Doors and Windows

I love the line in the musical The Sound of Music when Maria says, "When God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window." 

Earlier this month, I had a week just like that. 

My novella, 12 Days to Love, had been accepted into an anthology and was slated to publish later this spring. Unfortunately, that project was cancelled due to some of Amazon's terms of service. The past anthologies were taken down (I'd enjoyed reading them all). All future projects were terminated. 

Understandably many past and present authors were sad about the news. While I was certainly disappointed, I believed that meant this novella was meant for another purpose. 

The next day, a window opened regarding my novella. I can't yet disclose the details, but I'm very excited about the new opportunity and to put this tale into reader's hands.  

It's a good comparison to life. Sometimes opportunities fall through. Most likely, HE has another purpose for you and your work, whatever it it. And HIS way is always better. 

I'd love for you to share in the comments below when doors have closed and windows have opened in your life. 

The Power of Color

by Michelle Wilson

I have used the same scriptures for years, and they are literally falling apart at the seams. Add that to the fact that I now need 'reader' glasses to see the regular print, and you can imagine my joy when I received a brand new set of scriptures for Christmas!

Until I opened them and saw a sea of black and white

As much as I love the scriptures, these new ones felt like strangers. I shared this with a friend who said she loves new scriptures, that they give her a chance to 'start fresh' each time. 

I thought about that for a while and wondered if that's what I should do, just start fresh.

But I couldn't.

So, I embarked on the process of marking my new scriptures. Yes, I sit them side by side and mark the new ones to match the old. My husband thinks I'm crazy. Last night, for just a moment, I wondered if I was.

Then I wondered  if my color-coding and writing was a crutch. Why couldn't I just start fresh? Why did I need to have everything colored and spelled out for me? I know many people who don't highlight or write in their scriptures, and I'm sure they know their scriptures well and love them, too. So, why do I have this need to color up my new scriptures? Is it my spiritual ADD? Or is it that I my forgetter is becoming stronger than my rememberer?

I know the new scriptures have the same words, the same stories. But I then realized that it's the words which fill the margins and the colors that light up the page that make he scriptures mine. 

Nephi 'likened all scriptures' unto themselves for their profit and learning. That's what all those colors mean to me. They represent the impressions and inspiration I've received over the years. They are the personal answers and guidance God has given to me when I needed it. The verses are the same, it's the colors and written words where the scriptures become my scriptures.

 I can't tell you how many times I have asked God about my kids, my family, my career, my life, and found the answers in my scriptures. I have received confirmations of His love and approval; I've learned that the Atonement is for me. Many times I will find the answers to prayers not in the verses, but in the impressions I've recorded in the margins. My scriptures aren't just stories and doctrine, but they are the way I have, and can continue, to hear Him.

Yes, I can start fresh. And I don't judge the people who do. Perhaps they are more spiritual and don't need the constant reminders that I do. Perhaps they can remember where all their favorite verses are (I am a very visual person and most times remember that the verse is 'the red and yellow on somewhere in Alma on the right hand side left column.')  Perhaps they don't like to color. If it works for them, I am happy for them!

But for me, I can't start fresh. I don't want. 

So, bring on the colored pencils and red pen, because I've got a lot of work to do!

Are you a 'fresh start' kind of person? Or do you color, too?

What Makes You Think You Can Write a Book?

by Michelle Wilson

I was chatting with a friend of mine a few months ago who has harbored a long-hidden desire to write a non-fiction book about the gospel 

"Why don't you?" I asked.

"I don't know. I just feels . . . presumptuous. I mean, what do I have to offer? Who am I to think I can write something and make people pay money for it? What qualifies me to write a book for help others? What makes me think I can write a book?"

In speaking of my non-fiction writing, I have always loved to write inspirational tid-bits for women, so much so that I wrote a book. It was after  I wrote a book and signed on with a publisher that my friend and I had this conversation. 

I have to admit, the moment he said that, my wheels started turning. I looked at other inspirational books out there. Many were moving stories of faith and inspiration by people who survived amazing circumstances. I never did. Don't get me wrong, I've had my ups and downs, but I've never had to endure what I would call extreme hardship. Some books were written by scholars and experts in their field. Not me. I never graduated college. Don't even get me started about high school. Some books were written by church leaders. I was just called as a ward missionary. The Bishop must not trust me, because he called my husband as my companion. I guess I used the term "Goin' rogue" one too many times in my last calling. Lol. 

I looked at these authors and I began to wonder, what do I have to offer? What qualifies me to write a book for others? "What makes me think I can write?"

I'm embarrassed to tell you that the questions festered inside for longer than I want to admit. Underneath the excitement of my upcoming release, they mulled around the back of my mind. The questions grew louder as I attended different conferences and read other inspirational books and stories. 

I'm not a survivor, scholar, expert, or leader. I'm just me. What do I have to offer?

Then a scripture came to my mind that I had read just about a year ago. It was morning of the last day of my first writer's retreat. I picked up my scriptures, and as I often do, I said a prayer and let the pages fall open. I looked down and read: 

 "And thus they were instruments in the hands of God in bringing many to the knowledge of the truth, yea, to the knowledge of their Redeemer. And how blessed are they! For they did publish peace; they did publish good tidings of good; and they did declare that the Lord reigheth!" (Mosiah 27:37-37). 

This was referring to Alma and the sons of Mosiah. Of course they weren't publishing books, but they were getting a good and righteous message out. By doing what the Lord asked them to they "published" peace and good tidings of good. It wasn't all their doing, Heavenly Father was using them as His instruments to share a message. 

I recognized then, allowed myself to forget for a while, but understood once again that the thing that qualifies me to write isn't past experiences, education, or position. He has given me the talents and desire to write. It is my willingness to be an instrument in His hands that qualifies me to write. So when I write, I acknowledge His hand, and all that I write I do with a prayer and a purpose--to write what He would have me write. 

What makes me think I can write a book? God does. 

This does not apply only to non-fiction, either. 

Over this past year I've met many talented and amazing women writers--most of them fiction writers. Some have great confidence in their abilities and their purpose. Yet, others (more than not) question their ability, their qualifications, and even themselves. They wonder why they are writing and writing, yet never getting published. They wonder how many drafts it will take until their book is done. They feel guilty for trading family time for writing time, so they steal hours from their sleep to write. They are discouraged, impatient, and doubtful. They may even be asking the same questions my friend did, the very questions I allowed myself to entertain. What makes them think they can write a book?

I would say to them:  He has given you the talent and the desire to create ideas, stories, situations, people, and places in your mind and, through the keys of your keyboard, bring them to life. Acknowledge His hand, and write with a prayer and a purpose. Bring to life the stories and messages He only can through you.

What qualifies you to write a book? What makes you think can write?  He does.

And there's not higher qualification than that.

PS- I joke about my calling, but for the record, I know my Bishop was inspired to call me as a ward missionary, and I am where I'm supposed to be :)

What Do I Know?

We are creatures of continual change and growth. That's how God made us. We have this deep, innate desire/urge to progress. We seek for knowledge and guidance, ways to learn and improve. We find comfort in answers, excitement in success, and peace in heavenly support.

We are imperfect. God made us that way, too. I like to call myself perfectly imperfect :)  I believe He made me this way so I can learn to trust Him with my weakness, and He can help me make them strengths.  It's a beautiful principle, really. In black and white, on a glowing screen, it rings true. But, in real life, it is harder to see, and even a bit scary to live.

At least, it was for me the day before I wrote this post.

I have two biological children. Twelve years ago I had a mandatory complete hysterectomy due to medical issues.  The night before my surgery I requested a blessing from my bishop. In it, Heavenly Father told me my family wasn't finished growing. I'll admit, I peaked open one eye and looked towards the ceiling as I thought, "You do know what kind of surgery I'm having tomorrow, right?"

Of course He did.

And of course He was right.

Three years ago my youngest daughter (then six) joined our family through adoption.  Most of my life, through my own intellect and His guidance, I've been able to figure things out. But, my daughter came with a slew of problems that were completely new to me.

The things she would do and say were difficult for me to understand and accept. Many a night I would cry myself to sleep, convinced someone else could be a better mother. I mean, what mother doesn't understand her child? What mother has no idea what is best for her child? What mother wishes she could go away on an extended kid-free vacation . . . for like a year? (Okay, that last one wasn't serious...mostly.)

Over the years she has grown and improved--and so have I. She has blossomed into a beautiful young lady who loves her family and her faith. Through prayer and study, I have obtained a greater knowledge, understanding, and skill in helping her. More times than not things run pretty smoothly around here, and all is well.

Until something like yesterday happens.

I won't say what she did. Sufficeth it to say, while visiting a friend's house she did something that was just off the wall crazy.

I get an "FYI" text from her friend's mom, and in less than five minutes I was bringing my daughter home.

I was so upset I wouldn't speak for the first ten minutes. I could have, but the well of my emotions would have violently spilled over. So, I kept quiet. 

When I was ready to talk, in measured and control tones, I informed her of the consequences of her actions, and sent her to her "thinking pad" on the floor to write sentences while I escaped to my room and cried.

What was she thinking? Who is this kid anyway? Haven't I taught her better? Doesn't she know better? 

The questions and doubts rushed through my heart and head and out my tears. I became angry, embarrassed, frustrated, and lost. What do I do with this child?

I counseled with my husband and a good friend, who offered peace and support. But, it wasn't until late last night that I received the answer I needed to hear from my Father in Heaven. And it wasn't the answer I was expecting.

My mind was taken back to my scripture study that morning. I had read Alma 40, part of Alma's letter to his son Corianton. He had been teaching Corianton about the resurrection, and came to a point of doctrine that Alma, himself, didn't know. I had underlined the last half of verse 5, which read, " . . . it mattereth not; for God knoweth all these things; and it sufficeth me to know that this is the case."

Alma didn't know all the answers. And he was okay with that.

Then a truth hit me like a ton of bricks: My anger and frustration didn't come from what my daughter had done, but from the fact that I didn't know why she would do it, and I didn't know what I needed to do to help her.

I realized I was upset because I didn't have the answers. (Perhaps that is why I enjoy writing so much--because not only can I control the questions, but the answers as well.)

I let that realization sink in a bit deeper in my soul as I rolled it around in my brain. The real reason I am angry is because of me. 

It's really hard when God shines a light on a weakness. As I said above, it's a beautiful theory and scripture (Ether 12:27), but in reality, it is really hard. And honestly, it took a few minutes for it to sink in. The problem is with me.

As soon as I accepted that God-given truth, the end of the verse came back to my mind, " . . . God knoweth all these things; and it sufficeth me to know that this is the case."

God knows my daughter. He knows why she does what she does. Even though I don't have all the answers about her, HE does. He knows I am weak, imperfect, and He still brought her to me. I find great peace in that. I need to trust that He knows all things. And I need to find the strength to be okay not knowing everything.

As a mom, I wish I had all the answers. In that respect, I'm like the millions of other parent that jokingly mourn the lack of a parenting manual. But I don't. I do all I can to educate myself--reading, studying, praying, talking, teaching, etc. But, even after all I can do, there are certain things that, in this life, I may never fully understand. And that's okay. Because God does.

That's where the faith comes in. Not just the faith to know, but having the faith not to know. It's a hard concept, especially when it comes to your own kids. But, I have to say, in the light of the day, and my new faith and perspective, I am at peace.

My daughter came in to my room this morning to show me her sentences. She was happy and proud of her work, seemingly unmarred from the choices of the day before. I don't get it. But, He does. And that's enough for me.

I gave her a hug and told her I loved her. She smiled and said, "I know," and skipped out of my room.

I don't t know everything, but I DO know that God does. I DO know that God trusts me with her (my gift), and my other two children(my joy and my heart.) I DO know that God is parenting them with me. I DO know that as I follow His guidance I become a better mother. I DO know that I love my children and they love me. I DO know that He will take care of what I can't.

And I DO know that it's okay not to know anything else.

Michelle 

Wanna Play?

First off, I'd like to thank Valerie for allowing me to jump on board. I am so excited to be here, posting articles and rubbing shoulders with these great ladies!! 

I grew up in California, which was not easy for a pasty girl who loves to layer. But, one thing I did love was swimming. We didn't have a pool, but had many friends and neighbors who did. I spent many hours in the pool playing Marco Polo, doing tricks, playing with tubes, splashing, and just having fun.

As I grew older the swimming turned from playing in the pool, to basking by the side of the pool, lathered in suntan lotion. That was before they called it sunscreen. Yep, in the eighties it was all about getting tan. It only took a few painful episodes, however, to come to the realization that I had two colors: red and white. 

As a mom, my pool side basking morphed into life-guard duty slash referee as my gaggle of kids (yes, three feels like twelve in a pool) splashed, thrashed, played, and fought. I would dip into the pool some of the time, but as my weight grew, so did the time spent outside the pool.

A few weeks ago we had a 'heat wave' here in the Northwest. The temperature hit almost 90, and we were dying. A friend invited me and the kids over to swim in her in-ground swimming pool (one of like three in our entire county. Who needs a year-round pool in Washington?) 

We packed up our stuff and headed on over. I slathered on sun-block and settled into my spot next to the pool as the children played. They had a blast, and I enjoyed myself as well. . . until I got hot. Really hot.

So, I dipped my feet into the pool. And it felt good. I inched my way in until the water reached my neck, and it felt great. I ducked me head under--holding myself still for just a moment to soak in the coolness-- and it felt wonderful.

I bobbed around and floated on a pool mattress while the children played around me. After about an hour, I was about to get out when the kids decided to play a game called Shark. The little kids were excited because it was about the only game the big kids would actually play with them (think Marco Polo combined with tag on a group level with sharks). As I was making my way out of the pool, my son's friend (who is sixteen and hilarious) turns to me and says, "Hey, do you wanna play?"

A laugh escaped my lips. I don't think anyone has looked at me and asked, "Do you wanna play?" since I was kid. It sounded funny, but not as funny as how it made me feel. Suddenly, from somewhere deeper than the deep end of the pool, emerged a child-like giddiness. They want to play with me. And that little girl inside me wanted to play with them.

And I did. 

We played for over a hour, chasing, laughing, yelling, and swimming. For a while, I felt the joy of the pool I had experienced when I was a kid, and I loved it!

That got me thinking about life. 

As a kid, most of us played. We ran, laughed, pretended, and had a great time. Then we grew up. It's the natural way of things. Batting adolescent eyelashes and flexing budding muscles replaced Barbies and GI Joes. Then, dating, marriage and parenthood come.  Budgets, deadlines, and chores replace games, pretend play, and fun. 

It isn't a bad thing. It's just life.

But, somewhere along the way we can get stuck on the proverbial side of the pool, and forget that there is still fun to be had, and life to be lived. 

We can become so mired down by our grown-up ways that we either forget, or don't think, that playing is for us anymore.

Oh, but it is! God intends for us not only to have joy in life, but to have good, clean, fun. It doesn't necessarily have to be in a pool with kids (but I highly recommend that it).  If you are stressed out with financial burdens, bummed out by politics, exhausted by mothering duties, or down for any other reason, I say to you . . . "Hey, do you wanna play?"

Come on! Jump in. The water's warm. Splash around, laugh a little.

Of course we don't have a real pool to jump into--but jumping in and playing in your life may look like grabbing the kids and going to a movie. Or playing a board game. Or going out to lunch with a friend. You could steal your spouse away for a spontaneous date, or simply play the radio loud with the windows down while singing out loud.

Do something fun today. Play and laugh like you did when you were a kid. Lighten up, lighten your load, and give yourself permission to laugh.

Having fun--yes, playing-- is a part of life, even the life of a grown-up. So, do something fun today. Then, will you do me a favor, and come back here and tell me? That would be fun for me!!

Till next time . . .

Michelle

http://www.michellewilsonatlarge.com

http://allegoricallyspeaking.blogspot.com