La Vie Est Bonne

I’ve got a friend who’s going to nursing school. I think she’ll make a fantastic nurse, and I’m really proud of her. Yesterday we chatted about her graduation (next May), and I’m going to fly out there to share that moment with her.

I’ve been thinking about this. Do you ever have friends send you those surveys with questions such as, “Do you like your handwriting?” (yes, usually); “Do you have any tattoos?” (no, and I don’t  want any); and ”Do you believe you can be anything you want to be?”

While the first two questions are, for me, easily answered with just a few words, the third question there leads me to a lot of introspection. See, I think that answer is “no.” I might want to be a nuclear physicist, but it’s not going to happen. God did not gift me with the ability to understand and comprehend the things that a nuclear physicist needs to understand. I can do basic math. I understand a little about science. But that’s as far as it goes. Let’s just say that I’d never have graduated university if my wonderful husband hadn’t taken the time to tutor me in math, and thank goodness for Astronomy for Dummies 101 (at least the first semester with the TA instructor; the second semester class that was taught by a rocket scientist–literally–was a lot harder to pass).  So no matter how much I might want to be that nuclear physicist, it would not be a practical dream.

Maybe I want to be a movie star. Maybe I hope and dream about it, and plan out my Oscar acceptance speeches (okay, I’ll confess to the latter, having accepted Oscars in the categories of best screenplay, best adaptation, and best actress in a fantasy or twenty). Here again, I’m talking about a dream that’s not practical for me. I’m an okay actor, I suppose; I’ve been in a grand total of three plays, and one of them took place when I was in 3rd grade. Yeah, the last play I got a writing credit, and I got to make people cry and it was fantastic, but it drained me. After weeks and weeks of rehearsals and immersing myself in the tragedies taking place in Ciudad Juarez, I spent at least a solid week crying every time I had a moment to myself. I don’t know how to use my voice properly; in the last few shows I was getting hoarse. Acting on stage is a great experience, one I’m incredibly grateful to have had, but I don’t want it to be my life. So here again, being a movie star isn’t going to happen. I don’t have the ability or enough desire to bring that to fruition.

I could go on and on. I want to be lieutenant governor of the state of Texas. I want to be an archaeologist. I once wanted to be a psychiatrist, because I’m fascinated by the human mind. That last ambition is particularly humourous, as I recall sharing it with my 10th grade biology teacher the semester I walked into his class every day during the dissection units, only to be sent to the office because I was boycotting dissection. Not for any moral reasons, either; I was just squeamish. Okay, I still am. So here are some more things that I might want to become but can’t.

I’ll bring it closer to home. I want to be a mother. Want it so desperately that it hurts sometimes. But it wasn’t part of God’s plan for my life. I had stage 4 endometriosis. That means that I was in constant pain and it was completely impossible for me to get pregnant without serious medical intervention. That failed, and after a lot of prayer and pondering I chose to have a hysterectomy. And we thought of, and talked about, and prayed regarding, adoption. The answers to those prayers were a loving “no.” And I wondered and wondered about that. What is the purpose of my life, if I can’t be a mother?

What a silly question! Maybe the purpose of my life is to teach people that you won’t get everything you want, but that doesn’t mean you won’t have a good life.  Right now I will tell you that I’ve never felt more blessed. My husband and I have a deep love for each other. We have two dogs to take care of, and who bring a lot of joy into our home. We have a roof over our heads, food to eat, jobs, responsibilities. We have incredible families, loving friends. I have books to read, movies to watch, songs to sing. I have the internet, which lets me sit here and record my thoughts for anyone interested enough to read them. 

So okay, I’m blessed. Still, what about the question? Do I believe you can become anything you want to be? No. I don’t. But life can still be great. 

What does all this rambling have to do with my friend? While she, like most people, has her moments when she weeps over something that is not, or cannot be, she doesn’t sit on a couch and stuff bonbons into her mouth while she bemoans her sorry existence. No, she gets up and goes to college to study a field that utilizes her gifts and abilities. She works in a field related to her planned career. She has looked into options after graduation. She shares her knowledge with others. Every day of her life, she blesses somebody.

Is she doing what she always thought she wanted? I don’t know. Is she doing a great work? Absolutely. And that’s why I want to be there next May. I want her to know how proud I am of her, and how much I admire her dedication not only to nursing, but to living a good life.

And in case this isn’t flowing smoothly, I’ll add that it’s 4:38 a.m. and I’ve been up since 6 a.m. yesterday. I got home around 3:30 a.m. after a “shut-up-and-read” party with my sisters and couldn’t sleep until I uploaded some of the data in my brain.

Just Thinking

I didn’t mean to go this long without updating here. But you know what they say about life: it’s what happens while you’re busy making plans.

About 6 weeks ago, I was diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder and put on two new medications. I turned out to be incredibly allergic to one of them, and spent a miserable week scratching any part of my body I could reach, missed two and a half days of work, and had a lovely trip to the emergency room.  Then two weeks ago today I was put on a different medication. I’m not, thank goodness, allergic to this one. But it has seriously messed up my sleeping schedule. Due to the rash one weekend, being out of town the next weekend, and sleep problems the next two weekends, I’ve missed church. And I HATE missing church. I long to be there.  I’ve kept adjusting the time I take the medications, but am still having incredible problems with it. A friend of mine is in nursing school, and she is looking them up to see if she can help me figure out the best time to take them that will interfere the least with my sleep schedule.

Today’s been a horrible day, and I’ve spent much of it either in tears or on the verge of tears. There’s no good reason for it that I can figure out; I’m just tired and drained. I asked Joe if we could go to a movie after I got off work, and we went to see Mamma Mia!  I loved it, loved the music and performances, but I still sat there and blubbered like a baby. Seeing the interaction between the mother and daughter just killed me.

If Heavenly Father had tried, I don’t know what trial He could have given me that would have been such a painful one as infertility. It’s just agonizing. I don’t want to be, and don’t think I am, a woman who sits around and cries all the time because she can’t have what she wants. I’ve worked very hard to find the blessings in my life–and there are many–that I have specifically because of the infertility.  But there are those times when it hits me hard right in the gut, and I feel like I can’t catch my breath, and it hurts so much to know that I’m not a mother, I won’t be a mother, not in this life. 

I’ve got a very good friend, whom I love dearly, and it looks like she is finally pregnant. This is her second round of IVF, and she used her frozen embryos. I wanted this for her as much as I wanted it for myself, and I’m excited and truly happy for her. And I feel like such a selfish little whiny crybaby that as I’m writing her to share her joy, this little thing inside me says that I just wish I could have it for me, too. I never want to take it away from anyone else. I never want anyone to have to deal with infertility. It almost takes away from everything you ever thought about yourself, everything you ever dreamed and hoped for. It makes you wonder if you’d be a bad parent, and that’s why you can’t have kids, until you see so many bad parents out there. Children aren’t given to people as a reward for good behaviour, nor are they withheld as a punishment for bad behaviour.

Whenever I think about this, and think about how important the act of creation to me is (and it’s desperately important, which is why I write, why I bake, why I cook), I keep coming back to the words of a primary song.

My life is a gift; My life has a plan. My life has a purpose; in Heav’n it began. My choice was to come to this lovely home on earth; and seek for God’s light to direct me from birth.”  (”I Will Follow God’s Plan,” Children’s Songbook 164-165)

Getting the diagnosis of Bipolar II Disorder didn’t change me. It just put a label on some things that describe me. Being infertile didn’t change me. I’m still myself, still Faith, still a daughter of God, still a daughter, sister, wife, mother. And I know that as empty as my arms feel right now as I long to hold my children, that’s how full they will be on the other side of the veil when I get to hold them for the first time.  There is a purpose to my existence. There is a plan for me. I don’t have to know what the plan is. I just have to trust in my Heavenly Father and be obedient, and I will fulfill that plan as I go.

Redemption

I love the gospel of John. One of the most beautiful exchanges contained therein pertains to Simon Peter and Jesus Christ. It begins at the Last Supper, when Christ is teaching his disciples before he leaves.

Simon Peter said unto him, Lord, whither goest thou? Jesus answered him, Whither I go, thou canst not follow me now; but thou shalt follow me afterwards. Peter said unto him, Lord, why cannot I follow thee now? I will lay down my life for thy sake. Jesus answered him, Wilt thou lay down thy life for my sake? Verily, verily, I say unto thee, The cock shall not crow, till thou hast denied me thrice. (John 13:36-38)

And as we know, that’s exactly what happens. After Jesus is taken, Peter and John wait at the palace of the high priest.

But Peter stood at the door without. Then went out that other disciple, which was known unto the high priest, and spake unto her that kept the door, and brought in Peter. Then saith the damsel that kept the door unto Peter, Art not thou also one of this man’s disciples? He saith, I am not. (John 18:16-17)

And Simon Peter stood and warmed himself. They said therefore unto him, Art not thou also one of his disciples? He denied it, and said, I am not. One of the servants of the high priest, being his kinsman whose ear Peter cut off, saith, Did not I see thee in the garden with him? Peter then denied again: and immediately the cock crew. (John 18:25-27)

John does not record this, but one of the other gospels reports that Peter “wept bitterly” upon realizing that he had in truth thrice denied the Saviour.

After his resurrection, Jesus shows himself to the disciples several times.

So when they had dined, Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him, Feed my lambs. He saith unto him again the second time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him, Feed my sheep. He saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? Peter was grieved because he said unto him the third time, Lovest thou me? And he said unto him, Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed my sheep. (John 21:15-17)

Thrice Peter denied Christ. And thrice Christ gave him the opportunity to assert his love, and instructed him on how best to show his love. Feed his sheep. And who are his sheep?

The man who cut you off in traffic when you were late to work. The tired-looking woman pushing the grocery cart with three kids at her heels. Your boss. Your newspaper carrier. Your brother. Your sister. Your parents. Your next-door neighbour who doesn’t like your dogs, and the guy down the block who comes by every few weeks to ask if he can cut your lawn. Your best friend. Your worst enemy.

Feed his sheep.

  

Abundant Blessings

Sorry to take such a long time between posts. It’s been a busy week, albeit a very good one as well. I met with my bishop on Friday afternoon, and accepted a calling to be Relief Society pianist. I’m excited about it. I love playing piano, and love Relief Society, so it’s a plethora of good things all mixed together.

Joe and I went to church together yesterday morning, which was absolutely lovely. I bore my testimony for the first time in quite some time, and was set apart after the meetings. We then spent much of the day sharing scriptures, talking, etc. He pulled out one of his mission scrapbooks and was reminiscing about the high and low points of his mission. We also watched a documentary about The Screwtape Letters that was quite interesting.

Sorry to be so brief, but time is short. I’ll be back to update more shortly. Have a great day!

Moses and Christ

In the day of Moses, the Jewish people in Egypt were looking for a deliverer, someone who would free them from their oppressions. Pharaoh ordered the midwives to slay all the male sons of the Jews, but the midwives refused. He then ordered his people to save the newborn girls, but to cast every newborn male into the river. When the mother of Moses saw that he was “a goodly child,” she managed to hide him for 3 months. At last, fearful for his safety, she prepared a water-tight basket and placed it at the bank of the river, where it was found by Pharaoh’s daughter, who had come to the river to wash herself.

Some years later, the grown Moses fled into the desert after he slew an Egyptian who was beating a Hebrew. He married and settled down until the fateful day that he was led into the mountain where he saw a bush that was burning but not consumed. There he spoke with God. God told him that Israel was crying out for relief from their oppression, and Moses was to be the means whereby the Hebrews would be freed.

Moses returned to Egypt and contended with Pharoah, who continued to harden his heart. Plagues fell upon Egypt: the river turned to blood, Egypt was overrun with frogs, with lice, and with flies; the cattle of Egypt died, but the cattle of Israel did not die; the people and animals were stricken with boils; God sent hail mingled with fire; locusts swarmed over Egypt; and three days of palpable darkness followed the locusts, after Pharoah’s heart remained hardened. At last the ultimate plague was sent: the firstborn of Egypt, from the firstborn of Pharaoh himself to the firstborn of the lowliest of servants, as well as the firstborn of the animals, would die. But the firstborn of Israel would not die, that Pharoah might know that God had set a distinction upon Israel.

At last, after this great calamity befellEgypt and Pharaoh’s firstborn son was dead, he at last relented and sent Israel on its way.  Later Pharaoh was angered and his heart was again hardened, and he and his men went to recapture the Jews.  But God had not finished working miracles. The sea parted, and Israel walked across on dry land. As the Egyptians began to follow them, the water returned to its accustomed course and the chariots and horses of the Egyptians were drowned in the depths of the sea.

On Mount Sinai, God gave Moses the commandments, and instructed him in what became known as the law of Moses. Because of disobedience, Israel wandered for 40 years in the desert, but at last they entered their Promised Land.

From that time until the time of Christ, the faithful members of the house of Judah followed the law of Moses. When Christ began his ministry, the Jews were again enslaved. They were ruled by the tyrant Herod, a pawn of the Roman emperor. They, too, longed for a deliverer, a Moses, someone who would smite their enemies and free them of their oppressors.

But just as the laws of Christ are higher laws than those of Moses, so too was the deliverance that he brought. Jesus Christ gives his people redemption and eternal life. He offers exaltation. He gave himself as the sacrificial lamb to pay the price for our sins. He has redeemed us, and we are his. After his crucifixion and death, the veil of the temple was rent in twain, from the top to the bottom, and the law of Moses was done away.

Moses was truly a great man, a great prophet, and he laboured diligently to serve the Lord and to free Israel. When Christ came, the Messiah, people were expecting another Moses. They didn’t know that they got something even better.

I don’t know why this hit me with such great force right now. I was just watching a documentary debate about Jesus, and it suddenly dawned on me. I had to stop what I was doing and write it down so as not to lose the thought. The gifts Jesus has to give us are better than the greatest good that had hitherto existed. I must be sure not to reject it because it is not what I expected.

Life is hard. It’s full of challenges and sorrow and grief. But it’s also easy if we but follow the Lord. Easy doesn’t, I think, have the same sense we traditionally apply. It doesn’t mean it’ll be a walk in the park on a sunny day. I think easy means that we know what to do. We know how to do it. We have someone who has paid the ultimate price for us, and he offers it to us freely. It means that in those hard and painful times, he has felt our every sorrow, our every grief. He knows us more intimately than we perhaps know ourselves.

I’ll never forget one day when I was having a meltdown. It was before I was married, I think even before I knew Joe. And I was storming around my little basement apartment yelling at Heavenly Father out of hurt and sorrow and frustration, wanting to know why I hadn’t been brought up in the church, why I’d had so many horrible things happen to me, why everything had to be so hard. And I was crying, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. And then the Holy Ghost whispered a scripture to me: “Know thou, my daughter, that all these things shall give the experience and shall be for thy good. The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than He?”  And instantly I felt peace. And every time since, when I’ve cried out in desperation, “O God, where art thou, and where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?” I am again reminded of that incident. He is there. He is always there. I know it. I feel it. He is there.

An Insatiable Hunger

“If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.” (C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity)

When I read this tonight, I had to stop immediately and make a note of it. Every now and then I have felt an insatiable hunger for something I couldn’t identify, a deep longing for a home that I couldn’t remember. Lewis puts it perfectly, to my way of thinking.

I have a lot on my mind, so this post may seem garbled and confusing. Feel free to ignore it. I’m just trying to sort things out in my head.

First of all, the opposition I’ve encountered since I made the decision to get back onto the path I know to be right is just so–I can’t even find a word to describe it. Aarrgh! You know? Just, aargh!

Like one night I was watching a DVD with the Oscar-nominated shorts from a few years ago. The first film was the hilarious West Bank Story, and if you haven’t seen it, you totally should. The second film was called The Saviour, and it very quickly became apparent that it was mocking out Christianity, and to anyone who knows anything about the LDS faith, specifically our faith. I tried to get back to the menu. It wouldn’t let me. I tried to skip to the next movie. It looked like it would let me, and then went back to replay that stupid film again. I took the DVD out of the player, put it back in, got to the menu, and it wouldn’t let me do anything but play that film. So I took it back out, put it back in the niftly little envelope and shipped the DVD back to Netflix forthwith.  

Then when I was at the library on Monday, I picked up a book on secret societies that looked as if it might be interesting. Yesterday when I opened it up to read it, a page or so into the introduction the author starts talking about her career as a renowned psychic and how her spirit guide helps her. I immediately shut the book and tossed it into the back seat of the car in disgust. I haven’t read anything by psychics, or I suppose her name would have set off alarm bells for me. But another book I read this year was allegedly given to the author by her spirit guide.

I won’t have anything to do with that stuff. Period. Not at all. And it’s infuriating to see how my best efforts have these stupid little rocks thrown onto my path in an effort to trip me up. It’s not a temptation to me, as I don’t find that stuff desirable. But it’s like this reminder that I really messed up, and I’m never going to be able to walk through life without having those reminders pop up. “Hey, Faith, you did this! Hey, Faith, you did that! Doesn’t matter what you’re doing now, because you are bad, bad, bad!” And I know I’m not.

Someone very close to me frequently reminds me of all the mistakes I’ve done since we’ve known each other, and it’s like a knife wound when this person does it. “I’ve just got to vent,” s/he says, and I’m left wondering who I’m supposed to vent to. I don’t remind this person of everything s/he has done wrong since we’ve known each other, and why is it acceptable to have it done to me? But this person doesn’t get it. And it really hurts. Of course I’ve done things wrong. And I have done/am doing everything I can to repent. I’ve confessed them to the person(s) I hurt, I talked to my bishop about them, I’ve prayed, I’ve done everything I can to make it right, inasmuch as that’s possible, I’m humbling myself, I feel true sorrow for my wrongs. But does humbling myself mean that I have to let myself be verbally whipped whenever someone feels the need to remind me about my wrongs? What do I do? How do I handle it? I’d appreciate any advice here, because this is really troubling me.  It’s like the person thinks that I don’t feel bad enough, and I need to be punished some more.

Okay, another big thing on my mind right now: my husband has told me, not unjustly, that I’m like a pendulum, swinging from one extreme to another. He’s right. I am. I’ve been that way all my life. I don’t know how to not be that way. Ask my mother–she’ll tell you about the 3 years that I listened to no music except the Beatles, or the 2 or 3 years I read everything written by, for, or about F. Scott Fitzgerald. I’ll get a bee in my bonnet about something, and it is in my nature to study everything I can on that subject until I get saturated or bored, and then I’m off to something else. I think my husband thinks my newfound recommitment to my faith is one of those pendulum swings. He sees me reading the scriptures every night, cleaning up my language, going to church, praying–and thinks it’s one of the fads. I’ve told him that it terrified me to realize how far I’d strayed, and right now I really am immersing myself in the things of the gospel as a shield and an armour so that I can protect myself.

That doesn’t mean I don’t ever listen to music that’s not church music. It doesn’t mean I never read anything except books written by the general authorities, or the scriptures. It does mean that I hear things I’d not noticed before, or see things that I was formerly blinded to. Compromise can be a good thing. It can also be a really bad thing. I’d compromised my beliefs, and walked blindly off the path that leads to life eternal as a result. I don’t want to do that again. I’m choosing to follow Christ, and to obey the teachings of the prophets. There’s nothing more to be said. I choose this.

I feel like I disappoint almost everyone in my life, whether I’m trying to do the right thing or whether I’m not. And it stings and it hurts when they cut me with their words. But I choose whom I will serve, and I will serve according to the dictates of my conscience. And if I’m meek and quiet when people say or do hurtful things, that doesn’t necessarily make it right. I’ve punished myself enough, and I don’t think it’s right for anyone else to try to punish me further. What happened when the prodigal son went home? He was welcomed with open arms and a feast was held in his honour. His brother was jealous because he had never strayed, and his father said that all he had was his, but his brother, who was lost, was found. Why can’t the people who need to hurt me so they can vent or unload or whatever they want to call it instead be glad that I’m not lost anymore?

Normally when I write something this disjointed, I’d go back and try to fix it up. I’m not going to this time, If you’ve made it this far, thank you for listening.

Reflections

Back when I changed my name, started trying to be true to myself, etc., I think I may have thrown out the baby with the bathwater. I was so determined to quit trying to be a perfect Mormon housewife just for the sake of fitting in that I also foolishly quit doing things I genuinely enjoyed. 

It’s kind of like when I first met Joe. All my friends were telling me how perfect we would be together, and I was so annoyed that I’d made up my mind not to like him and not to go out with him. It finally occurred to me that not doing something just because everyone was telling me I should was as foolish as doing what they said for that reason only. So I decided to go out with him and see what happened. And the rest, as they say, is history.

So right now what I don’t have is money to spare. What I do have is plenty of flour. I bought a jar of yeast a few days ago for less than the cost of a single loaf of bread. And now I have two loaves of bread in loaf pans, sitting on the stove, covered with a dishcloth, silently doing their work and rising. In another couple of hours, I’ll have two loaves of piping hot bread, and I’m going to slice off the heel of one loaf, slather it with butter and jam, and thank my Heavenly Father for blessing us.

I do like to cook, and bake. I’ve let myself get so busy with other things that I forgot about those small pleasures. And since we followed the counsel of the prophets, at least in this one thing, we have plenty of food storage from which I can prepare good meals. I spent about $9 today at the farmers’ market on some fresh peaches, an apple, some green beans, some cherries, and a nice onion. Dinner tonight will be stir-fried vegetables with strips of steak left over from last night.

I also realized that even though I declared a moratorium on crafts those years ago, I actually do enjoy doing some crafts. And does it really matter if I can’t do something perfectly, or if it doesn’t measure up to what I’d wanted to do? Why should I let my perfectionist standards keep me from doing something badly, as long as I enjoy doing it?

So I’m back to allowing that part of myself back out into the light, and I may be baking more and I may make some jam and I may do some dreadful crafts. And as long as the bread’s good and there’s light and life and love in my house, that’ll be just fine.

Disguised Blessings

Joe lost his cell phone this weekend. Such a bald statement that evokes none of the drama that took place at our house. We don’t use a landline at home, and Joe is on the road at least 45 weeks out of the year for his job. Our cell phones are our lifeline. 

Usually when something is missing, I pray, and we find whatever it is within a few minutes. And I have been praying about that phone since I got home from church on Sunday to find that he’d lost it. Since faith without works is dead, I, Faith (haha) was working diligently to back up my prayers by searching everywhere I could think of. No luck.

Joe’s been on vacation this week, and he’s continued searching for the phone. Again, no luck. So today he bit the bullet and went to get a new phone. The new phone cost something like $57, and there’s a $50 mail-in rebate, and they gave him a $70 credit on our bill, but he needed to buy a new protective carrying case thingie, so we’re ahead about $30. From losing his phone, we gain money. Go figure.

And there are some other disguised blessings that we’re seeing right now. We’ve been paying ghastly amounts of money for our cable tv service. He doesn’t use it (see paragraph a, above), and I virtually never watch television. We do need to keep our internet service, but he can voucher that as a work expense, since he uses it for work related purposes. I’ve been paying for Net*flix out of my personal allowance, and we’ve decided to keep that.  I talked to the cable company today, and am arranging to cancel the cable television service and keep only the internet. So a bill that was costing us about $150 a month has now effectively shrunk to $20 out of pocket for us.

We’ve been having I*R*S problems this week. Well, the problems have been ongoing for a while, but they reached a head this week. But because of the problems, I think we’re actually going to come out better because it’s forcing us to work together on the whole budget issue. The budget has been in his hands the last couple of years, but we’ve been rather cavalier about the whole things, beyond making sure that our obligations are met and that we’re diligently paying down the credit cards.

So it’s been a terrible, awful, no good, very bad week. And yet, it’s been a wonderful, beautiful, blessed, lovely week at the same time. It’s a mystery.

Dive In

Have you ever gone to the beach or a swimming pool on a really hot day? You really want to get into that refreshing water, but it seems so cold in contrast to the heat.

There are usually two ways to get in the water. The first way involves sticking in a toe or two, quickly withdrawing it because the water’s so cold. Then you try again, putting a little more of your foot into the water. Lather, rinse, and repeat until you’ve finally managed, with a lot of shivering and gasps, to get yourself all the way into the water.

The other way is faster and, in the long run, a lot less painless.  You hold your nose and jump. The initial blast of cold water can temporarily take your breath away, but only for a moment, and then you’re splashing around having a lot of fun.

That’s how I feel about getting back into church. I want to just dive in and do it. I get to enjoy it longer, and don’t have all the painful adjustments to go through. I’m just there. And the water feels great.