An Eye-Opening

My daughter said the prayer over dinner tonight. My siblings would be proud of her two-sentence prayer, not because of the substance, but because of the length. My family often groans when my Dad calls on me to say the prayer. I'm kind of long winded. Once I was even told that if the phone rang while I was saying our family prayer on Christmas Eve, I needed to say "Amen" and just be done. The comment was meant to be a joke, but about a minute into my prayer, the phone did ring and I did say "Amen" as quickly as I could. Even my husband rarely calls on me to pray--he claims it is because he knows I say every prayer during the day, but a few months ago I confronted him and as he blushed, he admitted, he rarely asks me because I tend to go on and on. "You say great prayers!" he tried to recover. "I just am really tired at night!"

Apparently my daughter takes after him.

That's okay with me.

Those that know me know I am a by-the-book person, not just because I love books but because I can't bear to break rules. When I was in the fourth grade, I overheard my teacher tell my mother she was afraid I would give myself an ulcer because I took life so seriously.

I'm learning, however, that living with that kind of personality doesn't mesh so well in my current line of work, because three-year-olds make their own rules and little boys are going to jump on the couch even when you tell them not to. Showering every day, which was once a main staple of my hygienic routine, is now merely a suggestion. Shaving my legs weekly? Putting makeup on when going out in public? Wearing a bra to take out the trash? Eating fruits and veggies with every meal? Vacuuming weekly?

Socially acceptable hygiene practices are considered guidelines anyway, right?

I want to tell you about a friend of mine who has been on my mind for the past several days. She and I are made from completely different molds, except that we happen to be the same race and gender and grew up with the same religion. We shared a dorm room with four other girls for 19 days in August 2008. Those days were stressful. We were going from college co-ed lifestyle of jeans and textbooks and dating to a celibate, skirt-clad, white-handbook ruled life for the next year and a half and it was a difficult transition.

We all embraced missionary life in our different ways. I took the "Nun" approach--I did my very best to follow the rules to a "t" and I expected every one around me to do the same. My friend? Well, she was more of a "Maria" (you know, like from the Sound of Music). She and I had the same purpose--but whereas I was trying to leave absolutely everything behind, she was trying to figure out how to be a missionary, but not lose sight of herself. Each of us thought we were taking the correct approach, and we stepped on each other's toes and hurt each other's feelings. The difference being, I hate confrontation and avoid it at all costs (not an effective form of open communication) and she wasn't afraid of asking the hard questions and having the hard conversations (she is very effective at communicating).

How do you solve a problem like Maria?

The thing is, she wasn't a problem. Not in the least. She is an amazing person, and she has taught me more than she will ever know. Oh, how she humbled me those days in the MTC. I remember the aftermath of a particularly hard confrontation accusation conversation--how I got on my knees and I realized she was right and I was wrong and I had to own up to that and apologize. Admitting my mistake was the hardest thing my mission had asked of me to that point--but also exactly the lesson I needed. I remember getting off my knees, walking over to her bunk, and kneeling down next to her and waiting for her to finish praying, then asking for forgiveness and admitting that I really needed to take a chill pill. It was a lesson I learned over and over again for the next two years as I tried to merge Marinda the Person with Marinda the Missionary.

I remember one night as we were gathering with some of the other girls in our assigned group having a nightly prayer. It was supposed to be a bonding ritual. During the preparation for this prayer, this particular Sister Friend of mine admitted that she pretty much never closed her eyes during prayers.

My first thought? SINNER! Isn't that like the first thing you learn as a child? When you pray, you bow your head, close your eyes, and fold your arms or you aren't doing it right?

"I can concentrate better on the prayer with my eyes open," was her explanation.

Fast forward six or so months. I was teaching my investigator--the one I'm convinced I was sent to Texas for--and he asked me, "Why do you Mormons pray with your arms folded? Can't you pray with just your hands clasped or something?"

I laughed and explained that folding arms was probably more of a way to keep children reverent than a requirement for prayer.

Light bulb.

A couple of weeks later, this same investigator joked with me about how you can tell kids who are Mormon: when their schoolteacher asks them to line up in the hall, they always fold their arms.

Fast forward five years, to my dinner table, covered in "Germmy" (German) Pancakes and Bacon because we've already had pasta for dinner three nights this week. My daughter volunteers to say the prayer, because dinner is the one prayer she will consent to say each day, and she tells us she is going to do it herself.

And after she begins, I quickly open my eyes. I glance from my son, who is "folding" his arms by pressing the backs of his hands together, and my daughter, who is staring and her plate and thanking Heavenly Father for "the food and everything we did today" and saying "Amen!" Her arms are barely folded, her head isn't bowed, and to my knowledge, she has yet to close her eyes during a prayer.

I don't bother to correct her, because I don't think there is ever an incorrect way to say a prayer (Rameumption aside). I don't even care that she uses the same lines during each prayer, because it is hard enough to get her to pray and in my opinion, if a child is praying, he or she probably has a more direct channel to Heavenly Father than any adult, except maybe the prophet.

Merging Marinda the Person with Marinda the Mommy has been difficult at times. I am still learning that rules can, and sometimes need, to be bent. I am still learning what Mother Teresa taught so many years ago: "When you judge people, you have no time to love them." Sometimes I get so busy trying to figure my children out that I forget that by loving them, they will be the ones to show me their true selves. Sometimes playing paper dolls is more important than doing dishes. Sometimes reading the "Goodnight Football" book for a sixth time in three hours means that my son isn't so much learning the game of football as the fact that his mother loves him and will make time for him. Sometimes the things I think I'm sacrificing--careers, showers, half a Starburst that the toddler pulls out of my mouth--aren't sacrifices at all.

As Daniel Tiger says, "Look a little closer and you'll find out what you wanna know."
You sang that. I know you did. Don't lie.

My MTC friend taught me to look closer at people, especially those different from me. My first reaction may be to think that they are in the wrong, but let me tell you, 99.5% of the time, I'm the SINNER! who needs a reality check.

She is now living a very different life from mine. She's building playgrounds in Africa and empowering women (she helps women in Ghana run this awesome custom-made dresses business)and discovering herself and  and I am using playgrounds and empowering children and discovering myself.

It turns out that even though our lives have changed and our roads are varied, we still have the same purpose: to love people and not judge them.

Remember how we just talked about not judging?