Say Yes to the Dress!

Let's talk wedding dresses.

They come in all shapes, sizes and colors.  Sparkles or no sparkles. Lace or no lace. Long, short, flowy, clingy, ballgowns, a lines and so many other choices.

To a woman, a wedding dress is the gown of all gowns. It's the one day of your life when you get to dress like your own kind of princess and get away with it. On a deeper level, the wedding dress is a symbol of purity, of hope for your future, of love, of tradition, of family. 

To me, it was pretty much that.  My wedding dress was 'my dress'.  It was just the right amount of sparkle, of princess, of elegance, of simplicity all rolled into one poofy, sparkly dress. I can even recall very clearly the day that I picked it out.  It was a little over 14 years ago.  I went to a little store in Rexburg, Idaho with my mom and my grandma.  Just them and me. It was a special day spent with women that I admire most in the world. I tried on a few dresses...and then that one.  I had 'the moment'.  Tears and the whole shebang.  All of it.

I also remember very clearly the day that I wore my dress.  We arrived at the Mount Timpanogos temple in the morning and went directly to the bride's room with my mother. I made sure my makeup was okay, checked my hair, I put on my dress and my temple clothes and went to meet my Superman. I remember sitting with him waiting to go into the sealing room and feeling so content and so incredibly happy.

In that moment, that dress absolutely was about tradition, hope, love, purity and family.

The rest of the day is a blur, but throughout the whole day, that dress was about tradition, hope, love, purity and family.

Fast forward 14 years.

I had always dreamed of passing that dress on to my daughter.  I had always loved the idea of it.  My dress was a timeless, classic a line- which will always be in style. I've kept it in the bag in my cedar chest in hopes that a daughter would eventually come along.  And she hasn't.  For some reason, that dress has become less and less of what it was meant to be. It is a reminder of hopes and dreams that will never come true.  It's a reminder of my naivete. And to be frank, it makes me feel like I've let everyone associated with that dress down.

Even as I write this, I know that those words are so untrue. I haven't let anyone down.  I'm a good woman with an amazing husband. It's just...sad sometimes.

As I looked at my dress recently, I felt saddened and ashamed.  Saddened at the loss of the idea and dream of seeing my own daughter wear it one day and ashamed that I've let it sit there for 14 years, ashamed that I'm letting that dress go to waste, ashamed that my beautiful grandma spent so much money on it for one day.

It has recently come to my attention that old wedding dresses are being repurposed to make bereavement gowns for babies who die right after birth or who are stillborn. This is something that is incredibly close to my heart. I have many friends who have suffered this exact thing.  I myself had a miscarriage that I've never quite found peace with. I've struggled with this decision for a year or so.  I've been holding on to this dress that once meant everything to me for 14 years.  It doesn't fit.  It never will fit again I'm sure, and there's no one to give it to. It only seems logical.

But, then, it tugs at my heart strings.  It's my dress. I can never relive those days again and it's the only tangible thing I have left of that day with my mom and grandma. Once it's gone, I can never get it back.  Ever. 

But then my heart gives me another answer....which has really guided my decision. The loss of a child is something that no one should have to suffer.  All their dreams and hopes and love for that baby are suddenly turned into a daily nightmare that you can't walk away from. And in order to ease that burden for that grieving family, a beautifully made bereavement gown is given to them for their child. And it brings it right back to hope, purity, love, tradition and family. 

I believe that families are forever.  I believe that when we get to the hereafter, those of us that have lost babies will be able to raise them. I believe this with all my heart. And how better to show that belief and love and hope for an eternal family than to help another family through their time of need? I can't bring our children back.  I can't make that hurt go away.  I can't wipe every tear of every mother who suffers.  But what I can do is donate my dress, my dress full of love and hope and tradition and purity and FAMILY, to a family that desperately needs those things.

Which is why I've decided to donate my dress.  I've found a semi local organization (as opposed to a larger one that is currently not accepting dresses...) and have now dropped off my dress to a woman with a kind face. I'm not ashamed to admit that I cried.  I cried all the way there and all the way back.  I cried for many reasons. I cried for the loss of a dream, mourning my baby, for the pain of a family that I will never meet. I cried for the absolute healing in my own life. I cried because I know that families are forever and that all of us will be able to hold those babies in our arms one day.

 I know it sounds incredibly silly, but it's almost like I am giving my dress to my child vicariously. I know that this isn't a solution for everyone, but for me, it's brought an incredible amount of healing and comfort and peace that I needed badly. It's the first step on the road to acceptance and healing and I, for one, am eager to get that journey started.

An Open Letter to an Awful Man

Almost exactly one year ago, I brought my sweet baby Jack to you. I was terrified.  He was my first cat. He was so very special to me.  I was more frightened than I had ever been.  Ever.  I trusted you. I read reviews online.  I trusted you.
When I finally got in, you took your sweet time coming to see us. You sent your nurse in first.  I was already in tears and incredibly frightened.  She was rude.  BEYOND rude. She took my cat and tossed him on the table.  She wasn't kind, she wasn't gentle.
When you finally got there, you asked me all the questions that she'd already asked.  You told me to stop crying.  You poked him.  You flipped him back and forth.  You hurt him...you told me you weren't...but you did.
And then, you uttered the phrase that has controlled my life.
"You should have brought him in sooner. We maybe could have fixed this."
Then, you told me that I'd have to leave him for tests.  Overnight.  I didn't like that.  You told me I didn't have a choice.  I agreed.  You grabbed him and started walking away.  I begged you to let him keep his blankie so he wasn't scared.  You rolled your eyes at me and took it and told me you'd call the next day.
But you didn't.  I called.  Your receptionist told me to wait, that you'd call me.  And you...didn't. So, I called again.  And again. AND AGAIN.
And finally...I sent my husband in to bring my baby home.  And he did.  You left the port in his paw and told my husband you wouldn't take it out, because we were going to have to bring him back anyways.  You also sent my sweet cat home covered in his own poo, with a dirty blankie.  How dare you?  He was important to me.  How dare you?
I made Tim go back and tell you to take the port out.  Right now.
I gave him the stupid prescriptions you told me he had to take...even though it wouldn't work.  You made me brush the ick out of his fur because you didn't bother to take care of him.  Every time I had to brush dried on poo out of his fur, he cringed.  That's on you.  Not me.
Eventually, we had him put to sleep. It was the hardest thing I have EVER done.  Not because I didn't do what was best for him.   Not because it helped him.  Not because it hurt me, but because YOU, sir, blamed me.  You told me it was MY FAULT.  You told me that I could have prevented it.  YOU did that. The new vet told met there was nothing we could have done.  That cancer in cats is aggressive.  That there was no way I could have known and yet the only voice I hear is yours telling me it was my fault.
And now, we have two cats again and every time they sleep too much or don't eat enough or don't meow the right way, I want to take them to the vet so that they don't die and it's not my fault.  I live in constant fear that I am slowly murdering my pets. I am completely paranoid.  I cry all the time because Jack is gone and even though I know it's untrue, you've made me feel like I killed him.
You did that.
You.
I will continue to make sure that no one takes their pet to you.  That you don't get to do that to some other unsuspecting pet owner.  I am going to trust my gut and stop listening to your weasley little voice in my head.  You are not a nice man.  You are not a good vet and you do not get to win.
I did the best I knew how to care for my sweet pet.  I tried to remember the good things.  And you tried to ruin that.  That's not okay.
I'm going to let my pets live.  I'm going to stop being so crazy overprotective.  I want them to enjoy their lives.  And I want to enjoy them with them.
You lose.

Christmas Reflections

Its currently midnight on Christmas Eve/Christmas Morning. I cant sleep.  Ive never been able to sleep on Christmas Eve.  When I was a little girl, it was because I was so darn excited.  The anticipation was killing me. I was that way up until a few years ago, the Christmas after we lost Grandma.  This year, we lost Jack...my best Christmas present ever. I know he was just a cat,  but I'm still sad.

As I sit and think about Christmases past (kinda like Scrooge), I can see a change in the way that I approach the holiday. I used to think about what I was getting for Christmas, what Santa was bringing ME. Then, I moved into the gift buying, treat making, decorating to the nines Christmas psycho stage.  The year we lost Grandma, I hit full blown Grinch mode. Hated Christmas.  Hated happy people...and almost begrudged them their joy. The last few years have bewn survival mode.  I do what needs done. Nothing more, nothing less. I overload myself with things to do to force myself to want Christmas.  All it does is cause me to have a nervous breakdown. 

Howver, in the last week, I feel like I've changed my focus. As I've prepared gifts for others, I've realized that it isnt about the dollars spent. Its about the time and thought and love. Ive been thinking about my family and how incredibly important they are to me and wondering if I've shown them that. I've been so touched by the kindness, generosity and love of a good LDS ward.

And most importantly,  I've been thinking more and more about the first gift of Christmas for me - the love of a Heavenly Father and the gift of a Savior to the world. The Savior is the reason. He is the light of the world. He is the most important friend I will ever have. Does He know of my love and devotion to Him?  Have I spent my time wisely, are my sacrifices and service acceptable to Him? Have I tried with every breath that I take to repay my debt to Him? Have I let Him guide and direct me and my actions? Am I good enough?

Christmas wil never be the same. From this point on,  its going to be so much better.
I am grateful for my Savior.  For His friendship,  His mercy, His love. Those are the greatest gifts that any of us will ever receive.
I hope you can find a place for Him this year. I hope you can feel of His love. He loves each of us, no matter what.
Merry Christmas.
K

Dear Nieces and Nephews...

Recently, I was blessed to become an auntie to another beautiful baby girl named Hollie.  I am beyond excited.  I got to thinking about her and about my other nieces and nephews and the things that I wanted them to know. So, this seemed to be the easiest way.

Dear Kiddos,

First and foremost, I love you.  I love each and every one of you for different reasons.  You each have qualities that make you stand out in my life.  Each of you is important to me.

Secondly, no matter what anyone tells you, remember who you are.  You are, first and foremost, a child of God.  You each have amazing families that are here to love and support you unconditionally. You each have a wonderful heritage of ancestors that sacrificed much so that you could live where and how you do.  Your parents love you more than you will ever know. Your siblings adore you.  Your grandparents love you...and Uncle Tim and I love you so so so so much and we always will.

Third, don't ever change who you are for someone else.  You are perfect the way that you are.  You are funny, smart, kind, thoughtful and adorable. If you happen to meet someone who wants you to be someone else, walk away.  They don't deserve you.  They need to rise to your level, you don't need to sink to theirs.

Fourth, take care of your family. In the end, there is nothing more important than them.  Look out for your brothers and/or sisters. You might not like them a whole lot now, but trust me when I say that when you're older, you'll wish they lived closer again.

Fifth, learn now to serve others.  There is no greater joy than serving your family- whether they're your actual family or the family you've chosen. Don't let the state of the world make you unkind.  See every person as your brother or sister and child of God, because that's truly who they are.

Sixth, Stand up for yourself and for what you believe...you know what they say-You've got to stand for something or you'll fall for anything.

Seventh, if you want something in this world to change, change it.  You have that power.  You may think that one person's actions will never ever make a difference, but they do.  Each of you is powerful beyond measure.

Eighth, (for my nieces) don't ever let anyone dull your sparkle.  You are amazing.  And no matter what, you musn't be afraid to shine a little brighter, darling. You are each beautiful, inside and out.  Don't let your outer beauty dictate your inner beauty, but rather, the other way around.  Grow up to be kind, gentle, good, virtuous women.  The world needs more women like you. Also, learn to make good cookies.  I'll help you.  Cookies can save the world.  Really.

Ninth, (for my nephews) it's okay to be a good man.  There is nothing better than a man who honors his priesthood and serves others.  You have some amazing examples of good men to look to.  Your uncle is one of them.  He honors his priesthood, he serves others every day, he is kind and gentle and thoughtful and he is also the best and strongest man that I know. He is also an amazing cook...don't ever underestimate the power of making dinner for a girl.  :) 

And tenth, please don't ever forget how important you are to me. You are one of the reasons that I wake up every day.  I know I might seem like that crazy old auntie who has way too many cats to pay attention to your lives, but I'm not ever too busy for you.  I never will be.  If you ever need me, all you have to do is say the word and I'll be right there.  Always. There are few people in this world who mean as much to me as you do.  

I promise that I will love you, tease you, spoil you, pray for you, cry for you, laugh with you, play with you and be there for you.

All my love,

Aunt Katie

My Letter to the Fashion Industry

Dear Fashion Industry,
Let's start with this.  I love clothes. I love shoes.  I love colors. I love jewelry.  I love makeup. I love Project Runway more than I can say.  But, in the same breath, let me tell you that I hate you.
I hate you for what you've done to me and to women all over the world.
You may be asking yourself right now, 'well, what have I done?'
You know very well what you did and what you're still doing.
Let me explain.
I am a plus sized vibrant, beautiful, colorful, fun loving, sparkly woman.  I love pink and yellow and orange.  I love pretty shoes.  I love vintage dresses.  I love anything that is sparkly. However, when I googled "plus size vintage" I found a few good websites, but more than that, I found a few really unkind ones.  Ones that told me that I should wear smaller prints and darker colors because of my size.  One that told me that 'full figured women' (silly fashion writers...we all know that means 'fat') should stick to flowing fabrics and long skirts.  We should wear neutral colors such as black, navy, gray, black, brown, white, black and maybe the right shade of taupe because they're "slimming". We shouldn't wear horizontally situated prints like the so popular right now chevron print.  Sad.
When I dug deeper and started looking for something adorable to wear to boost my self esteem a bit, I came across frumpy, tent like dresses in ugly, neutral, thrift store couch floral prints.  There seemed to be quite a few solid colored pieces as well. But nothing that I fell in love with.  The plus size dresses made me feel old, frumpy and sad...something that I am most definitely not.
And then, let's add my size 12 feet.  I see them as a gift.  If the world ever floods, I have flippers.  Take that tiny feet people. However, when it comes to size 12 shoes...let's just say that those shoes would be best used in a hospital on the feet of a cranky, old cartoon style nurse that jabs you with needles or perhaps on the sloppy joe loving lunch lady portrayed by the ever funny Chris Farley.
Do I look like a lunch lady?  I didn't think so. I really am more of a Carrie Bradshaw...in fashion...not life, mind you.
So, Fashion Industry, here it is.  I'm beginning to think that you don't know me.  That's fine, because I've decided that I don't like you.  Why? Because neutral colors aren't slimming, they're boring.  They don't hide the fat rolls, they hide my personality. Florals are for people who like to hang out in gardens and wear stinky perfume that smells like gardenias and baby powder. Not for me.  I don't like flowing fabrics and dolman sleeves.  I think they look like tents and I'm not camping. I refuse to dress like a couch or a pair of curtains. I am not a nurse or a lunch lady or an outdoor instructor.  My feet may not be delicate and lady like, but I like cute shoes too.  Sparkly ones. With high heels. And open toes.  Ha.
You have become my arch nemesis-the Joker to my Batman.  From this point on, I will hunt down every knee length, big patterned, bright colored, un-tent-like dress and I will wear them.  I will wear them with shoes that match, even if I have to buy ugly ones and spray paint them sparkly silver.  I will wear younger prints, colors and styles.  I will avoid neutral colors at all costs, unless of course, they are merely an accent piece to whatever obnoxious style I will be wearing. And, let's be honest, there's nothing you can do about it.  I don't care what you or anyone else thinks.  I am a type one and I will dress like one.  I will feel beautiful and vibrant.  I might even wear a tutu one of these days.  Ooh.  Or a pretty, pink, polka dotted vintage dress with a full skirt and crinoline underneath and sparkly shoes with bows like these stunning Kate Spades...

Yes, I could lose weight, but I shouldn't have to.  I'm pretty healthy, I'm just chubby.  And to be honest, that's none of your business.  Women should be able to wear clothes to help them feel beautiful and to reflect who they are...no matter what size they are.
Also, stop photo shopping everything...we're on to your game. Maybe you should stop focusing on skinny and start focusing on healthy and happy.  Stop making skinny, fit girls feel fat and stop making fat girls feel super fat.  It's unkind.
In closing, I think we need to end our relationship.  I'll keep Project Runway and you can keep your stupid neutral colors and ugly floral prints.
It's really not me, it's you.
Love,
A Chubby Girl Who is Too Busy Loving Herself to Listen to You.

What I Learned About Life from HGTV...

I've been watching A LOT of HGTV lately and I've discovered some things.  First, my kitchen is way too white.  It needs painted.  Second, bead board is a great way to reinforce or cover plaster walls and it looks incredibly fresh and streamlined.  Third, there seem to be two very important jobs on any remodel site- the people in charge of building and the ones in charge of demolition. Fourth, wood floors are really pretty.

So, I was picking out paint swatches tonight to decide what delicious color to paint my kitchen accent wall and  absentmindedly listening to the couple behind me argue about something.  The husband kept saying things like "I could do it myself, it would look really nice and increase the value in our home."  And then the wife would come in with "You would take your sweet time, it would never get done and it's too expensive. Stop being ridiculous." I glanced over for some reason and saw the dejected look on his face.

And it hit me.  Just like in a remodeling project, in life, there are people who build and people who demolish. 

Another example.  Just the other day, I mentioned to a cashier that I loved living near our city's baseball field.  It's such a fun thing to have close and such a great family activity for our community and aren't we lucky to have a team?  The cashier told me that it's just a farm team that's really not that good and there's too many cars parked and she'd hate to live downtown where people park all over your street.

Or...I told someone that I love love having cats.  They replied that they would hate to have cat hair everywhere and that litter boxes were really gross.

See where I'm going here?

I'll admit, as of late, it's been a real struggle for me to be positive and to be a builder.  I've spread my fair share of negativity.  But as I watched this man's face tonight, a scripture came to mind...It's in the Book of Mormon in 2nd Nephi, chapter 2, verse 25- "Adam fell that men might be, and men are, that they might have joy."  

JOY.  

There will always be people that are going to demolish.  They want you to be miserable just like they are.  They have nothing good to say about anyone or anything.  Anytime you say something positive or spread good news, they find a way to shut you down.  We all have them in our lives.  You know who they are....or who you are.  The builders are the people who compliment you, who find the bright, funny side to anything, who try to make the world a better place through their actions on a daily basis.

The spread of negativity has increased as of late due to social media.  Suddenly, it's cool to be a mean girl.  I have read some scathing comments about a person or a group of people that are completely irrelevant.  Earlier, I saw someone berate someone online because of an honest mistake that was made.  I felt so so bad.  It didn't make me smile.  It didn't make me feel like I was there to have joy.  Why do we do that?  Why do we think that it's our place to destroy people, their actions, their beliefs and their dreams?  It's NOT our job or our place.  Our job should be to help one another become like Christ...by example.  It's not our place to tell someone that their opinion is wrong or stupid or ridiculous just because we don't agree with them.  We have no right to hate someone or insult someone because they're different.  This trend needs to stop.  Now.

Everyone makes mistakes.  Everyone is different.  We all have our own thoughts and our own opinions, and that's okay!  In fact, it's awesome!  If we were all exactly the same, life would be pretty boring, right?  And besides, what does one have to gain from being unkind?  Nothing.

So many times, at least in my case, we get so busy fighting our own battles, that we forget that everyone, and I mean everyone, is fighting one too.  Life is easy for no one.  It's not supposed to be.  Do we become so wrapped up in our own worlds that we forget to offer the kindness that we expect and demand for ourselves to others? Are we too busy building our own world that we, maybe unintentionally, demolish someone else's?

Now, which one are you?  Which one do you want to be?

I have a challenge for you.  Find something beautiful in every day this week.  Post it on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or whatever you choose to use.  Tell someone thank you once this week and mean it.  Pay someone a sincere compliment.  Do something kind for someone, even if it's just letting them in front of you in line at the grocery store.  We can make this world better.  We can make it a more positive place where we might have joy.

Small Business Everyday

So, I haven't posted in quite a while, but something has me a little irritable today...and someone needs to say something. 
Recently, a local business announced that it was shutting it's doors-forever.  People are in an uproar.  I'm seeing all over social media sites that people are screaming to "save local businesses!" and "don't let the big box stores win!"  Normally, I join them in their cries.  I do.
But not this time.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love small businesses.  They are the reason that I have a job.  They are my customers and friends.  Some of them are even family to me...because I, too, work for a small, family owned business. I respect the work, sweat, love, money, tears and time they've put in to building that business.  I understand that every dollar means something.  I understand that every employee is special to them.  I understand that sometimes, they don't take a paycheck in order to cover expenses.  I understand how small businesses work.
Now, with that being said- a week before a business closes is NOT the time to try to save the business.  It's just not.
One woman commented on the article about the business saying that she had "gone there when (she) was a kid, how dare they close it!"
May I just point something out?
She WENT there.  When she was a KID.  So, like, what?  20 years ago?  Probably.
Someone else commented that our community needs to support more small business....and then promptly went and bought things from Amazon.  Yes.  You go, citizen.  You show the big box businesses how you support local business....oh wait.  You don't.
Now, here's some advice.
If you REALLY want to save small, local, family owned businesses...you need to support them all the time.  Not just when they're having a sale or when they're trying desperately to keep their doors open or they're liquidating everything in the store to be able to leave with some semblance of a profit.  You need to support them on Mondays when you need milk or on Thursdays before your mom's birthday or on Saturday when you're going to lunch with your husband.  Support them the week before Thanksgiving so that they can actually make a profit on the things they sell you.  Support them.  All the time.  Give them your business, your recommendation and your money.  Stop getting your groceries at WalMart.  Stop buying crap online.  Get your sheet music from your LOCAL music store. Stop shopping at Guitar Center.  Use your local hardware store.  STOP using Amazon.  You may not know this, but places like Amazon and Guitar Center don't follow the rules that other businesses are expected to comply with.  That's why things are cheaper there.  Another reason to shop local?  Chances are, if you shop locally, you'll get an expert with your purchase.  They wouldn't be in that business if they didn't love it.  They know what they're selling you because they use it.  They believe in it.  That's what the extra money pays for.  It pays for expertise.  For example, the guys at Guitar Center can't restring your guitar.  They can't tell you why one type of wood is more resonant than another.  They can't fix the bridge.  For the most part, the local guy CAN do all of those things.
Support that guy.  The one who loves his job and his products.  The one who is fighting the big guys. Your screaming all over Facebook and Twitter about saving small business does NOTHING if you don't spend your money.  NOTHING.

Support them all the time. Not just when they're closing they're doors.

That, my friends, is how small businesses are saved.

Gratitude

As I was driving home for my lunch hour today, I was feeling a little grumpy.  I was thinking about the dishes that needed done, the bathroom that needed cleaned, the piano that needed dusting, the litter box that needed changed, that I hadn't found a cat brother for Lily, the laundry to be done, bills to be paid...and that I didn't really want left over pulled pork for lunch.

And then, I saw him.

As I turned the corner in my car that is almost out of gas and is badly in need of a wash, I saw an older Native American gentleman sitting on a lawn near a government building.  He had a large backpack with, what I assume, is everything he owns inside.  He was eating a sandwich and drinking water, while resting on the soft green grass.  He was clearly a wanderer that frequents one of the downtown shelters that I drive past every single day.  My first thought was that it was so cold and windy today, he must be freezing.  But as I looked closer, I realized he was smiling and singing to himself.    I thought I should stop and help him, but he looked so peaceful and happy.  And I didn't want to ruin that and remind him of his circumstance just to satisfy my need to save the world.

The rest of the way home, I found myself being grateful for my little, old home with peeling paint, my portable dishwasher, my one kitty, my dirty clothes, my unmade bed, the leftovers in my fridge, the heat bill, my gently used furniture, my hot water heater and my dirty car that needs gas.  Heavenly Father has given me so much and sometimes, I'm annoyed at my tile counter tops because I'd prefer granite or quartz.  I hate the ceramic tile on my floor with it's cracks and wish it was wood.  How often do I thank Him for my blessings and then not actually be grateful for them?  Every.  Stupid.  Day. I have so much to be grateful for.  So, so much.  Aside from the things already listed, I'm grateful for my good husband, my family, my job, my calling, the gospel and so much more. 

Today, I'm actually going to show my gratitude for those things.

Cat Boy

A little over 5 years ago, Tim took me to the humane society to pick up the best Christmas present ever.  He was a blue eyed Siamese, Balinese mix named Fluffy....and that was a stupid name.  So, we brought him home and named him Jack.
Over those five years, there were countless times that I laughed until I cried at the things he did, the foods he ate and the places he would hide.  He was always good for a snuggle and a kitten hug and big purrs.  He liked to beg for my food and sometimes, just take it out of my hand when he felt he needed to.  He loved to escape and hide under the porch and scratch himself on the bush in the front yard.  He loved to torment Lily Belle.  He loved to play with his favorite toy Fish.  He would often sprint from room to room to room before sliding across the tile in the kitchen right into the food mat...consequently spilling all the food.  When Tim would go on hunting trips, Jack never left my side.  He slept in front of the bedroom door and would wait by the back door for Tim to get home.  Often times, even before we got a king sized bed, we would wake up to find Jack stretched out, under the covers, with his head on a pillow in between the two of us.  If he wasn't sleeping there, he was sleeping on my pillow, wrapped around my head or stretched out on Tim's back with his paws on Tim's shoulders.  He loved our fireplace insert in our entertainment center.  He spent cold nights lying in front of it and spent the days trying to figure out how to get the cat inside of it out...(his reflection...) He was patient and funny and loving and affectionate.
Then, he got sick.
I'll spare you the details, but to the very last day, he was still affectionate and loving and snuggly, even if he didn't feel good.
Taking my son to the vet that very last time was the hardest thing that I have ever done.  Ever.  And I've done a lot of hard things.
I miss him every day.  I miss seeing him run to the door when I get home.  I miss having him jump on my lap at the dinner table.  I miss him standing on the counter trying to get into the crockpot.  I miss him sitting in between the shower curtains.  I miss him.  I know that he's sitting in Heaven with my Grammy being scratched and coddled and waiting for me to get there so that he can run to the door to meet me, but it doesn't make it any easier.
I never thought that a simple trip to the humane society could change my life.
We went there to rescue him...
And it turned out that Jack rescued me.

love you forever, little cat boy.

He's not "Just a Cat..."

A little over 5 years ago, my husband gave me the greatest Christmas gift any girl could ever ask for.  He called me at work and told me to meet him at the Humane Society.  I was OVERJOYED.  The minute I walked in and saw his little furry face, I was in love.  I had never seen a cat so fluffy with such bright blue eyes and a big, bushy tail.

I put him in his carrier and put him in the front seat.  As I put the car in reverse, he started to cry, because I'm sure he was frightened.  So, first rule broken...and I opened the carrier and put him on my lap and drove all the way home.

We took him inside and let him out.  He was timid...but quickly became comfortable with his new home.  Tim and I decided that the name they gave him at the humane society(Skye or Fluffy...depending on who you talked to..) just wasn't going to work.  My favorite movie at the time was Pirates of the Caribbean, so we named him Captain Jack Who Eats Sparrows Jennings.

Everyday when I came home for lunch or from work Jack ran to the door to meet me.  He purred, played, slept on my pillow, snuggled between Tim and I at night under the covers, begged for food, ate off of my spoon and lots of other sweet things.

I especially remember the time that the Humane Society came to do their quick home visit.  Tim and I were having a lazy Saturday and just hanging out in our jammies when the doorbell rang.  We answered the door and were surprised to see the ladies from the humane society.  I think one of them was secretly wishing that we weren't treating him well so she could take him back.  She called him Fluffy with no response.  He took one look at them and proceeded to run around our living room jumping on everything and showing off.  I think he was trying to tell them that he loved his new house and please go away.  They never came back.  

Jack has always been there when I've been sad.  He protects me (or thinks he does) when Tim is away.  He loves sitting by the stove when I cook bacon because he knows I'll drop some on purpose for him. He loves to snuggle and often sits on a certain husband of mine's lap.  He loves to pick on his sister.  All the time.  He loves to play hide and seek.  Yes, I'm aware that he's a cat.

About a month ago, I noticed his weight loss.  Jack has always been a BIG cat.  And he seemed...skinnier.  So, I took him to the vet and after a HORRIBLE experience with a TERRIBLE vet...we found out that it could be one of three things...cancer, pancreatitis or a stomach/bowel problem.  I hoped for the best and treated the stomach ick thing...for two weeks...to no avail.  And now...my cat is dying.  And my heart is breaking.  And I feel awful.

There are people out there that are suffering real losses...grandparents, friends, sisters, mothers, family members.

To the rest of the world- Jack is just a cat.

To me, he is my child.
I love you, my little cat boy.

Lately

Hey.  Have you missed me?  Have you noticed my absence?
Not to worry, it's because I've been doing something else for a while...and I will be continuing to put my efforts there for the next few months...
I would love for you to check it out and share it with some people that need it.  It's a website for women like me.  Women that are childless and LDS and trying to work our way through it.  So, please...for now, have a look and I promise I'll be back soon.
Love!
www.childlessmormonsupport.com

Seeking Inspiration...

We've been talking a lot this year at church about ministering to the one, about that one lost sheep that desperately needs found.  I'll admit.  I'm kind of a coward.  I can do the paperwork part.  I can find them.  I can track them down...but when it goes to actually walking out my door and physically finding them...I'm a coward.
Sunday, my sweet friend Suzanne taught a lesson in primary about following the example of Jesus Christ.  She referenced a scripture found in Luke 15:4 - 6. 


4: 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?
5: And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing.
6: And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbors saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.


I'm not going to lie.  I felt awful.  And it's been on my mind for days.  I'm the primary president.  I'm supposed to be the shepherd that sets the example and the standard for primary kids to follow.  I need to work harder.  But how?  And how can I ever find the courage to do it?  How can I be inspired enough to overcome my fear?


So, tonight, I taught piano lessons...and after my student left, I decided to sit and play for a while.  And while I was playing, I came across two songs that pierced my heart.  I wish I could explain the way I felt.  I wish you could feel it too.  I wish I didn't have to work because the fire has been lit.  I'm there.  I want to spend my days searching and finding and protecting my sheep.  Have a listen and hopefully, you understand what I'm about to say.

My Savior loves me enough that I know that He would come find me and I know that He expects me to love my sheep enough to go find them.  How can I not?  He would do it for me.  And because I want to be like Him, I will find them.  I will go, I will do, I will search and I won't quit searching until I find them.

I've also been thinking about how it must feel to be the "found sheep".  I know through personal experiences that it is a life changing experience.  To know that someone thinks enough of you and loves you enough to put in that effort to bring you back to the proverbial fold can change your world.  So, let us not find sheep because we're told to.  Let's not make this something to check off on our celestial to do list.  Let's do it because we love our Savior.  Let's do it because we realize that "the worth of souls is great".  Let's find them because we would each want someone to find us.

And to leave you with some inspiration...here is a quote from Prophet Thomas S Monson's most recent Priesthood Session talk, True Shepherds. (found here)

"The work will never be concluded until our Lord and Master says, “It is enough.” There are lives to brighten. There are hearts to touch. There are souls to save. Ours is the sacred privilege to brighten, to touch, and to save those precious souls entrusted to our care. We should do so faithfully and with hearts filled with gladness."

The Journey of a Thousand Miles...or something similar.

So, I've been doing some research to try and understand myself.  I've been reading a book called "Dressing Your Truth" by Carol Tuttle.  This book tries to help you make some sense of who you are and why you do, say and act the way you do.  A lot of it makes sense.  There are four types...and I am CLEARLY a type 1. ( Find your type here! )  Everything within that type describes me perfectly.  I am trying very hard to live my life that way.  However, in doing this research, I'm finding some things.  And I don't like it.

A type 1 personality is described as bright and airy.  Her goal is to have fun and to inspire others to have fun. Anyone that knows me knows that I LOVE to have fun.  I can have fun doing almost anything.  I can often be found daydreaming, doodling, creating, singing, dancing (badly) or other childlike things.  I have always been that way.  Always.  Want an example?  Here you go...

eating cookie dough..while covered...with Grandma.
Shocking.

Having fun is a double edged sword.  Because I am always on the lookout for fun, I live a somewhat indulgent lifestyle.  I like cookies because they're good.  I like snow cones because they're fun.  I like Famous Dave's because it's fun.  And tasty.  If something isn't fun to me, I don't want to do it and often don't actually do things that I think are lame. For instance, things that are necessary in life aren't always fun.  Cooking, cleaning, exercising, planning, organizing, being responsible, etc.  I am an excellent party planner - but I hate to clean it up.  Does that make sense?

So, I've learned all these things about myself...and I need to find ways to make adult life FUN.  My job isn't ever a problem because I love the customers that I work with and it's FUN to talk to them. Primary is FUN.  I need to make exercising, planning, cooking and eating right FUN.  Ugh.

I love to be the funny girl in the group, but let's be honest shall we?  I'm the funny one because the slots for the smart one, the organized one, and the pretty one are taken.  I don't mind being the funny one, really...but I need to be the healthy one.

Today, my husband said to me- We need to get healthy because I want you around in 30 years.  And I got scared.  And worried.  And I started thinking...do I really want to be skinny?  If I'm skinnier, I'll probably be prettier and then will people actually listen to me or think I'm funny?  Is the only reason that I'm funny because I'm chubby?  What happens when I lose my chubby shell and I can't hide behind it anymore?  What happens when I can't make fat girl jokes?  Will people still like me?  

I've had to be friendly and funny and personable because I've never been the skinny, pretty one.  I had to cultivate other skills to make friends.  I am honestly worried that if I am skinny...I'll have to start over.  

Now, I know how stupid that sounds.  I do. But this weight loss journey is scary.  It's who I am.  It's what I do.  It's my spot in life.  I like hiding in my chubby girl suit.  It's safe here.  People can't hurt you here. They don't necessarily judge you for all your failings...they just judge you because you're a fat kid.  That's so much easier than what people COULD judge me for, right?

However.  I love Tim more than I could ever love myself.  And because I love him, I will do this.  I will be healthy.  I'm not aiming for skinny.  I'm not aiming for gorgeous.  I'm aiming for healthy and for self acceptance.  I don't want to be this girl ever again.  (except for the meeting Reba part...that was freaking cool.)

So, please.  Be patient with me.  The journey of a thousand miles (or a hundred pounds) begins with one step.  

Ready.

Set.

Go.

Reflections

Well, here we are again.
Christmas.
Yup.

We have had an amazing year.  We've lived, we've loved, we've traveled, we've served, we've worked, some of us have hunted and fished and some of us have made candy and painted snow flakes.

Most of all this year, though, I've learned.

I've been reflecting on the past year, trying to figure out what to write.  And this is what I came up with.

Our primary theme this year was "I Am a Child of God".  Seems simple, right? Something that most of us know and have heard all of our lives, right?

Today, we did a recap of the theme for the end of the year in primary.  I read the kids the same story today that I read them on the first Sunday of 2013 - "You Are Special" by Max Lucado.  I know it's not your typical LDS book but it teaches a valuable lesson.  And today, as I was reading it and looking at each of these beautiful, kind, good children...these words hit home.


“Remember, you are special because I made you. And I don't make mistakes.”

I am not a mistake.  I am not broken.  I am not worthless. I am not less of a person because of my weaknesses.
As we discussed this, we came to the conclusion that our Heavenly Father made us who we are on purpose.  We are who and what and where we are supposed to be.  We are here to learn and to grow from our experience.  It's okay that we're not all the same.  Each of us has a unique talent and a spot in this world to fill that no one else can. I asked each child what their special talent was and got some amazing answers.  And then they asked me...I honestly could think of something for every person in that room...(about 30 kids and some adults...) and couldn't think of anything for me.  Until I looked at those faces looking back at me.  No one can love them like I can.  I'm really good at loving people.  And when I said that...they all agreed.  And the more we talked, the more I realized that I was not teaching this lesson for them.  This lesson was for me.

I wish I could tell you how strongly I feel about this.  I wish you could see how much it has affected me.  I wish you could know what I know.  Some of you do...and some of you don't.  I wish I could bring each of you to primary with me and let you learn what I have learned.  No one can be Katie Jennings like I can.  No one can do the things that I do in the way that I do them. No one can love people like I can. I have struggled this year with finding my place in this world...and I think I know where it is.  It is in the heart of the Shepherd's fold- loving, fellowshipping and teaching.

I wish I could shout from the rooftops that I am a Child of God and I am special.  I wish I could look each of you in the eyes and make you know that you are too.  But...since I can't...
This will have to do.
You are loved.
You are special.
You are a Child of God.
Merry Christmas.

My Friends That Aren't So Imaginary Anymore.

I have been trying very, very hard to be more outgoing. I used to be CRAAAAZY outgoing and as I've gotten older, I've become incredibly self conscious.  I'm not crazy about the way I look, the way I talk, the things I lack or the person that I'm not.  In fact, you could almost say that I loathe those things.  Yes.  Loathe. Because I am a self imposed introvert, I don't have to see those things.  I don't have to notice that I didn't go to college.  I don't have to compare my hair to anyone else's.  I can wear crazy mismatched things and it's okay ... in the comfort of my own home.  I can love cats and think in song titles and movie quotes and laugh at myself for hours. I can wear my winter hat with my pajamas and some mismatched slippers...which is what I'm doing now.  I can dance.  I can sing. When I'm at home....I'm okay with me.  I don't have to put on the facade that I love my fabulous life.  When someone on tv starts discussing things that make me uncomfortable, I can change to ESPN and feel okay about it.

I have to admit, this year has been a journey for me.  At first, I was a displaced caregiver trying to find a purpose.  Then, I became Super Mormon Primary Woman....and I still try to fill those shoes every Sunday, but it can't consume my life.  And then...I found them.  I found a group where I belong.  I found women like me.  These women struggle with the thing they lack at times and celebrate it at others.  They have careers.  They have hobbies.  They understand.  And thus, the journey to self acceptance began for the first time in my adult life.  We talk-figuratively.  We cry.  We laugh.  We understand and most importantly, we accept.  We build and support.  We comfort. We empathize. We pray for each other and for ourselves.  I'm usually not a huge supporter of sharing information with people I've never met- but they are different.  I could not have made it through this year without them.  Y'all know who you are.  Heavenly Father must really love us an awful lot because He made us all awesome...and then led us to each other.

I know this post is incredibly vague, but for right now, it has to be.  I am just so grateful that Heavenly Father puts people in our lives for a reason. I'm glad He put us here and gave us hearts to feel and understand.  I am grateful for a little Facebook group of 23 women from all over the world that helps me to not feel like such a misfit.  I may never meet some of them, but I am glad to know them. I am glad for their part in my life and in my journey.

And all because I figured out that I am Christina Yang.

The Loss of a Legend

Tonight, I have a very heavy heart.  Last Thursday, our community- both local and industry- lost an amazing leader.  Tomorrow, I have to go to her viewing.  And my heart is broken.

How does one begin to memorialize a person like Vanetta Griggs Wilson?  How do you even know where to start?  I suppose at the beginning.

When I was first hired at Chesbro Music almost 9 years ago, I had the opportunity to sit down with the company's CEO, Vanetta.  Now, I was terrified.  Seriously.  She's the CEO.  I'm just a little retail salesperson who likes to play the piano.  I'm nobody.  But not to her.  She explained to me that all of us at Chesbro were family.  We supported each other, we took care of one another.  She asked me about my career plans with the company...and then completely supported them.  Not only did she support them, but she gave me tools, ideas and suggestions on how to achieve them.  She reminded me that I was welcome in her office at any time and that she would always be there if I needed anything.

My next experience with her was my first NAMM show.  The NAMM show is the biggest trade show in the music industry.  It's huge.  It's overwhelming.  And I was terrified.  Vanetta gently reminded me of my talents and told me that she had faith in me and that I would represent her company well.  She stood beside me and taught me how to navigate the industry.  She showed me how to do business in a ladylike, gracious and effective way.  She showed me how I needed to treat each and every customer.  She told me that regardless of how big or how small a customer's business was that every one of them was important and should be treated as if they were my first priority.  She showed me how to deal with publishers and to be gracious, but to get them to do what I needed them to do for our company. Vanetta and I traveled together a couple of times and roomed together a couple of times.  She was such a thoughtful and kind woman.

Vanetta was a confidant.  She understood my trials.  She had them too.  She understood my need to be successful at something.  She understood when I needed to leave quickly to support my family.  She understood that I only got frustrated when our customers weren't treated fairly.  She was empathetic to my personal struggles and often offered advice, solutions and a listening ear.

There are so many things that I could say about her.  So many.  But above all, she was kind.  She exemplified the Savior in every aspect of her life, but it was evident most of all in her treatment of others.  Never an unkind word.  Never a moment wasted.  Never a smile not given.

While the world is mourning Paul Walker and Nelson Mandela, I am mourning someone who had a much more profound impact.  The world has lost an amazing, kind, gracious woman and we are worse for it.  The best we can do is to follow her example and be better people.  I will do my best to do better, smarter, more gracious, relationship centered business and to be a leader, a mentor and a friend in her honor.

Thank you, Vanetta.

Vanetta's Life Legacy and Service Information

My Life and Primetime Medical Dramas.

I am a HUGE Grey's Anatomy fan.  Like ...watched every single episode huge.
So.
Naturally, when I heard that this was Sandra Oh's last season, I was distressed.  I mean, she's Mer's person.
Like...
"If I murdered someone, you're the person I’d call to help me drag the corpse across the living room floor. she's my person." - Christina Yang

So, I wondered...are they going to kill her off like they have everyone else? Or is she just going to pull and Izzy and disappear?
So, I watched tonight's episode...and here's what happened. (stop reading if you haven't seen it yet...and you want to.)
Basically, Christina steals a surgery because Meredith is busy being a mom.  Both admirable professions.  Meredith is understandably upset.  In her explanation, Christina explains that once upon a time, the two of them were walking the same path, heading for the same destination, together.  They had things in common.  They had inside jokes and a great unhindered relationship.
Then, Meredith adopted a baby and gave birth to another. Something had to give...and the path changed.  Meredith was on the fast track to mom of the year...while Christina was still ... Christina.
Both things are absolutely admirable and acceptable.
Most of the time.

I struggle with this on a daily basis.  I make friends.  I think we're awesome.  We do stuff together, we like the same things, we laugh and have fun, we cry, we vent, we live.

Then....something changes.

At first I thought I was just being a rotten, envious person. And then I realized, I'm not envious.  I love my life.  I love my little world.  And you love yours.  And that's okay.  But instead of being my person, you now have to be someone else's person.  And again, that's okay.  For you.
And I'm aware that you don't do these things intentionally.  I understand that family comes first.  I understand that mommyhood comes first.  I accept that.  But sometimes, I really need a friend...and when I struggle, I have no one to turn to because everyone is busy.  Busy with dance or gymnastics or soccer or school or life.  When my husband is gone, I have no one to call to go to the movies with...not because I know y'all won't go, but because I don't want to burden you.  I know you have more important things to do than watch movies and wander around the mall.

Infertility has made it so that I am forever stuck in young adulthood.  I still go to the mall and window shop.  I still go to movies.  I eat cupcakes for dinner...and breakfast...and lunch.  I wake up when I want to, I do what I want to, I watch what I want to...Tim and I basically do all the things we did when we were first married.  Not much has changed.
And that's okay.
I'm not saying that I'm sad or hurt or devastated because I've been through multiple Meredith's in my life...I just never pictured myself as Christina...
Please know that I think you're all great moms.  I think what you're doing is amazing.  I could never, ever do it.  Ever.  Know that I miss you, but I would rather you be where you are because I understand the value of a good parent.  Know that I pray for you and your kiddos.  I love you and your kiddos.  And just because I disappear doesn't mean I don't like you.  It means that my road is going to a different destination than yours is...and they're very far apart.
I understand.
And I hope you do too.
And it's okay if you don't...
Because I'm okay.

Wait. I'm a WHAT?!?

Right at this moment, I am so mad and so hurt and so annoyed that I cannot even think straight.
So please...forgive my rant.

Someone showed me something the other day and prefaced it by saying
"I thought you would enjoy this because you're such a feminist."

Yeah, that's how I felt.

So confused that only a gif from the Kardashians could explain it.

Let's clear this up right now.

I.

Am.

Not.

A.

Feminist.

Nor will I ever be.

Don't get me wrong.  I firmly feel that women should have all the rights and privileges as a man.  I think things should be fair.  But that's because I think things should be fair for everyone.

(is that Kardashian clip making you crazy too? scroll down.)

HOWEVER.

(and that's a big however.)

I believe that God gave men and women specific duties and gifts and talents in this life.

I believe that we should cultivate those.

I believe that we should exemplify those.

Now, I know.  I'm not a cookie cutter wife/mother/daughter/aunt/sister/woman/Mormon.

I get it.

That is not necessarily of my own choosing.

But because I believe in a merciful, loving and teaching God, I accept the life I was given and will do the best I can with it.

But just because I don't have children and I have a career in a male dominated industry doesn't mean that I am a feminist.

It means I don't have children.

It means I love my job.

It means I'm Perfectly Katie.

Just because I stand up for women and girls everywhere doesn't mean that I am a feminist.

It means I am a human being with a heart.

Just because I am more comfortable in a truck wearing blue jeans doesn't make me a feminist.

Just because I enjoy sports and hot wings instead of a cozy, romantic dinner doesn't make me a feminist.

It means that I like football and pickups and hot wings.

I love my husband.  I support him in his duties as a man, my husband and a priesthood holder.

And let's get this clear right now.

I don't want the priesthood.

EVER.

I really have enough to do already without that responsibility.

And really?

What is wrong with just being a good woman?  NOTHING!  

A good woman can change the world and beautify it in a way that no one else can.

No person can love you like a mother or a sister or a "primary" mom can.

A man cannot do what a woman can.

This is obvious.

Now, don't call me old fashioned.

I believe household duties should be shared.  I believe bill paying should be shared.  I believe that men and women should treat each other equally.  

But...if my husband needs a sammich, I should and do feel great about making him one. If he needs a patch sewed on, I can do that. If he needs our home to be a place where he can relax and feel comfortable and watch football and eat my amazing nachos, I can provide that.

Not only am I a career woman, but I am also a woman of God.

Which means that I understand my role and purpose and I am doing my best to exemplify that role.

This doesn't make me less of a person.  It means I have love and concern for the well being of my spouse and for the children (although they are just primary children) and the pets that have been entrusted to me.

And there's nothing wrong with that.

So there.

Blargh.

Speaking of sammiches...I need to go make some because hunting season opens in 4 hours.

Off my soapbox.

Feminist, sheesh.

Girl, please.

12 years...

12 Years.

I have been married to my very best friend and superhero for 12 years on Saturday.

So, because I don't tell him nearly enough...

Here are 12 things I ADORE about Tim.

1. His smile.

2. His ability to make me laugh.  Even when it's inappropriate.

3.  His work ethic.  He works hard.  Sometimes, too hard.

4.  His dedication to his calling and to the priesthood.

5. His adventurous nature.  Always ready to explore.  And he always encourages me to explore too.

6.  His calming nature. 

7.  His eyes.  They twinkle.  I love that.

8.  His ability to fix ANYTHING. Seriously. He could give Bob Villa a run for his money.

9.  His superhero-ness.  He can always save my day.

10. He is an EXCELLENT uncle, brother, son, friend, cousin, grandson, etc.

11.  He is a good man.  They are so few and far between...and I got the best of them.

12. The way he loves me. Loyal, kind, thoughtful and sincere.

Happy Anniversary, Husbandito.

Love you to the moon.....

and back.

Ministering, Murmuring and Mormons.

Let me begin by saying that I HATE MEETINGS.

A lot.

Sometimes, I feel like they consume my life.

So, needless to say, I was less than excited about the meeting I had to attend earlier this week.

However, because I have been teaching Primary children about serving the Lord with a happy heart, I was determined to have a good attitude.

But...I was still silently murmuring inside.

So, when the Stake President got up to speak, I was kind of only half listening.

And then- he said something that I will never, ever forget.  Ever.

"We need to be ministers and not murmurers."

Ho. Ly.  Crap.

10-4.

Loud and clear.

I read you.

And then I thought about it.

When has this been evident in my life?

For instance, I have had some primary kids in the past that were hard for me to handle.

And I served them...but I did it...begrudgingly.

Yes.

And then, I had a moment during a General Conference (which I am so excited for, btw) where I realized that it was my job to show them that they were a child of God, that I needed to be (for lack of a better phrase...) A Window to His Love (thanks Julie De Azevedo).  And it changed.  They were better behaved, more apt to listen and understand and obey.  And all because I decided to stop murmuring and start ministering.

Or...there was a woman in one of my wards that I did NOT like.  I thought she was snobby and rude and a not very nice person.  And then, I learned some things about her life, and I felt compassion for her and empathy for her behavior.  And our relationship changed.  And I'm happy to say, she's still one of my favorite people to this day.

So...it seems to me that this ministering thing is the real ticket to bringing people together.  It brings love and acceptance and understanding and empathy and kindness.  I KNOW that it works with children.  I have a testimony of that.  It's tried and true with them.  All they want is to know that someone really loves them and will be there for them if they need someone.  All a child needs is structure and love.  So, it stands to reason that this would work with adults as well.  

If you think of the world's greatest minister- He loved us all.  He served us all.  He cared about each and every one of us.  He is there to guide us, teach us, support us and love us.  Jesus Christ doesn't care where you're from, how much money you have, how important you are to the world...because you are important to Him.  Regardless.

That's what ministering is. It's treating people as Christ would treat them.  It's loving and supporting and teaching.

That sounds a lot more pleasant than murmuring.

So, in my quest for eternal perfection, I am going to try harder to be a minister and not a murmurer.

I will be the Nephi or the Moroni or the Alma in my world.  I will not be the Laman or Lemuel of my world.  (If you don't understand that last reference...you can check in out in my all time favorite book...the Book of Mormon- just head over to Mormon.org and click on something.  anything.)

And I dare you.  I dare you to try it for one week and see what happens.  Try ministering instead of murmuring.  Try to build people up instead of tear them down.  Trust me.  It will change your life and maybe someone else's.  And really?  Isn't that what we're here for?  To love and learn from each other? And then return to our Heavenly Father?

I know that we are.

So, go.

Change the world.

After you watch this...