Just when all seems to be going right, challenges often come in multiple doses applied simultaneously. When those trials are not consequences of your disobedience, they are evidence that the Lord feels you are prepared to grow more (see Prov. 3:11–12). He therefore gives you experiences that stimulate growth, understanding, and compassion which polish you for your everlasting benefit. To get you from where you are to where He wants you to be requires a lot of stretching, and that generally entails discomfort and pain.

-Richard G. Scott, Nov. '95

This quote is posted on a wall in the room where I take my class. What? I didn't tell you that I'm taking a class this term? Well, I most certainly am. Summer term, Monday through Thursday.



Which class?



Aerobic dance.



You know, I don't often vocalize my true feelings about my body: it's too much for me to talk about. Those "talks" are reserved for myself, in my head, usually when I'm alone. But on days like today, when I'm okay with it all, I can talk about it, and by talk, I mean blog. I don't vocalize it for the protection of my children, particularly my daughters. Did I ever tell you about when I had one of my worst breakdowns ever? It was almost two years ago, maybe three, I'm not certain. It involved one of my daughters telling me that her friends told her, "Your mom is fat." That cut me more deeply than anything had, in a very, very long time, or has since. In fact, just typing it, I cringed, and now tears are welling. For a very long time, I tried to find out why that bothered me so much. I only recently came to terms with that little (HUGE) upset when I realized something: the friend who said that to my daughter? Her mom is way more into appearances than I am. Waaaaaay more. And since I like me, and I like how I am, I was able to close that chapter.



Don't get me wrong: I know it's important to be physically fit. Believe me on this, it's been ingrained in me my whole life. It's also important to take care of yourself; take care of your body, and present it (appearance) in a positive way. My frustrations lie here: the assumption that just because someone is plus-sized, they're not healthy.



Health Nazi lives down the street. Once her testimony included something to the tune of, "I'm just so grateful that I have a good body, after having all my kids, I'm still in good shape...". She's said to my daughter, in front of me, as we were eating a dinner that I had prepared, "Take care of your body! You only have one!" While I can appreciate her message, because it's mostly true, I think the overkill is potentially hazardous. Being larger is equated, at times falsely, with unhealth, and if her children, who have listened to their mother chide 'being fat' their lifelong, happen to put on some weight FOR WHATEVER REASON . . . well, you can finish that thought.



One day, I asked Li'l ~j., "What do you think of your body?" She replied, "I think it's important to keep it healthy and strong. It's a gift from Heavenly Father." "Very good," I told her. Then, as an afterthought, "Sweetie, do you know that you're beautiful?" Let me say that we often tell our kids that they are beautiful, but not without adding more compliments regarding their other attributes: they're sweet, smart, special, All Things Good; we don't prioritize "beauty" over the others, but I was just curious, as the mother of a sooner-than-I-realize-teen, what she thought about her looks. [And, for the record, had anyone asked me at her age if I knew I was beautiful, the answer would have been a fierce, resounding, and sincere NO.] Her answer: "Yes, but I don't like to talk about it, like bragging, because I don't think that's a nice thing to do. But I like how I look."



Hoorae.



Back to my class: it's not easy being the old one AND the fat one in the class. I'm even older than the instructor. But the second part, the part about my being the f-word . . . I only notice that when I'm feeling especially down about myself. I can barely look in a mirror. I loathe photos of myself. But when I close my eyes, and I'm exercising, I feel like I'm using my body in a way that's beneficial, not only to me, but to my family. At the beginning of the term, we had to write down our fitness goals. Surprisingly to myself, my ultimate goal wasn't to lose weight, but to improve my cardiovascular health; I wrote that down along with a disclaimer that, of course, I'd like to lose weight, but that is secondary.



Occassionally, I will vaguely mention trying to lose weight, in casual conversation. Here's the reply I don't want to hear: "Don't be so hard on yourself -- you've had five kids!" Okay, so has my neighbor, and she could easily be mistaken for a 16-year-old. I refuse to use my children as the excuse for the main source of any self-loathing I may possess. I don't blame genetics, either. Come to think of it, I don't blame anything, or any one. No blame. It is what it is. I'm working to change it, but if it doesn't come, I'm okay with that, too.



Today a woman at work said to me, "Are you having a baby?" [I wanted so badly to say, "Currently? No -- I'm entertaining a twit."] One girl in my class asked me what my major is, and when I told her that I'm not sure, that I'm a stay-at-home mom and that this is the only class I'm taking, she asked, "So that you can lose some weight?"



I share those anecdotes, not for pity, but because I can. I'm finally at a place where I accept what I am, and I move forward. It used to be that I'd feel relatively good about myself, then take a look in the mirror or step on the scale, and my self-worth/image would plummet. Now, though, I can answer the lady at work: "No. I'm not, " and let her deal with it. I can say to the girl in class, "Yes, to lose some weight," and then when we're in the middle of a step-aerobics routine, help this ridiculously uncoordinated girl, who I'm guessing literally weighs half of what I do, learn a sequence that comes to me very easily.



I'm grateful for that quote on the wall in my classroom. Rereading it has helped me progress, in thought, action, and otherwise, more than I could have imagined when I first read it. This trial of mine has given me growth and understanding; maybe I could work on the compassion part a bit (like calling that girl uncoordinated), but I've definitely been stretched -- physically, and then some.

my remembery

Friday was my first day (evening) at my new job. I like it. I'm learning their computer system, which is not easy to learn, but once learned, will be easy to use.

My job involves managing scheduled appointments as well as walk-ins. Lots of people traffic, in and out all day long. I'm not sure if the family who came in had just come in on a whim, or if they were scheduled ahead of time. Mother, Father, 5 daughters. That's right, 5 girls. From the top of the line (12-ish?) right down to the one in the front of the double stroller who was sucking on cheerios. The mom was striking. She was wearing a very modest summer dress: floral print, short sleves, ankle length, rayon or something (this is not my field); ankle socks and crocs. She's a beauty. Her eyes sparkled and smiled. Her face is so kind. But it was the dad who caught my attention. Not because I was attracted to him - I wasn't - but because I knew him.

"Are you okay?" asked Mindy, my trainer.

"Yes. It's just . . . I think I know that guy, but I'm not sure from where."

"Oh, really?" And then we went back to my training.

About twenty minutes later, Mindy went to the back of the establishment to get something, leaving me all alone at the front desk. Most of the family had been sitting in the waiting chairs, waiting for the two oldest daughters to finish up with what they had come in for. The father stood up and headed over to me. It was then that I realized that I knew from where I knew this guy.

"Should I just pay right now?"

"Uhhhhhh . . ."

"Or maybe it's free tonight?"

*looking around* "To be honest, it's my first night working here, I don't really know what I'm supposed to do, so we can just wait until Mindy returns." (NOTE: I wouldn't have phrased this so unprofessionally with someone who I didn't "know" -- yes, I am just that professional.)

"Oh, alright."

"Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Not at all."

"Were you an EFY counselor?"

"Yes, I was."

"Is your name Kyle?"

"Yeeaaaahhh . . ."

"I think you were an EFY counselor in my group."

"Here at BYU?"

"No. I went in Missouri, Indiana, Michigan, and Virginia."

"Well, I was in Missouri and Virginia."

"Virginia was in '95, the summer after I graduated."

"No, that's not it."

"Must have been in Missouri."

"Wow, and you remember that?"

"I guess I do."

"What's your name?"

"Jenny. But back then I was going by Phread."

*no recognition at this* "Oh. Do you remember Adam and Walker?"

"Yes."

"We still keep in touch. They came to my wedding."

"Oh, that's neat."

"That was a very special year."

"Yes, it was."

"My wife was a counselor there that year, as well. That's where we met."

"Oh my goodness! That's great!"

At this point, Wife walked over. "Honey, this is Jenny. She was at EFY in Missouri when we were."

She flashed her sparkly smile. "I can't believe it!"

Mindy returned and the small talk continued as we finished their transactions. The family left, smiling and waving, and I threw out my hopes that I'd see them again soon. After they left, Mindy said, "So, you know them?"

"Well, I figured out that I remembered him because he was one of my EFY counselors."

"How old are you?"

"30. This was in 1992. I was 15."

"And you remember that?"

"Yeah. Is that weird?"

answering your questions

From my good friend compulsive writer:

"...And finally I am curious (in the kindest possible way) why you would label yourself as "stay-at-home-mom/college dropout". I guess because at the point in your life when I met you your college status didn't (and still doesn't) seem relevant to me as to who you are; but it must be relevant to you. Does that make any sense?"

It does make sense. And I will explain myself.

I chose a very interesting time to start the daily blogging: it's been a very busy week. And I don't mean that in a Penelope-ish, I'm-so-much-busier-than-you way; I mean it in a Holy-Crap-we've-got-a-lot-going-on-right-now and I-thought-the-summer-would-be-more-relaxed-than-this way.

When I wrote that post, where I labeled myself as such, that description was relevant to me as I was struggling to put together a resume. Or, more accurately, tell Sue the information about myself that would be relevant to a resume. And that's what I came up with: In the past 8+ years, I have changed approximately thirty trillion diapers; I have no degree to speak of (I dropped out of UVSC, and all the classes I've taken at the BYU have been music classes, religion classes, and PE classes). What I am is what I am and I have no regrets about what I've chosen to do: I love being home with my children. Trying to get any information together to make myself remotely attractive to potential employers was a tad daunting. "I was a cashier at an office supply store...in 1998."

As it turns out, Sue put together what, in my opinion, was a pretty impressive resume (considering, you know, the subject). My brother helped me polish it up, and I turned it in at three places. I was interviewed at two of those places, one of them twice. It was where I interviewed twice that I was hired, and that was my first choice of where to be hired.

Props to sue once more: she knows the owner and, essentially, got me the first interview.

So, yes, that is occassionally how I identify myself, because it's true: I am a stay-at-home mom, and a college dropout. This week, however, I've added two more descriptions to my title: student (I'm taking a class at the BYU this term), and part-time out-of-the-home employee.

Go figure.