“We must not let attractions of the moment bring disaster for the eternities.”

Do your parents have a favorite story about you that they always seem to share? Mine have a couple about me. As I was thinking about some things that I am currently going through in my life, for some reason these stories popped into my mind. It amazes me how seemingly unconnected events can teach valuable life lessons.

According to my parents I was an easy going, good baby . . . with one exception (don’t you love that they always seem to have at least one exception). Even as a newborn I loved to be held, cuddled, rocked and sung to. The problem was that I loved it so much that I didn’t ever want to be put down. As my parents would relate the tale it went something like this:

They would burrito style wrap me nice and tight and then rock me to sleep. They would continue rocking and singing long after they knew that I was in a deep sleep just to be positive that I was out. Then they would quietly walk over to my crib and rock with me a while longer for another safety measure. Ever so gently they would lean over the side of the crib and carefully attempt to place me in the crib. They say that without fail the minute I was away from their body, about to be placed on the mattress, I would open my eyes and be wide awake. I wouldn’t cry. I just gave them a look of “please don’t let me go.” Although I think that my mom remembers the look saying something more like, “yeah right lady, you don’t get to go to sleep yet.”

To this day there is nothing more comforting or soothing to me than to be held in someone’s arms. For me having someone hold my hand, play with my hair, rub my shoulders, give me a hug, ect . . . fills my heart and soul with energy and causes me to feel loved and protected. I love to be touched! **um, let’s just put a stipulation on that and say by certain people.

The ironic piece of this is that I come from a family that is not so much into the showing of physical affection. As a child I think that I picked up on that and pushed it down inside me. I still keep that part of me in close surveillance and don’t let it out very often because I am aware that most of the population has personal space bubbles that they don’t like encroached. However I find that sometimes I have an extremely hard time controlling the urge to get close when I am feeling the love.

I truly believe that some of our personality traits come with our spirits when we are born into mortality and that we start exhibiting our strongest traits from birth. These physical bodies cannot control who we truly are. I believe that as we grow we sometimes choose to ultimately destroy our true self with destructive decisions/behaviors, but that our spirit will always yearn for becoming perfected in truth and light . . . desiring to return to our eternal home. I think that only as we choose to allow our spirit to choose the better part do we feel more like ourselves and find true happiness.

I rarely admit this next one. My nickname used to be pigpen. Isn’t that so loving and kind? I cannot believe that I am actually typing that on my blog. Oh well, if you know my family you would have found out sooner or later. Not to mention that my mom calls all of us muckerbutts still to this day which always brings this topic up.

As a toddler I had a very special way to eat ice cream cones. Sure most people choose to start at the top and work their way to the bottom, but not me. I have been told that the proper way to eat ice cream cones according to me was take a few licks of the top and then take a nice big bite out of the bottom of the cone. That way as the incredibly yummy chocolate ice cream would melt it would have a place to escape. Evidently eating ice cream with me was an adventure of sticky messiness.

Give me a mud puddle to tromp through or a rain storm to play in or a tree to climb or dirt to dig in or finger paint to paint with (get my drift) and I have always been one happy girl. I was never afraid to eat with my fingers or get food on my face, heck I even ate my fair share of dirt as a child. In my world there is nothing wrong with getting down and dirty. Don’t get me wrong, I can also be prim and proper at any given occasion and I even know which utensil to use for which course at a formal dinner setting. I clean up nicely and even enjoy dressing up. If I am honest with myself, I think that far too many people have only seen the prim and proper side of me out of fear that I will make a fool of myself.

Faith cannot survive where we allow fear to reside. Fear is debilitating and can steer us away from becoming and being our best selves. I believe that fear can derail us to the point that we accept less than what we should because we don’t feel worthy to have the best. I also think that fear keeps us from making certain decisions in our lives because we feel like if we don’t do it than we avoid failure or avoid visibly failing in front of others. Fear can paint us into a corner of believing that it isn’t possible to be any better than we already are until we believe that it isn’t, or worse, that we aren’t worth it. I believe that fear is one of Satan’s favorite tools. Destroy our faith and basically he is destroying us.

There has been so much on my mind as of late that in essence all comes back to a single part of my life. How often do you blink during any given day? That is how much it is on my mind. It is something that I know is right. The desires that I have are good and I just have to have faith in what I have been told. I can’t change my past. I choose to live and love deeply in the present. I know the future will be blessed with more happiness than I can even imagine. Letting go and giving up are just not an option.