Team Three, ya'all.
I have a few stories today.
First off, and this is not really a story, just an observation that the whole world will be deeply interested in -- Katelyn Jill has a real passion for Diet soda. I would go so far as to call it a massive passion -- a passion so deep and true that it's actually almost a problem for the little pudding pop. And let us just say for the record, I (who used to drink at least two sodas pretty much every day of my life) hardly ever have soda pop. That's not a lie, man. Like, once a month, maybe. But today is one of those days. It is a flat soda, mind you -- it was from last night. But that just doesn't matter to either myself or Kate the Great. She doesn't care. She just loves it. Slurp. Slurp. Slurp the whole thing up. She is not interested in sharing. She is interested in ingesting that baby before someone else does. This passion makes me think of my Grandma, who thought Coke was the beginning and end in luscious drinks. Despite their shared passion, I don't think Granny would approve of my sharing my drink with Kate. But I would just have to say "Grandma, I learned from the best."
Late last night I was in bed with the classic headache and "please let me barf" feeling. It wasn't a migraine, let us be clear here. Just the worst headache in the world. The I-can't-stop-this-moan-even-though-I-know-it's-pathetic-and-I'm-not-even-doing-it-for-sympathy kind. When even 'The Office' is like grating your knuckles on a cheese grater. When the light your darling, beloved husband is using to cross-stitch is actually a torture device. It is much better now, although sort of lurking there behind my right eyeball saying "give me the opportunity, baby, and I'll come back and ATTACK!" This is how I know it's sort of evil in it's designs. A righteous headache would simply float away into oblivion, saying "I'm sorry, this isn't a good time? I'll go now." I think this headache needs to repent. The real reason I share this riveting tale is because of my awesome dreams thanks to this sinner. All. Night. Long. I dreamed that I was at a poetry reading, and it was very painful poetry. But there were two boys and my young woman Mikayla that read their poetry in sort of hip-hop fashion, and if they did that, the pain would let up a little. So I would ask them to read their poetry again and again and again but their voices were tired, man. Thankfully, and because Mikayla is just this kind, they kept reading. And then I woke up.
Yesterday the Double B and I had a good talk. I finally felt ready to express myself. Do you ever have that problem? Probably not. But I was not well, and ALL bottled up. But finally, finally I could sit in front of him and say "Dearest, I'm ready to talk now." And then spend the next fifteen minutes conceptualizing on why I have not felt well and what I need to feel better. The Double B is kind of fun to watch when this type of spewing is taking place, because his eyeballs say it all. Trying to follow -- now that's funny -- trying to follow -- oh honey, why would you think that way -- trying to follow -- don't you know I need you, too -- trying to follow. We have made the commitment to each other that in this crazy time of our lives, when there are many people that need us, and somewhere we're supposed to be every stinking night -- we are going to MAKE time for each other. Even when there isn't time, we will find it. And I felt so much better just knowing that in all the people that need me, I need him. And he'll be there. He needs me, too. And needing each other doesn't make us weaker, but stronger as a unit, so we should nurture that and grow stronger, not weaker, especially in this totally unique time in our life together.
I'd started to feel like I was scraping the bottom of the barrel. Does that make sense? Like -- the barrel was empty -- but people I love and admire and care for would come to me, needing more meal -- so I would go to the empty barrel, scrape the bottom, and somehow there was some meal in there for that person. But then the barrel was empty again, and I kept feeling afraid that the next time there wouldn't be more. I already knew that's when faith comes in, because as we know thanks to that darling Old Testament, if it's needed, there will always be meal. But thankfully, now I feel like someone will help me pour in the meal, so it might feel low but it won't be empty. And I appreciate that. A. Lot.
Last night I had the awesome opportunity to take my girls to the temple again for Baptisms for the Dead. I don't know when I've ever felt so relieved to be within the walls of the temple, so sheltered and thankful for the deep peace that is there and feels sort of like some marvelous neosporin when you really need it. I love my girls so much. And there were three new Beehives, there for the first time, and that's so exciting! I sat in the waiting room, and the Lord and I were having a conversation. I said thanks to Him for the relief of sitting there and feeling that balm of Gilead. And I said "I know I'm not in balance, and I know I need thee to guide me. I know thou wilt help me, and that I just have to be able to listen. So if you could help me listen, I would really appreciate it."
The spirit whispered to my mind that I should read the story about Mary and Martha in the New Testament. So I got up and walked to the Bible sitting a few rows up. I've never totally understood that story, at least in relation to myself, but I wanted to see what it could teach me at this moment of my life. As Luke tells it:
"Now it came to pass, as they went, that he entered into a certain village: and a certain woman named Martha received him into her house. And she had a sister named Mary, which also sat at Jesus' feet, and heard his word. But Martha was cumbered about much serving, and came to him, and said, Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? bid her therefore that she help me.
And Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: But one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her."
The footnotes put the Greek translation of careful as "worried," by the way.
I read through that story several times.
And I can imagine the Savior saying to me "Marie, Marie" -- in the most loving, patient, kind, I'm your best buddy type of way -- because I've learned something really important to me, and that's that I don't bug him with all my specialness, He does really like me -- saying it to me like "Listen carefully, I promise I will help you with what I'm going to say now."
So I'm listening, you know?
And he says "Marie, Marie, thou art careful and troubled about many things: But one thing is needful" and it's to choose the good part. To sit down at his feet and let Him teach me the good part.
Because I know He will teach me.
And maybe I don't need to be so careful, worried, and troubled about so many things. Maybe I don't need to be so cumbered about. I just need to do the thing that is needful. I just need to choose that good part.
I know He can help me do it. I know He believes in me.
So, that's it. It was a pretty great experience, I had that shake thing I do sometimes when I'm about to ugly cry because I read something in the scriptures that speaks so forcefully to my spirit that it's a ripple of pure knowledge. But I kept it together, man.
Let's be honest: usually, I would write this experience in my small plates, and keep it for myself so the Lord knows I value it. But today, he said I should share it.
So I did.