Introduction

For quite some time now, I have been thinking about my conversion story.  I'm sure a major reason for that is that the talks at church have all been focused on that individual's conversion to the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  But even before our kind bishop was inspired to ask members to share, I have spent many moments pondering on my faith journey: how I have been molded in the fires of affliction and why I behave the way I do.  

My mother asked me to write her story, I have drafts of my story of an abusive marriage and divorce and another about experiences our family had when we learned of Trent's adoption.  I was on a roll writing until I attended the LDS Storymaker's Conference and met with an editor.  I was told that nowadays, when a publisher considers taking on a new author, they look at their social media connections.  I have been ambivalent, not knowing if I could put myself out there and be vulnerable. 

I'm sure my children could recite much of what I hope to share here by heart.  I think you get to a certain age and you forget who you've told what to or even the number of times you've told it. 

I think your kids get to a certain age and they hear much of what you say like the teacher in Charlie Brown cartoons: an annoying noise in the background with words that are not at all discernable.

Lately, I've also wondered if I'm doing with my life what God would have me do.  I've raised four of five children successfully to adulthood with none of them moving out before they turned 18.  Since I moved out at 17, the fall of my junior year of high school that felt like a big accomplishment.

I'm one year away now from having child number 5 graduate and turn 18.  Last Christmas, I came home from visiting my one married child, her husband and my two grandchildren on the east coast to find my world had shifted.  Daughter #3 had gotten engaged and daughter #4 had a boyfriend.  At the time, we were 6 weeks from Daughter #2 getting married.  A few week's later, my one and only son and oldest child had a girlfriend that he has become inseparable from.   Suddenly, instead of being able to set a date and time and have my kids be there, I was having to coordinate between five other families.  The word bittersweet was created for moments like this.  

Perhaps this blog is an effort to fill the quietness that fills much of my days as a stay at home mom with a part-time private practice in Speech Language Pathology and Summer Swim School Business.  I've filled much of it with volunteerism and yet something has been missing.  A friend and neighbor labeled that feeling as Divine Discontent.  The feeling that somehow I need to be doing more with the time I have on this earth.

So to the first lesson:  Life is Fragile