and took off for a day of fun.

The first thing I noticed when we arrived at the fair was all the people! There were so many people, literally everywhere. It made me nervous. I immediately assigned everyone a buddy. Now, I supposedly did not need to worry.

We started off around the fair. We saw the mud races, the rides, the farm animals and finally arrived at my favorite part, the main building that had all the things to look at and buy. We walked into the building, I paused at a table, and immediately lost the children. A short minute later, everyone was accounted for, except Adam.

He was three and had an insatiable curiosity. He was the one who could be right next to you and not hear you call. He was the one who loved everyone and thought they were his best friends if they just smiled and talked nicely. I panicked. I went up to the nearest security guard. He called on his radio to his boss and they closed down the building and the main gates to the fair.
This was at the time when children were being stolen at amusement parks. So, no one took it lightly. Everyone set out to search for one small three-year-old boy. Forty-five minutes later, we were still looking. Finally, one of the guards sent me to the other side of the fair (fifteen minutes away) to the lost and found. I walked into a room and there, in front of a craft table making pictures, was Adam. He looked up and saw me and immediately started crying, "You was lost!" He said, "Don't you ever get lost again! I looked for you everwhere and you was lost!" I suppose he was right. In his world, I was the one who was lost. It did not seem to dawn on him that all the other kids were "lost" with me too.

Sometimes in our lives it may seem as if we, or even those we love, are lost. This story reminds me of the importance of the one whom Christ went to find. He was surrounded by multitudes and spoke to thousands, yet He always had concern for the one. “For the Son of man is come to save that which was lost,” (Matt 18:11) He said. “What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?” (Luke 15:4).

This instruction applies to all of us who follow Him. We are commanded to seek out those who are lost. Much like the willingness of all of those strangers at the fair who did everything they could to help locate my son, we are to be our brother’s keeper. We are to be concerned for the one. We are to try and make a difference in their lives and teach them about the one who loves and cares for them most of all.

Our Savior knows that we will all make mistakes. He knew that some of us would become "lost" like my son, Adam. He provided a way for those lost ones to be found. He provided the atonement that we might live together with Him in the house of our Father. As a mother, I know that it hurts deeply to have a child become lost. If I, imperfect as I am, feel that loss, how much more does our Heavenly Father feel it, when His children are lost, not just for the here and now, but perhaps even into eternity? May we all strive to love each one of our brothers and sisters that wander lost and alone. May we be willing to help bring them home.

--
guest post by Patty Ann Pitterle

If books came alive like toys did in Toy Story, they would fear our house.



Books have it pretty rough at our house. I think few have made it without being ripped, drawn on, slobbered on, chewed, flushed, cut, thrown, spilled on, lost, etc, etc, etc. If the kids had access to matches...well, you can connect the dots.

You would think that since I knew this about my children, I would steer clear of the public library. But I am not willing to give up hope that someday my kids will learn to be civilized human beings who yearn for knowledge and refinement. I am partly responsible for that training after all. So, I continue visiting that great institution, returning with fresh victims text.

A couple of weeks ago, I found yet another fallen comrade. It was a small board book that had been left out on the patio during a spontaneous rainstorm. I scooped up the sodden book and set it on the counter hoping to salvage it. Maybe with a little time to dry...and a miracle...

That night as I was making dinner, I turned around just in time to witness Deacon carefully and purposefully pulling the book apart! NO!!!! Not even a blessing from the Pope was going to bring that book back now.

This was ridiculous! How could I teach my children to respect other people's things, in this case the library's things, namely books?!

The wheels began turning...

Deacon is five years old now. Just barely five--he celebrated his fifth birthday last month--but still...five. Too old to be ripping apart library books just for the fun of it.

I considered this development. I considered the money he had leftover from his birthday. I considered the effectiveness of a little tough-love lesson.

After much consideration, I arrived upon the solution. It was time my big, book-breaking boy took some responsibility for the choices he had made.

I explained to him that he had broken something that did not belong to him. When we break things that do not belong to us, we must do everything we can to fix our wrongdoing. In this case, he would have to go with me to the library, tell the librarian what had happened, apologize, and use his leftover birthday money to pay for the book.

This upset him and I have to admit I was pleased that it did. I'm not heartless. I just knew that the message I was trying to get across was beginning to hit home. Truthfully, it made me sad to watch him go through this process, but a little excited too. This is probably Parenting 101 to more experienced parents, but this was a first for me. It was exciting in that my son was going to learn a valuable lesson that he will surely have to use over and over again in his life.

I know I did. For me, it was my sister's Barbie doll. One day I was angry at her and ripped her head off (the doll, NOT the sister...although I'll bet that's what I wanted to do...), throwing the plastic carnage behind our bunk bed. I had to admit my wrongdoing, apologize, and do extra chores to pay for a new doll. But, my aggression towards Barbie dolls can be saved for another post...or how about never brought up again? Yeah. I think that would be for the best.

Anyway...

We made our way to the library. Since my husband was at work, I had all three children with me. I didn't want to make an example out of my son...but if I was being really honest...I kind of did want to make an example out of him at the same time. I wanted them all to learn this lesson and if they could by watching their older brother...why not?

We waited in the long line at the librarian's desk and as we got closer I could see Deacon's anxiety level rise. By the time we walked up to her, he was on the verge of tears. I gently pushed him forward, hoping he would take the bull by the horns. Instead, he took a knee by the desk. Sobbing. I tried to gently talk him through it, but he just cried and cried.

In the end I was the one to explain to the librarian what had happened. I put the book on the counter. I took the money from his hot little hands and placed it in hers. I paid the difference when his money didn't cover the cost of the book.

The librarian was kind as librarians typically are. I think she thought I was being rather harsh to have him do this, especially when he was melting into a little puddle of teary, snotty goo right before her eyes. But she played along and told him she was proud of him because most people who broke their books didn't take responsibility for them. He may not have even heard her say that over his sniffles.

I suppose some of you may be thinking I was harsh, too. Or not harsh enough. I don't know. I feel like I constantly question my own self as I learn my lessons as a mom. Even as I wrote this post I wondered if I had done the right thing in trying to teach my boy the lesson of not breaking other people's things.

Mid-post, I turned to Deacon and said, "Remember when we went to the library the other day? Why did we do that??" to which he promptly replied, "To fix my mistake."
I think I might be doing okay.

----

Evelyn Perkins can often be found barricaded in the bathroom, holding the laptop hostage in exchange for fifteen minutes of peace and quiet from her captors, three darn tootin' cute kids and one patient and hungry husband. More of their hostage negotations can be found on her personal blog, The Perks of Life.

*image from Google images

Gratitude. I have been feeling grateful a lot lately. My gratitude all started when someone in church challenged me to pray and ask for nothing in return, just thank Heavenly Father for everything I have. So, I decided to get specific about what I am grateful for. I am thankful for a roof over my head, for beautiful healthy children, and a wonderful husband who is very supportive of me and my endeavors in writing.

I feel particularly blessed when I listen to the hymns in church and sing along. We sung the hymn, "There is a Green Hill Far Away" in sacrament last week. Tears came to my eyes because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jesus atoned for my sins and He is the only one that could do that. He loves us all so much that He sent a comforter, the Holy Ghost, a member of the Godhead, to comfort us when we are feeling low or we just need some love.

Even during rough trials, I feel the Savior in my life. I could get mad. I could get frustrated. But it wouldn't do any good. He loves me. I feel His love every day in my life. It seems silly to get mad at God when we agreed to be tested. We knew there would be trials; but we wanted to be tested so we could have the chance to live with God again someday and one day become as He is, creators of our own world.

I am grateful for friends. The friends I have in my life know exactly what to say to comfort me when I am feeling low. I truly believe that some of the friends I have right now are answers to my prayers. Because the Lord knows me. He knows all of us. The Savior, Jesus Christ, is my Elder brother who cares for me. I want to do everything I can to make it back to Him someday.

Truly I am blessed indeed.

What are you grateful for right now?

---

Alexes is one crazed writing fool; perhaps one day she might get paid for what she writes. She is the mother of three daughters (no sons) and you can find more about her at her personal blog One Cluttered Brain or at Writer's Block.

Elder Dallin H. Oaks spoke during the Saturday afternoon session of General Conference. His talk was called “Love and Law.” Elder Oaks was a lawyer by profession and eventually a Supreme Court Judge at the state level. His entire career was dependent upon the understanding of and the application of law.

Although I had been taught about the Atonement my entire life, and had even served a mission and taught Gospel Doctrine in several wards, I did not realize that I grossly misunderstood the role of the Atonement until I attended a seminar in which the teacher carefully laid out the delicate balance between justice and mercy. As I begin to understand the demands of each, and the urgent need for a perfect mediator, the Atonement came into focus for me. The Atonement of Jesus Christ answers the demands of law and satisfies the requests of mercy. In this talk by Elder Oaks, he outlines how important the role of law is in the gospel of Jesus Christ and how His love gives us access to mercy at a cost far less than its real worth.


You can read the talk here, or watch it here, or listen to it here.

Elder Oaks explains that these principles can guide us in the teaching of our children.

How do you balance love and law as a parent?

---

Stephanie is a mom of three young and relentless children. Her interests include latin music, naps, restaurants, writing, travel, teaching, housework denial and long showers. Stephanie seeks for the divinity in motherhood--- tries to share it when she finds it, and tries to laugh when she doesn't. She blogs for fun, posterity, and therapy. Her musings are chronicled at Diapers and Divinity, and if you know how to send chocolate as an attachment, you're welcome to email her here.

I just don't get it. Maybe I'm just a horrible, worldly woman of a mother, but I just don't understand this whole doll situation.

Before I start my "ranting and raving", I need to shout out a disclaimer to all my blogging sistas. I love you. I care about you. You are the wind beneath my wings. Okay. Here I go.

I remember when my daughter Hannah started playing with dolls. I do not remember the first time she received one, but I do remember she became interested in them around the age of two. And when I say "interested", I mean she wasn't using them as a chew toy any longer, but was pretending they were alive and her imagination sparked a continued love for storytelling and girlie excitement. It was a grand time.

Josie has now been at that stage for about six months. She, too, has a great imagination and love for dolls. I see her playing "mommy" with her dolls, holding them with a bottle, whispering secrets of wonder in their ears, and singing them to sleep ever so softly.

Now, the picture I'm painting here isn't complete without describing the dolls that are a part of my daughters' daily playtime. (Josie has now taken the lead in the doll department.) Hannah and Josie both have plush dolls, stuffed animals, dolls that wet, dolls that cry, dolls that have painted-on smiles, dolls that talk, and dolls that are anywhere from six inches tall to two feet in length. Basically their doll society welcomes all shapes, sizes, colors, creeds, and religions. We are the United Nations of Doll Earthlings.

In addition to the wide variety, their are two commonalities these dolls posses with each other in their everlasting existence.

1. They are loved very much by the girls. One doll may be loved more on a particular day, but in essence, they are all adored equally.

2. They have all been naked at one time or another. Yes, their birthday suits have been seen by all in our house -- even those not of Bickerstaff blood -- who have come over to play and enjoy the fun that these dolls are so willing to share with us humans.

I want to share some thoughts regarding point number 2 -- the all too sensitive subject of "doll nakedness".

I am neither for nor against it. I am neutral. I am Switzerland. And here is why.

If one of my daughters wants to take off a doll's clothes and the toy manufacturer didn't grace the thing with painted on panties and/or bra, I say, "Okay. What's the big deal?" I believe that dolls look prettier with their cute clothes on, but if they come off, it's nothing to freak out about, either.

I do not believe that my girls are going to have a body image complex because their barbies are "heavenly endowed" or have waists the size of peanuts. Yes, barbies and other dolls of their nature do not depict the typical woman's body type. But it is not a toys responsibility to teach my daughters how to love the bodies that they were ever so blessed with. It is mine.

So I boldly say this: If my daughters grow up with a poor body image of themselves, it is most likely because they saw me carrying a poor body image of myself around like a weight in the ocean. But if I treat my body like the temple that it is, my daughters will see that and most likely do the same.

I know, I know. You want to get back to the whole "naked dolls are wrong" issue. Yes, it exists! Dolls! Dolls! Naked! Naked! Some without legs! Some without arms! Some with hair cut off from their poor little heads! It's a horrible scene to come upon, when you watch your daughter try to put a leg back into a hip socket to no avail. And then she turns to look up at you, with those baby blues, pleading with you to help save her most precious Malibu Barbie doll from a lifetime of crippledness. (Is that even a word?:):)) All you can do is kneel down next to her and try to fix what was done, all the while knowing that you are just so blessed to have a little girl who cares about a toy's comfort and good health above her own at that very moment.

To summarize my whole take on the "naked doll" issue, I say this: If you see your daughter playing with a naked doll, don't freak out. Make it a teaching moment if you can. Make playful comments like "Oh my! Barbie is showing her bum! Are you teaching her how to use the potty? Are all her clothes in the washer? She's silly, huh?" Then say things like, "Let's put some clothes on her so she's not cold" or "We don't want Ken to see her naked! They're not married!" Then, if your daughter doesn't care one way or the other, don't make it a big deal. Because it's not. On the other hand, if you find your son playing with barbies and taking off their clothes, I'd look more closely into that -- not to the point where you give the kid a complex, but in a teachable sort of way.

I know that in this day and age, Chastity and Virtue are being attacked on every end. And it's horrible and sad, and just really sometimes beyond obnoxious. But as long as we are there and available for our kids to talk with us about any and everything they want to ask and say, and more importantly, we are willing and ready for any and everything they want to know....it's gonna be okay.

Remember, we are their role models....not Barbie. She is a doll. She is a toy. And should not be expected to rise to the bar of morality that has been set there for us human beings alone.

---

Katy is a musically inclined mother of three who loves life, her husband Dave, and cheesecake. Ahhhh....blessed cheesecake. Her fun filled roller coaster of thoughts can be found at www.ourdaisylife.blogspot.com Admission is always free.

Do you know what is happening with our economy? Everyone is downsizing! People are getting fired due to downsizing. Consumers are ordering small value meals instead of medium in the name of downsizing.

Heck, around our house we’re downsizing.

Cuz we’re moving.

Oh, how I hate moving.

In this case, we’re seriously downsizing. In order to properly downsize, we have to get rid of A LOT. I’m okay with that. Really. I’m strong. I can handle it. I sold my stinking piano, for crying out loud. It’s just stuff, after all.

Want to know who is struggling? The kids, poor Dears.

They are all, “I like that book!” and then they cry.

Want to know who else is struggling? The husband, poor Dear.

In his defense, he’s doing very well with it all. He knows it is what we have to do, but he’s still a wee bit concerned with my brutality. Admittedly, I am being pretty vicious about what makes the “keeping” cut.

“Just call me ‘Morgan the Brutalizer!’” says I.

“But I bought you that!” says he.

Hmmmm.

When this situation presents itself, I have guilt, and I begin to second-guess myself. Should I be having warm feelings for these items? I mean, some of the boxes were still sealed from two moves ago. Maybe we really do need 396 empty DVD cases… I just don’t know. There are memories wrapped up in stuff. Why else would we hold on to it? MEMORIES!

I have to constantly remind myself, “It’s just stuff!!! I have to be strong. So there.” It’s gone! GOING TO THE DI! I throw it in a box and try not to think about it anymore.

I sort and organize and box up and shout Morgan, the Brutalizer’s battle cry, “DOWNSIZING!” To which the rest of my family replies, “NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!”

All the while the children are weeping and wailing and taking things OUT of boxes.

“DOWNSIZING!” I cry again and round and round we go!

But it’s okay. I have to be brutal, even if it hurts. We only have a 26 foot moving van!

And, after particularly painful DI runs, I quell my pain with half a pan of store-bought brownies. Homemade brownies are out of the question because I downsized all my mixing bowls.

---

Morgan has no earthly possessions. Instead, she has her children, her husband and her blog, www.ingfamily.blogspot.com.







Photo credit:smalllivingjournal.com

Being a Mom brings joy. It also brings days like THIS:

It all started with a baby who didn't want to nap.

Which resulted with interrupted sleep every 3 hours.

Which resulted with an overtired, hyperactive baby who really didn't want to nap the next day.

Which led to hysterical crying at bedtime.

Which resulted in parental intervention of all sorts. All attempts unsuccessful.

Which resulted in baby finally falling asleep 2 hours past bedtime.

Which resulted in baby waking up every 1.5 hours during the night.

Which led to serious frustration and extreme exhaustion for both parents.

Which exacerbated frustrations as baby displayed grumpiness.

Which led to a prayer that began: Heavenly Father, I can't do this.

Which resulted in thoughts that it was time to get out.

Which resulted in a trip to Target to have some "Me Time".

Which resulted in the intent to splurge on oneself.

Which resulted in clothes shopping.

Which led to the Dressing Room.

Which resulted in tears because nothing fit.

Which led to leaving the store...

...but not before spotting cookies.

Which resulted in buying cookies because "It doesn't matter anyway!"

Which led to eating one's emotions.

Which resulted in feeling guilty.

Which led to fighting back tears.

In the last few days, I have cried, prayed, lost sleep, been at the end of my rope; I didn't fit into jeans and consumed 350 calories... all because of a few missed naps. I'll count to ten at least 50 (or 500?) times more and eat another cookie.

---
guest post by Vanessa of Operation: Housewife

photo credit: power nap now by pierluigisurace

Welcome to the thrilling conclusion of our show,

GUARDIANS OF VIRTUE: Ordinary men trying to honor and protect virtue in smutty world.

Announcer: When we left our hero, he was looking away from a student who was modeling a costume for the coming play. The costume is seriously inappropriate, but he’s trying to decide if he should say anything.

Our hero turns to the volunteers working on costumes.

Hero: Hey, could you please bring one of those fur wraps over here? Let’s cover her up a little.

Announcer: Our hero walks a few feet away from the student and asks the mother to join him.

Hero: ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FREAKING MIND!!!???

Announcer: Not really. He is slightly more diplomatic.

Hero: I like the texture of the fabric, but I am really not comfortable with her showing that much skin on stage.

Mother: We can cover her up a little, it’s not a big deal….

Hero: I am not comfortable having any girl in any of my plays dressed like that. Let’s get something else.

Announcer: And with that decisive statement, he turns his back and walks away, satisfied in his role as a:

GUARDIAN OF VIRTUE

(Cue theme song)

Seriously now, taking my tongue out of my cheek, this mother is very nice woman. She seemed surprised by the vehemence of my reaction. I don’t think she had any idea how inappropriate it was for her daughter to be dressed like that—especially in front of an audience. I got the idea she thought it was sort of precociously cute—like a two year old dressing up in her mom’s high heels and pearls.

I accept my job as a defender of virtue. I’m ready to go head-to-head with all the sleazy pornographers and Hollywood jerks who are trying to exploit and corrupt our youth.

But I didn’t realize that defending virtue meant going head to head with mothers. Seriously, mothers! If we lose the mothers, then the battle is over. This left me feeling profoundly unsettled and disturbed.

With that story in mind, I have been thrilled to see all the blogs with buttons from “Mothers for Modesty”. Bravo! That gives me a great deal of hope. Thank you, mothers, for caring about that. For so many reasons, I think it is more important than we probably understand. And welcome to the ranks of the

GUARDIANS OF VIRTUE…..

Tune in next time for our hero’s continuing adventures…..

(Cue theme music)

---

Braden Bell grew up in Farmington, Utah and earned degrees in theatre from Brigham Young University and a Ph.D. from New York University. He and his wife, Meredith live with their five children outside of Nashville, TN, where he teaches theatre and music. Braden enjoys reading, writing, gardening and long walks with the dog. His first book, The Road Show, will be released by Cedar Fort in June of 2010. Read more at http://www.bradenbell.com/blog.html

Match the Memory puts a new spin on the classic game! 

It's a memory matching game that allows users to upload their pictures to the site and build a memory game that anyone can play FOR FREE!

You can also add your own content to the window that pops up when the player makes a match. So the photos of your Hawaiian vacation could have a paragraph about your trip, or an embedded YouTube video, or even a link to your blog entry about it!

The entire process takes just a few minutes, and it's very easy to do!

There are a few pre-made games geared towards LDS families:

• LDS Apostles (which features the current First Presidency and Twelve ), 
• Presidents of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (showing all 16 prophets from Joseph Smith to President Monson), and 
• Utah Temples 

The game can also be used for simple educational purposes -- you could have the number "3" on one card, and a picture of three balls on another that your child would have to match; or a picture of Grandma on the first card, and the word "Grandma" on the second.

You even have the option to print out your custom game to play at home! Simple download a PDF to your home computer, or send it to our high-quality printing company for a professional version.

Check out their site at MatchtheMemory.com, or you can fan them on Facebook, or follow them on Twitter, @matchthememory.

I do not love sewing.

I know how to sew, although my lack of attention to detail dictates that no one ever look on the inside of a garment I have made. Ever.

I do keep a scrapbook, but it will certainly never win any awards or make it into one of those cutsie magazines.

I cannot knit and I crochet like I have feet where my hands should be. My quilts would undoubtedly be crooked if I ever got around to making any. There is dust on nearly every flat surface in my house and at least one rotten vegetable in my fridge.

I am no good at throwing dinner parties. I cannot decorate to save my life and there are no "best dressed" awards in my future either.

I will never be PTA president.

That being said... I do enjoy cooking and if you do not like what I make for dinner, there is always toast because I am nice. Sometimes there is even homemade butter to go on it.

I love the outdoors, camping, yoga, hiking, and biking.

I love God.

Music is a high priority in my life. Making music and listening to it bring me great joy.

I have at least five books going at all times and I still love to read aloud to my kids, even though they all know how to read themselves.

I am funny. I still like to color and glue stuff to construction paper. I can think of at least 10 things to do with an old box and I recycle like crazy. I also compost my kitchen scraps. I love to garden, and while my garden never looks perfect, it brings me pleasure (also fruits,veggies and eggs).

I always vote.

Ok, so the point? My friend recently lent me a book about mothering and the opening paragraph was all I really needed to read to get that little light bulb to go off. Although I am finishing it anyway.

"Can you imagine what the world would be like if all the mothers in the world were exactly alike in how they behaved, in their approach to motherhood, and in the strengths and talents they shared with their families? I confess I feel great relief in knowing that we can each be our own kind of mom, a complete original unlike any other mother on the face of the planet. If we as mothers do something we absolutely love alongside raising children we absolutely love, we will almost guarantee that our children will be raised in an atmosphere steeped in joy."

-Debra Sansing Woods, It's Okay To Take A Nap

That is the point.

I could shut up now and all you moms out there would have received the message that I want to convey, but if you ever read my blog you will know it is hard to shut me up.

But really, is not that all we want for our kids...to be "steeped in joy". What more is there? If I begrudgingly go about activities that I don't enjoy in the name of "perfect" parenting, where does that leave me or my kids at the end of the day?

I am guessing tired. And not just nap tired!

Sometimes I have wished that I was a different kind of mother. The kind that could knit and sew and bottle peaches. That was good at making kids do chores and teaching them to always send thank you cards. That each room in our house was straight off the showroom floor complete with handcrafted quilts on the beds and stunning one of a kind baby scrapbooks on the shelves.

And, and, and...

But that's not me. In the end I think there will be more joy in my home if I learn to capitalize on my strengths. Do I have to know how to do everything? Nope. Do I have to drive myself crazy trying? No way! Can I learn new things? Of course! Can I find joy in those "must-do's" of motherhood? Certainly! Will I constantly strive to be a better person, friend, wife, and mother? Yes!

This is me. I am one of a stinkin' kind! And in the end I want to be the kind of mother who finds joy in doing things I love with people I love (and also mopping the floors).


Quote of the Day: "Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is youer than you." Dr. Seuss, philosopher and poet.

---
guest post by Leslie Cameron

Sometimes you have to lose something before you appreciate it.

The Damsel noticed that with nose hairs.

Five years ago, while taking chemotherapy, she lost all her hairs, nose and otherwise. Even the little tickly hairs inside her ears. She knew she’d miss her head hair, and oh, how she missed her eyelashes. But she never gave her nose hairs much thought.

Poor underappreciated nose hairs! The Damsel is very glad to have them back, and apologizes she never knew what they did for her until they were gone. The Damsel would rather not go into details, but let’s just say she didn’t know nose hairs slowed the effect of gravity on nasal drip.

The Damsel hopes none of you will have to go without nose hairs in order to appreciate them. She hopes you’ll simply take her word for it.

Of the many blessings (yes, there were blessings) the Damsel received through having cancer, this one is her favorite: Noticing The Little Things. She’ll never forget the words of her wise surgeon, a man who struck her as deeply content.

She asked him, back at the beginning of her treatment, “How can you keep so cheerful, when day after day you meet with people who are desperately ill, and many of your patients die?”

He replied, “I love my patients. They are people who have the light turned on. They are people who realize every new day is a gift. They see the world through different eyes than the rest of us. They inspire me to really notice and appreciate the little things.”

At that moment, the Damsel resolved to be one of those people. When she wakes up in the morning, she feels happy to see the sun shine through the window by her bed--a brand new day, as corny as that sounds. She has a little party in front of the bathroom mirror while she brushes her grown-back hair every morning. She reminds herself to notice how nice it feels to have a healthy body.

And she remembers now and then to be glad about nose hairs.

----

Margot is a mom of seven and pretty much crazy from it. Online she's known as the Damsel in Dis Dress and blogs at the Old School (www.mynewoldschool.com) and twitters at elle_cosette.

Sometimes I feel like I’ve been put on this earth just to prove that there’s no cookie cutter shape that everyone fits into.

When my family joined the church when I was about 11 years old, we were different. We stood out, for more than one reason. For one, we looked different. We were the only black members in that ward… probably one of —if not THE only active family in the stake. But it wasn’t just that. My dad worked, and my mom worked. Two working parents wasn’t a total anomaly, but it did make for some awkward feelings whenever the topic of mothers being at home with their kids came up.

I never felt bad about the fact that my mom worked outside the home. In fact, I learned to appreciate it, and see that families work in many different ways. As I grew older, I made it a goal to work hard, to expand upon my education and build a good career. I too wanted to be a working mom.

Whenever I would listen to a lesson about the Family Proclamation, or womanly duties, I'd feel a smug emotion swirling through my bones. I didn’t know why MY primary focus HAD to be on the nurturing of my children. Why wasn't that a joint effort?

I broke a promise to myself when I met and married my husband before I was 25. I was off by nearly 7 years. I did, however, want to wait to have children - 5 years, despite nabs from friends and family that having children was a part of “the plan.” Yeah well, children now or five years from now didn’t seem too big of a difference compared to an eternity and it wasn’t their business anyway.

When five years of marriage approached we realized we had a problem. It wasn't a huge one, by any means, but it was a conflict nonetheless. My husband had been laid off. I had a stable career and great benefits. Given our circumstances, could I give them up to expand our family?

We could wait another year or two and see what situation we were in then, or we could take a leap of faith, and pray everything would work out right for our family.

Now, I’m six months pregnant with our first daughter and more excited than ever to be a mother. I won’t be able to be a stay-at-home mom, at least not for the first while, but my husband will be home with our daughter.

I know it’s backwards from what is perceived as the “normal picture” of a family, but it’s what works for us. I think it’s a blessing that even one of us will be able to be home with our little girl, and I look forward to the time when it will be my turn.

Sometimes I think society makes stay at home fathers seem like lazy men without jobs, but I disagree. Just like moms who stay at home and have tasks to complete, so do stay-at-home fathers.

I think I’ve done the dishes between three and five times in our marriage, and the laundry less than that. We are a little different than the “poster” family, but I think that’s ok. Because you know what? It works for us!

---

Jennifer, also known as Future Mama, started as a wanna be mom blogger rambling about pre-mommyhood on her blog BabyMakingMachine. September 2009 she decided to make it official, turn the machine on, and she now has a baby on the way. She graduated from BYU and she now works as a journalist in Texas and lives with her husband of five years and their dog Snoop.

We took our children to a game at Chase Field and our daughter entertained the entire nosebleed section.

The folks down at the ballpark like to keep the crowd entertained by leading us in varying "clap-along" games; different rhythms, different background music. There is, of course, the well-known, ever-popular version involving rhythmic clapping followed by thousands of fans shouting "Charge!" This is, apparently, our daughter's favorite game. After every single "clap-along" thing they did, she would yell "CHARGE!" It didn't seem to matter if the game we were playing was actually the "charge" one.

This went on for some 20 minutes. Finally the actual "charge" one came up. She must have finally decided they weren't going to do "charge" because she didn't yell it afterward. Just sat there looking vaguely bored. Of course, everyone in the section looked shocked that she didn't scream out in unfettered excitement. Instead she looked up at me with a look of complete despondent shock and said, "I missed it."

The shock of that experience must have eventually worn off because she found another way to entertain us all. She decided to sing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game". Our little girl is quite excessively allergic to peanuts and, as a result, she refused to sing the line "buy me some peanuts". Instead she replaced the word "peanuts" with anything she could think of. Sometimes it wasn't even food. A few of the better versions (and, yes, that's versions, meaning she sang it repeatedly) were "buy me some muffins" and "buy me vanilla." Except she can't pronounce vanilla. It comes out as banilla. As in: "Buy me banilla and cracker jack."

I have no idea how the game went or who won or anything like that. But I now have a very long list of things my daughter likes better than peanuts. And I can hear her little voice shouting "charge" at inopportune moments.

At times motherhood is highly entertaining.

---
guest post by Sarah M. Eden

Have you ever just lost it? Over what? A bad day at work? Hurt feelings? Something totally trivial and stupid? I would consider myself to be pretty even-tempered. It takes a lot to get me to "lose it." Yeah, I can engage myself in a heated argument, depending on whether I'm passionate about the subject or not, but I hardly ever completely lose my cool. In fact, when a tiff arises between the husband and me (yep, we have fights), I use a very calm voice. My hubs has difficulty not raising his voice when he's frustrated, and it angers him even more when I say things like, "Let's talk about this calmly and rationally" or "Let's take a break." He really doesn't like my "calm" voice and says sometimes he wishes I would just yell. Well, let me tell you a little story about the day I lost it. A few months back, I was baking cookies. Part of the problem was my choice of cookie cutter.

I thought it would be so lovely to make flower-shaped cookies for a special neighbor on a special blessing day. I hadn't made sugar cookies in quite some time, and I was naive to the fact that sugar cookies are a total pain and take FOREVER. After baking an overabundance of delicate flower-shaped cookies and spending too much time making my own icing, I began my frosting pursuit of flawless flowers and had visions of compliments on my extraordinary cookie efforts. Every time I started frosting one of those blasted lovely flowers, at least one "petal" would break off. Despite my efforts to "frosting glue" them back together, I continued to throw all cookies with missing appendages in the garbage (poor little guys). Let's pause for a second. When it comes to crafting, gift giving, baking, etc., I am an unhealthy perfectionist. I want everything to look and taste perfect. I only like to present my best work. (Yeah, I should get over it.)

At this point, a lot of things become fuzzy to me. I remember that it was getting pretty late and Baby E had been up to his usual bedtime shenanigans. He was finally in bed. hubs was really tired, which usually makes for a really bad mood. Without knowing what was ahead, he made a few comments to me. Something about leaving things until the last minute, making way too much work for myself, possibly something about the dishes, and a few other things I really don't remember. What I do remember is the burning sensation that began to take over my body. After spending all day (literally) taking care of E and doing my best to bake the cookies at opportune nap times, I hadn't even had a shower. I was covered in cookie dough and staring down a garbage can full of broken cookies as well as considering a sad total of complete and undamaged flowers. This is when I snapped.

Cookie lovers may not want to proceed. The next series of events might disturb you.

With a spatula in hand, I proceeded to smash all the cookies that were innocently cooling on the cookie sheet in front of me. I then picked up another sheet full of cookies and dumped them all over the kitchen floor crashing the pan itself behind them. (Phew! My heart rate just picked up a bit remembering the unfortunate series of events.) Hubs had left the room before all of this transpired and came running when he heard the crash. He took one look at the pile of broken cookies on the floor and stared at me in utter disbelieve. I really don't think he thought I was capable of such a thing. He tried talking to me with sincere concern. I didn't say a word. I just walked directly to our room and sat on our bed, staring at the TV (it was turned off). I sort of put myself in time out. Over the next hour, hubs must have come in to "check" on me at least 4 times. He seemed to be really concerned for my mental health. I truly never do things like that, and I'm considered the calm one of our household. In the end, I told him why I thought I must have freaked out, and he helped me finish what was left of the cookies.

I'm a real person. I make real mistakes, and sometimes I get upset. This is my public pledge to be less hard on myself and less concerned about baking perfect cookies and all other things I try to do “perfectly”.

---

Sarah Jane is a cosmetologist turned mom who is a lover of too many things, including: crafting, frugal fashion, and decor. You can catch up with all things she loves on her blog "For the Love", or email her about what you love at sarah.forthelove@gmail.com

There is a great evil among us. It has destroyed online life as we know it. It has permeated every corner of the blogosphere. It is the feed reader. Bloglines, Google reader, whatever your poison, it makes no difference. It is still poison. Would you sooner die by strychnine than by arsenic? The result is the same.

Like nearly every modern convenience, feed readers have promised us efficiency and ease of use, but have stripped us of charm, individualism, even our very personalities, in the process. Instead of clicking on a blog and discovering the writer through her choice of colors, backgrounds, and fun links on the sidebar, I scroll down through a long series of identical, bland white pages in my reader window. If I want to leave a comment, I must click to open the blog in its own window. That's an extra step I find myself taking less and less frequently lately. I used to enjoy reading everyone else's follow-up comments the next time I visited the blog. Now that no longer happens. Unless I take the time to click on the entry I already read to check for new comments, which of course I don't. I no longer experience blogs. I simply read them.

The feed reader has given us the ability to read many, many more blogs because it's so much faster and easier now. But who has time to comment on all of those blogs? Not I. The more I collect, the fewer I respond to. And I have noticed the same thing happening with my blog. I still get approximately the same number of readers as I used to, but the comments have gone down significantly. Why? Well, I can only surmise that the emergence of so many bloglines and google readers in the referring links of my stat counter have something to do with it. It could also be that I have begun writing inane, boring, or offensive posts, in which case, I can only praise the good taste of my readers in not commenting on them.

This is not a veiled (or unveiled) attempt to solicit more comments. This is me, admitting that I don't comment like I used to, and stating that others do the same. It's a sickness. The mass reading of blogs has destroyed the intimacy of the blogging process. Quantity has won over quality. The decline has been gradual, but its progress is inexorable. Perhaps it's merely that the allure of blogging has faded. But I don't think so.

A friend of mine went private with her blog, which meant my feed reader would no longer pick it up. I've had to start clicking on her blog in my bookmarks, instead of reading it along with all the others. It reminded me of how much I miss the full blog experience. Another friend completely redid her blog, but I didn't know it until I clicked to make a rare comment one day. The colors! The style! The links! The titles! All different. But I didn't know, because everything is black and white in my reader world.

I miss my more colorful world.

---
guest post by Denise of Aiming High

President Henry B. Eyring once said:

“In our own time, we have been warned with counsel of where to find safety from sin and from sorrow. One of the keys to recognizing those warnings is that they are repeated. . . One of the ways we may know that the warning is from the Lord is that the law of witnesses, authorized witnesses, has been invoked. When the words of prophets seem repetitive, that should rivet our attention...”


Since reading his warning, I've tried to pay attention to messages and themes that repeat themselves throughout General Conference. One of the more obvious pairings from the most recent conference was the talks by Elder Scott and Elder Packer, with a common theme of receiving spiritual answers and direction.




Elder Richard G. Scott gave a talk in the Saturday morning session called “To Acquire Spiritual Guidance,” where he taught that guidance will be gained “by careful practice, through the application of correct principles, and by being sensitive to the feelings that come.”

In President Boyd K. Packer’s talk from the Saturday afternoon session, “Prayer and Promptings,” he asserts that both these communications (found in his talk title) are still available to all of God’s children. He says, “You can know the things you need to know. Pray that you will learn to receive that inspiration and remain worthy to receive it.”

You can read the talks by clicking on their titles above, and you can find both the audio and video versions of these talks here.

Simply the fact that two talks on a very similar topic were given in Conference on the same day is an alert that it was a principle worth addressing. What do you think the “action items” for these talks are? What are these brethren both trying to encourage us to do more/do better? And how do you think this topic can do what Elder Eyring said, and help us "to find safety from sin and from sorrow"?

---

Stephanie is a mom of three young and relentless children. Her interests include latin music, naps, restaurants, writing, travel, teaching, housework denial and long showers. Stephanie seeks for the divinity in motherhood--- tries to share it when she finds it, and tries to laugh when she doesn't. She blogs for fun, posterity, and therapy. Her musings are chronicled at Diapers and Divinity, and if you know how to send chocolate as an attachment, you're welcome to email her here.

A couple weeks ago I was reading a friend's blog talking about the "Motherhood Sacrifice."

And she made me think.

As Mothers we do sacrifice things to "be there" for our kids, and for our families.

The word "sacrifice" sometimes tends to have a negative connotation to me. I'm not really sacrificing my better self to be there for my kids. I want to be there with them, as I'm sure most Mothers do.

Does that make us better?

I believe, resoundingly, YES! Motherhood pushes us. It helps us let go of things that aren't important. Helps us cling to things that are.

But at what point is there a balance?

When I was doing photography I felt a new me coming out. I had a niche.

And I loved it.

Each time I met up at a photo shoot location with a new family my heart would beat a little faster. Seeing those families dressed to a "T" and knowing (from being a mother myself) how tough it must have been to get that baby napped and fed and dressed on time would be enough to kick me into high gear. I had to be on top of my game. If that Mom was willing to take the time to get her husband talked into a family photo shoot, get her baby napped early, take her kids from their sports, get them all spiffed up and show up on time to capture their family at that exact moment of time, I better sure as heck be on my game.

That pit of worry in my gut turned me around and got my adrenaline pumping. It got me into a groove that I felt like I could conquer the world. That adrenaline helped me cajole any grumpy baby into a grin and pull out the real relationships of those siblings. I loved the pressure, the pushing of myself to do something out of my comfort zone. And I loved to see the finished product: a family picture that froze that family in time. Shots that would capture how those boys loved each other, or how that big sister adored her baby sibling long after they were all grown-up.

Something happens in your heart when you are creating. And it feels good. And I believe it's good for us. Very good.

Writing on this blog feels a little bit the same. Sitting at a computer and spilling out my thoughts makes me stronger. Gives me an outlet. Helps me grow that creative portion in me that could otherwise get smothered.

We all have something that gives us a rush...that pushes us. Whether it's from organizing a big project to running the PTA to being a whiz at computer know-how to being the best laundress on the block, we all have things that push us and make us better.

So, again, where's the balance? What do we sacrifice? Do we sacrifice a portion of our Motherhood to let other parts of us grow and develop? And in doing so, does that better person we push ourselves to become actually benefit our dear children because we are reaching outside of ourselves, pushing ourselves to new levels? We want them to learn to do hard things, right?

Or do we sacrifice building a better self by giving things up on the wayside so we can get down on eye level with our five-year-old and explain the wonders of the world? Or does that time we give to our children in and of itself make us into that better self? (I believe wholeheartedly that it does.) Is the sacrifice we make on both sides actually building us to be stronger and more full of love? Is there really a way to do both?

I love being a Mother more than I could ever write down and express on paper. But is part of being the best Mother I can be taking time for myself to do what makes me better? I don't know that I would be my OWN kind of best Mom simply by being at home doting on my kids all day. I think being the best Mom I can includes doing things outside of motherhood, not just doting on children and shuffling them around to different activities.

For years my motto of Motherhood has been to "Be There." But I've realized that sometimes "Being There" actually means having experiences outside of mothering enough that you understand what "being there" really means.

Last year when I made a choice to take a hiatus from photography I felt like I was giving up part of myself. But I've never looked back. Sure, I missed it. But the sacrifice I was making to my Motherhood was too much. Photography was seeping into of all the nooks and crannies I wanted to be filled with my family. But the time I had spent doing it made me stronger. It made me better. And I'm so thankful that I got to do that while I could.

Sure, there will be many opportunities for photography in my future. (And there are other Mothers who can do it all with ease and my hat's off to them.) But will there be other possibilities for me to write down my feelings and record what my kids are doing right now? Will there be other possibilities for me to lay in bed and snuggle with my 11-year-old when she's sad? Will my son just miraculously call me his best friend if I haven't taken the time to really get to know him?

There must be a balance found between reaching outside of ourselves and being content. Our kids can feel that contentment...it oozes into family life and makes it stronger. So how do we find it amidst all that we want to do? There are sacrifices to be made any way we look at it. But sacrifice makes us stronger, right? We just need to figure out the right balance to keep ourselves balanced on this tightrope of Motherhood.

We have to conscientiously work to be the best person we can through balance and the GOOD kind of sacrifice...because really, can it classify as a "sacrifice" when we're really gaining much, much, much more than we give when we are Mothers?

And that, I believe, in and of itself, makes us the best Mothers we can be.

--

Shawni Eyre Pothier is first and foremost a wife and a mother to six of her favorite people. She enjoys photography and writing which has led to publishing her first book co-authored with her Mother, Linda Eyre called "A Mother's Book of Secrets." Her personal blog, Life, chronicles her day to day. She has recently started an effort called the "I Love Lucy Project" to help raise funds to go toward research to help fight blindness since her youngest daughter has been diagnosed with a syndrome that causes vision loss.

1. Thou shalt not try to hide thy chips of corn from before mine eyes. I needest them for my skin above and my bones beneath for I art a growing boy.

2. Thou shalt not make me to cleanest any part of thine house, inasmuch as I likest it just the way it is.

3. Thou shalt not make thy name upon my Facebook page in a wall post or it shall be stricken off before thou can blinkest.

4. Remember the Saturday to keep it wholly for the purpose of mine rest. For in five days I have laboured diligently with mine brain and to grant unto me sleep is to shew mercy unto me.

5. Honour thy son's friends, that his days may be cool upon the land.

6. Thou shalt not kill my unlimited texting plan for it is the steadfast way of the rising generation.

7. Thou shalt not commit the unpardonable sin of leaving me to hunger for forty minutes, nay even forty seconds. Yea, thou shalt lay a store of food up for mine own purposes and none other.

8. Thou shalt not steal my playlist from upon the computer and try to makest me hear thy music. For inasmuch as thou thinkest my music is raucous, thine music smiteth mine ears from off mine face. I ask thee, is it good for mine ears to be smitten? Nay, I say it is not good.

9. Thou shalt not bear me to rise up and putteth away mine cell phone. Not even while I sleepest, for in the day that I do shall surely be the day when a lady, most fair above all ladies, shall text mine phone.

10. Thou shalt not covet mine full dance card, neither my manly lacrosse gloves, neither my mother of questionable humor.

--

guest post by Lara of The Golden Seven

*image from google

I have been a big fan of Sister Elaine Dalton since I heard her talk, “A Return to Virtue”.

I was touched by a story she told about watching her infant granddaughter being blessed, surrounded by the power of the priesthood. She prayed “…that every young woman might be encircled, strengthened, and protected by righteous priesthood power, not only at the time of birth and blessing but throughout life.”

Sister Dalton then called on those who hold the priesthood to be, “the guardians of virtue.”

That resonated with me and I felt the responsibility I have as a husband, father, and priesthood holder. I resolved to be a guardian of virtue. I’m very serious about that and it seems to me that many other men I know—young and old—also feel this responsibility seriously and are stepping up to the plate.

That is a welcome development, I think, one I want to celebrate. I thought about getting some really cool body armor for all the guardians to wear. However, the editors of MMB wouldn’t allow me to put it on my expense account. I thought about t-shirts, but aesthetics and common courtesy forbid men with my physique from wearing t-shirts.

Finally, I decided that this would make a perfect radio show—the adventures of the Guardians of Virtue—men trying to honor virtue in a smutty world.

So, welcome to the first installment of GUARDIANS OF VIRTUE (When it’s in all caps, like that, imagine an announcer saying it in a deep, echo-y, hero sort of voice) -

- in which our hero, a mild mannered middle school theatre director, tries to make his living while upholding his responsibility as a:

GUARDIAN OF VIRTUE

(Cue theme song)

Announcer: When last we saw our hero, he was mild-manneredly preparing his 12 and 13 year-old students for their coming performance of a major Broadway musical.

Hero: All right everyone. The performance of our major Broadway musical is coming soon…

Narrator: Suddenly, our hero hears a buzz in the room and giggles in the hall. One of the actresses, an 8th grader, walks in, followed by her mother and several other giggling girls. The actress strikes a “ta-da pose” and her mom says,

Mother: What do you think of this for her costume?

Narrator: Our hero looks up in horror. He is appalled and, honestly, embarrassed. The dress is way too low on top, way too high below, and way too tight all over. He looks away, feeling that he cannot look at this student in this dress and still be a decent man, let alone a GUARDIAN OF VIRTUE.

Our hero is normally a good-humored, mostly mellow guy at school. He likes to get along with everyone and not make waves. Moreover, he is friends with this mother.

What will he do?

Tune in next time for the thrilling conclusion. Will our hero take the easy road, or will he stand strong and be a

GUARDIAN OF VIRTUE

(Theme music)

To Be Continued

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Braden Bell grew up in Farmington, Utah and earned degrees in theatre from Brigham Young University and a Ph.D. from New York University. He and his wife, Meredith live with their five children outside of Nashville, TN, where he teaches theatre and music. Braden enjoys reading, writing, gardening and long walks with the dog. His first book, The Road Show, will be released by Cedar Fort in June of 2010. Read more at http://www.bradenbell.com/blog.html

I loved the visiting teaching message in January on self-reliance. With the current political climate, I thought the message came at a great time. The message addressed the need for each of us to strive to be self-reliant. Sister Beck said, “We become self-reliant through obtaining sufficient knowledge, education, and literacy; by managing money and resources wisely, being spiritually strong, preparing for emergencies and eventualities; and by having physical health and social and emotional well-being.”

Whew! That is a hefty list, but I thought a really good list too. Wherever you stand on the political scale I think we can all agree that there are plenty of people that need to work on being more self-reliant. Throughout the message they talk about the fact that each of us will have hard times in our lives and that when those times come we should be prepared to rely on first ourselves, second our families and third on the Church (if we are faithful members). I know that not everyone in the nation has the Church, and that is where the government comes in. But I think each person has responsibility to work hard each day, and I think lots of government plans bail out people who are not doing that.

Interestingly I think we, as Mormon women are often too self-reliant in the area of Mothering. Instead of supporting each other in our very large job, we look at one another and judge. (I have to admit I am just as guilty of this as anyone else.) Just because one person cares more about an exact bedtime then another does not determine that she is a better mother. Self-reliance is fine line and sometimes it is hard to accept help. I want to be more available to serve those around me and Elder Hales says the best way to serve more is to become more self-reliant.

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Anna has a BFA in photography which she uses to run her own photography business and a little bit of insanity and OCD which she uses to run a household with three sons and one wonderful husband. Catch up with her at her family blog or her photography blog!

Photo by Anna Rasmussen