Friday, June 27, 2014
Yes, I'm a woman.
And yes, I play a great role in this big plan of life.
I'm a cool mom, a great friend, a hard worker, a caring person, and, you guessed it, I'm as humble as I can be. ;)
OK, I'm really not snotty or arrogant. I like to tease. Yes, I'm funny too. ;) Ooops, there goes humility again... what was this post about anyway? Oh yeah, being a Mormon woman. Let's try to stay focused here, Bela, will ya?
I try to make light of a situation that actually troubles me. Women in the Church I belong to, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, are feeling inferior and unappreciated. They are starting movements to show their indignity, and to try to change how things work in the Church. And I can't help but wonder why they feel this way. I try to understand, I really do. It saddens me that they feel the way they feel. I try to be sympathetic, to love and, above all, not judge them.
This is not why I'm writing this today, though.
I guess I just need to tell the world (or at least the two or three people that will read this post) the way I feel as a Mormon woman. Because there's so much out there that can confuse people that are not familiar with my faith.
First and foremost, I am a Christian. I try to leave my life in a way that pleases Christ (trying being the key word here). He is the most important person in my life. Then comes family; I'm a wife and a mother, and as such, the most important goal in my life is to raise my children to become great people, to love the Lord, and to understand their divine role in this crazy thing we call life. I am not alone in this great assignment; I couldn't do it on my own. And one of the places where I get help from is, indeed, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
In the Church, we have a living prophet, twelve apostles and seventies. Their primary goal is to teach all nations about Jesus the Christ. I believe that Thomas S. Monson is the prophet that leads the Church today, like Abraham, Moses and so many others in the Bible did in times of old.
In our Church, men are given the power of God to act in His name here on Earth. That power is the Priesthood, and it's given to men to bless the whole Church. Its power is extended to every single one of us, women and children included. Many a time I have asked a blessing from these men, when I'm struggling with something, or when I'm sick. They lay their hands on my head and say a simple prayer. And my faith in the priesthood will work the rest.
I would like to point out that a man that has the priesthood cannot bless himself. He's not all powerful. He is simply a vessel through which God can manifest Himself. A man that abuses that power, that boasts about it, will have to answer to God one day. And, if you ask me, it won't be pretty.
So, mainly, The Priesthood is given to men, not to bless themselves, but to bless others.
Imagine I'm a firefighter, or a paramedic, or a nurse. I was given the knowledge and the tools to help others in need; I have a fancy fireproof outfit, or a resuscitation kit in my ambulance, or a pain reliever to alleviate someone that is recovering from severe injuries. What am I supposed to do with those things? I won't keep them with me to show the world how cool I am. I go and fight the fire. I try to save a life. I help someone in pain. I give. I serve. I care.
That is the priesthood.
As a woman, I am also given in-numerous gifts to share with others. I serve in the Church (yes, I can serve in many callings is the Church), I serve my family, I care and love my friends.
I am yet to find a Church that values, respects, appreciates and loves women in the same way that the Mormon Church does. I am constantly reminded how special I am, how divine is my purpose.
I am not a blind follower. If you know me, you know that I am stubborn, curious, and like to do things my own way. I do not like to be told what to do. I am independent, and value freedom. I would never, ever be a member of a Church that would oppress and diminish me. I would clash with whoever tried to tell me how to do things.
So, if I do things a certain way, it's because I have chosen to. I have chosen to serve The Lord. I have chosen to put on my firefighter gear and bless the lives of others. I have chosen to accept the children that God trusted me to raise. I have chosen to be a part of this Church.
A long time ago, I have chosen. No one is responsible for my choices other than me.
I am a Mormon woman. I am not less than a Mormon man.
I do not seek what is not mine, because what I have is my share in this work.
I don't fully understand women that think that what they have is not enough. Do they realize the tremendous value of the gifts they already have?
Do they use those gifts to help and serve?
Or do they just seek what they think they need, ignoring what they've got?
I don't know. I can't judge.
But I know who I am. And I love who I am. Because I know the way The Lord sees me.
A queen in the making.
What else can I ask for?
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Here are three things you need to know, if you are planning on painting a room in your home.
1. When you get down to paint near the trim, or near the door and underneath the windows, you will see that the last person that painted that room did a horrible job. You'll wonder why you never noticed how sloppy the last paint job was. The trim is splashed with paint from the wall; the walls didn't get a second coat everywhere. You wonder who in the world did such a thing.
2. When you take the plates from the outlets out, you will always see a little bit of the color that the room used to be, before it was painted so sloppyly (I know that's not a word, but it should be). And yes, the room used to be the exact color you are painting it now. I don't know how this happens, but it does. "Hey honey, guess what color this room used to be!" Yup. The same one I got. It's kind of fun actually.
3. No one can do it as well and perfectly as you. Kick everyone out. Close the door and open the windows for fresh air. Don't let anyone get near a brush or the roller. YOU are the best painter in the world. yes you are. Don't need any help. Take your time. Put on some happy music, and sing along with ABBA. It's a super relaxing job. And you will do it all by yourself.
Here's how you do it. Start with the trim. I like white, always white. One coat. Then use the brush to paint corners and close to the trim. Nice and slow. After that, comes the roller, and do all the walls. Then another coat near the trim and corners, another coat with the roller. Take breaks as you need. And the comes the funner(is that a word?) part : The trim's second coat. The paint from the wall splashed a bit on the white that you used for the first coat. So now you'll get down on the floor and go with a small brush and give it a second coat. It needs to be perfect. If you ever sell the house, you want the new owners to say, wow, what a nice paint job!. Chances are, no one will notice the perfectly painted trim. It's like when you clean the bathroom and clean behind the toilet. No one notices it. But you know it's clean, and it's awesome.
The trick for a perfectly painted white trim. Use a small angled brush. Don't rush. Have the wall paint close by, because the white will get on the wall. Oops. Let it dry and paint the little bit of the wall that got some white from the trim. Then the wall paint gets on the white. Just a little bit, but you can't leave it like that. Remember, perfection. Let dry, use the white on the trim. Long story short... you'll go around the room scooting, with two brushes on your hands. Fix the white. Fix the green. Repeat a dozen times. Or two dozen. It's fun, you'll see. "Super trooper". That's you. The trim and the wall will look fabulous.
Do like the professionals do, and buy painter's tape. The job will get done in half the time.
I like the little battle between green brush and white brush. But if you don't want to be a Super Trooper, go ahead and get the tape.
I always choose the harder way. Who knows why. I like the feeling I get in the end, I guess.
I want to go sit in my bedroom and look at the walls all day, now. The rest of the house is boring. I'm weird. But that's old news.
Next project, kitchen cabinets to be painted white. I'll let you know how that goes. Hopefully it won't take me another three years. :)
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Maybe because they tend to be the same every year. I'm not sure what happens in the begining of a new year... we think we become super heros overnight. So we make a list of things that "I'm starting to do everyday". Hmmm. We wake up new year's morning and we are the same people. No super powers. We work hard to reach our goals, but by the end of January we forget all about them.
A new year doesn't bring us super powers. If anything , it should bring us motivation. That's the only thing I'm expecting from myself this year. If I have that, I might acomplish something good every day...or once in a while. :)
I finally got my room painted. I have been in this house almost three years; I have painted the kids rooms, bathroom, kitchen... everything right when we moved here. Why is our bedroom always the last thing to organize? Anyway.... it feels good to do something you've been wanting to do for years. I'm thankful for motivation. I'm going to ask for it and gain it every day and not only on new year's.
Man, what a boring post.
Pictures will follow tomorrow or Friday.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
I need to go back to blogging. Especially since I've been horrible at journaling, scrapbooking and other things I used to do to keep memories alive for my kids. Facebook doesn't quite cut it, but unfortunatly has replaced lots of cool things. Like blogging. So, I'm trying this again. One day I'll print my blog entries; because let's face it, old school paper has no substitute.
I guess I should have done this earlier in the day though. One o'clock in the morning is not the time to pick up after over two years. Oh well. Better than nothing I guess.
Nicolas turned 12 last November. Suzana will be 16 in less than a month. No, I'm not ready to face that reality, so I won't talk much about it. Today I cried listening to ABBA's " slipping through my fingers". That one always gets to me.
I'll be 40 in April. No comment here. Hmmm. Maybe I should come back tomorrow. Yep. Great idea.
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
Lately I've been wondering why.
Why do we automatically say we're fine, when someone asks us how we're doing.
Why we need to laugh at a joke that wasn't funny at all, just because we want to be part of the gang.
Why we hide our fears, tears and frustrations.
Why we always need to go outside with a smile.
Why we say what people want to hear and not what's on our mind.
Why we pretend to be someone we're not, sometimes unaware that we're doing it.
Why we put on our beautiful mask, just so we'll be accepted.
Why we are a fake.
The more I think about it, the more I believe that people need to please others. They're afraid that, if the mask comes off, no one will care for what they see. They're afraid that others will see them as weak, and who wants to be viewed like that? We need to be strong and not let life's struggles wear us down. We need to be heroes and save all the unfortunate people we come across with. We need to be happy, no matter the circumstances. We need to be beautiful and conceal the zits and the dark under eye circles. Because someone said so. No one recalls who said so, but it's been passed from generation to generation, in a very subtle way, and we believe we can't survive in this world without masks.
The story says that a wife always cooked her pot roast in a very particular way. She always cut about a third of the meat, put it in the freezer, and cooked the bigger piece. Her husband was always intrigued by this, and the answer he got was that this was her mother's recipe, this is exactly how she's done it every time, so she really didn't care to know why this was. Mother said so. So the tradition was passed on, and when this woman's daughter was married and cooked the famous roast with the same recipe, she, also, would keep a small part in the freezer and cooked the rest. Until one day, when grandma came to visit, and the granddaughter wanted to cook it perfectly to impress grandma. She took the meat, cut a small part and froze it, then proceeded to cook the bigger part. "Honey'", asked grandma, "why do you do that? Why don't you cook the whole piece of roast?" Puzzled, the girl said, "well, I don't really know why. Just because mom said so. This is the why she taught me, and she didn't really know why either... just because you always did it like that, I guess!..." Grandma chuckled a little. "I always did that in the old days, dear, because my pot was too small to hold the whole chunk of meat."
I can't keep but wonder what would life be if we tossed the idea that we need to appear composed at all times, because someone, who will forever be nameless, said so. What would the whole world be like if, at the count of three, we all dropped our masks to the ground, never to be picked up again, and be comfortable wearing our own skin.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Sofia, who will always be landita to me. The only child of my oldest sister, she is also the oldest niece. I miss her. I miss our talks. It was amazingly good to see her last week, but that was not nearly enough time to catch up.