Faith in His Timing

Someone once told me that "the days are long, but the years are short" and as I watch my two wild, rambunctious, larger than life toddlers use my furniture as spring boards and plow their way through life- no statement has ever held more truth.

Some days I glance at the clock after what feels like hours of "don't touch that's" and "don't make me tell you again's" to find that only mere minutes have past, yet, as I listen to the soft breath of sleeping children when the day has finally reached it's end, looking at these beautiful forms that were tiny babies only moments ago, I can't grasp how their growth, their change, their transformation is even possible.  My heart breaks and soars simultaneously in those moments.

Time is an ominous, deceptive creature.  You finally think you have it figured out and then it changes.  I look back at my last post, months ago, and don't even know where to begin. How is it JULY already and MAN, THAT FEELS LIKE FOREVER AGO!

I have felt the tug to get back to writing, but honestly, with everything that has been going on, at the end of the day, I've had nothing left to give.

After contemplating topics for this post, there was one overriding theme to my life lately. Time. Not our Time......but His.

I could write in depth about the stresses that came with selling our house or those that come with building a new one.  I could write about finding myself standing surrounded by trees and hills and hundreds of steadfast stones engraved with names and dates with dashes, in two different locations, on two different days,nearly two weeks apart, to say goodbye to two different friends who left far too soon. I could write about my best buddies tears as he refused to sleep in a room in our apartment because he "wanted to go back to {his} Logan house" or the tears that I cried in secret because of his. I could write about the heartache of leaving behind my precious young women and cherished neighbors or the excitement of meeting so many amazing new ones. I could tell you about renters that don't pay their bills and how much being a landlord stinks sometimes. I could write about the WAITING.....waiting....and more waiting, or about time slipping so fast that it creates an anxious pit in my stomach, a fear of missing something, of wasting even one precious second.

I could write an entire post about any one of those things, but instead. In all of it, I have been taught an incredible lesson.  One I should have already known......known well.

When our house finally closed, we felt a wave of relief.  We had everything ready to get started on our home in Petersboro and apartment life was already wearing a hole in our "we can do this" attitude. I was tired...EXHAUSTED...emotionally and physically.  I had spent the last 3 months tied in knots. Waiting. Feeling like I was going to explode. Receiving news that yet another thing was not going to happen when or how it was supposed to. I was ready to move forward.  Apparently my readiness has little baring on His schedule.  In one day I received three phone calls about three of the above mentioned issues.  The knot started to creep back.  I felt the anger rising and a flush of heat in my cheeks.  I wanted to scream. I wanted to hit something.  I wondered why "no one cared about me."  I even vented some of the frustration to those that weren't at fault.

Then, like a breeze. . . .a soft, clear thought hit me like a freight train. . ."have faith in His time."

I stopped dead in my tracks as a million memories saturated my brain.  In nearly every pivotal moment in my life, I have let myself get completely consumed with what I wanted NOW instead of having faith that I would be given what I needed WHEN I needed it.  I saw moments of anguish and sorrow and indecision that were followed by peace and comfort and tremendous blessings.  Blessings beyond my wildest imagination. The catch was that it was rarely immediate.  I had to push through.  Live in the darkness, sometimes until I felt like I was going to suffocate, before the light appeared.  But I have NEVER been left in the dark.  NEVER.

In that moment, I knew that I have a Heavenly Father that loves me and knows me and blesses me beyond measure and, above all, has a perfect eternal picture of my existence.

I took a breath.  I put one foot in front of the other, and I decided that the only moment I have is this one...and now this one. . . and now this one. . .and the only thing I can control is what I choose to do with it.  I can choose to love or I can choose to rage.  I can choose to waste my moments waiting for the ones to come, thinking they will be better, when in reality, I have the opportunity to decide that every moment is my best moment regardless of my circumstances.

I know that it won't be easy and Heaven knows I will not be perfect.  In fact, I nearly slipped today when I found out that we still don't have building permits and that we won't until at least next week. . . . .but I do have: a roof over my head, an incredible, loving, devoted, hardworking husband, two beautiful, healthy, sacred little people who love beyond bounds, a strong body, food in the cupboards, friends and family that love and support me, a pure knowledge of our purpose in this life, and a list that could fill libraries of things that mean more and are more important than building permits.

I'm working on finding faith in His timing.  He has never left me in the dark yet. . . .and his plan has always been tremendously better than mine ever was.

My Pieces of Sunshine

Apparently my last post left my sweet husband feeling a little worried about me.  I'd be lying if I said he was without reason, but my intention was not to write a depressing post or make people worry. That wasn't necessarily the tone I was shooting for, so this post is intentionally completely different.

Despite the unexpected rain storms that drift in an out of my life, there are these beautiful little rays of sunlight the trickle in through those menacing gray clouds.  As the light filters through, the darkness seems to melt away so gently that it is nearly impossible to decipher the moment that the darkness disappears and only the light remains.

After my last post, we experienced a series of miracles.  Blessing that I can only attribute to the Big Man upstairs.  We have been humbled and my heart is overflowing with gratitude. So this post is about some of my favorite little rays of sunshine.

First, my brightest ray of light, just happens to be my amazing hubby and he deserves a GIANT shout out (from the roof tops).  This handsome, studly man of mine inspires and lifts me everyday.  He has a will and determination that is unparalleled. He is a dreamer. I am a realist.  The combination hasn't always worked cohesively but, over the years, I've learned that if this man puts his mind to something- he MAKES IT HAPPEN.  He lives and breaths the motto "Go big, or go home" and I'm the first to tell you- he's not the one "going home."

Our little family was faced with numerous BIG decisions and stresses over the last few months and this guy was carrying the majority of the burden around with him (so well that I didn't realize how hard it was for him).

Then came the miracles.

Kel hadn't been feeling well for a while and I had finally convinced him to go to the doctor.  Several tests later, he was put on a blood pressure medication and a sleep study was ordered, along with a few other interventions.

He came home discouraged, but determined.  A few days later, he decided to enter an nation wide body transformation challenge put on by Bodybuilding.com.  True to form. he dove in with both feet.

Meanwhile, after spending the last year clawing our way out of debt and finally being debt free (other than our mortgages) Kel's car decided to give up the ghost just days after we had put nearly all of our tax return and liquid assets into a CD as the beginning of our down payment for our next home.  I felt heartbroken, but Kel, always the optimist, charged forward and began comparing options.

To add to the craziness, the company that my incredible hubby works for had been talking to him about a promotion for over a year and just when it would start to feel like a reality, something would happen and the reality would get pushed back into the background.  I think we were both feeling discouraged but the pressure was really starting to crush my positive guy.  Just before the car fiasco, Kel had a discussion with the companies VP and was told that the promotion was still in to works but that is would NOT happen this year.  I was devastated. Kel seemed content with a realistic timeline.  I buried my frustration and put on my happy face and we trudged forward.

Kel poured his focus and strength into changing his entire lifestyle.  He began getting up at 4am to go to the gym before work and completely changed his diet. He began  learning about what to eat and how to exercise to accomplish his goals.  I revamped our eating habits at home.  HUGE changes started to happen.  1 week in he was able to completely stop using the blood pressure medication and was feeling a difference in his overall health.  I really enjoyed the opportunity to use some of my education to help him with fitness and nutrition and we worked together to shape his goals (let me be clear, HE did it- I just tired to help and support where I could).

His transformation has been incredible!!!! He is keeping his before and after pictures under pretty tight wraps until the competition is over but I can't wait to share them.  He is seriously my hero!

We were walking yesterday and he kept asking why I was staring at him.  I said I wasn't staring. Seriously though, I have always thought I married a very attractive man, but DARN he looks GOOOOOOD!  I almost don't want to let him leave the house for fear women will start chasing him down (Stay back-he's taken ;) ).

Even with all the stress and craziness, he stayed on track, he carved out time to be the amazing dad that he is to our babies, took time for me, and he solved our car woes, while putting in extra hours at work.

Then came an even bigger surprise/blessing. Through a completely incredible/unbelievable/unimaginable series of events, his promotion materialized. . . only just a couple weeks after being told it would be at least a year.

It is a BIG deal for so many reasons.  The man that I love more than I could have ever dreamed, started with this company 4 years ago without and education, without much experience in the entry level position he was hired for, and in those 4 short years he has had 3 major promotions.

With this promotion, he traded in his cargo pants and work boots for slacks and dress shoes.

It didn't come without blood, sweat, and tears.  It didn't come without late nights, early mornings, hard work, and a fiery determination.

All I've wanted to do from the moment I found out was shout it from the roof tops and sky write it through the clouds while my humble, mild husband didn't tell anyone. He just went about life with a prayer of gratitude and the attitude that he didn't want to bring attention to himself.  Oh, how I love and admire him.  He is my brightest light, melting away clouds of darkness and despair, and I can't hardly contain how overwhelmingly proud I am of him!

My life is full of precious slivers of sunlight and as I sit here trying to convey the explosive feelings in my heart, I feel left without adequate words.

I've made some big goals and am working towards making some big changes over the next year. I'm excited for the opportunity to share some of those things here.  I'm going to share the things that I'm passionate about, the things I love, and the things I feel like I'm learning.  Big things are happening and the rain has taken a break for now :).

And Sometimes It Rains

We have all heard the expression "When it rains, it pours," but I have realized that sometimes, it just rains.  When every weather forecast says that it should be sunny, for some reason, the storm clouds roll in consuming the clear sky that was supposed to stay blue and filling the void with despairing darkness. . . . .and it just rains, without gigantic menacing drops or outrageous torrential outbursts. Just a steady drizzle that initially seems manageable, seeming to possibly be short lived, but continues.  The drops keep falling, eventually soaking you to the bone but so slowly that you don't even realize how wet you are until you've become a sopping mess.

For almost four weeks now, I have been trying to formulate this post. The rain started falling. I tried to wait it out. But the clouds just got darker and here I sit, a sopping mess.

The hardest part, is that from almost every perspective, the sun should be shining on my life.  My blessings are too numerable to even try to count.  Things, for the most part, are really good.  Yet the clouds still came.

It started several weeks ago with some issues that temporally seemed like a huge ordeal (though are fairly insignificant from a broader perspective).  I allowed myself to feel hurt, very hurt, by the actions of some of the people that I care the most about (it still hurts) and that should care the most about me.  I felt the darkness creep in and the hurt turned to anger.  I was HURT and I WAS ANGRY, in a way that I have probably never really experienced.  As the events unfolded, the anger deepened and even when I started to realize that the the source of my anger was really being fueled by the  adversary, I continued to allow it to consume me.  I didn't want to let it go. And the clouds started to roll in.

In the midst of that, I was following the heart wrenching journey of a friend from high school and his beautiful little family. This amazing soul had always been someone whom I have admired and looked up to.  We were frequently in the same social circle, extra curricular activities, and even partnered in a school sport.

He was diagnosed with a brain tumor our senior year of high school, forcing him to relearn multiple skills, including how to walk, and I will never forget the hundreds of tears that slid down our faces (the graduating class of 2002), as he stood from his wheel chair and walked across the stage to accept him diploma.

We both attended Utah State following graduation and we occasionally found ourselves in the same groups.  I was always in awe of his determination, his strength, and his confidence.  He knew that he could do anything he set his mind to, and he did.

I lost track of him for several years until his sweet wife friended me on facebook.  From there, I learned that the cancer had returned in 2007 but that he had beaten it again and had been cancer free ever since.

I remember reading the heartbreaking post last year that the cancer had returned and that it seemed to be far more aggressive.  I knew that He would choose a plan of attack just as aggressively.  I hoped.  I prayed.  I pondered. I feared. I reflected. I followed his sweet wife's posts and found joy in the good news, and heartache in the bad.

Then came the news, just as my clouds were closing in and the rain began to fall, his tumor was no longer responding to Chemo and they were starting radiation.  My heart broke for his wife.  I looked at their tiny children and then into the eyes of my own. I cried.  I couldn't help but notice the similarities in out little families and felt guilt and gratitude and heartbreak and fear and a million other emotions.  All of the sudden it wasn't just someone else.  It was someone I had know and cared about.  It could have just as easily been us. I watched the grace and strength of his beautiful wife and my soul yearned to do something, anything, to help, but I didn't even know where to begin.

The last weekend in January, they decided to have an open house birthday party for this incredible man, husband, and father.  All were welcome. I felt an overwhelming prompting that I needed to go. I tried not to think to much about it but somehow knew that it was something I should do.  I wavered back and forth.  The entire 2 hour drive I thought about how fragile life is. How cold and scary and dark and unfair this life can be. How it is supposed to be that way. And about how much our Father in Heaven loves us and how much pain he must suffer watching his children suffer.  I almost turned around a million times, questioning if I should have come even when I pulled up to the house.  Would they wonder why I had shown up after nearly 10 years?  Was I crazy to have come when they probably had a million other close friends who had been far better friends than I had ever been to them? As questions and doubt raced through my head, a calm, quiet thought entered my head. None of that mattered, all that mattered was that they knew that they were loved and cared about, by more than just those they see everyday.  That people really do love and care about people, despite time or distance or the tumult of the world.  I wanted them to know that they mattered to me.  That his life and influence has mattered to me.

I will never regret, for one moment, walking into their home, giving his wife a real hug instead of a "facebook" one, looking into his eyes and telling him that I was grateful for his friendship and his kindness to me.  It was a beautiful, emotional, hard day.  One that I will always be grateful for.  In a way it changed me, it has brought a sense of mortality to my perception that I hadn't allowed in before and in some ways, it allowed the rain to keep falling. I continue to to think of them and pray for them and hope for them, everyday.

Then came news that both of my Grandmothers were struggling and would likely need to be moved to higher level care situations. As days passed, my Mom's mother seemed to be rapidly declining and there was fear that her time may be coming to an end.  The ache in my heart had become a throbbing as I tried to keep being strong.

The ache deepened even more when a week ago I found out that one of my dearest friends was facing what would likely be one of the most difficult and painful situations she will ever face.

And the rain fell.

Between all of my emotion and the added stress that my sweet hubby has been under with work and his weight loss challenge, my two favorite little people began acting out. Sadly, monster mom came out to handle the situation leaving me swimming in the gigantic puddle of guilt I had created. I have felt like an awful mother, completely under qualified to take care of these two amazing spirits.  To say the least, my self confidence was shattered.

So here I sit. In the midst of a storm.  A storm I never saw coming.  A storm that refuses to rage, but instead is content to just drizzle without end.

A sopping mess.

I am able to see the blessings. I'm humbled and grateful for them in every situation.  I know that the dreary clouds will part eventually and that even though the clouds weren't on my radar, if I'm strong enough, and brave enough, and patient enough, the sunny spot that was supposed to be mine, may help break through some of the other clouds.

Sometimes, when it rains, it pours. . . .and sometimes it just rains.

Salsa Chicken and Mexican Quinoa

I don't want this blog to turn into a food blog, but I promised this recipe and since it was so yummy, it's worth the post.  It's also super easy and HEALTHY.

Stay tuned for some new, non food posts soon.

Salsa Chicken

2-4 chicken breasts
1 can fire roasted mexican style tomatoes

Place chicken (I used frozen) in crockpot and cover with fire roasted tomatoes.  Cook on low approximately 3-4 hours depending on amount and size of chicken, until completely cooked.  I told you it was easy!

Mexican Quinoa

1 clove Garlic (diced)
1/2 onion (diced. I used a yellow onion but you could use white or red depending on taste preference)
1/2 green pepper
1 cup quinoa (rinsed)
1 cup chicken or vegetable broth
1 can black beans (drained and rinsed)
1 can diced (fire roasted or regular) tomatoes
1 can corn (drained)
1 tsp chili powder
1/2 tsp cumin
salt and pepper to taste
1 avocado diced
juice from 1 lime

In a large skillet, spray generously with cooking spray and add onion, garlic, and green pepper.  Saute until softened.  Add quinoa, broth, beans, tomatoes, corn, and spices. Bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer until quinoa is completely cooked (approximately 25 minutes). Remove from heat and add lime juice and chopped avocado.

Create a nice layer of Quinoa and place Chicken breast on top.  Savor the yumminess!

adapted from: http://damndelicious.net/2014/04/09/one-pan-mexican-quinoa/

AMAZING "Kids" Pancakes (That even adults will love)

We have loads, I'm talking boat loads, of baby food puree left over since Ty decided that she was to grown up to eat it at about 9 months.  She thinks she is so big.  I've been lucky that I had stocked up on apple and banana and have been able to use it in the recipes that I already use apple sauce or ripened bananas but the mixed fruits and random veggies have proved a little more challenging.  We also have a TON of left over oatmeal and multigrain baby cereal that I was afraid we would never be able to use, until I stumbled on to this AMAZING pancake recipe!  They are SO much better than the store bought mix I used to buy (pancakes = bread, which meant, until now, I hadn't even considered trying to make them from scratch) and you can make a big batch, stick the left overs in the freezer, and after a quick zap of the microwave you have pancakes anytime your little ones ask (or you are craving a yummy, sweet snack).

Modified from:
http://cookingwithserena.com/?p=551124


Amazing "kids" Pancakes

Ingredients:

1 egg

1 Cup Flour (I used 3/4 cup wheat and 1/4 cup white but you could your any combination or one or the other.)

1/2 Cup baby cereal (I used oatmeal, multigrain would also work)

1 TBS coconut oil, melted (you could also use olive or another cooking oil)

2 tsp brown sugar

1 1/2 tsp baking powder

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp vanilla

2 TBS baby food ( you could use any fruit or vegtable, I used banana strawberry this time)

1 Cup 100% Juice ( I used Apple because it's what I had)

Mix all ingredients in a bowl until well conbined (you may want to add water to achieve your desired consistency- I added about 1-2 TBS)

Cook in greased frying pan.  I make my silver dollar sized for the kids. Flip when bubbles start to form and cook until golden on each side. Their aroma is to die for!

Serve warm with your favorite toppings and freeze the rest- if there are any left ;)

We top ours with creamy peanut butter (it's an Eppich thing) and syrup!

Cauliflower Crust Pizza

I had seen several recipes using cauliflower to replace mashed potatoes, make rice, mimic buffalo wings, and create an alternative to pizza crust and had contemplated trying it for some time.  We LOVE, I mean LOVE pizza in this house and Kel was really missing it so I decided to give the pizza crust a try.  It was a major, home run, hit!  Even with the kids! In fact, they ate it so fast that Kel and I barely even got a tiny slice.  We will be making it again tomorrow in larger quantities!

I modified my recipe from:
http://www.theluckypennyblog.com/2013/02/the-best-cauliflower-crust-pizza.html?m=1

Cauliflower Crust Pizza

Ingredients

1 large sized head of cauliflower 
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon dried basil, crushed
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano or italian seasoning, crushed
1 small garlic clove diced or 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 cup shredded parmesan cheese
1/4 cup mozzarella cheese
1 egg + 1 egg white

Sauce:
You can use pre-made sauce or make your own. I just threw some together for the sake of trying to be healthier, This recipe should make enough for 2 pizzas.

1 (14.5oz) can tomato sauce
1 small can tomato paste (I didn't have any so I left this out. It will just thicken your sauce)
aprox 1 tbs dried onions
1 small garlic clove crushed or finely diced
1/8 tsp salt
1 tsp splenda or sugar

combine in sauce pan and bring to boil. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 30-60 minutes.

Toppings:
We used fresh tomatoes and spinach because that is what we had. You can use anything you love!



Place a pizza stone or cookie sheet in the oven. Preheat oven to 450 degrees. On a cutting board, place a large piece of parchment paper or tin foil and spray it with nonstick cooking spray or oil. 

Wash cauliflower. Cut off the florets. Pulse in your food processor for about 30 seconds, until you get what is called cauliflower rice. Basically as though it had been finely grated. You should end up with 2 to 4 cups cauliflower shreds (you could use a fine cheese grater if you don't have a food processor). Place the cauliflower in a microwave safe bowl and cover. Microwave for 4 minutes. Dump cooked cauliflower onto a clean towel and allow to cool for several minutes (I nearly burned my hands off because I wasn't being very patient) before attempting the next step.

Once cauliflower is cool enough to handle, wrap it up in the dish towel and wring it until you can't get any more fluid out. You want to squeeze out as much water as possible. This will ensure you get a chewy crust and that it holds together. 

when finished, dump cauliflower into a bowl. Add Parmesan, mozzarella cheese, salt, dried basil, oregano or Italian seasoning, and garlic. 

Add your egg and mix well.  I just dug in with my hands to ensure that all the ingredients were completely incorporated. 

Once mixed, transfer dough to greased foil or parchment and shape into crust.  My first attempt I think I pressed my crust slightly thin, it was still super yummy, but I would recommend trying to keep it around a 1/4th of an inch in thickness.

Slide your crust onto your hot pizza stone or baking sheet in the oven. Bake for 8 - 11 minutes, until it starts to turn golden brown. Remove from oven.

Spread on sauce, add toppings and cheese and cook for another 5 to 7 minutes until the cheese is melted, bubbly, and slightly golden.

Let it to cool for a few minutes and then dig in! 

Southwest Peppers and Sweet Onion Egg White Omelet

The Hubs raved about this super simple, extremely healthy, egg white omelet. I served it with 3 strips of turkey bacon for a little crunch and to up the protein and we savored every bite.

Southwest Peppers and Sweet Onion Egg White Omelet

Ingredients

4 egg whites

1 tbs skim milk

half yellow onion (diced)

half green pepper (diced)

1 small clove of garlic (diced)

fresh spinach

cheddar/ colby jack/ mexican blend cheese (whatever you have on hand- I used colby jack)

salsa of choice

tomato (diced)

avacado (diced)


In a medium frying pan, saute onion and peppers on medium heat until desired softness (I used cooking spray) and add garlic for last 30 seconds to a minute.

Removed onion and pepper mixture from pan and set aside.

Lower temperature to low-medium, replace pan, and coat well with cooking spray.

In separate bowl, mix egg whites and milk and then dump into frying pan.

Allow to cook until egg whites become white but the top is still soft.  Add onions, peppers, and spinach and allow to cook another minute depending on how you like your eggs.

Sprinkle with cheese and fold in half using spatula.

continue cooking on one side another minute or so and then flip.  Cook until eggs are no longer runny and you have a light golden color on outside of eggs

Remove from pan and top with salsa, fresh tomatoes, and avacadoes.

Banana Oat Muffins

One of my favorite new sweet treats are these Banana Oat (chocolate chip) Muffins! They have turned out super yummy every time I have made them and I don't even feel bad about eating 2 . . . or 6 at a time :). Enjoy!

I modified this recipe from:

http://fitandhealthywithdebbie.blogspot.com/2012/10/banana-oatmeal-breakfast-muffins.html#.VLdtCivF8no

She refers to her version as a Clean Breakfast Muffin. I tweaked it slightly because I'm a rebel. . . and I have a little biger sweet tooth than she probably has ;).

Ingredients:

2 1/2 Cups Old fashioned or quick oats

1 Cup Plain Greek Yogurt

2 eggs

1/2 Honey

1/4 Cup brown sugar

2 tsp baking powder

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp vanilla

2 ripe bananas

1 cup dark chocolate chips or nuts or combination of both

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Dump oats into food processor and pulse until mostly ground (doesn't have to be powdery)

Combine the remaining ingredients into food processor and pulse until smooth and well combined.

Dumb mixture into a bowl and stir in chocolate and/or nuts

Pour into greased muffin tin (about 2/3 to 3/4 full)

Bake for 18-20 minutes

Sink your teeth in while they are warm. . . . and try not to eat them all at once.

My Food Journey

I have always LOVED food....of all kinds.....and my relationship with it has been evolutionary.

As a kid, I craved healthy foods.  If you gave me a choice between a sandwich and a candy bar, I would have taken the sandwich any day of the week (there has been some major evolution since those days, haha!). I would even hoard my Halloween candy, and often times, have some from the previous year still stashed away when it came time to pick my costume the next year (I know, I was WEIRD! Chocolate doesn't last an hour in my presence these days :) ).

There were also those years when my entire interaction with food revolved around strict, stringent, rules that I had created in my head.  Food consumed my thoughts, what I had eaten, what I could eat next, what I couldn't eat, what I didn't eat, when I could eat, how much I had eaten- it was torture and nearly destroyed not only my ability to enjoy food , but also my life.  I didn't eat ice cream for nearly 3 years!!! Me, the girl who can rarely end a day without indulging in the rich, creamy, melt on your tongue deliciousness.  Now THAT was torture. All because of some stupid, made up, ridiculous rule I had conjured up that said "if you eat ice cream, you will get fat" and at that time in my mind, it was totally rational and factual (it's completely not factual for anyone who is wondering!).  The list of rules, all of which were similarly insane, were innumerable and even changed as those years progressed.  It was misery.

Thankfully, the evolution continued. It is still a process and as crazy as it sounds, I have to force myself not to worry about or think about what I eat. It's the only way I can be healthy. I just eat what sound and tastes good, when it sounds and tastes good........and it's wonderful......and it frequently includes ice cream.

My amazing, talented, sweet husband has been on his own food journey. He has always had an impressive ability to lose weight if presented with an adequate reward or incentive (to date, he has NEVER lost a weight loss challenge, which has been quite lucrative, I might add); however, he has struggled to keep the weight off.  Almost a year and a half ago, he decided he wanted to make a permanent change and rather than starving himself to win some challenge, he wanted to lose weight the right way, over time, while making sustainable change. He was determined and I was in awe of that determination.  He worked out EVERY morning at 5 am. He decreased his portions and made healthier choices, and he lost nearly 70 lbs over 8 months.  He is seriously my hero.  It was not easy.  Not one day was easy.  I was beyond proud of him.

As often happens, life got crazy and my poor hubby got hit from all sides with some monumental stress.  Some of the weight crept back.  He felt discouraged and I felt heartbroken for him.  But, he did not give up (did I mention that he is determined and beautifully stubborn).

He came home a few weeks ago and hesitantly told me about another challenge that he wanted to enter.  He was hesitant because we had had several discussions about his need to make changes for himself and not to just win some short term objective and I'm sure he was more than worried about what my reaction might be.

This challenge was different. It was BIGGER! I think I surprised him a little with my response.  He wanted to enter the 200K transformation challenge put on by bodybuilding.com for a chance to win 40 or 80 thousand dollars.  This challenge also is not based on weight. It is based on overall, greatest body transformation, which is refreshing.  He made the argument that whether he won the money or not, personally, he couldn't lose.  I was excited and you can call us crazy, but I honestly believe that my husband can do anything he sets his mind to.  I don't feel like winning is out of his reach and I told him I would do anything in my power to help him achieve his goal.

That is when he told me that I had just been hired as his nutrition specialist.

I decided, at that moment, that I was going to do my best to help him see that he could still eat, that healthy food could taste good, and that losing didn't have to mean deprivation.

Something you should probably know about me is that I have enjoyed cooking and preparing and baking food but I have not always been very good at it.  I had a roommate in college that lovingly (at least I hope) referred to what I ate as squirrel food.  I am totally content to eat cold cereal (with or without milk), crackers, nuts, chips, fruit, veggies, etc for every meal.  Those are foods I really enjoy.
Needless to say, I haven't done a lot of meal preparation in our marriage.  Not because I couldn't, but because I just wasn't quite brave enough to step out of my comfort zone.

I have told myself for several years that I could ruin any recipe I came across mostly because, for the first few years of marriage, I massacred several meals from cookbooks after tediously following the directions.  After that, I threw out the cookbook and started creating my own recipes, most of which turned out pretty well but I stayed in my realm of comfort, foods and flavors I knew and was familiar with. During that time, I also stopped baking because I thought that I needed to revamp every cookie recipe to be "healthy" without having an adequate understanding of baking chemistry (chem was one of the only classes that I got a letter other than the first letter of the alphabet in, and it was for good reason).

I started getting a little braver a couple years ago and started challenging my fear of baking.  I started to have some success and have learned a lot about how to alter recipes without ruining taste or texture.  That gave me a little push and I have come to really love baking again.

When Kel told me that I was now his nutritionist, I decided that I was going to let go of some of my fears about preparing food.  I have allowed myself to be extremely intimidated by foods that I think are labor intensive or "difficult" to make and have avoided trying to make them at all costs.  Anything in the bread department has always been a "don't even attempt it unless it's frozen dough that can be thrown in a pan and baked" as well as many other "from scratch" items. Those foods were scary to me. I had convinced myself that the process was too long or hard or beyond my scope of ability.  It was silly, really.  Most likely another manifestation of my perfectionism and procrastination, so I decided to put my pinterest boards to good use, even the scary ones, and the results have been pretty fantastic.

Several people have asked me to post some of my recipes for the yummy foods we've been eating so the next few posts will be some of our new favorites.  I hope you enjoy!

The REAL Love Story

January 12, 2007:  I awoke around 7 am, in a quiet hotel room, on what was quite possibly the coldest day of that year in south east Idaho (and that's saying something). The chill in the air had created a glittering, crystallized coating on nearly every exposed surface that existed outside man made walls as the mercury hung at 15 degrees below zero.

I gingerly slid out from beneath the comforter as I listened to the quiet breathing of my two best friends who were still sound asleep in the second queen sized bed that occupied the room.  A day I had waited for, for what seemed like my entire life, had finally arrived and it was nothing like I had imagined it would be.

After graduating from high school, It seemed as though, one by one, my former class mates, met, fell in love with, and married the boy/girl "of their dream," while I spent four years studying, playing, dancing, running, blowing things up, hiking, dating, and learning about who I was.  Those years seemed to evaporate in a blink of an eye and I found myself wearing my second cap and gown and walking up to receive my second empty degree envelope.

Thanks to the cultural expectation, I was officially an old maid and was approaching an age that meant I may no longer be desirable mate material.  I can't even count how may times I was ask the question "Why aren't you married yet?" (the first time, I was only 19 years old), to which I learned the ultimate reply was "Because no one has asked." That usually shut people up.

Despite feeling grateful to have completed my education and having absolutely no regrets about remaining single in the process.  I would be lying if I said that I didn't feel a sense of failure when presented with the social pressure surrounding marriage.  I didn't feel old, or broken, or like I was nearing my expiration date. In fact, I still felt like I had a lot to figure out about myself before dragging someone else into the whirlwind that was my existence; but at every turn, someone seemed to make it abundantly clear that I wasn't following the Mormon standard timeline.

As I stepped out of that ebony gown and slipped the bobby pins out of my hair to remove my cap, I felt a little lost. In this world, I was in somewhat uncharted territory.

All through college, I always told people that I had a "3 seasons rule." I would never marry someone unless I had know them through at least 3 seasons and I felt like my rational was more than justified (Maybe that is why I found myself graduating without a spouse, haha).

Enter Keldon J Eppich.  We met through a mutual friend in April 2006, one month before my college graduation. I'll spare you the details, but lets just say that our first meeting was less than magical and after leaving our friends home, I didn't give the evening or those in attendance a second thought.

In May, I graduated. I took off the cap and gown. I packed up my room. I said goodbye to a town that had molded me and shaped me and that I had grown to love, and moved to Jackson Hole, WY to be the assistance manager for a dude ranch. I worked. I hiked. I ran. And the months passed.

Before I continue, I want to be completely clear.  I began this blog promising honesty and I feel like this message is so important. It is one that I feel like is constantly sugar coated and painted in rainbow colors, and because of that it creates heartache and pain and disappointment rather than commitment and determination and vision. That is why I am sharing the REAL version of my love story.

In June, I got a text message from a number I didn't know asking how I was doing.  When I found out who it was from, I was less than interested due to what little I remembered about our first encounter; However, Jackson Hole can be a pretty lonely place for a single LDS girl who doesn't drink or party and works from 8am to 11:30pm six days a week.....so I replied.

That first text turned into hundreds, sent back and forth during the daylight hours, and hours of late night phone calls after I was "off the clock". We clicked. It was exciting. We had a lot in common and we enjoyed each other's company (from a distance).

He showed up at the ranch one night in late August and surprised me. It was only the second time we had ever seen each other.

We saw each other on weekends and continued our phone communication during the week until I moved back home in mid September (he had moved to Rexburg to go to school so we were finally in the same town), and we were engaged the first week of October.  So much for my "3 seasons rule."

This is where most of the usual sugar coating would begin.  Most people would tell you that on that frigid morning in the hotel room all they could think about was spending eternity with their best friend and being completely overwhelmed with excitement and joy.

That would not be the truth in my love story.  As I slipped out of those covers, I was abnormally calm (especially for me) but not a peaceful calm, more in the realm of numb.  I wasn't "sure" that I was making the right choice and, in fact, I had several moments of wondering if there was anyway I could just disappear without all of our closest family and friends noticing.

This is where the REAL comes in.  I went through the motions. I knelt across from a man I barely knew and I said "Yes". . . and I wondered, "am I making the right choice."

Those first three years were hard.  Harder than I could have ever imagined.  There were A LOT of fights. A LOT of angry words. A LOT of hurt feelings. A LOT of selfishness and stubbornness and anger and hurt. From BOTH sides. I am just as guilty in our struggles and I take full responsibility for my part in our raging war. We were very different people, from very different worlds (and honestly, from an outside view, those worlds didn't seem much different- we were both from good LDS families, raised in the country, with similar interests and experiences and cultural backgrounds- but despite all that, we were very different). And those differences are reality.

I've learned that in life there are realities and perceptions. Often, our perceptions try to convince our brains that they are realities and if our own reality doesn't match up with what we perceive others realities to be, then we allow ourselves to feel like there is something wrong with our life, or worse, something wrong with us.

The picture of marriage that seems to be painted is that if you marry "the person you are meant to marry" that you will be blissfully happy, that all your dreams will come true, that you will agree on most, if not all, of your decisions. If you do disagree, you will sit down, hand in hand, and have a little, mild, meaningful conversation where you will both come to a mutually satisfying compromise.

Maybe this happens.  However, I doubt that it is the norm.

I can't even begin to count the number of times in those first 3 years that I sat alone in tears thinking "maybe I made the wrong choice." As if, there was some other man out there who I had been "meant" to marry and somehow I had screwed everything up. After all, the paintings always seemed to portray "happily ever after" immediately following "I do."

Luckily enough for me, both Kel and I are very stubborn people (don't you worry, we have had this discussion and I wasn't the only one concerned about my choice) and neither of us were willing to be the one to call it quits.  In those first 36 months, give or take a few, the big D word was thrown around more than I care to admit.  There were so many times that we both wondered why we were doing "this."  Did I mention that it was HARD!

The beauty of hard things is that Heavenly Father never gives us anything great, without making us work for it, or testing our faith a little (or A LOT!).  The term "refiners fire" was not a joke.  In my time on this Earth, I can not look back at the greatest blessing in my life without acknowledging some deep trial or challenge that preceded them.  Check out Ether 12:27 or my favorite:

D&C 58:2-3

 3 Ye cannot behold with your natural eyes, for the present time, the design of your God concerning those things which shall come hereafter, and the glory which shall follow after much tribulation.

 4 For after much tribulation come the blessings. Wherefore the day cometh that ye shall be crowned with much glory; the hour is not yet, but is nigh at hand

I am so beyond blessed to have married a man who is so much like me in so many ways, while also being my complete, polar opposite.  He has made me better.  He has tempered me. He has made me more relaxed in some areas and stronger in others and I believe that he would probably say that there are a few things that I have helped him improve on- though I'm probably the one that needs the most work.

I want to make it absolutely clear that our HARD never involved abuse (if you are/were/or ever find yourself in an abusive relationship, get out and seek help). We, like most couples on this planet, needed time to learn to trust. To give a little more and take a little less. To learn more about ourselves and each other and to finally give up enough control and fear of rejection to let the other person become a part of who we are.  The road is not easy and I'm not here to tell you that there is a magic number of days that you must endure before the bliss happens- marriage, full, happy, healthy, love story worthy marriage takes a lot of work- always. We still have our moments and struggles but we also are far better at working at them together rather than against each other. 

In 5 days, Kel and I will celebrate our 8th wedding anniversary and I can honestly say that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that on that frigid day, almost 8 years ago, I made the RIGHT choice.  There is no other man on this planet that could make me happier, dry my tears, calm my fears, hold my hand, cradle my babies, or put a smile on my face the way that he can.  He loves me with an intensity and loyalty that I could never have even understood without experiencing it and somehow in-spite of all of my faults and flaws.  In those first few years, I think that I just expected him to give up and leave me partially because I didn't feel like I was worthy of his or anyone else's love.  He has taught me so much about love and forgiveness and compassion.  I can't even allow myself to think about what my life would have been like had either one of us given up.

I guess what I'm hoping to convey is that real marriage is not a fairy tale. Is there one "right" person out there, who if you find, you will live in perpetual peace and joy from that moment on? I don't think so.  I think that if Kel or I had married someone else, we likely wouldn't have had the same disagreements, but we would have disagreed.  We wouldn't have the same struggles, but we would have had struggles.  Heavenly Father made each of us unique, with our very own set of talents and attributes and challenges and because of the miracle of those differences, combining two lives is not a flawless process.

I love my sweet, amazing, tender, strong husband beyond the bounds of what I could have ever imagined.  He is my rock. He balances me in all of my crazy.  He loves me when probably no one else would and lifts me when no one else can even see that I have fallen.

Nearly 8 years later, we can both look back and laugh at our wild ride but there is also a sincere solemn respect for those years of heartache and struggle.  We are grateful for those years, and glad that they are over. Without them, we wouldn't be us, and honestly US is pretty awesome.

Happy anniversary my love. I love you bunches and bunches, more, and most! Thank you for not giving up and for sharing this amazing, wild, beautiful adventure with me.  I'm so grateful that I get to spend eternity with you.

Perfection and Procrastination

When Brody was about 2 months old Kel called me from work and from what little I could decipher from his “word salad” (a term that we lovingly used to refer to patients who jumbled all of their words while deep in a psychotic episode OR after suffering a stroke), he had a headache, his face was numb, and he was laying of the floor of his shop at work. 

Knowing that he wasn't suffering from psychosis, I panicked.  I grabbed my tiny baby and tried to hold back the tears as my inexperienced, new mom fingers fumbled with the clips of his car seat.

I drove across town as fast as I dared only to find my tough as nails husband laying on the cold concrete in the dark of what would easily be described as a two car garage.

His ability to coherently communicate had not improved, half of his face appeared limp, and his arm on that same side was not functioning as it should. My fear deepened into a hard knot in my stomach as I recalled standing in a hospital room, only weeks before, looking down at Kel's sweet Grandpa Wayne who had suffered a stroke.  The face in my memory somehow seemed to meld into to the once strong, now drooping, face of the love of my life.  

I helped him into my car and started toward the hospital. He begged me to take him home and a for a moment I complied. A mile later filled with completely jumbled, incoherent sentences I turned around again.  We arrived in the ER and were taken to a room. Once there, with my tiny baby in tow, I realized that his diaper was soiled beyond his ability to tolerate it. As I looked down, still feeling waves of shock and panic, I realized that my diaper bag had not made the priority list while I scrambled to leave the house.  The defeat and fear seemed to simultaneously close in.  My baby was screaming. My husband was not even able to to put three meaningful words together. The breath felt heavy in my chest as I forced myself to suck oxygen into my lungs while bouncing and rocking my shrieking baby.

A sweet nurse entered our room, turned to me with a kind smile, and must have seen the despair in my eyes.  She asked what she could do for us and I hung my head as I told her the situation.  She checked Kel, gave me a compassionate glance and stepped out. 

Returning only minutes later with hands full. Diapers (in the correct size). Wipes. And, and adorable, cozy, fleece blanket. It melted me. What composure I had evaporated. Tears filled my eyes.

Four hours, a CAT scan, IV fluids, and multiple tests later, we walked out of the ER with a diagnosis of severe migraine and that cozy green dinosaur blanket.

It quickly became Bubba's favorite.

He spent most of his first year encompassed in its comforting green folds.

Rarely did we go anywhere without "dino blanky."

I became a steadfast part of our life, routine, and adventures.

One day as I browsed Walmart, I found the same exact fabric and felt impressed to purchase some just in case we ever needed to replace our beloved blanket.

The funny thing about "dino blanky" was that it is more than a functional, cute accessory.  It is a reminder of our blessings, of the things we have to be grateful for, of yet another miracle in our lives.
By the time Peanut was born, "dino blanky" was looking pretty rough and ended up finding a home at the bottom of our blanket basket, partially forgotten.

I'm sure you are all wondering what any of this has to do with perfection and procrastination.  Well, I'm finally getting there.

I began my Christmas preparations this fall and stumbled onto the fabric I had purchased months before. All of those emotions rushed over me like the crashing tide. I wanted to make Bubba a new Dino blanky that could become a fresh source of comfort for him and reminder of the tender mercies of my Heavenly Father to me.

I folded it and put it on my desk.  Over the next weeks and even months I busied myself with Christmas preparations while the fabric sat on the desk.  I shopped. I ordered gifts online.  I checked things off of my list of "to do's."  The weeks flew by........and the fabric sat on my desk.

After Thanksgiving I did finally take the fabric from it's place in our office and into Joann's to find a backing for my neglected project. I bought a second piece of thick, inviting fleece and returned to bag to my desk.  More days ticked by.  More days passed as I avoided the fluffy sack. More check marks filled my Christmas lists.  I did research ways to bind fleece blankets and found a self binding option that I thought would be the perfect way to transform this soft fabric into the meaningful gift I had envisioned. But- it intimidated me- so on the desk it continued to sit.

I've mentioned my perfectionism and my fear of failure and the perfect result of that combination is, you guessed it, procrastination!  I am the QUEEN of procrastination and it directly stems from my fear of failure.

I tend to allow my insecurities about my abilities to dictate my actions. Sometimes that means not trying at all, sometimes that means only putting in a partial effort, and sometimes, when the task is unavoidable or extremely important, it means putting it off until the very last second.

This project is a prime example, but is only one example out of trillions that occur for me on a yearly, monthly, weekly, daily, or hourly basis.

My time was running out.  Sunday afternoon (as in December 21st) I finally pulled out the fabric and trimmed of the salvage.  I had planned to work on it and hopefully finish it once the kids were asleep.

Enter round two of the stomach flu.  Brody started throwing up around 7pm, I started around 3 am and Kel joined the club just after 7am Monday morning.

Panic! We were supposed to leave for Idaho for Christmas on Tuesday evening.  I still had a long list of things to accomplish before we could leave and I could barely drag my aching body up the stairs (I actually made it up, but passed out at the top- so I'd say I was doing pretty well).

Minutes were disintegrating and a hallowing, dark sadness settled over me.  My explosive excitement for Christmas was being crushed and I had visions of a repeat of Thanksgiving (Bubba was in the ER thanks to round 1 of the stomach flu and we ate pizza for dinner). I was seriously struggling just to keep my vomiting toddler and husband alive and my healthy toddler healthy without passing out on our goldfish littered carpet.

Thank goodness for incredible mothers.  Grandma came to the rescue Monday evening.  She cared for the sick, cuddled the sad, and comforted the emotionally and physically exhausted.

By Tuesday I was still not on the top of my game, but I was functional and Mom wrestled and entertained the rug rats while I packed, wrapped gifts, and then had no other choice but to face the unavoidable.

I started working on Bubba's blanket knowing that my time was incredibly limited.  I was forced to challenge every aspect of my deep seeded perfectionism and at times it was excruciating.  The stretch of the fabric made cutting and  making the fabric exactly square nearly impossible.  The differing fabric weights added additional challenges.  Pinning took forever. My sewing machine decided to go on the fritz. I had to pick out multiple seems.  I was attempting to make mitered corners for the first time ever and they did not turn out perfect. . but they turned out.  With each hurdle, it took everything I had to not throw in the towel, to not just give up.  Bubba wouldn't have known either way.  Blanket or no blanket, he would have still had plenty of gifts and would be the same, happy little boy on Christmas morning, but I forced those feelings back.  With every step, I moved forward, I challenged the degrading voice in my head and I kept at it.  I knew that a large contributor to my anxiety about this project was escalated by my procrastination, which was largely due to my fear and anxiety. It's a vicious cycle and I continue to allow myself to get sucked in despite knowing the outcome.

I could have given up and had my mom finish it.  She would have.  Her version would undoubtedly have been more perfect than my finished project ended up, but it wouldn't have been perfect, because perfection doesn't really exist, as much as we like to try to convince ourselves that it does.

I finished my last seem, trimmed all of the stray threads, and held up this tiny piece of our little family's history.  The edges weren't all exactly 2 inches and the corners didn't lay perfectly flat but for a moment those flaws faded into the background and I could see the beauty and meaning that may be imperceptible to the naked eye, but were vividly apparent to a mommy who had experienced the memories that the fabric portrayed.

In that moment, I knew that my gentle, sensitive, two year old would love the dinosaurs (he had seen the fabric in the months it sat on the desk and had looked at me with his penetrating brown eyes and told me that the fabric was "beautiful" and that he "loved it"), and that it was a perfectly imperfect representation of life experience, memory, growth, change, and rich blessings.

Is it silly that a chuck of woven fibers with a goofy cartoon print could represent all of that while also being a source of insight and enlightenment? Maybe.  But, I can tell you about the ear to ear grin on my adorable son's face when he tore away the wrapping paper this morning and the total absence of any thought about the uneven edges or wavering stitching as I observed his joy.

I can't promise that my procrastination will drastically improve any time soon but I am getting better at accepting imperfections and challenging my perfectionism. It is HARD! Extremely hard! I had a similar experience just a day ago when thinking about this blog.  I let the thought that because others seemed to be better writers or more successful than I am that that meant that once again I'm a failure fading into the gray area or mediocrity. Broken record, I know; but that is how Satan gets us, by playing on our greatest weaknesses and repeating the assault, over and over and over and over again.

The problem with being a perfectionist is that all you want is to be the best, amazing, envied at something, perfect, at even just one thing and even though you know deep down that it's impossible, something inside convinces you that if you were good enough, you could accomplish the impossible.

If only we could constantly see through an eternal lens rather than a temporal one. If only we could see the difference between the worlds definition of perfection and instead see our Fathers version of perfect.  He doesn't care how straight I can cut or sew a blanket. He doesn't care if hundreds of people think that I am a great writer.  He doesn't care if my hair looks flawless, what the measurement of the pull of gravity is on my body, or how many pinterest projects I have mastered.  I am perfect because he made my heart and soul. I am perfect because he placed the capacity for his perfect love to exist within me and because he gave me the opportunity to share it. . . and because he gave me those things, because he doesn't make mistakes, I have absolutely no reason to wait, no reason to procrastinate because that is one thing I will never fail at.

Fear and Failure

Can I just tell you how AMAZING this week has been!  It is mid December and we have consistently had gorgeous 50 plus degree days! Heaven I tell you, pure heaven.  I have been soaking up every second.

While this whole week has been unusually wonderful, today was breath taking.  I loaded up the kids and Bob and when I got to the trail head to unload, I was almost regretting my decision to wear a t shirt and wishing I had chosen a tank top- IN DECEMBER!! It was bliss.

As I started my jog, as usual, my mind kicked into overdrive and thoughts and ideas and insights flooded my brain faster than I could sort or organize them.  I actually love it. With a one year old and a two year old, having your own thoughts, private thoughts, are a rare novelty.  When I run, my babies sleep and my mind can finally think of something other than diapers to be changed, faces to be wiped, meals to be made, disasters to evade, and kisses to be given (don't get me wrong, I love every single one of those moments with my babies. I wouldn't change it for the world and I'm devastated to think of the days when it will end).  It's freedom. It's therapy. It's healing.

You would be amazed at the world problems (okay, maybe just the problems in my own little world) that can be solved in a 90 minute run.

It's during my runs that I often have my best ideas and frequently think of all the topics I would love to address here in this blog.  I can't count the number of blog posts that have been composed on my runs that never actually make it to the keyboard, but the process for me is still the same, whether the topics ever make it to print.

Today, my thoughts were overrun with some of my fears (Crazy right? Me worry? Ha!).  I have been thinking a lot about this blog and it's direction.  I have so many dreams and aspirations and have some confidence in some of what I would perceive as my talents; however, I am afraid. . . . completely and utterly afraid of failure.  I honestly always have been.  When I look back at nearly everything I have done, I can see some point in which my fear of failure has held me back.

As I listened to my feet hitting the pavement, pushing nearly 90 lbs of baby and stroller and packing a 10 lb weight vest, I felt discouraged that I wasn't faster.  That I didn't have any medals on my wall as proof of the thousands upon thousands of miles I have run in the past 12 years.  Nothing to show for it.  I tell people all the time that I am not competitive. I'm not. I'm not because I'm afraid to put everything I have into anything for fear that I will fail and that that will ultimately mean I am a failure. It is an overriding theme in my life.  I see other women around me doing amazing things.  Things I wish I could do.  Things I really think I could do.  But all too often I don't even try.  I let the fear win. I have always been mediocre.  Occasionally above average.

In some arenas, I think that it's okay.  In order to accomplish some of the things that I aspire to, I would have to make sacrifices.  Major sacrifices.  Sacrifices of time and at this moment, that time is too precious.  Those little noses to be wiped, hands to be held, scraped knees to be kissed are worth far more than the personal accolades I could be acquiring.

As with all things in this life, there is a balance to be struck. We have to continually challenge our fears, push them back, dig deep to find the confidence to prove them wrong while also knowing our own boundaries and appreciating that those boundaries will shift as our lives progress.

Today I decided, as a warm December breeze rejuvenated my spirit, that I don't have to settle for mediocre or just above average in everything.  Somethings, for now, yes, but not everything. I can be exceptional at a couple things but I have to challenge my fear of failure (something I'm not at all comfortable with or good at).  It's true, I might fail (and as much as I wish that wasn't one of my top 5 greatest fears, it is) but I owe it to myself to take a few risks, so I'm going to try.

This blog started as one of those aspirations. I thought maybe I could be an exceptional writer and I could change peoples lives and have thousands of people enthrallment by my prose.  Then I started to convince myself that no one would care. That I wasn't good enough. And I almost quit.

Today, I'm not quitting! Do I think that I'm amazing and that I'll be some famous blogger? Sadly, No. I do think that I may be able to make a difference to someone, even if it is just me.  I also am finding that I can be great at being who I am.  I am completely imperfect, but I am also beyond blessed.  I'm striving for balance and when I take a moment to look at my crazy little life, I'm truly living my dreams. My goals will come. Some will take time and patience and courage. . . .hope, and faith, but I will not give up.

"Fear knocked at the door,
Faith answered,
And no one was there."

Just A Worrier

Basically, all my life I overheard my Mom tell people "Oh, Melanie is just a worrier."  This was never said in a negative way or with any sort of judgment. It was always framed as a loving explanation of my individual character. So, I obviously believed that I was a worrier, after all, if my Mom said it, it had to be true. 

And I was. 

I knew that I worried, that I worried a lot, about all sorts of things, and I just rationalized that to some degree, I probably worried more than average because how else would I be referred to as "a worrier."  I never felt bad about that label. In fact, I just thought it was a healthy part of "my normal" (if that even makes sense). 

I remember as a young girl (probably for several years between 4 and 7) I could not sleep unless I had "Uni" (a stuffed unicorn- I just happened to be pretty obsessed with unicorns). Most of you are probably thinking that an attachment to something is relatively normal, however, for me, it was more that just an object of comfort.  There were nights that I know my mom spent hours looking for that silly white unicorn because I was sobbing and refused to go to be without it.  The reason I couldn't go to sleep without it? I was convinced that something terrible would happen if I did.  Something would happen to my mom or a million other terrifying things a child's mind could conjure.

While I just assumed that my fears were a normal part of being a worrier, my perception of my own worry and what that actually meant wouldn't even be challenged until I was well into adulthood.

Self discovery is a life long process and somehow I was completely oblivious to one key correlation that could have saved me literally years of pain, turmoil, and a battle to escape from the only way I had discovered how to cope (sort of).

Here's where things get a little personal (okay, a lot personal).  I beg, as I share my story, that each person who reads this will be compassionate.  I know that judgment is inevitable. I also know that of those reading this, some will not be surprised, some will be, and some will fall somewhere in between, but I have learned that hiding our struggles never helps anyone and it certainly did not help me when I was in the depths of it. So here is my dirty little secret (that is not dirty. I would not change my story because that would change who I am because of it).

As a senior in high school I was struggling.  There are a million reasons.  Millions of contributing factors.  I plan to share many of the "big ticket" events that I feel like led me to the place I was in later, but the key contributors to my struggle at that time were a perfect storm of worry, perfectionism, and lack of self esteem.  My world was about to be flipped upside down and I felt totally out of control.  The story is long and the details are even longer but one Sunday night after coming home from the farewell of one of my dear friends I made a choice that would dictate my next seven years.  In my search for something I could control, I completely relinquished what little control I had left. 

I had over eaten.

My stomach ached and as the perfect storm of things settled down on me, I made a choice.

I want to be perfectly clear that I take full responsibility for that choice.  It was a choice I never would have dreamed I would make, even in the moments before I made it.  I also want to be clear that, while there may be millions of reasons that I made that that choice, nothing and no one made me make it.

That Sunday night was when I entered my first major battle of a war I had been fighting my whole life.  My tactics were not good.  That battle was the first of countless other devastating fights I would wage over the next seven years and I was not prepared. 

How do you fight a war  you don't even understand?  I didn't do it very well.

I would battle varying forms of an Eating Disorder at varying degrees of severity for those next seven years. 

Putting those words in print is probably one of the scariest things I have ever done ( I will probably have some form of regret in the morning- fear that someone will no longer like me or that others will be disappointed because I'm not perfect enough, I'm broken, that they will try to use a label to define me, or that they will scrutinize every bite I take from now on, but in reality I have always been afraid of those things.  I will never be able to make everyone like me or make everyone happy and admitting my mistakes doesn't make me any less perfect than those who are continuing to hide theirs), but as terrifying as hitting the "post" button on this entry will be,  if it gives hope to one person, if it makes one person question their perception, if it can be a light to even one soul, then that is worth all the judgment and ridicule that may come my way.

Unlike the majority of people who battle eating disorders, I walk a very narrow line.  I didn't lose or gain extreme amounts of weight, I didn't isolate myself, and most of all I never got to a point where I wanted it, to a point when I didn't want to give it up.

I can tell you that starting on that first Sunday evening, with each symptomatic moment, I hated it.  I never wanted to do it again.  I promised myself I wouldn't.  But then, I would give in. . . and I would hate myself even more for it. 

After two years of constant failure, while I was in my sophomore year at Utah State, I finally sought professional help.  I had gone to a panel discussion on campus about eating disorders put on by a residential treatment center and I listened to their clients tell their stories.  The one thing that jumps out at me was that one girl said she had been fighting her battle for 7 years and it hit me like a rock. At that point, I was two years in and I could not imagine how horrific it would be to live in that turmoil for 7.  I made an appointment with the counseling center that day.

I was given a psychologist who specialized in my particular issue and also attended a body image group weekly. 

I wish that that is where my recovery began.  Sadly, being the perfectionist I am, I was fantastic at being a patient.  I was commended on my group participation and did well in my individual sessions.  I completed all of my assignments and was able to abstain from engaging in symptoms for almost 3 months while receiving treatment.  The problem was that nothing about me changed.  I was just doing what I had always done- exactly what was asked of me. 

At the end of those three months, my therapist told me that she felt like I was in a great place and that I no longer needed to come in. Great.

I'm not sure how long I lasted, but it wasn't long.  That deepened my despair and hopelessness.  All I could hear was a constant "you can't do this" and "you are not strong enough" and despite the deep ache that consumed every bone in my frame screaming for it to be over, I couldn't do it.

I continued to fight, but completely on my own.  I never told another soul (which, in retrospect only fed the problem).  I would have days or weeks or even an occasional month or so when I would do well, but it was always short lived and the despair would return. 

Looking back, the saddest part to me is that on the outside, I think I looked perfectly happy.  I had friends, good grades, dates, and adventures. I was involved in school and clubs and activities. I didn't look sick.  I was surrounded by people yet absolutely, deeply alone.

I graduated.  Got married to an incredible man.  Started working in my dream job (as a recreational therapy tech at a behavioral health center, helping others when I couldn't even help myself). And the storm continued to rage.

Two more years past.

Then, luckily (I actually don't believe in luck, more in divine intervention but starting a sentence with "divine intervention" doesn't flow as well), after a seven year battle (a battle that I was not winning) I stumbled into the office of someone who could draw a connection that had always been blatantly clear but that I had never even considered on my own. 

I found myself sitting on a couch in front of a wrangler clad man (who had to have been at least my fathers age) with a beard that would have rivaled Lorenzo Snow and whom was only wearing socks (a pair of tattered cowboy boots were nestled at the side of his dark walnut desk). In that first session, he just wanted to know about me.  Not about what I ate or how. Not about my current "symptoms." Just about me.

That is where the revelation came. My worry was not "just worry." My worry was not just an elevated version of other peoples normal.  My worry had a name and if I had only know that name, I would have been far better equipped to go into battle.  I already knew how to fight. I had the tools, the knowledge. I had spent 4 years studying and 2 more helping others wage the same war I had been fighting my whole life but because my war had been mislabeled (and I was to naïve or blind or clueless to put it together) I was losing and losing miserably.

Anxiety. I was anxious? All this time? Really?  All those moments of regret and guilt. Could it all be caused by one emotion? An emotion I didn't even realize I was experiencing because I just thought I was a "worrier?"

Over the next month and a half, this crazy, wonderful psychologist would scribble out unidentifiable diagrams on his legal pad, usually while sitting cross legged in his wool socks on the floor, explaining how my anxiety related to my world.  We never talked about my symptoms.  He never asked. But the things that I learned about myself, about how I relate and react to the world around me, allowed me to see in a way I had never been able to see.  That in turn, allowed me to challenge my view of my world.  Once I could identify when I was feeling anxious, I could discover what was causing me to feel that way and then I could face the cause head on.  Once that happened, I didn't have to turn to a coping strategy that was an escape for feeling out of control.

Divine intervention often strikes more than once and miracles began to happen.  I not only began to understand who I was but also what really mattered to me.  On a whim, I applied for another of my dream jobs as a Clinical Exercise Specialist for that same Residential Eating Disorder Treatment Center that had held the panel discussion I had attended nearly 5 years earlier.  Despite a hundred obstacles, I was offered the position and my amazing husband pushed me to pursue my dreams and we packed up our lives and moved to Logan. 

I believe that the timing had to be perfect.  Things had to happen on God's time, in his way, in order for my recovery to happen and I don't have a doubt in my mind that it was his hand that paved the way at precisely the right moment.

My psychologist encouraged me to take the position. My recovery was solidified at that moment. I knew within myself that I could not walk into that position and ask those girls to do something that I couldn't or wasn't willing to do.  It forced me remain in recovery because I couldn't lie to them.  I couldn't look them in the eye and expect them to recover if I wasn't willing to.  For the next two and a half years, every morning I made a choice.  That choice was to face my fears and anxieties without giving in to unhealthy coping mechanisms. 

It was not easy. It still is not easy.  It never will be easy. I will fight this war everyday for the rest of my life but at least now I know what I am fighting.  It has been five years since I engaged in self destructive eating behaviors and every moment, every hour, every day is a victory. 

We all have our demons in a very real way.  One of the few people who really knows each of us, knows our hearts, our strengths and our weaknesses is the person trying to set us up to fail.  He was our brother just as much as our Savior is and those who followed him were very likely our friends and loved ones. He is cunning and masterful, but he also has weakness and that is where we can win (and we CAN win!).

I had to learn to trust in my Heavenly Father. In His plan for me.  I do not believe that is was His plan for me to suffer through those tortuous seven years, but I do know that we have our trials to make us better, stronger, more compassionate, and more Christ-like people.  I would not trade those years because through that experience I have learned so many priceless things.  To rely on my Savior. To fall to my knees.  How if feels to feel hopeless AND that the stifling darkness DOES lift and the sun DOES shine again. I have learned how to love others who are facing similar struggles because I have been through it and I could give advice and hope that I could never have understood without going through it. 

I have a lot planned for this blog and I welcome your questions and suggestions.  If you can gain only one thing from my story, I pray that it is a message of hope.

My heart breaks for the time I wasted in misery.  For the path that one choice led me down; but the JOY, the breathtaking, soul shaking, love until it hurts JOY that I have in my life is worth every stumble and face plant in the mud and trudging, heavy, painful step forward that it took to get here.  Life is HARD. It is meant to be.  Whatever your challenge, that is your test and there is definitely something to be said about ENDURING to the end but don't let the enduring over shadow the beauty.

We are children of a Heavenly Father whose love is beyond what we could even comprehend (and if you are a parent, you have a tiny glimpse of what His love is like). His plan for you is beautiful but it is most likely not the plan you have envisioned for yourself.  Just have a little faith, and if you can't find that faith, then have a little hope.