Through my eyes at 50

When I was 13, it never occurred to me that I would be alive at age 50.  A little short sighted perhaps, but I thought I may not live beyond age 22.  Maybe that was due to all the near misses as I slammed into moving vehicles while bolting from between parked cars to cross the busy arterial near our home. My guardian angel worked overtime during those years.  I could contribute it to the multiple playing of My Turn on Earth on our stereo phonograph particularly the incessant repeats of “Where is Heaven?” and feeling “homesick”. Perhaps it was because I couldn't visualize life beyond marriage in the temple. Isn’t temple marriage the ultimate goal of a young LDS girl? 

The decision to marry or where to marry was never really a question.  It was to whom?  Would it be to my current boyfriend or someone “waiting” out there for me?  I truly had some romantic notions about this mysterious man who was still a boy preparing to marry a girl just like me.  Oh he would be perfect, flawless, and look past all my inadequacies because our love was all that really mattered as long as we were obedient to our Heavenly Father and kept his commandments.  It was quite simple actually.

Complications arose while leaving home and learning to live as my own person. I had always been a daughter or girlfriend, or friend, and being myself was quite another matter.  It was as though the floor had dropped from beneath me and I was subject to wind, clouds, and even for brief moments floating in sunshine.  I, who always felt and was perceived as grounded was suddenly in flight and it scared me. I didn’t know who I was.  I relied on the basics; my testimony, my family, and my friends. But these things kept changing.  I believed in God and the teachings of Latter-day Saint faith, but I hadn’t invested in coming to know my Savior.  I loved my family and perceived my parents to be supremely virtuous people and my siblings to be in complete harmony with them.  As my awareness of family dysfunction increased, my grief over the loss of an idyllic perception haunted me. Friendships were budding, evolving, and dissolving in quick succession.  In short, my cocooned sheltered world had been shredded and I was desperately searching for a limb to climb, always afraid I’d learn it was attached to the wrong tree.  I became immobilized.

By the grace of God I survived intact physically, though emotionally I felt battered. At the height of my vulnerability I returned home and then prepared for an LDS mission. I had to regain focus and the church was the one steady course in my existence. The mission proved to be an extended emotional rollercoaster and I remained in a confused state through college until I married. Relieved, I landed once again. I had finally made it.  I had fulfilled the plan.

Little did I realize that marriage and family was the testing ground in earnest. I had neglected to plan what came next, thinking that it would all flow naturally.  I aspired effortlessly to be the perfect wife, companion, mother, homemaker, and church member. After all I was college prepared, a returned missionary, and an idealist. I had no inclination of the time, labor, and commitment this next phase of living would require of me. 

My husband was equally romantic in his perception of marriage, long refused to acknowledge that we had any shortcomings, either of us.  I was keenly aware that we were flawed.  I didn’t know how to plan menus, budget, or even run a home and was busy working to put myself and my husband through school.  My husband though highly ambitious hadn’t learned how to study, manage time, or budget with someone else’s desires in mind. So we did what we knew how to do.  Childbirth was elusive, so we spent our time working, indulging our appetites, and doing things that others might enjoy in their retirement like gardening, developing hobbies, enjoying pets and home ownership, skiing, and socializing.

Bearing children was our mutual desire, though providentially children did not come until we had crossed a few rough waters together.  When we moved to the Spokane Valley, we began talking of a future family in earnest.  Our friends, some in similar childlessness, had begun forming their families and introduced us to the possibility of adoption.  Learning an infant available through the state foster adopt program, we completed the required training, prepared out home, and set a course to pursue placement.  Prayer and recollection of dreams of a brown eyed girl confirmed that this was an approved path to follow.  Two more children, both boys, quickly joined our family, followed by a 3 week old girl. Instant parenthood of an 8 month old, a 1 ½ year old, a five year old, and a baby within four years was overwhelming to me. Adding both complication and assistance my parents also lived in our home. 
Once again I floundered on almost every level and I tried to establish a footing. I moved things constantly in and out of our home.  I rearranged rooms, furniture, plantings in the yard, and scheduled therapies for the children. Some of the children baulked and sabotaged any attempt at establishing routine, while others screamed for order and predictability.  We were in constant flux and chaos.  I was faultfinding with myself, my spouse, my children, and my parents.  In short, I was flailing. Perceived strengths in communication flew out the window as I yelled and had tantrums that could have rivaled any displayed by a two year old. Sensing that once again I was nearing immobilization I misplaced my energy into a friendship that temporarily fed me emotionally and provided escape from my lack of control. My parents straining in tight quarters both physically and psychologically ultimately moved out.

The increased physical space restored some of my sanity, yet my personal shortcomings remained unresolved.  I still lacked skills in menu planning, home management, and now parenting. Brief indulgences in hobbies like quilting, gardening, reading, camping, and biking temporarily buoyed my spirits. My interests were varied and alternated with scant but earnest exercises in homemaking, service, and scripture study.

Having endured treatment for breast cancer while working and raising teenagers while my husband completes his education, I blog.  I no longer have the sense that my life is near over, nor believe that marriage in the temple is the ultimate destination. I realize that I likely will never master even one of my interests whether it is biking, crafting, gardening, menu planting, parenting, photography, or even scripture study.  That thought periodically stalls me.  Am I a failure?  Do I have adult onset of ADHD? Am I doing what I set out to do?  What comes next? Then I re-focus …… breathing, enduring, and growing.  I find ways to create, enjoy, laugh, and be healthy. I am renewed in my love for husband, my children, my family, my God, and myself.  And I’m beginning to believe that simply loving in the midst of everything else may just be my ultimate destination.