Mushy Gushy Post about My Husband

This is when loneliness sets in. Jordan is in Indiana tonight, getting ready for a full day of interviews and meetings with all the important people from the ISYS department there. Jo is laying in bed crying uncontrollably, I presume she has a headache by now. And I am resisting the overwhelming temptation of settling into a slight depression and eating cold cupcakes.

I miss my husband so much, and it hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet. When I am with Jordan I feel so much it seems like I will begin shooting out rays of starlight from my fingers and toes and the ends of my hair. I imagine it is what being filled with a million bouncy balls must feel like. I love to be with him and simply watch him smile, listen to him reveal his magnificent mind, and relish in the music of his piano. There is magic in his eyes, when they meet mine I can feel my soul catch fire.

Without Jordan I begin to feel a little smaller. It is like I am a helium balloon that is slowly deflating and losing the ability to stay afloat. As the saying goes, "I think he is me more than he is mine."

One of my favorite things to do with Jordan is watch romantic films. We usually enjoy them, but at the end he shrugs his shoulders, turns to me with a slight smirk and says, "We're cuter." Now, I don't think they should make a Hollywood chick-flick out of us. For one thing, it would be embarassing. We are both incredibly strange and we only encourage this behavioral indulgence in one another. Our home is a private stage for oddness and uncontrollable giggling. And for another thing,I would hate for the world to realize just how much I don't deserve Jordan. It is somewhat pathetic; the major gap between our levels of awesomeness.

I apologize if I am muking you out with this love confession. But I simply could not help myself, love has made me an emotional desperado. And tonight happens to be my first opportunity to write and Jordan's first night away. So the product is a mushy gushy post about my husband.

I love you Jordan! You are the lightening in my veins and the thunder in my heart - the sublime thuderstorm to a life that craves rain and excitement.

Thank you for everything you have brought into my life. Now I know what love is.

No Higher Calling

I apologize for never writing anymore. I feel awful about it. I just don't feel like I have the time anymore though. Jo is crawling now, so that means I turn around for ten seconds and then she starts chewing on speaker cords. Right now she is digging in my pile of new books. . . hang on a second . . . . . . okay, now she is digging in her own books, which isn't as bad. And now she is back digging in mine, and Jordan is dragging her away by one leg, and she is screaming, and now Jordan is reorganizing all the books and placing them ontop of his piano out of her reach. And now Jo is digging in his piano music. And now Jordan is trying to deal with that . . .

I really like when Jordan is home from work. He is probably the most helpful husband there is. We have a rule that once he gets home I don't have to change anymore diapers. It is wonderful. Except Jo usually goes number two in the mornings, so I still get the worst of it. Lame!

Parenthood is like nothing else. No matter how naughty she is, how much of a mess she makes, or how loud she screams when I put her socks on, I never lover her any less. Everything she does is simply magnificent - even the things I would rather she not do. Jordan is trying to read her a book right now and she keeps on turning the pages back and forth and drooling all over them. It isn't going well, at all, but it is bonding time and I am having a blast watching them struggle. Hahahaha, Jo just untied Jordan's slippers - he looks so hurt.

Being Jo's mother has taught me more about my Heavenly Father than any other experience. I know that He loves me more than I could ever love my Jo - which is simply unfathomable. But I also know that no matter what I do, no matter how awful the mess I make, or how much I disobey his instruction, He perfectly loves me. That is such a comfort to know. I find so much peace in the reassurance I have of God's love. Nothing is more eternal or more powerful than this. When I think about it, I posssess the greatest gift of all existence.

I am so very grateful to be who I am, to be where I am, and to be blessed with what I have. I know this has come from a deeper understanding of God's love for me and the purposeful life He has laid out for me. Even if I never make the New York Time's Bestseller List, or I never find the cure for cancer, my life has tremendous meaning. And that is because I am a mother.

There is no higher calling. I have been charged with the duty to lead one of God's children back to His presence. I am so honored to have this amazing title. It is so scary but also so fulfilling. I am grateful to know that no matter what the personal situation, every woman has been promised the opportunity to be a mother, as long as they keep God's commands.

Being a mother is greater than anything! And now I have to go deal with my charge - she is throwing washcloths all over the livingroom and I think her father has given up on her. : )

P.S. Jordan just asked Jo, "Why do you only do things I tell you not to do?"

I LOVE IT!!

Christian Women

I am guilty of many things, one of them being critical of those I should have been loving instead. Over the past few months I have been the witness of a lot of criticism, especially between women. I have heard harmful words spoken, that do nothing other than damage relationships and hurt individuals.

Silly things like, "I can't believe she only cleans her house once a month," "She needs to get rid of that bottle," "Women who are induced into labor are selfish," and "That's weird that she wants to breastfeed that long."

Believe me, I have made little comments like these, stuck my nose up in the air, and assumed that everyone who doesn't do things my way must be doing them wrong. I really regret this and wish I could take all my snobbiness back - but I can't. So instead I am going to do all I can to make sure I don't do this again. If I have offended or hurt you, by sticking my nose where it didn't belong, and judging when I had no right to, then I am very sorry and I hope you will forgive me.

The other night, I was with a group of good women. We had all been playing with our children, sharing tips about diapers and teething, and were strengthening friendships and helping one another. Sadly, the conversation was suddenly filled with judgmental remarks, hurt feelings, and friends lost. We slipped into "snappy moms" mode so smoothly no one had even noticed it. Women began talking about how those who use disposable diapers are wasteful, or how those who use cloth are unsanitary. Some women said they could never dress their children in "used" clothing and made it sound almost abusive. Some women said that those who buy only new toys will end up with spoiled brats.

In short, it was awful. I could sense Christ's presence depart and knew we no longer had a sweet spirit about us. We had gone from friends to bickering enemies in a few short minutes. What a loss.

I learned a very important lesson that night. Satan does all he can to destroy God's kingdom, and one of the ways he does this is by causing contention between sisters through his tools of gossip, judgment, and criticism. I, for one, never want to be a Satan's tool, and that is why I have developed a strong resolve never to judge others or cause riffs over things of no importance.

God does not care whether so and so lets her daughter use a bottle until she is one year or two, or whether so and so wants to use cloth or disposable diapers, or whether so and so buys used clothing or new. And if God doesn't care, then I certainly have no right to.

I have made an eternal covenant with my Heavenly Father to build up the kingdom of God in every way I can, and to remove from myself those things that tear it down. When I am critisizing others I am not acting in a way a true Christian woman should act.

As Christ's disciple my main priority is to be a light of Christ to everyone within my sphere. Not to decide who is a good parent, who knows how to clean a shower properly, or what constitutes a homemade dinner. My opinion of people is insignificant, while God's opinion is all important. I should be sharing God's opinion with those I meet. And His opinion is always unconditional love. Therefore, my attitude and remarks should show nothing but unconditional love for my sisters.

I wish I could be perfect from now on, but I know I will make mistakes, I will let petty differences get in the way, and I will make judgmental remarks and possibly offend. But I promise to always do my best to show love that surpasses differences, and a willingness to accept those who think differently than myself.

I promise to do my best to be a Christian woman.

Slightly Depressing But Then Somewhat Hopeful Blog Post

Tonight a friend was telling me about her wedding day. Like everyone's , hers had some flaws. Her mother-in-law decided to give her the sex talk in the back of a gas station at 10 p.m. on her wedding night, and her own mom insisted on seeing them the next morning. Thankfully, these were not my experiences.

My wedding day was not ideal though. In all honesty, I avoid discussing my wedding day. It was probably one of the hardest days of my life, and one that doesn't bring back the best memories. I wouldn't trade my marriage to Jordan for anything, but I would probably trade my wedding day for almost anything. Well, except spiders and things of that creepy nature.

I feel like people never understand how difficult it is to be a convert sometimes. Both members of the Church and nonmembers. It isn't easy to have your LDS friends and family make small comments or do things that seem to seperate you or make you feel stupid. Whenever this happens I always assume it is unintentional, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt still. It isn't easy to awkwardly explain to nonmember friends and family why I wear garments, don't drink, and refuse to shop on Sunday. And it most certainly isn't easy to exlain to your mom and dad, who you love very much, why they can't be with you for your wedding day.

Instead of waking up with joy and excitement on my wedding day, I woke up in tears. I got in the shower at 4 a.m. and turned on the hot water until it felt like I could boil every emotion away. I stood there for more than an hour, just watching the steam rise and trying to numb myself.

Everyone always says, "But you made the right decision" with a big smile on their face. I think "So what?!" Nowhere does it say that making the right decision means it is going to hurt less. Sometimes making the right decision means you are going to suffer more than if you had made the wrong one. God doesn't guarantee an easy ride to those who sacrifice. He just asks us to follow Him, no matter what the consequence.

When I was thirteen my oldest sister Marissa got married. I watched with stars in my eyes as she got her makeup done, fixed her hair in the mirror, and had everyone fuss over her dress. I was in rapture when she walked down the aisle, holding my father's arm. I couldn't wait until I could be married, have a huge party, dance the night away, and then drive off knowing so many people loved me and wanted me to be happy.

Needless to say, I was crushed when my turn came. Not only did I lose that moment when my father would lovingly give me away, but I also lost the opportunity to be with the people I love the most. My wedding day was filled with strangers I wanted to run away from and heartbroken parents. I held back tears, plastered on smiles and waited for it all to be over.

It did end eventually, and when it did, I spent my first day as a married woman crying my eyes out wishing we had eloped.

I think the worst moment of the whole day was arriving at the luncheon. I was devastated to see my parents standing in a back corner with broken expressions. Not one member of my new family had approached them and tried to make them feel welcome. Everyone stood about talking merrily and simply ignored my parents. It felt as if they were saying, "You're not LDS, you're not one of us, we don't want you here."

I felt so estranged and seperated from everyone. Here I was, supposedly joining a new family, but all I could feel was their disapproval for my parents, and therefore me.

After that I wanted nothing more than to get away and be alone with Jordan. I was scared of being a new bride, and felt horrible guilt every time I thought of my parents. Now as a mother myself, I can't imagine all the pain I must have caused my mom. And for that I am deeply sorry.

Thankfully, time is a promotor of healing, and wedding days do not determine the quality of a marriage. I have enjoyed more than two and a half years of pure bliss living with Jordan and am looking forward to an eternity of even more. My marriage has been the greatest blessing of my life and I am so grateful nothing has the power to take that away, not even death.

God has the power to make good things come out of difficult beginnings - my life is a testament to this. No matter the situation, God can make it right if we have faith in Him. Despite all the hurt feelings, my mom is still my best friend and my dad is still my unsung hero. The love of a family is intended to be forever.

If my family can survive days like this, and even worse days that we have been through, then I know my family can make it through anything. I have felt the power of undconditional love. Both recieving it from my parents and giving it to my Jo.

The family is where we feel God's love for one another, and experience the power of forgiving others and being forgiven. Nothing is more precious to me than my family.

Love is what gives us the wings to soar to heaven, and family is the flight crew.

A Cured Perfectionist

My life is the perfect example of the principle of entropy. Everything is gradually descending into chaos and I think my little family might end up becoming a mass of unorganized and dysfunctional energy roaming about the universe without structure.

Many of you probably think I have lost dedication to the blog, but do not be dismayed, I have written three blog posts since the last time I posted. Unfortunately, every time I get about 3/4 of the way through Jo has a meltdown about her purple hippopotamus (that was hard to spell) or her zucchini falling off her tray. So I never get to post them. I try to come back and finish them later, but by then I am in an entirely different mood and can't even remember what I was thinking when I had written. It never works to try and force the words either, just sounds awkward. I am a natural flowing spring, not an amusement park water slide. (Bad metaphor.)

I am a neat freak, I inherited this distressing trait from my grandmother who rearranges furniture once a week and washes out her cupboards before company comes over. I hate having a messy, unorganized home. But alas, my worst fears have come to fruition. Josephine has a strange obsession with bread crumbs. She is like a little duck, throw some nibbits at her and she is satisfied for hours. Unfortunately, this means that there are crumbs all over the house. I try to limit them to the kitchen, but she loves to throw them, plaster them to her forehead, roll her pants in them, and even stick them down her diaper.

That child is a crawling carbohydrate dispenser. It is a good thing we don't have a dog or it would just follow her around and eat her fallen crumbs all day. Although, that doesn't sound like a bad idea.

I have not been grocery shopping in over two weeks either. We are out of milk, eggs, bananas, meatballs, whipped cream, and, thanks to Jo, bread. I couldn't have toast for breakfast this morning, so I just ate a couple pieces of cake instead. Delicious.

I am feeling very overwhelmed by all this disarray, but at the same time, it is somewhat freeing. I imagine this is what it feels like to go to the bathroom outside. You know it is the wrong way of doing things, but you also can't help feeling a little liberated. (Another bad metaphor.)

I was beginning to feel bad earlier this week when things started getting out of hand. I thought that in order to be worthy of the title "Wife" you should be able to keep a spotless house, wash out the fishbowl once a week, make sure your child never pukes on her clothes, have a scrumptious dinner prepared every night by six, and run a local charity.

I have been most happily disillusioned by the events of this past week though. Jordan came home to crunchy carpet, a fish swimming around in mud, a wife who hadn't showered in two days, and a daughter that was tearing apart magazines. That good man said, "Hello, family!" in a cheery voice and acted pleased that we were having bagged salad for dinner.

It was one of those glorious moments of epiphony that I crave so. "I don't have to make everything perfect, and be perfect, in order to be the perfect wife!" A neon orange bar sign pulsating the word "Magnifico" lit up the dark recesses of my 1950's mind.

In order to be the perfect wife I just have to be myself. (It only took me two and a half years to figure out.) I just have to be happy and optomistic about whatever comes our way. Whether that means Jo did an interpretive sprinkler dance and showered the bathroom with urine, or Jordan had to work till eight. My main responsibility is to keep my cool, laugh it off, and think "That is great material for a blog post." My family doesn't need perfection, they need a mother who gives hugs despite bread crumbs, no breakfast, and spilled milk. Jordan needs a wife who is ready to laugh, play games, and let the dishes just sit for a night.

I feel as if I have been reborn since last Monday night. I am ready to start a new life as a cured perfectionist who no longer cares about being perfect. OCD now means Optimistic Chaos Disorder. And let me tell you, it is the funnest behavioral issue I have ever had.

Life could be glorious if we would just glory in the flaws as well as the faultless. It's all part of the game. You're not always going to win, so you might as well learn to enjoy losing too.


P.S. Jordan got a campus visit and interview with Pittsburgh. BOOYA!!!!!
P.P.S Jo's bottom wiggles in a very adorable fashion when she crawls.

The Important Goals

I was really depressed earlier this week because I got an 80% on my Physical Science midterm. I wrote a blog post about it, actually, but then didn't post it because it was a little too angsty. I didn't want to spread the hate - this blog is all about spreading the love.

Everyone keeps on telling me that class is "so easy." It makes me feel kind of stupid. If it is so easy, then why can't I get an A? This was troubling me for some time, and I was beginning to wonder if I could accomplish anything meaningful in my life. Everyone knows it is a universal law of intellectualism that only people who can swim through the Special Theory of Relativity and Steller Pallaxes are valuable to society. (Sarcasm)

The truth is, everyone is incredibly important, no matter where their talents lie.

I have been thinking a lot about my very good friend Meg and her baby lately. Madelyn was born six weeks early and very small. She was a mere three pounds and had to spend two months in the NICU. Madelyn is almost a year now, and she has not grown or developed very much. Jordan and I went to visit her and her parents in the hospital this weekend. While we were there I thought, "Oh, I hope this baby is able to do everything Meg wants her to some day."

The truth is, Madelyn has already done so much. She may not be able to roll over or see very well. But she has ignited a transformation in my heart that helped me to see past the physical world and find the spiritual truths that surround us. When I talk with Meg, and listen to her tell me about all the trials Madelyn has faced before the age of one, I can hear the Savior's voice. Meg has been through so much on behalf of her child, and I am sure she will go through a lot more. Meg is unbelievably patient, she is optimistic, she is brave, and she is so madly in love with her daughter. When you see Meg look at Madelyn you wouldn't think there was a single thing wrong with that baby. Meg knows her daughter is delayed, but she has the ability to see past all the doctors' diagnoses and see the incredible, pure spirit of Madelyn. A brave daughter of God that was willing to come to Earth amidst the many trials Heavenly Father has allowed her to face.

Last General Conference President Monson shared a story about a wonderful flower that a gardener had placed in an old, broken pot. When a friend asked the gardener why she had put the most beautiful flower in the worst pot the gardener replied, "This flower was so beautiful, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in that old pot, just for a little while." To Meg, and myself, Madelyn is that precious flower. She has left an impression on my heart that I hope to share with my own daughter some day. I am so grateful to know that little girl and her incredible mother.

There are so many wonderful examples of gospel truths in my life. I just hope that I can be an example to others, too. When I stand before God at the judgment day I doubt He is going to ask me, "Did you get an A in Physical Science?" Instead, He will say, "Did you share my gospel with others in both word and deed? Were you a light to those around you?" I hope I can respond "Yes."

Life isn't about our worldly accomplishments. Whether or not I write a Pulitzer Prize winner is not as important as whether or not I raise my daughter to love God with all her soul, might, mind, and strength. The critics and literary hot-shots will recognize me more for the first, but God will recognize me more for the latter. I just have to decide who I am trying to impress.

And just like Joshua I say, "Choose you this day whom ye will serve, but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."

Exciting Living

Jordan is playing music that makes my heart melt on his piano, and Jo is attempting to crawl using one leg, and I am obviously sitting at my computer writing. Life here is normal, but also exciting.

When I was in highschool I believed that exciting only meant being irresponsible, spontaneous, hyper, and flirtatious. I used to go to disco dance parties with strobe lights and sparkly pants at the dormitory laundry room, or go run around lakes in freezing temperatures, or stay up late jumping on beds while listening to Pink Floyd. To me these activities were what brought excitement and happiness.

A lot has changed since then, and I am sure all my friends think I am boring now. Spontaneity now means making sure I have diapers, wipes, three burp rags, a spoon, mashed carrots, and an extra onesie before I head out the door. I can't be irresponsible, or I might end up with a child screaming at the top of her lungs in the library (that was last Thursday). I am hyper when I have ten minutes to myself and can run around like a maniac trying to decide how to use my precious time. And flirtatious involves sneaking in a kiss for Jordan before Jo makes things awkward by staring at us and drooling.

My life is in a different galazy than it was four years ago. I might as well be hanging out with cling-ons and Chewbacca. (I pretty much am - Jo is the cling-on, and Jordan is my Chewbacca.)

I am young, healthy, and ready for adventure. I talked to a good friend from high school the other day. She asked me what was new, I said "Flu shots and baby teeth." I asked her what was new, and she said "Parties, boys, and clothes." When I compare my life to that of my highschool friends', I feel old and uninteresting. I don't buy new clothes - I buy diapers and rash cream, I don't go out with new boys - I share dinner every night with the same man I have for the past three years, I don't go to parties - I tickle my 6 month old and play scrabble.

Sometimes I wonder if I got married too young, had kids too soon, and missed out on my chance for the bright lights of uptown, the thrill of hot pink lipstick, and a loud bass beat pumping my blood. All of these things are the Hollywood versions of exciting, and appear to be what every 21 year old girl with a love for dancing should be doing.

I love to dance, and I am still barely above drinking age. And I must admit that every time we get out of the house to go dancing, or romance at a fancy restaurant is like a burst of sweet oxygen after being trapped inside a vacuum for years. But this is not the life I chose for myself. I had my chance to be the flippant bachelorette who cared for high-heeled boots and sparkly tank-tops more than baby hairbows and missing socks.

My life is by no means the standard definition of exciting and fresh. But it offers these sensations in a way no Hollywood producer could understand. Seeing my daughter smile for the first time was more heart-thrilling than being sung to by the cute blonde guitar player on stage for my seventeenth birthday. Knowing Jordan will be home in only half an hour is more exciting than waiting for Friday night's techno jam. And hanging with Jordan and Jo is more satisfying than finding myself with a cute stranger at the club.

So, even though my purse is filled with bibs and extra onesies instead of eyeshadow and extra lipgloss, I think my life is pretty exciting. I have been given the joy of love and security. I would take that over spontaneity, irresponsibility, and expendable funds any day.

I know my life has meaning. I see that meaning every day when Jo morphs into a bundle of smiles when I take her from the crib every morning. I see it when Jordan gratefully accepts my hug and chocolate chip cookies after a long day at work. I see it when we start giggling over spit up or playing kung-fu with our chopsticks.

Nothing can be more thrilling than finding those you love most find joy in your presence. I am glad I made the decision I did. I wouldn't go back and change it for anything. I have everything happiness and fulfillment requires. I revel in my current life and sometimes wonder how my old friends live without the incredible blessings of family.

Life at the Barlow home is one adventure after another. And I am ready to take on them all - as long as they don't interfere with naptime.

That Wasn't Water

When I was seven years old, my older brother, Jacob, had a best friend named McKenzie who lived across the street. McKenzie was twelve (don't ask me why he was hanging around with a nine year old) and I thought he was a hunk. He was older, wore glasses, and seemed to know everything. I did all I could to convince McKenzie that I was the girl for him - I annoyed him and my brother without end.

One day, the three of us were outside on a hot summer's day in Eldorado, Kansas, having a water balloon fight. The teams were divided very poorly; it was myself against two merciless older boys. I willingly accepted the beating, though, because I wanted to hang out with my cool older brother and his dashing friend.

After some time we got down to the last water balloon. I was glad that I could escape from being pelted by rubber filled with cold hose water, and also glad that I could now run inside and go to the bathroom without being called a "chicken."

Jake stopped me before I could get to the door, though. "Bean, pop this water balloon over our heads."

As much as I wanted to instantly please them, I knew I couldn't hold it much longer. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Just do it real quick, it will only take a second."

"Jake, I have to go potty first."

"Come on, just do it fast."

I looked over at McKenzie waiting for me and very foolishly decided to comply. We quickly ran to the backyard where the swing set was. My brother and his friend stood underneath the middle of the monkey bars and instructed me to take the water balloon, go hold it right above their heads, and then pop it so they would both be splattered. Neither of them seemed to notice how desperately I was doing the potty dance.

I grabbed the balloon, climbed the monkey bars, and positioned myself so that I was directly over both boys. I began to twist - nothing happened. I folded it in half and twisted it again, I smashed it between my two hands as hard as I could. It seemed that this water balloon had been made with stronger rubber than all the other ones. I squeezed and squeezed, I even bit it, but no matter what I did the water balloon would just not break.

Then something terrible happened. I froze. I could feel it going, but I was powerless to stop it. I began panicking as my bladder gushed out everything it had been holding in for so long. It only lasted a few moments, but those few moments have left a deep impression in my memory.

I looked down to see Jake and McKenzie get sprayed with the last of my urine. Jake had a somewhat puzzled expression on his face. He turned to McKenzie and asked, "Why was it warm?"

Both boys looked up to see me sitting directly above them, still holding the water balloon in my shaking hands. Understanding broke across their faces and they both yelled "Ewwww!" They sprinted for the hose and immediately began fighting over the water. I hurriedly climbed down from my perch of shame and bolted for the house. I locked myself in the bathroom and knew that it was over.

Jake would torment me with this humiliation for the rest of my life. I was branded. Even worse, McKenzie would never like me. From now on I would only be known as the girl who peed on his head.

I would like to say that this was the last time I ever peed on someone, but that would be a lie. My older sister Regina received an unpleasant surprise when I used my bladder as a weapon of revenge.

But that is another story, for another day.

Today we will leave it with, "That Wasn't Water".

Judging Success

I tried painting today – which was a very bad idea. Any time I try to do something remotely artistic it results in disaster and very low self-esteem. This, like most things in my life, got me to thinking, though. Why do I care so much that I can’t paint? Why does it give me emotional heartburn that every line is squiggly, or that my colors clash and things are disproportionate? I seriously throw myself into a miniature depression every time I try to do something artsy.

President Uchtdorf said that our ability to create is a divine gift from God and that we should enjoy it – but I can’t enjoy it! I want to make magnificent paintings, but all I come out with is bad bubble letters no one can read and blotchy colors. This is a serious flaw!

I have been thinking a lot about my flaws lately, it seems I have hit a point in my life where I have beaten down into a fetal position, and am still being kicked at from all directions. It isn’t that anything horrible has happened to me; I just don’t feel like I am conquering the world and molding myself into an admirable person.

I am taking Physics of the Human Body right now, which isn’t helping my self confidence. The homework is impossible to understand. I never get higher than an 80%. My understanding physics is like a deaf person trying to understand harmony – not going to happen. Based on the projection of my current velocity, miraculous powers need to intervene if I am going to graduate with a good G.P.A. This shouldn’t be a big deal; I haven’t even decided if I am going back for my Master’s or not. And I can afford a B on my transcript and still get into a good creative writing program. Why am I freaking out then?

It is because I am terrified of failure. If I fail, then I feel like I have disappointed every living creature and am of no value. I know that no one besides myself cares about what I splash onto a canvas, or what I get on my physics quiz, or what my hair looks like, but for some reason, I can’t help feeling guilty for every little thing I do wrong.

It is like I have this weird pass or fail mentality. I create this line through my life. If I can do enough things right and stay above it, then I pass the test of life, but if I am two points off and fall below the line, I might as well have not taken the class at all. This is sick and demented – I know – but I can’t be the only one who sometimes feels they are on the edge of an existence failure cliff.

I had an epiphany about all these ludicrous emotions the other night. Jordan was reading the scriptures to me, and I was reminded of President Monson’s memento “If you spend all your time judging others, you don’t have enough time to love them.” I think this applies to us too. If we spend all our time judging ourselves, then we don’t have any energy to appreciate our blessings and gifts. When I do nothing other than sit there and stare at my hideous acrylic creation, I don’t have time to enjoy my family, or enjoy writing, or enjoy collecting shells on the beach.

I also don’t have the time to enjoy serving others if I am constantly worrying about myself. I am so busy worrying about making myself perfect that I forget to worry about making others perfect. I wasn’t born so that I could be the best at everything all the time, I was born so I could help others learn about God, and then through that process become the kind of perfect God wants me to be.

God doesn’t care if my paintings look like ferret poo mixed with key lime pie, and he doesn’t want me to care about that either. He wants me to care about the things He cares about – my daughter, my husband, our family, my neighbors, and the kart man who sits outside the library.

Now, if I enjoy painting, and am pleased with what I create and feel good about myself while doing it, then that is a good thing and painting would be a good activity for me to engage in. But if I am going to have an emotional fit over it, then it is better if I just lay my weapon down and stop murdering myself along with the canvas.

A good life isn’t about being your idea of perfect; it is about being God’s idea of perfect. And His idea of perfect is someone who loves Him with their whole selves, is willing to be obedient in all places and times, and gladly serves wherever called.

The greatest fortune that man can possess
Is not vast wisdom or full treasure chests
But a precious gift, so great to behold
A wonderful, loving, heart of pure gold
I need to accept myself for the faulty woman that I am, and trust that, with some divine intervention, it will be good enough. When you have God on your side, no one can stand against you - not even yourself.

I am so glad true success doesn’t depend on intelligence, artistic skill, wealth, or other worldly measures of worth. I am so glad it depends on that strange and intangible part of ourselves that ties us to the eternities. God measures success by the condition of our souls. We just have to make sure our souls are in the right place; close enough for Him to reach them.

Quarter Life Crisis

I have written three blog posts in the last few days and have deleted them all. I simply can't find the words to describe how I am feeling right now. My life is a confusing conglomeration of stress, happiness, fun, school, and complete exhaustion. I feel like Ramonovich from Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment - except I haven't killed anyone.

Somehow, I feel like I am always doing something wrong. Like I didn't make Josephine happy enough, or I didn't make a good enough dinner, or if I was smart then I would get 100% on every physics test, or my haircut is bad. Just dumb random things I know aren't true, but I can't help thinking.

I feel like I am floating along in an ocean of "human debris" without any direction or any real accomplishments. I am 21 years old, about to graduate, with a husband, a baby, and a future that is like looking into the blur on a very foggy day.

My bishop made a very interesting comment about me the other day. He said, "Your whole life is looking outward, focusing on that little baby in your arms, and focusing on your husband's doctorate programs, and focusing on making everyone else happy. Sometimes it is good to just focus on yourself for a few minutes."

Well, I tried this, and I think that is my problem. I have no idea what the hoozle I am doing. I am a million different things smashed together in a mess of ME. Does anyone else ever feel this way? Or does everyone else in the world know exactly who they are, exactly where they are going, and exactly what they want?

Sometimes I wish it was as simple as "My name is Kayleen Barlow, I am 21, I am a mother, a wife, a writer, and a nutcase." But it isn't that clear. I think probably because I won't let it be. I don't want to be just this or that. I want to be everything. I want to be a dancer on the Pennsylvania Ballet Company, I want to be a Pulitzer Prize winner, I want to be a renowned physicist, I want to be a pastry chef, and I want to be the best mom that ever lived.

The only thing is that I am not any of these things. I am an average dancer, a mediocre writer, horrible at physics, killer of anything pastry, and a mom who makes a thousand mistakes every day. Sometimes I scream out "Why can't I be perfect?" Then I collapse in tears on the bed, bury myself under all our pillows, and feel sorry for my lack of awesomeness. I usually fall asleep after about 20 minutes.

When I wake up, Jordan has made me pancakes, done the dishes, made Jo a giggle apparatus and gives me a hug. Jo smiles so big her eyes squint when she sees me and I can't help but squeeze her till she squeaks.

It is nice to know that I am loved, even if I am severely deficient. I have to remind myself that it is okay if I can't do everything and be everything. Because who I am must be good enough if I am so lucky as to have Jordan and so blessed to have my Jo. It is good to be loved - it makes me feel like so much more than I really am.

I am definitely not perfect, and I am always amazed at Jordan's patience with me, but I know that no matter who I am, or what I do, I have a home.

It is a wonderful thing to know that I will always be loved - it is like wearing a ray of sunshine in the middle of a winter storm.

So I am suffering a quarter life crisis. But I have an anchor that is holding me together in the midst of crashing waves and confusing signals. That anchor is God's love and his plan for me. Hopefully it will eventually lead me in the right direction. We all know I am definitely not qualified to be captain. I just need the faith to keep on going wherever he leads me - even if that is to the primary.

It is good to know he is always by my side. I would be totally lost without Him.