Men Are That They Might Have Joy

There were a few, brief years of my life, where the necessity of apartment life seemed new, exciting and independently liberating, but for the last two decades, I have felt driven, usually passionately and occasionally obsessively to return to the tangible, childhood roots of land and space. Twice, through Mom and Dad's gracious invitations and charity, that fervor has been momentarily appeased--once in the utopic bliss of The Farm and once in the emotional rigor of The Wilderness. Those experiences were a personal lull and storm, but a pattern? I am loathe to admit it, but I am starting to wonder if my state of mind may be cyclical. I wouldn't be the first, would I?

The independent high of college life gradually turned to claustrophobia after 9 years and was followed by a reprieve (a happy blessing) of 7 years on the farm in which I reached a happiness pinnacle. That apex was replaced with an outlier year at the Ranch (a hard blessing), which plummeted me quickly to the bottom of the happiness wheel, but was meant for teaching and preparing. That experience fitted me for citified contentment, for another 7 years. At a point I reached satisfaction, but never Nirvana, and here I am, once again clawing at my perceived cage and wondering how many refiners fires are necessary to purge the same, nagging impurities and question if anything will be left after the reduction process. I keep wondering if the heat isn't intending for me directly this time, but meant to burn down the bars and somehow leave me joyful, sitting in the same place, with an unobstructed view. There is this constant battle inside me over hopes and dreams, present and future and the all encompassing allegiance to the journey.

I have been reading a book called, "The Happiness Project" and the other night I stumbled onto a small, but profound insight. "You can do anything you want to do, but you can't do everything you want to do." It sounds so obvious, I know, but I have spent the nearest half of my life absolutely believing that if I worked hard enough, saved long enough, sacrificed deeply enough that "everything" I wanted could be achieved. And it is true, but not here. At low ebbs, I sometimes float into this victim mentality, but I reminded myself that everything keeping me from my short-long range goals (which are supposed to be closer than my eternal goals, but which never seem to change proximity) are choices made in order to achieve other goals. I have the capacity to make money, but I want to be home instead. Fred has the capacity to make more money, but I want him here with me instead. My oldest children have the capacity to earn their own way, but I want them to get good grades, enjoy their youth, be available for opportunity instead. United, we have the capacity to save more money, but we want our children to go on missions and attend college, and have straight teeth instead. We have the capacity to spend less money, but we want to drive cars, perpetuate our traditions and have access to a seemingly endless flow of sugar, so we've chosen our standard of living instead. I just honestly thought that I could have all of those things AND a  lovely Victorian house on 20 acres, surrounding by adjoining plots for each child. I understand that a bank may be willing to loan us maybe half the initial land (unimproved and without the house or adjoining properties)but it comes with added debt and the relinquishing of some of the previous goals, so I have chosen security instead. The lesson of it all being a choice...my choice, is one that I have to keep relearning over and over and over again, but the "Any, but not Every" lesson is new to me...and hard for me...and I can imagine will eventually be good for me. I am still trying to digest and come to terms with it all. When the spinning stops maybe more of the important things will fall into place.

Mikayla's mission papers are almost finished, the clock is ticking for college to start again and Fred has been in New Orleans for 5 days, so I have felt more emotionally vulnerable this weekend, which is always a boon to learning, but not a boon for immediate peace. I opened up my calendar this morning where all of the color coding is spilling onto this weeks page, overlapping and mixing and melding into a challenging kaleidoscopic that seems an impossible schedule with one 4 seater car that will make it into Boise, but will rarely be at my disposal, and a 3 seater that will barely make it through downtown Middleton. But, as I looked closer it hit me that the apparent tumult is actually leading to and culminating at the temple. Life is busy and can be full of distractions, but there is purpose. Jordan has observed that no matter what the weather is like when you enter the temple, the sun always seems to be shining when you walk out--even when its not. I know exactly what he means. Lehi taught that, "Men are, that they might have joy." The promise is available anywhere. I'm trying to find it in my head and in my heart.

Lest any of you worry, (because I know that my need to dissect and ponder out loud can cause that sort of concern) I am well and happy. Just trying to flourish and find joy--it's part of the pilgrimage.