Turkish Innards

I’m not a sickly person.

Here I sit, though, sniffly, throat-hurty, body-achy…and, sickly.

But I am not too sick to drive to sunny weather to be with my wonderous new family for THANKSGIVING.

(Would it be totally blasphemous beyond all reason to change up Thanksgiving dinner in my home when I’m grown up and have babies to feed it to? I would just like to include foods I am actually extremely thankful for. And the thought of cooking a raw turkey (with it’s pinkish grayish legs still attached and innards to remove) all by myself makes me want to upchuck.)

Ahem.

But I truly love Thanksgiving. What I love even more is non schoolwork. A full night of sleep or  a NAP! Food not cooked by me. A new family totally different from mine. Wow.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, life! I like you, despite your turkish innards.

The Security of Stuff.

What if I didn’t sit nestled between my bookbag and purse and coat—because I didn’t have them? What if we didn’t have possessions at all, not for poverty but because we didn’t believe in them? Because we didn’t care for them? We didn’t care to lug wallets or coats around? Don’t get this wrong: I love words and music and have great desires to have them in my hands, hanging from my shoulders, dangling from my elbows.

But do you sometimes long to break free from the security of your stuff? Do you sometimes wish to be ripped away from your money, your major, your identifying clothes, just to see, peek, if there’s anything left? To prove that there is?

Can any of us stand alone? I heave a great sigh and wonder, what help do I need to get out of my nest of bag, purse, and coat? We fear that sweet love will flee our sides, leave our lips chapped and hearts thirsty for sharing, soul kind.

But really, can I afford to cradle myself in crap? Can I afford to hide behind my metallic curtains, scarf, earbuds, kitchen bar with papers strewn…?

When I am a Teacher.

I opened the bag to find, to my dismay, I had only bought yellow ones. Yellow, on a day when you feel like blue, is insulting and ghastly.

I’m going to be a music teacher. I don’t want to just teach my children. I want heaps and busloads of kids with freshly sharpened pencils and newly bought notebooks (be they yellow or blue), kids who know me only as Mrs. Schultz. Or perhaps I’ll let them call me Mama Schultz, or Madame.

I won’t decorate my room with the same old boring posters of sunsets and gag-me pseudo-inspiring phrases. No, in my room there will be shelves of books (on every topic) and music, fine art and truly inspiring things. Things, words, I mean, to help my pupils see that yes, yes, they, too, are human beings with things to contribute; ideas to bring to fruition; imaginations to let loose; art to create.

This isn’t about winning at festivals or going on tour or having fun together. This is about being an excellent musician, developing and working at a skill that will follow you around the rest of your life, begging to be released—it will only benefit and enrich your existence upon this earth. It’s about connecting with yourself—your body, your emotions, your inner life.

The more you learn about being a human being, the more you can teach others how to be better humans. Humans who are more emotionally intelligent, more compassionate, more connective and kind, more aware of some grandiose big picture of how everything links up. For this end, music is the vehicle I choose. I’m gonna get to it.

I believe in God.

I called this blog freedom because i wanted it.
I think we all still have to struggle and fight for it at a lot of different points in life.
but the truth sets you free.
the truth is that God is real. The truth is that I love Him. The truth is that his words ring inside me and give me strength and I KNOW that they are true.
I've never been very into the whole sharing my religion via the blogosphere/facebook/whatever. at least not as blanket-statementy as, "I'm a Mormon, and you should be one too! Here's how to figure out how to get in on the goodness." nah. never for me. But I know stuff and I've always wanted to share it. I've wanted to share it in other ways, through example and talking with people who are my friends.
But strangers, I want you to know, too, that I love the Lord. I love Him and that drives me to serve him and believe him, to study His words and sing His praises and do the work I feel He has given me.

Why religion is such a foreign, hot-bubbling unpredictable topic now is so odd to me. People will think you slightly off. They will think you a little crazy, well-intentioned but whimsical at best. Writing about those tender beliefs has taken on this curtain of absolute severity and lashing out and biting back.

So, what I don't want this to be:
an argument/discussion.
a voicing of opinions, and "that is great that religion works for you."
a hard-hearted profession of my beliefs presented in a condescending way
a wishy-washy feel-good warm-fuzzies manifesto.

what I want it to be:
an explanation of the reason why I feel peace, happiness, and contentment in my daily life.
a declaration of what I simply know to be true, universally--not just for me or for the 13 million other members of my church, but for every person who has ever and will ever live on this earth.

I know that God lives. I know that He sent his son, Jesus Christ, to live and die for us and atone for, pay for, experience our sins and griefs and hurts and frustrations. I know that He knows all, and that we are His children. I know that He is literally our Father, and that He is mindful of us.

He is my joy. I know that all good things in my life come from Him, and that the things that are hard shape me for my best good and happiness. I know that I can pray and God will hear me and answer me.
These are not small words for me. These sentences come from me with a lifetime of thinking, exploring, asking, experimenting. I don't say that to try to convince. Many people search their whole lives for truth like I have found.
I just gotta tell you.
I know God is real.
I know He is my God.
I believe in a God who gives His children the best things; a God who has all power to make heaven and earth and ME, and worlds without number and the smallest opportunities for my growth; a God who knows my potential and helps me break the limitations I put on myself; a God who is aware of all of His children everywhere, all the time.

I believe in a God who loves His children and has given them guidelines to live by for their best happiness. Yes, these include things that are increasingly unpopular and old-fashioned; they include things that are sometimes hard or out of my way, but they are the best. Not just sometimes, or most of the time—EVERY time. That evidence is too overwhelming for me to ignore it.

I cannot ignore the God who made me, loved me into an incredible family, incredible opportunities, incredible satisfaction and purpose in this mortal world. I won’t turn my back on Him. I won’t deny Him. But even if I did, do you know?

He would still love me. He would still cradle me in His vast, tender arms and take care of me.

I believe in God, because He is real and I cannot pretend I don’t know it.

The truth is that God loved you into existence, too. The truth is that you are His child and you will be whether you believe in Him or ignore Him or even hate Him. The truth is: He will love you unconditionally. He will always take care of you. Those hard things in your life? They’re real, too. But His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches.

He is amazing—and He is waiting, with outstretched arms to whisper these truths to your heart as He has to mine.