It's Not About the Performance

I am a musician. Well, I guess that depends on how you define "musician," but I am a musician by my definition. :) And I participate in several music events a year, wherein I practice and then either play the piano in front of people, or sing in front of people. Some people would call this a performance, and sometimes it is.

As a director of a choir that sings at our local prisons for their LDS Christmas and Easter church services, I always tell my choir that it's less important that we "perform" than that we invite the Spirit. I tell them it's less about how we sound than it is about our testimonies. I don't want to discourage practice or effort, of course, but it's important to me that my choir not get hung up on performance and, essentially, perfection. I don't want them to feel bad if they miss a note, because the Choir's purpose is not about flawless execution.

It's about the journey. It's about authenticity. It's about connecting to our brothers and sisters in the prisons and bringing them messages of hope and love, not messages of musical flawlessness. It's about mutual growth; it's about baring our souls and sharing our faith. It's about service and sacrifice. (This is not to say we don't sing well. We are a quite talented group, if I do say so myself.) And, honestly, for being a total perfectionist myself, the Prison Choir (as we affectionately call it) is one thing that, for whatever reason, doesn't demand my perfection in my view. It's one of few (indeed, I can think of nothing else) of my endeavors for which I don't demand perfection in order to not be a failure. I am able to forgive myself for my mistakes during the practice season and for the mistakes I make at the prisons, because, somehow, God successfully gets it into my head, every year, that it's not about me. And, for reals, the dear offenders just don't care if we miss a note; they're genuinely grateful we're simply there.

Because... It's not about the performance.

I have seen addiction recovery as being totally recovered, like, not even having a desire to sin and use dangerous methods of coping. Like, recovery isn't recovery until recovery is complete. And that the journey from active addiction to constant sobriety is something that is a means to an end, and basically a sin in itself for as long as complete, eternal sobriety is not attained. So every slip is a huge setback and a huge disappointment, because it indicates that recovery has not been reached. And recovery seemed to be the ultimate and only worthy goal. Essentially, in my mind, total recovery was the performance; the perfect, flawless, rigid performance.

So yesterday was Thursday which means it was the night of my PASG meeting. I didn't want to go. I felt I had nothing to contribute, so why go? But I felt compelled to attend anyway, as I usually do, and I went, as I usually do. And it was seriously an amazing meeting for me. While I had little to contribute, I had much to learn, and learn I did. Many things. The Spirit was strongly whispering to my heart beautiful truths about me and my relationship to God.

And then, toward the end of the meeting, someone said, about addiction recovery, "if it takes a lifetime, that's okay." Sometimes when I hear stuff like that, I get discouraged. A lifetime? Will I be fighting this, slipping, hoping, failing, crying forever? I just can't handle the idea of fighting this till I die! But, yesterday, "if it takes a lifetime to recover, that's okay" sounded like comfort. It sounded like hope. It sounded like grace. It sounded like this quote by Elder Bruce R McConkie:

. . . everyone in the Church who is on the straight and narrow path, who is striving and struggling and desiring to do what is right, though is far from perfect in this life; if he passes out of this life while he’s on the straight and narrow, he’s going to go on to eternal reward in his Father’s kingdom. – “The Probationary Test of Mortality,” January 10, 1982

"It's okay if it takes a lifetime" sounded like "be kind to yourself. Be patient with yourself." Instantly, my choir came to my mind and how I focus more on the Spirit than on our performance. And it hit me- just like my choir isn't about the performance, neither likewise is addiction recovery about the performance.

You guys, It's not about the performance!
 It's about the process.

It's not about 100% success. It's not about completion. It's not about finishing addiction recovery because, honestly and truly, it may not ever be finished. Some people have depression their entire lives. Some people have diabetes their entire lives. Some people have Down's Syndrome their entire lives, or any given illness or disorder their whole dang lives, and sometimes, illness-- even psychological/emotional illness-- is lifelong, and that's okay, because it's not about the performance. Sometimes people have the disease of addiction their whole dang lives. It's about living life to the best of our abilities with what we have and what we know, to the fullest of our faith and hope. It's about learning the music as we go and sharing it, perfect or not, with those around us. It's about connection, faith, growth, and inviting the Spirit into our lives. Just like my choir, it's not about perfection; flawlessness. It's about finding joy and truth. It's about the process.

When my choir leaves the prisons, the inmates aren't going to hold in their hearts the memory of missed notes or forgotten lyrics. They will hold in their hearts the memory of our testimonies, of the Spirit invited by sweet, sacred music, of the messages of hope. They will hold in their hearts that we showed up, with something prepared, just for them.

And, also, not to compare God to an offender, but He also isn't as concerned about our execution as He is about the fact that we're here, that we prepare and try and work, that we allow the Spirit in our lives to guide us. If we slip or relapse- miss a note- well, that's just not as important as that we keep singing.

And if I don't "recover" tomorrow, it's okay. If I'm not "recovered" next year, it's still okay! Because . . . say it with me . . . it's not about the performance. 

I'm so inexplicably grateful for the Addiction Recovery Program. I'm profoundly, inexplicably grateful for my Savior and my Brother and my Friend, Jesus Christ, who patiently teaches me my worth, and stands ever before me with His arms open to scoop me in and keep me safe. Oh, how sweet is His grace. How sweet is His love.

When I Try to be my Own Jesus

So much for writing daily! oh well.

Through my several years of addiction recovery, I have learned many important lessons. Many of these lessons have been engraved in my heart, never to be forgotten. Many of them reside in my heart most of the time. There is one, however, that repeats itself over and over again. It is crippling! Not that lesson, of course, but that I haven't learned it yet.

I am not Jesus!

How often I try to be my own Jesus. When I look back on my most recent slips, there are a few common themes: Stress, fear, and a desire to, and a belief that I can, save myself. 

I come to believe that I am powerful enough to overcome my hardships alone. I come to believe that I can rely on my own self to make it through moments of temptation. I come to believe that I am in charge. I got this. I did this. I'm doing this. It's my job.

I put a lot of responsibility on my shoulders when I get that way. No wonder I get stressed!

I have written about this before, once in 2012 and once last year. I hope I really learn it soon.

Some ways that I try to take Jesus's power away from Him are:

Beating myself up. When I abuse myself emotionally, especially following a slip, it's because I feel like I "deserve" to be punished. Well, that's not my job to decide! My job is to get up, repent, and move forward. When I take the reigns of punishment, I take Jesus's job. The chastisement of my peace is upon Him. Not me. He tells us to repent. He doesn't tell us to destroy ourselves with unkindness. When I beat myself up, and try to tell myself how I'm supposed to feel, I am not able to sincerely repent anyway. I can't feel godly sorrow when I'm making up my own version of sorrow.

Ignoring the Spirit. The day I slipped last, almost two weeks ago, was the day that I was going to go to the temple. I knew I needed to go. I knew, even, that I was supposed to go. I had planned to go that day for a week or so, but that day came and I was tired and I wanted to sleep in. I said to myself, "I'll go Thursday instead." and a teeny, tiny but perceptible voice warned me "you might slip before then" and I said, "Please. I can make it two days. I know I can. Of course I can!" and then the voice nudged me. And I nudged it back. "I got this." I can't say that I would have avoided the slip had I attended the temple. But, as my bishop kindly but firmly reminded me today, I would have been strengthened. I would have been strengthened by obedience to the Spirit, and by the sweet spirit and peace I would have experienced in the temple. And maybe it would have been strength sufficient to offer awareness of what was really coming at me Tuesday night, and I could have fought it.

Slacking in the Little Things. When I put off reading the scriptures, attending the temple, having FHE; when I don't prepare for my calling, pray with sincerity, have family scriptures; when I avoid Visiting Teaching because I don't really love it-- when I slack off in these easy but monumentally important things, I am essentially telling God, "I don't need You." "I can do this on my own."

I got this.

It's strange to me how readily and easily I reject being saved. When I surrender, and when I give myself to my Father, that's when I feel amazing. That's when I am confident, and powerful, and capable, and secure, and happy. There is nowhere warmer or safer than in the arms of Jesus. Why am I so easily distracted from that sweet security by things of the world? I need to amp up my faith. My bishop reminded me today that if I have faith, I will be given strength, and I can have the Priesthood power to make it through any time temptation or trial.

Why should I insist on saving myself when I have Jesus?

I pray that Heavenly Father will teach me to truly learn this lesson. I know that if I don't, I will continue to struggle, continue to slip. The moment I depend on myself is the moment I, mockingly, step away from my Savior, and if I continue on that self reliant path, I will slip again. I'm a little scared about that because I know myself. I know I will cease to trust God and once again put my trust in myself. I hope and pray that I catch it in time to avoid the pit that awaits me.

I feel like beyond this great wall of pride is a freedom I've never known.

When I look back on my months-long period of doubt, I see so much humanism! So much self-reliance! (there is a very good kind of self-reliance, and a very damaging kind of self-reliance.) This is a serious problem and I really, really think I need help overcoming it.

Oh, happy Easter, Friends. This is the commemoration of the most important, sacred, holy day in all of history! Jesus is risen! He lives, He is my Savior- not me. He earned that title- not me. And because He rose from the grave after the darkest nights of the world, we can also rise from our trials and sins into triumph and glory and eternal life! What a beautiful day. How I love my Jesus!

Like Mother, Like Son; Like Father, Like Daughter

First things first, I got my temple recommend back yesterday!!! I'm soo happy. I'm going tomorrow! It's been three long months.

And now, the real reason for my post. I've written about my son before. Both of my children are so wonderful and teach me daily, and I usually feel like the luckiest mom in the world to have them in my life, as my children. I used to think that my daughter was exactly like me- bright, creative, imaginative, happy, enthusiastic, bossy, emotional, controlling, and, oh yeah, hilarious- and that my son was nothing like me. I am laid back and adaptable; he needs structure and fears change. I am scattered; he is precise. I am slow to anger; he is quick to anger. I don't really care about details; he notices everything. I used to imagine that angels in heaven would draw a mom card and a baby card, and if the two matched, they would send that baby to that mom. If they didn't match, they would find a different baby. I imagined that the angels chose my card and my son's card, and they laughed and laughed and laughed and one of them said, "let's do it anyway," and they laughed and laughed some more, because the two of us are NOT A MATCH. 

My sweet boy is 8, now, and as delightful as ever. I have always loved his guilelessness, his willingness to forgive, his desire to share. While I believed for years that we are opposites, I have always been very grateful to be his mother. He and my daughter bring me joy untold! However, I have realized that my son is exactly like me.

No, he is not an addict. But he has poor impulse control as a result of mild autism, and of circumstances that have never been in his control. For someone needing structure and predictability, this poor kid's life has been turned upside down more than any child deserves. The divorce was so hard on him, and the constant back-and-forth between homes continues to be very hard on him, even 6 years later. He really does have a rough life in many ways, and I usually fail to give him credit for that. He is different from me, and he's so different from most other kids. He is intelligent and has an exceptional memory. He doesn't like to do sports or even so much play with other kids. His vocabulary is bigger than many 8th graders', and he uses much different terminology than his peers. Often, he flaps his hands when other kids would laugh. At school, he was bullied due to his differences, and that broke my heart. One of the huge reasons I chose to homeschool was to protect my son from those bullies (both students and teachers). I thought he'd be loving life doing school at home, and that he'd change. But, the truth is, he still struggles-- not with the academics, but with just doing what he's supposed to do.

While I'm definitely not grateful for my addiction, I'm very grateful for the lessons I have learned and am learning through recovery. Especially in relation to parenting.

This morning started off pretty rough. Firstly, I am PMS-ing, which sometimes means that I have an unusually short fuse. So when my sweet son began his "I'm not doing school!" tirade this morning, I only tried being nice and reasonable for a short time before his continued outbursts set me off. I reacted poorly, and I yelled at my sweet 8-year-old son. He retreated into himself, and I had solved nothing. I had only made things worse. Still angry, but knowing I needed to calm down before I spoke another ill word to my boy, I sequestered myself to my bedroom and knelt, asking God to forgive me for treating His little child so poorly. Then I asked for help. "How do I reach my son?" I asked Him. "This happens almost every day. How do I reach him in a way that will inspire him to just do what he needs to do?"

And do you know what? Even after I had hardened my heart (toward a little child!), God answered my prayer with a thought: "How do I reach you?" 

So I thought a moment. I thought about why I was angry. I was angry because I felt like a failure. I felt like if I was a good mom, he'd want to do his school. If I was a good mom, he wouldn't yell at me and refuse to do simple things I asked him to do. I was upset because I knew if he just did what I asked, he'd be happier, and successful, and the whole family would be happier. I was angry essentially because he wasn't being obedient. How does Father treat me when I'm not being obedient? I thought about all my years of active addiction. I thought about His responses. I thought about how He made me feel in those times of failure to obey.

Does my Father yell at me in frustration and anger? No, but He is patient, kind, long-suffering. He doesn't remind me of all the ways I am failing; He brings to my mind the things I am still doing right. When I slip, He doesn't give up. When I was "slipping" weekly, and even daily, He did not give up on me. 

And that's what I needed from my Father. I needed patience. I needed love and encouragement. I needed forgiveness. And that's what my son needed from me right now. He's just like me. 

So I called him into my bedroom and asked him a few questions. I told him that he's just like me. I told him I know it's hard to do the things that are right sometimes. I told him that when I don't obey Heavenly Father, I feel miserable. I asked him how he felt in that moment, and I asked him how he felt the other day when he did three days worth of school, which was above and beyond what I'd required him to do. I asked him to compare those two feelings. 

How can I judge my son who struggles with obedience when I struggle with the same thing? How can I even get angry with him when it took me years to finally turn honestly to God? 

I told my sweet boy I love him. I told him I was sorry for yelling. I sang him "our song" and we both wept. It's a perfect song for how I feel about him:

I don't mind your odd behavior

It's the very thing I savor

If you were an ice cream flavor

You would be my favorite one

Oh, I've loved you from the start

In every single way

And more each passing day

You are brighter than the stars

Believe me when I say

It's not about your scars.

It's all about your heart.

And afterward, he hugged me, got up and said, "I'm going to go do school. Love you, Mom." 

After he left my room, I got back on my knees to thank my Father for teaching me how to be a parent, and for giving me, personally, the most merciful and loving example. I thought, "I wonder if I'll have to do this every morning to inspire my son to do school and/or chores, or whatever it is?" And then the answer, "God would do it for me. If I need to, I will have a one on one with my son every morning." And maybe he still won't be inspired. Maybe he'll still choose to fume in his bedroom. Just like Heavenly Father can't make me do what's right, I can't make my son do what's right. But I know one thing. I will never, ever give up on him.

Volleyball Shoes on the 21st Day: Get Your Feet Right

My bishop, two bishops ago, told me an analogy that made so much sense to me. I don't remember if he gave this story in a talk, or if he told me directly, but it doesn't matter- the message was meant for me (probably not only me, of course).

He talked about how he used to be a volleyball coach, and he said sometimes the girls would send the ball flying erratically over the net. They thought their aim had been good, but the ball didn't go where they wanted it to go because their feet weren't right. He said that when they finally learned to get their feet pointed in the right direction, with practice, the ball would begin to fall where they intended it to fall. So he would work with their feet more than with their aim and swing.

I'm very uninterested in sports. They bore me. But, they seem to be easy to relate to life in many ways!

The bishop likened that story to life. He said sometimes we aim and get it all wrong. We try and fail. But if our feet our pointed in the right direction (i.e. to God), then we'll eventually do other things right as well and that ball will stop landing out of bounds. When our feet are right, our swing will eventually improve, and everything else will fall into place.

He must have been talking to me directly about this, because now I remember him saying that as long as I kept doing what I was doing- reading scriptures, praying, attending my meetings, having FHE- then eventually everything else would fall into place. Eventually, I would aim and the ball wouldn't land in a pit of sin. I took that to heart and never forgot it.

For me, recovery has taken a very long time, but my bishop was right. Through continued scripture reading, prayer, and meeting attendance, I finally learned about the Addiction Recovery Program. My ball was still flying erratically about, landing in muddy areas, never doing what I wanted it to do, but I kept doing those things I knew were right. Slowly, so slowly, I gained access to new tools, new friends who would support me, new courage, new strength. I kept my feet right, and slowly, the ball would land in safer areas.

Obviously, since I'm only 3 weeks out of my last slip, I haven't quite gotten the hang of my swing. But, my feet are straight, and my swing is so much better. I haven't given up. I'm learning and growing and hoping and repenting, my feet ever pointing to the Savior, and I know that my swing will follow. I know that it is following.

I remember a time not so long ago when 3 weeks of abstinence was impossible. Recovery is a miracle! But it's possible for anyone of us, because Jesus is the Savior to everyone of us.

So, if progress is the name of the game (and it is), then I'm winning. Even so, I'm pretty bad at volleyball.

NOT Grateful for my Addiction; Call it What it Is

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I once said I was grateful for my addiction. Well, I'm not.

I hate this addiction. I hate how it destroyed me. I hate how it separates me from God and from my children. I hate how it controls me. I hate how it covers me with filth. I hate this addiction. I am not grateful that I am addicted, for crying out loud.

I used to think that this addiction was the only way I could grow close to God. That's a lie. Other ways I could grow close to God include reading the scriptures, praying, attending my meetings, attending the temple. Did I really believe that I could learn more about Jesus Christ in sin than I could in regular temple attendance? My addiction keeps me out of the temple, and halts my learning and my progress.

I am not grateful for my addiction.

I actually felt special for having this addiction, like God gave it to me as a gift, so I could learn humility. This addiction is not a gift of God, and I am not special for having it. Humility should be learned in other ways, such as reading the scriptures, repenting, praying, attending my meetings, and attending the temple. I was given weakness, yes, as we all were, so I could be humble, but I absolutely was not given this addiction! Addiction is, in most cases, and in my case, a result of choice. I chose addiction by choosing the sins that led to it. God did not choose this for me.

Ether 12:27 is very important. It says "I give unto men weakness that they may be humble." See how it says weakness, and not weaknesses? He simply makes us fallible. He doe not give us specific weaknesses. He does not assign anger to one and sex to another. He gives us weakness. We have our personalities and our environments that mold that general weakness into specific weaknesses. The verse goes on to explain that if we humble ourselves and have faith, he will make our weak things become strong. He gives us general weakness; the inability to be perfect, and then when we show faith and humility, and take to Him our weak things, He makes them strong. That's pretty awesome.

But, I no longer believe that He gave me this specific weakness. Doesn't that seem wrong? I have my own personality. I have my own upbringing and my own experiences, and those are the things that molded my desires and my weaknesses. If God is fair, and He is, then He would not give me sexual weaknesses and Jane a weakness of being afraid to speak out about the Church. There are degrees of sin, and so a fair God would not give more sinful weaknesses to some while sparing others. No. I have always had the choice. I am not grateful for my choices that led to and kept me in addiction.

My addiction taught me nothing. My addiction told me that I am worthless, ugly, stupid, horrible, beyond salvation. My addiction told me that I shouldn't try. My addiction convinced me that I was a freak of nature, and that I could never be healed. My addiction is darkness, evil.

I am not grateful for that which destroyed me and my family. I will not lend thanks to that which ensnares me and keeps me from God. However, I am grateful for repentance. My addiction did not humble me; repentance did. I am grateful for hope. My addiction has never given me hope. I am grateful for the Atonement. My addiction didn't teach me about the Atonement; repentance did. The addiction has done nothing good for me, and so I have no thanks regarding it. Repentance has saved me, will save me, is saving me, and so I am deeply grateful for it.

Would I have learned of repentance through another means had I not become an addict? I certainly hope so. I believe so. I am not so blind, so hard, that addiction is the only way I could come to Christ. No, addiction was the long way. And it wasn't addiction that was a way at all, but recovery from it. I am not grateful for my addiction, but for recovery.

In my afore-referenced blog post, I actually wrote this: "In a sad, strange, maybe sick way, I need this addiction to bring me Home to my God."

That is a complete lie. That is an excuse, that's what that is, an excuse and a false way to accept that I'm addicted. "Oh, I'm an addict because I have to be so I can return to God. So it's okay. I was born this way, so my choices that led to addiction are okay and part of my path to return to God." Nonononono, this took me away from God!

This is a fact: My life would be better had I never been addicted. This is also a fact: I would be closer to God if I'd followed the commandments all along. This addiction does not bring me to Him.

When I turn to God, I turn away from my addiction. So, how could it be my addiction that saves me?

I don't hold it against myself that I was so confused about what to be grateful for. I was grateful, indeed, but my gratitude was displaced. Instead of putting it to God, I was putting it to my addiction. Was it the only thing that could adequately humble me? Absolutely not; I am not that special, that unique. Those things which humble us all would have humbled me as well.

Now, I have to take the long road. That's okay. It is what it is. I will do whatever I must do. But, if I hadn't given to choices time after time after time that created and perpetuated this addiction, I would be in a better place. Wickedness never was happiness. We are not blessed for our sinful choices, but for our obedience.

I regard my addiction with no degree of fondness, nor of gratitude. I know that I can and will learn from it, but only when I turn from it. I am certainly grateful for the lessons I've learned through addiction recovery, and I know that I could have learned these same lessons another way, like by following the commandments. We are given line upon line, precept upon precept, and I cringe when I think of how spiritually far I could be if I'd only trusted God from the beginning. I have lost so much ground because of this addiction; missed so many opportunities.

I know this addiction is not a gift. It has not brought me to God. It has not taught me truths. It has not humbled me. I know that Jesus Christ has brought me to God, taught me truths, and humbled me. It is through repentance, not addiction, that I learn beautiful things. In the future, I hope I repent of smaller sins and learn those same principles. I'm so grateful to know that by taking my weak things to God, He can make them strengths. That is what I'm doing with this addiction. It will be a strength to me! I'm so thankful for a loving Savior who made repentance and forgiveness possible!