On Lives and Ships and Sealing-wax

Today, I sang a song with primary children about following God's plan for me. It was only in the final minute of singing time that I realized how much the song was pertinent to me. Right now.

You see, I'm starting a new job soon. I'm leaving the last remnants of my Utah County family and heading south to work in a library. It's not terribly far away, but far enough that a casual dinner visit is out of the question. I remember moving to Boston about seven years ago, and how I felt during the plane ride into the city. I wondered what on earth I had done. How could I possibly start out a new life by myself? What the heck had I been thinking?

Thanks to good roommates and a very fulfilling couple of years of school, Boston turned out to be a good experience for me.

And now, here I am. Leaving family again to set out on my own.

I've wondered if I made the right decision accepting this job. If I simply wanted to go because I've been kind of unhappy at my current job and was just desperate to leave.

And then this song today.

I brought along my patriarchal blessing to primary today as a kind of visual aid for talking about what the song meant. Now, my patriarchal blessing and I have had a bit of a bumpy relationship. Some things it talks about happening, things I've desperately wanted to happen, have not occurred. And so I've avoided reading it, to keep from reminding myself of the unfulfilled promises.

But talking with the children today about it, I felt an affirmation that my life, even if it isn't one that I would necessarily have chosen, is not a waste.

I think sometimes we get caught up in the details of our lives. Our days are occupied with the rough things that happen at work, or the person that cuts us off in traffic, or feeding the dog, or cleaning up after the kids, or wondering if you can get through one more episode of that show before you have to go to bed. And I sometimes think that this is all there is.

But I remembered today that our lives, each of them, do have a purpose. That the sum of our experiences matters. That even the humdrum details, the teeth brushing and nail biting and doodling, as well as the moments when we utterly connect with someone, or have a great phone call with our siblings, or give a wonderful talk, or hear a child say, "I love you," are all part of it, that each experience matters, that we are becoming something great and grand and glorious.

I don't know if the choices I've made have made my life the best of all possible lives I could have lived. (I rather strongly suspect the opposite.) But I think even when I mess up, when I make mistakes about where to live and what job to have and who to love, that it never, never, never is a waste. And that of my silly, erroneous, ephemeral life, God can make something grand. He can give it purpose.

And that is a great gift indeed.

On Giving Up (Or: My Own Take on Mini-epiphany #2)

My thoughts on this keep changing so rapidly that writing this down will serve rather to bookmark where I am right now than provide a glimpse into some unalterable state of mind I may posess.

As of this moment, I have moved (again) beyond the giving-up state. I spent this entire last week (and perhaps some few days before it) 'knowing' in my core that I would never marry and that it was just time to accept it. I even convinced myself that I was content, even happy, because I didn't have to worry about all these troublesome feelings of attraction to men anymore; I could just set them aside because they were things I would never be able to act on. I could interact with men on a completely platonic level, not bothering them with my feelings of attraction, not being bothered by their lack thereof.

Then, sitting next to a young man at church, (no, not this one; someone else), I kept having these niggling sensations of just this...awareness of his maleness...and I realized that I couldn't maintain this self-imposed indifference. I could keep it up for maybe a week (and had) but eventually my cycling hormones would come round again and break down all the barriers I'd built with my determination never to have these feelings ever ever again.

Sitting here in my room tonight, reading over a thought-provoking post (and accompanying comments) on Blog Segullah wherein the author describes living a celibate life as a faithful, fully acknowledged homosexual LDS man, I (after reading one particular comment) came rather face-to-face again with my own set of what attracts me.

And far from making me despair again, this acknowledgement of my own sexual desires freed me to admit to myself just how much I really did want to have a marriage relationship. If I may be frank, (and please forgive me if I cause offense, but I really hope that I can speak as an adult, here), I admitted to myself just how much I want to have the joys of a physical, conjugal relationship with a man. I want to experience the joys and frustrations of tying myself emotionally to one single human being, of trying to make our two lives fit together, of raising a family together. And as part of that, (a big part of it), I want the supernal joy of a sexual relationship with a husband.

Please understand; I know that this is not all there is to marriage. (Good grief--if it were, we wouldn't have time for doing anything else!) I know that marriages are more complicated and difficult than this, that the uniting of two different individuals in every possible way takes time, effort, and continual sacrifice as well as continuous patience.

But I also know (or rather, strongly suspect, since my actual experience is necessarily limited) that marriage can be fulfilling and almost indescribably joyous. That's why I (and almost every other single adult I know) longs for it, prays for it, gives up hope of it and picks up that same dropped and tattered hope almost hopelessly because one can't simply seem to toss it away after all.

I don't know if sheer wanting-him-ness will eventually help me to find the marriage partner who has, thus far, proven remarkably (almost intractably) elusive, but I do know that I can no longer (at least right now) deny that I do want him, and that I must thus (because I believe in a God who knows our deepest wants and needs and tries to grant them, if possible) still hope for him.

Because a life by myself, while satisfying in some ways, ultimately feels as if it would be really quite grey and sloggish.

And my bed here is beginning to seem rather large and cold, with just me alone.

Well, this would have been mini-epiphany #2...

One thing I love about blogging is how people can sometimes totally scoop you.

Because this is me too!

Yes. I, too, have recently just given up. Period.

And while being scooped makes me feel angsty in some ways, it also makes me feel befriended in a friendless world.

Or at least not the only single who's given up in a married world.

Something like that.

Mini-Epiphany #1

To make this all easier on everybody (including myself) I've decided to numerate my mini-epiphanies and concentrate on each individually so I can fully explore the topic at hand.

Also, in honor of International Talk Like a Pirate Day, I may interject the occasional "Arrr" or "Avast" into my discussions, ye landlubbers.

The first mini-epiphany I'd like to mention is my recent realization that I actually want to pursue a career. (Arrr.)

I'm not sure why it took me so long to figure out; I mean, there I was, gearing up to attend a highly specific professional program (i.e. library school, ye scurvy dogs!), getting all ready to go into debt for thousands of dollars to attend said school, and I was still thinking only in terms of, "This is my plan B. If plan A (i.e. marriage and little babies (i.e. bein' a wench and poppin' out mite tykes)) comes along, I'll drop it like the bung from me barrel o' grog."

Except that I realized recently that I don't just want to go to school to become a librarian, suddenly get married and then settle down to raise children and never make use of the schooling I've gotten while waiting around for Plan A to take place. Arr.

I actually want to be a librarian; I want to work with children and help them find not only books that can meet their needs for school, but books that will help them to love reading and develop an enthusiasm for learning about the world around them. I want to work in a library, be surrounded by books, interact with others of my profession who are as enthusiastic about both books and the importance of encouraging others to read them as I am.

And also, I want to make a nice, tidy salary (i.e. garner a lot o' booty, arr).

Fortunately, I am not yet married. I am not yet even dating anyone. So I haven't yet had to work out for myself (or work out with me spouse, arrr) what exactly I'm going to do if Plan A ever wanders in and says, "Oh, sorry. Were you expecting me earlier? Just had to pop out for a spot of something, you know. Whot, whot?" (Because, of course, Plan A would be a Brit (aka Crumpet-eating Poodle Dog if you're a Pirate Queen, arr!).) And Plan B is currently going, well, according to plan.

But the conundrum exists. And currently, I don't know how to solve it. So, if you have any thoughts, feel free to pipe in. (And feel free to flex your piratical lexicon as well, if ye be so inclined.)

Arrrrrrrrr!