2 years ago

I made a calendar for T for his birthday in May and sent it to press with January 15th as the 2 year anniversary of our first date. Tyler made me this fabulous surprise candlelight dinner while I was away getting sugar free ice cream from cold stone (wouldn't suggest it--if you're going to splurge, do it right) to celebrate that blessed night two years ago...

We realized the next day that the actual date was January 17th. It fell on a Sunday this year, so we didn't worry about celebrating twice. Carpe Diem.

Feeling Problem-Saturated?

There's this concept in therapy (mostly based in narrative therapy, where you retell and and restructure a lot of the stories you've always told to yourself about life and stuff) called externalization. I love this concept.

Instead of thinking things like "I am depressed" or "I am a mess" you think in terms of your relationship with your challenges. For example, a therapist might ask the first person, "When do you remember your relationship with Depression beginning?" or "When was a time in your life when Depression wasn't able to shake your hand?"

And messes. . .heaven knows (and my sisters) how the worst insult for me is to be called messy (or fat, for that matter :). So when the temptation comes to look at my school books sprawled all over the floor, table, desk, and couch and say to myself "Why are you so messy?" (like right now), I will say instead "Messes love your company, don't they? You are fun person to be around--lots of people want to be around you--isn't it great that you get to choose your friends?".

This way, I have a choice and am not continuing to label myself. Good stuff. . .

Family

I just spent 14 days with the people that make life so glorious and beautiful. Family: I think it's my favorite six letter word (Tyler is five letters). You know what I'm talking about--the warmth, the compassion, the let-it-all-hang-out moments, the food, the tears, the strength. I miss them.

I triumphed over my first semester of graduate school

This is a happy day. With three minutes to spare, I emailed my professor to let him know that I finished my last of MANY books of the semester. . . and that was the end. The end!! For a few weeks, anyway.

And I COULD NOT have done this without the support of my chief editor, bottle washer, and cook, the magnificent Tyler Joseph Anderson. Seriously, by the end of this thing, he'll know as much or more about family therapy than I do. He has read and edited every paper, listened to me spill my guts about all the reasons I am not fit to be a therapist, and anxiously helped me analyze our own families and marriage (well, maybe anxiously is a bit of a stretch, but he definitely was patient).

T's not home tonight--working late. This moment of triumph is missing half of its provider (brought of course by the letter, the man, the companion of my dreams and reality--get it? reali--T?)

By triumph I mean that I worked and read and wrote my tail off. Two A's to report so far--I haven't cared about grades since high school. Now I think about each subject and my need to retain all that knowledge for actual clients, children, and families.

This is my forte--this is where I need to be. A lot of stress, brain, money, and soul are going into this degree. It seems that the rest of what I thought my future would hold rests on this part of my earthly mission. My patriarchal blessing says that many will come to me for counsel in my life; I never pictured that meaning a therapy degree, but the Lord is in this.

His goodness faileth never. . .

Hope

I never recognized how much of my heart, my life, and my being rests on my emotions. I feel things deeply. Yes, I like to analyze (this is a function of the brain), but what do I like to analyze? Why I feel the way I feel. Emotion. I cried a lot on my mission. I cried a lot in my first year of marriage. I cry a lot when my emotions are bruised. Funny how my sisters used to ask me why I didn't cry during sacrament meetings growing up. Tyler never knew he was going to marry a cry baby-- I think I cried all of once during our engagement. Crying helps me regulate my feelings; they get too full and clogged up in my body so the tears release pressure.

So I can't tell you all the things I cry about, but here's the latest. It was testimony meeting and the Spirit was thick and rich. Mention was made of the 2nd counselor's wife who suddenly got terminal cancer and disappeared from church without warning. One of the ladies I visit teach asked the ward to not forget about her non-member husband and son that didn't join the church with her and her daughter 6 years ago--"they still need your prayers," she said. A sweet sister bawled through her testimony that God answers every prayer, sharing the heartache of not being able to have kids during her first few years of marriage and now having three precious little ones. Testimony meetings bring me a sense of hope.

Hope gets the short end of the stick-- faith and charity steal the show most of the time. But during this past year, this happy and difficult year, my eyes have turned upwards towards the "star of hope". (This is where the crying part comes in). After this Spirit and emotionally charged testimony meeting, we sang "The First Noel"--the second verse got caught in both my heart and my throat--

They looked up and saw the star
Shining in the East beyond them far
And to the earth it gave great light
And so it continued both day and by night

I got it. Like for the first time I could picture what it must have been like for people in the old and new world when that star appeared. It was the birth of Jesus that everyone was waiting for, but it was the sign--the star--that shone, confirming that their hope was not in vain. For the wise men, the star was still "beyond them far"; it took several more years of traveling before they would claim their visit to the mercy seat. The light from the star continued both day (in the good times) and by night (the darkness, the mists of sadness, discouragment, broken dreams, pain).

Noel! Noel! The Latin origin of noel is natalis, meaing "birth"--the birth of Christ was the long awaited birth of hope. I felt a lot of hope in testimony meeting today; I guess that's what brought on all the tears. Tyler and I have dreams. Big dreams. And as I have felt for the last few years of my life, "the future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams" (Thank you, Eleanor Roosevelt). I believe in hope. Hope comes from faith. Faith is the first step, believing in what we can't see. Hope follows, the peace and assurance that passes understanding. Dreams do come true, with a lot of work and faith and love, and yes, hope.

Family

Guys,

I am learning so much about family. About families. About generational pull and all the ways that families are messed up. Even the best of families are stuck in subconscious relational and emotional games that they learned from their parents and their parents' parents.

And guess what? Family, no matter how messed up or perfect, is what this life is all about. There is no greater love than in the family unit. That means there is no greater place for pain, grief, joy and wonderment than in our families.

Life is about connection. We learn in the womb how to connect and disconnect with others; being close to others while at the same time learning how to separate our individuality from those same people. When we want to be too close too much of the time, we become enmeshed. When we get hurt, frustrated, disappointed or angry, we can become distancers and avoiders of that closeness--we disengage. The healthy person, the healthy relationship--yes, even the healthy family--is made up of individuals who know that they are a unique, separate, wonderful people and also are contributing, loved, valuable members of a bigger whole, too.

An African dictum that I recently heard and loved is that "Because I am, we are." The struggle to remain my own person and yet stay in relationship, even when it's hard, is a delicate balance. That balance is what some family theorists call a differentiated self, or a differentiated family.

I want to find this balance, but in the mean time, I rejoice to know that I am not the only one who struggles with this--there are theories about this, whole books and articles and websites about being one with someone while continuing to appreciate and love the unique aspects of myself.

Tyler, Sundy, and Emma

No, this is not our daughter. This is our "niece"--Emma Rudolph, daughter of Jenny and Andrew Rudolph. Is she a doll? Um, yes! She was so happy to sit in my lap and play with my fake pearls tonight.

It's a little hard sometimes to be so far away from close family and friends, so having Jenny, Andrew, and Emma 45 minutes away is a real life saver. Plus, the Perry-Hanchetts live down the road, too. Additional plus, we have made some great friends here in Oregon, too.

Life is good. School is challenging but it keeps me hopping. Tyler is the best friend I could ever ask for. We laugh at each other's blunders--we're good at keeping it real.

I'm happy for autumn time. I love the Primary children's program every year, even the boys who practically scream "I am a Child of God"--at least they know it and aren't afraid to show it. I love Oregon. I love Tigard, OR. I love Sundays. I love that my husband just fed me MORE not-so-healthy dessert even though I know how many calories are in that bite. I love living life. . .