This past week has granted me some unexpected lessons in unexpected places. And, as much as I would sometimes like to think that I can live and survive on my own, I am beginning to see that I am letting myself believe a grand old lie. I can't live alone. I can't survive alone. That makes me vulnerable. In some ways, it makes me weaker. But in many ways, it makes me stronger.
Here is how it began.
On Monday.
My husband went back to school.
\
He left the house long before the sun came up, long before I heard morning revlie drifting across the valley from the Air Force Base, long before I was even coherant.
And he didn't come home until my daughter had gone to bed, the National Championship was well into the fourth quarter, and we found out that my aunt wasn't on the Antiques Roadshow after all (apparently another person also had a first edition of the Book of Mormon that had been under continuous ownership a bit longer than my grandfathers' copy had).
The thing is, the day wasn't even that long. This is why.
I had two friends call. We had long chats both times. I put myself out there and spent the day emailing and texting with various friends. Luckily, Kevin took some good naps and stayed fairly happy all day, despite her teething pain (does it always seem like this girl is teething? Yeah. It's because she is, and has been, from about the time she was five months old). Along with a sweet note and some well-timed emails, texts, and phone calls from my husband, I knew I was not alone.
The next day was a different story. I was a hermit. Kevin was cranky. We stayed inside all day. I wasn't feeling well and I was exhausted. So we didn't do much. And I was lonely.
I caught the last little bit of Anne of Green Gables the Sequel (move #2) on TV the other day. I watched the last 20 minutes just to see that kiss on the bridge (you know, the one between Anne and Gilbert that you are willing to watch six hours of film to experience). And, along with that, this line from Miss Katherine Brooks stood out to me: "Oh, Anne, loneliness has gotten to be a disease with me."
A disease. Yes, sometimes loneliness does feel that way, and I've had my fair share of bouts fighting off that infection. I was also reminded, however, that in our day and age--diseases can be cured. Sometimes you just need the right medicine. On Monday, I got the medicine I needed. On Tuesday, I didn't. On Wednesday, I put forth more of an effort and I did better. And today, Thursday, I learned a lesson I will not soon forget.
I ran with the same group of friends throughout most of my high school years. Most of the time, I felt very much on the outskirts of the group--don't get me wrong, I was involved, I was invited, I was usually around. I put myself there, on the outskirts. I wasn't always the one they called when they wanted to have a good time, but I like to think that when I was needed, I was included.
And although I haven't seen a lot of these friends since graduation and perhaps a missionary farewell or homecoming (most of us missed each others weddings, even), or perhaps a chance enounter at USU, I learned today that when it really counts, everyone is needed.
One of our friends in this group is in the hospital. He's in very serious condition. When one or two of the friends that have stayed close with him found out what was going on, the rest of us were alerted. Word went out. Pray for Chris. Pray for his family.
Come together.
Right now.
Over me.
Everyone is needed. Every prayer counts. Here is how you help. Share a memory (remember that time the cops showed up and Aaron was stuck in the trunk and we all thought we were going to be arrested?). Set up a donation account at the bank. Give whatever you have. Give your love. We're still friends, remember?
Sometimes the cure is in each other.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Resolutions
I know, I know. I have been horribly neglectful since about November when it comes to My Thursday Blog. I would like to say that it is on my list of New Years Resolutions to do a better, more consistent job of posting, but that would be a lie. That is, I am going to try to be better, but this just isn't on my list.
What is on my list, you ask? Well, I am going to try to stop hating BYU athletics to such a horrid degree. Really, not that I think BYU is to be praised, but the level to which I currently hate their athletics programs just doesn't jive with having the spirit. And although I doubt I will get to the level of being a byu-tolerator, I hope to rise above my current status as byu-hater. In addition to that item, my list also includes: getting on instagram (boom! done, as of today!), limiting my time on facebook, learning to bake some type of bread item, reading the Book of Mormon with my family, going somewhere new, completing four house projects, making new friends, and reading 52 books (in reality, I'll probably read more along the lines of 75, but I'd like to read 52 NEW books this year--so if you have any suggestions, send them my way!), monitoring my health better, and strengthening my marriage.
Goals are great, but I've also found that resolutions can be just as important. I think of a resolution as something more than an item on a to-do list--most resolutions are a state of being that requires a certain amount of stretching and pain. Resolutions are not something you do, they are something you become.
Last year, there were two phrases I tried to live by, thanks to starting off my year with Ramona Quimby. These were my resolutions--the things I tried to be, not just things I tried to do.
1. Be Brave
2. Be a Blessing
I did pretty well with those two for most of the year. I tried to serve everywhere I possibly could. I got brave and tried many, many new things--and in the process I learned that I could be happy living in the Salt Lake Valley and that miracles could happen when I willed them to. I feel like 2013 was a year of personal growth for me--and for my family. After all, look how far we came! My baby became a toddler and learned to walk and talk. My husband graduated from college, got a new job, and bought a house (my name is on the deed too, but that's about all I did--add my name).
And, although I do not know what 2014 will bring, here are the three resolutions I am going to try to live by when it comes to my life for the next 363 days.
1. Be faithful, not fearful.
2. Be trusting.
3. Be my best self.
Who are you going to become this year?
What is on my list, you ask? Well, I am going to try to stop hating BYU athletics to such a horrid degree. Really, not that I think BYU is to be praised, but the level to which I currently hate their athletics programs just doesn't jive with having the spirit. And although I doubt I will get to the level of being a byu-tolerator, I hope to rise above my current status as byu-hater. In addition to that item, my list also includes: getting on instagram (boom! done, as of today!), limiting my time on facebook, learning to bake some type of bread item, reading the Book of Mormon with my family, going somewhere new, completing four house projects, making new friends, and reading 52 books (in reality, I'll probably read more along the lines of 75, but I'd like to read 52 NEW books this year--so if you have any suggestions, send them my way!), monitoring my health better, and strengthening my marriage.
Goals are great, but I've also found that resolutions can be just as important. I think of a resolution as something more than an item on a to-do list--most resolutions are a state of being that requires a certain amount of stretching and pain. Resolutions are not something you do, they are something you become.
Last year, there were two phrases I tried to live by, thanks to starting off my year with Ramona Quimby. These were my resolutions--the things I tried to be, not just things I tried to do.
1. Be Brave
2. Be a Blessing
I did pretty well with those two for most of the year. I tried to serve everywhere I possibly could. I got brave and tried many, many new things--and in the process I learned that I could be happy living in the Salt Lake Valley and that miracles could happen when I willed them to. I feel like 2013 was a year of personal growth for me--and for my family. After all, look how far we came! My baby became a toddler and learned to walk and talk. My husband graduated from college, got a new job, and bought a house (my name is on the deed too, but that's about all I did--add my name).
And, although I do not know what 2014 will bring, here are the three resolutions I am going to try to live by when it comes to my life for the next 363 days.
1. Be faithful, not fearful.
2. Be trusting.
3. Be my best self.
Who are you going to become this year?
Thursday, December 19, 2013
One Little Snowflake
For the first three to four months of the year, I usually count myself as one of the snow-haters. I feel like snow should be "allowed" in December (only when it doesn't interfere with holiday celebrations and travelling) but usually dislike very much the fact that it usually sticks around until the last week of April.
Ice in the driveway. Extra chores. Longer commutes. Slush everywhere. Gray, gray, gray. Dirty floors. Bursting coat closets. Ongoing coughs and runny noses. Higher utility bills. Extra layers needed just to take a bag of garbage out to the trash can. Cabin fever.
As I am not a skier or snowboarder and am not a fan of being cold, I really have nothing good to say about the snow.
Except that my mindset changed today.
Many of you have probably seen this cool link floating around social media.
Really, check it out.
I saw this article and these photographs a few weeks ago. And today, when the blizzard showed up at my house in full force, instead of groaning, I looked outside for several minutes and simply marveled at the way that the uninterrupted white covered everything in a kind of quiet perfection. I admired the beauty of the tree in our backyard whose branches were perfectly outlined and highlighted by the snow. I thought about how many billions of snowflakes it takes to make up that kind of beauty.
And I remembered that each one was created different, but equal.
I realized this morning that God did not mean for snow to be an annoyance. I think, rather, that He meant it as a way for us to pause and count our blessings. I think He meant it as a way to slow us down so we would have to talk to Him a little more. I think God created snow as His testimony to us that even the smallest creation takes a lot of work and effort, and even though it is too small to be seen (let alone appreciated) by the naked eye, it was worth His time and effort.
And if a snowflake is worth that kind of work, what does that say about us, his sons and daughters?
That we are worth it.
That we took work. That we still take work. That though we may not see ourselves and our lives as perfectly organized now, there is an order to His plan that makes our lives make sense somehow in the end. That as a single person in a big old world. we add our own unique kind of beauty.
Who am I to wish that away?
Ice in the driveway. Extra chores. Longer commutes. Slush everywhere. Gray, gray, gray. Dirty floors. Bursting coat closets. Ongoing coughs and runny noses. Higher utility bills. Extra layers needed just to take a bag of garbage out to the trash can. Cabin fever.
As I am not a skier or snowboarder and am not a fan of being cold, I really have nothing good to say about the snow.
Except that my mindset changed today.
Many of you have probably seen this cool link floating around social media.
Really, check it out.
 |
| photo by Alexey Kljatov, featured on the Huffington Post |
And I remembered that each one was created different, but equal.
I realized this morning that God did not mean for snow to be an annoyance. I think, rather, that He meant it as a way for us to pause and count our blessings. I think He meant it as a way to slow us down so we would have to talk to Him a little more. I think God created snow as His testimony to us that even the smallest creation takes a lot of work and effort, and even though it is too small to be seen (let alone appreciated) by the naked eye, it was worth His time and effort.
And if a snowflake is worth that kind of work, what does that say about us, his sons and daughters?
That we are worth it.
That we took work. That we still take work. That though we may not see ourselves and our lives as perfectly organized now, there is an order to His plan that makes our lives make sense somehow in the end. That as a single person in a big old world. we add our own unique kind of beauty.
Who am I to wish that away?
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Growing Up: a literary analysis of "The Nutcracker"
While we were spending time with my side of the family this past weekend, my daughter helped her Grandma set up for Christmas. Christmas is a big deal in the Burningham household. It requires a complete redecorating of 60% of the house, two trees, over six Rubbermaid tubs of decorations, two+ nativities, and a whole day of work.
During said Christmas Makeover 2013, the Christmas books came out. I love my mother's Christmas book collection. There are some real gems in there (need a suggestion? My favorite Christmas book for teens/adults is Little Red Buckets, for teens and older kids, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, for adults, The Christmas Box trilogy, and for small children my favorite is a book my mom has that is now falling apart called The Smallest Elf).
Kevin made herself at home with the books and soon pulled out a Little Golden Book (you know, the ones with the gold foil on the spine) entitled The Nutcracker. When I noticed that it was my name in the front cover, I claimed it to bring home with us and although my mother resisted at first, I did find it in our "Box of Stuff Rinda Left Here Last Time" when we got home.
Yesterday, Kevin and I settled in our living room to read some Christmas stories by the light of the afternoon sun floating in through our front window and the lights on the Christmas tree, which must always be on while Kevin is awake.
And though she listened only to the first two pages, I finished the book (took two or three sittings--yes, this is a children's book, but I am also a toddler's mother). It brought back memories of attending the ballet with my mother and my friend Jennifer and her mother (and occasionally our little sisters when they could stomach it) throughout the years. The productions we saw varied from the smallest local dance company to a full-blown, professional version done by Ballet West. I love the story. I love the music. I love the ballet. I love the name Clara. I love the pesky little brother who "is ruining everything!" I love all the different characters and cultures that dance before Clara and her prince, and I especially love the very beginning of the ballet where the families dance together, in and around each other.
And as I was reading the story version to my daughter, I realized that the Nutcracker is not just a beautiful Christmas fantasy put to music by Tchaikovsky.
This is a story about growing up.
At the beginning of the party, Clara is still a little girl in a party dress. By the end of the story, she is treated as a queen.
What makes the difference?
Perhaps the fact that her toy nutcracker becomes a living prince. Love can change girls into women.
Perhaps it was caring for her fallen soldier, a toy though he may be. Caretaking can change girls into women.
Perhaps it was having to forgive her little brother for breaking her most prized possession. Forgiving can change girls into women.
Perhaps it was the part where she had to be courageous and fight a hard battle. Being brave can change girls into women.
Perhaps it was the journey she took to a faraway land and the people she met there. Time away from home can change girls into women too.
In the story, Clara doesn't age more than a few hours, but when the story ends, she is much older than she was before. The Nutcracker is her ticket into becoming a woman.
Perhaps Herr Drosellmyer knew that, like Wendy Darling in Peter Pan, Clara is on the verge of no longer being a little girl. Instead of a doll, as all the other little girls get for Christmas, he gives her a soldier. Instead of making the nutcracker instantly better, he gives Clara a charge to watch over him carefully as he mends. Instead of setting things to right with the chime of the clock at midnight, he sends his goddaughter on an adventure, even if it was only in her dreams.
What happens to Clara when she wakes up in the morning? Is she more kind, more noble, more regal? Does she begin to act like the princess-the queen--that the citizens of the Land of Sweets see her as? Is she a little quicker to forgive when she is wronged? Does she realize that she can fight hard battles, overcome evil, and yet show mercy? Does she have a better understanding of her divine nature? Did she grow up, have a family, and tell the story to her daughter by the light of the Christmas tree in the middle of the afternoon?
I hope so. Oh, I hope so.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
One of those seasons...
First off, I want to apologize for the three-week break I took from this blog. I didn't mean for it to be so long--I took a sick day and then I took a holiday and now I am still trying to recover from all the moving madness and the sickness that took out all three of us for ten days (one word: miserable). Now we are trying to get settled in to our new house and I am, well, struggling.
If there is one thing I try to be on this blog, it is genuine. I won't tell you my child is a perfect sleeper if she still wakes up during the night. I won't pretend I married the perfect man because he and I both know he has his faults. I won't act like I know everything and make the best choices all of the time, because I don't. I won't write things just to get your pity or your compliments or your attention. If anything has come across that way, you can bet that's not how I meant for it to sound. I simply want to share my experiences and my thoughts and hope it can help someone else along the way.
I love Christmastime. Usually. I look forward to it all year. And yet, along with this season comes another--winter. And winter usually means I get the "blues" in some form or another. It started when I was nine and my family moved to a place completely foreign to me (yes, I got culture shock moving from Cache Valley to Davis County). I started getting anxiety attacks. I was in despair. Luckily I was able to pull mostly out of it by the time I was twelve and my family moved back to Cache Valley, but every year since then, when winter sets in, so do my sour moods, and it becomes harder and harder to keep myself going every day.
Compound that with the loneliness that comes with being in a new place and at home all day with only an onery toddler (who is also lonely), and, well, as I said before, I'm struggling.
Here's something to hold on to, though. It is something I have been telling myself for the past two or three months as we've been working on finding the right home and then getting all moved and getting Scott into graduate school and figuring out where our family is meant to go from here.
Blessings take work.
Even the small ones.
If I want a friend, I have to put the effort out there to find one.
If I want my house to look nice, I have to start working on that mile-long list of projects.
If I want my daughter to be happier, I need to spend the time with her just playing and I need to give her opportunities to succeed also (and succeed at more than just coloring all over our new refrigerator--Thanks Mr. Clean for your awesome Magic Erasers!).
If I want my husband to rise above the challenges facing him, I have to give him unwavering support.
If I want to be a better person and let go of the things holding me back from being the person I really want to be, I have to learn to let go.
Have you ever noticed that the best things in life take a lot of effort? And time? Planning a wedding. Growing a baby. Serving a mission. Getting back to good health. Cultivating relationships. Succeeding in the workplace. Achieving a goal. Christmas celebrations...
At this time of year, it is hard to consider adding more tasks to an already long list (because no matter how simple you try to keep Christmas, it still takes a lot out of you!), but sometimes it is worth it.
A few days ago, I found this list on a blog that I follow. It is President Howard W. Hunter's list of the most important kind of Christmas gifts to offer this season. The things he lists are not easy. Some are very difficult. But oh! what a beautiful holiday if we could have these things be part of it!
I have realized over the past few days that there is a reason that Christmas comes in the middle of winter and not at the beginning of spring (when Christ's birthday really happened). It seems to me that we need Christmas more in December when the days are long and dark than we do in April when everything seems to be sunshine and new growth. We need the reminder now that there is a light--a star--in all that darkness that tries to pull us down. We need to know that ultimately, when nothing else seems to work, Christ is the answer. His atonement can heal any wound, forgive any sin, and give peace to those, who like me, may be floundering. Yes, sometimes extra help may be needed in the form of medication or therapy or a change of pace--but when you allow Christ to be part of your healing process, the healing happens in a miraculous way to a miraculous degree. He can do things we can't. He can understand things that we won't. He can, and does, suffer with us.
He offers the "great joy" we may be missing.
If there is one thing I try to be on this blog, it is genuine. I won't tell you my child is a perfect sleeper if she still wakes up during the night. I won't pretend I married the perfect man because he and I both know he has his faults. I won't act like I know everything and make the best choices all of the time, because I don't. I won't write things just to get your pity or your compliments or your attention. If anything has come across that way, you can bet that's not how I meant for it to sound. I simply want to share my experiences and my thoughts and hope it can help someone else along the way.
I love Christmastime. Usually. I look forward to it all year. And yet, along with this season comes another--winter. And winter usually means I get the "blues" in some form or another. It started when I was nine and my family moved to a place completely foreign to me (yes, I got culture shock moving from Cache Valley to Davis County). I started getting anxiety attacks. I was in despair. Luckily I was able to pull mostly out of it by the time I was twelve and my family moved back to Cache Valley, but every year since then, when winter sets in, so do my sour moods, and it becomes harder and harder to keep myself going every day.
Compound that with the loneliness that comes with being in a new place and at home all day with only an onery toddler (who is also lonely), and, well, as I said before, I'm struggling.
Here's something to hold on to, though. It is something I have been telling myself for the past two or three months as we've been working on finding the right home and then getting all moved and getting Scott into graduate school and figuring out where our family is meant to go from here.
Blessings take work.
Even the small ones.
If I want a friend, I have to put the effort out there to find one.
If I want my house to look nice, I have to start working on that mile-long list of projects.
If I want my daughter to be happier, I need to spend the time with her just playing and I need to give her opportunities to succeed also (and succeed at more than just coloring all over our new refrigerator--Thanks Mr. Clean for your awesome Magic Erasers!).
If I want my husband to rise above the challenges facing him, I have to give him unwavering support.
If I want to be a better person and let go of the things holding me back from being the person I really want to be, I have to learn to let go.
Have you ever noticed that the best things in life take a lot of effort? And time? Planning a wedding. Growing a baby. Serving a mission. Getting back to good health. Cultivating relationships. Succeeding in the workplace. Achieving a goal. Christmas celebrations...
At this time of year, it is hard to consider adding more tasks to an already long list (because no matter how simple you try to keep Christmas, it still takes a lot out of you!), but sometimes it is worth it.
A few days ago, I found this list on a blog that I follow. It is President Howard W. Hunter's list of the most important kind of Christmas gifts to offer this season. The things he lists are not easy. Some are very difficult. But oh! what a beautiful holiday if we could have these things be part of it!
This Christmas,
mend a quarrel.
Seek out a forgotten friend.
Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust.
Write a letter.
Give a soft answer.
Encourage youth.
Manifest your loyalty in word and deed.
Keep a promise.
Forgo a grudge.
Forgive an enemy.
Apologize.
Try to understand.
Examine your demands on others.
Think first of someone else.
Be kind.
Be gentle.
Laugh a little more.
Express your gratitude.
Welcome a stranger.
Gladden the heart of a child.
Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth.
Speak your love and then speak it again.
Christmas is a celebration, and there is no celebration that compares with the realization of its true meaning—with the sudden stirring of the heart that has extended itself unselfishly in the things that matter most.
He offers the "great joy" we may be missing.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
As Thy Days May Demand, So Thy Succor Shall Be
Like many of you, my thoughts and my heart has been with the people of the Philippines this week. This storm seems to have affected more than any other in the past five or six years. Maybe it is because, having been a missionary, I cannot imagine what it would be like for the missionaries in the Tacloban mission to be evacuated from their areas just when the people there need them most. How worried they must be about the members, converts, and investigators they have spent the past weeks or months serving. Perhaps it is because, having a little brother on a mission, my heart is very tender for the families of those missionaries who have spent the past week praying, fasting, and pleading with Heavenly Father to keep their missionary safe and bring him or her home again. Perhaps it is because I look at the world through a mother's eyes now and my heart aches as I think of what it must be like for the mothers of those missionaries and all of the mothers in the Philippines. To lose your children--for a short time or until the next life--seems to me to be torture of the worst kind.
These were the things on my mind as my husband and daughter and I drove to our new home yet again last night to clean and make repairs as we prepare to move in. I am nervous for this move, but also feeling incredibly blessed that our family is able to afford a house at this time. Our house is not new. It is not in pristine condition. It doesn't have all the latest features and finishings. It definitely is not perfect. But we don't care about any of that, because it is ours, and it is quickly becoming home.
The lights of the city flew past as we drove north. I thought about how tired I was after a day of packing and cleaning in between playing with, feeding, and reading to my cranky daughter who is having a hard time adjusting to the change she senses but doesn't understand. I keep telling her it will be a good thing, but she still bursts into tears at the slightest tumble or reprimand. I wondered where I could find the energy to clean for another two hours and then make the journey home and get Kevin into bed when it would be way past her normal bedtime (our babysitter curse had struck again).
Growing tired of the ads on the radio, my husband turned on a CD instead. The one that just happened to be in the CD player was from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir--their Called to Serve CD that came out while I was on my mission. We don't often listen to the MoTab on days other than Sundays (both of us having got our fill while we were missionaries), but last night I found the music soothing, comforting. And then my favorite hymn started playing.
How firm a foundation, ye Saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in his excellent word!
What more can he say than to you he hath said,
In the midst of typhoons, earthquakes, and tropical storms, the Gospel is still true and the work still moves forward.
Who unto the Savior, who unto the Savior,
Who unto the Savior for refuge have fled?
And those missionaries, some of whom having walked 40 or more miles past washed up and bloating bodies to find safety and refuge, find that the Savior is there, right beside them, offering hope.
In ev'ry condition--in sickness, in health,
In poverty's vale or abounding in wealth,
At home or abroad, on the land or the sea--
In the midst of teething toddlers, out of control blood sugars, half-filled cardboard boxes and tight budgets, God's work moves forward.
As thy days may demand, as thy days may demand,
As thy days may demand, so thy succor shall be.
No mater how long or hard the day, the Savior offers the comfort and strength only he can give.
Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed,
For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.
For the parents on their knees, pleading with the Lord to keep their loved one safe, unsure how they will keep functioning until they get word, God gives them the ability to keep moving forward.
I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,
Upheld by my righteous, upheld by my righteous,
Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.
Our Heavenly Father somehow makes it possible for us to know that everything will be okay, one way or another.
The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose
I will not, I cannot, desert to his foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I'll never, no never, I'll never, no never,
I'll never, no never, no never forsake!
 |
| "Lost Lamb" by Del Parson |
Thursday, November 7, 2013
To Raise Awareness: It Isn't Funny
November is Diabetes Awareness Month and I'm willing to bet few of my readers knew that (unless, of course, you read my post last week when I mentioned it). Get ready. We are "celebrating" Diabetes Awareness this month at My Thursday Blog. Today I'm going to climb right up on my soapbox and right a social wrong.
Some of you may have seen this eCard floating around social media:
It is often accompanied by captions such as "hilarious. And true, don't try to blame genes for your poor choices."
Are your feelings hurt yet? Because mine sure are.
You know why? Because I have diabetes and heart disease runs in my family, and we also tend to be overweight (though certainly not obese).Some things are a matter of genetics. I have tried to become a runner and I hate running. Just because I don't run doesn't mean I'm not an active person. And this joke not only attacks me, but my family. Like somehow it is my uncle's fault that he got the "running sugars" as a toddler. Like somehow my Grandparents, who survived the Great Depression, World War II, and raising seven kids on a schoolteacher's income, could have changed the course of their family's medical future by...what? Eating differently? OUT OF THEIR GARDEN???
Oh, society. You think you know so much about this disease.
It reminds me of that one friend on facebook who posted, so long ago now I can't even find in on her timeline, about how "funny" she thought it was that a Diabetes magazine had sugar cookies on the front cover. Like, what, I'm not supposed to be able to eat cookies just because I have this incurable disease that is affected by sugar?
That's like telling a little girl with cancer that she can't wear a headband because she doesn't have any hair--oh, that struck a nerve. I know it did. Why? Because the two things you don't mess with in this society are children and cancer. For some reason, it's just not okay to joke about cancer.
But, you see, it is okay to joke about diabetes. Even on television.
Should have known that if my husband and I were going to start watching (and loving) a show from BYUtv, at some point it would make me seething mad and incredibly, emotionally wounded.
Great, just great. Candyland becomes Diabetesland. Oh, that's funny.
NOT.
And you know what? I'm not even offended because I am a diabetic and therefore supposed to be fat, ugly, and never allowed to eat any sugar, ever. I am offended for all of those children out there who have to wear insulin pumps to school and check their blood sugar while the rest of the class heads out to recess. Those who only get candy when their blood sugar is low and they are feeling confused, nauseous, shaky, and scared. Those whose parents never get to sleep through the night because they always have to wake up at least once to check their child's ketone levels. The kids who don't really have a choice, even if they are terrified of needles. You think one shot a year for the flu is bad? You think it is hard to watch your child get immunized? Try being the one giving your child a shot four to six times daily. Just to keep him or her alive.
Please, think a little next time you go to laugh at their expense.
Some things just aren't funny.
Some of you may have seen this eCard floating around social media:
It is often accompanied by captions such as "hilarious. And true, don't try to blame genes for your poor choices."
Are your feelings hurt yet? Because mine sure are.
You know why? Because I have diabetes and heart disease runs in my family, and we also tend to be overweight (though certainly not obese).Some things are a matter of genetics. I have tried to become a runner and I hate running. Just because I don't run doesn't mean I'm not an active person. And this joke not only attacks me, but my family. Like somehow it is my uncle's fault that he got the "running sugars" as a toddler. Like somehow my Grandparents, who survived the Great Depression, World War II, and raising seven kids on a schoolteacher's income, could have changed the course of their family's medical future by...what? Eating differently? OUT OF THEIR GARDEN???
Oh, society. You think you know so much about this disease.
It reminds me of that one friend on facebook who posted, so long ago now I can't even find in on her timeline, about how "funny" she thought it was that a Diabetes magazine had sugar cookies on the front cover. Like, what, I'm not supposed to be able to eat cookies just because I have this incurable disease that is affected by sugar?
That's like telling a little girl with cancer that she can't wear a headband because she doesn't have any hair--oh, that struck a nerve. I know it did. Why? Because the two things you don't mess with in this society are children and cancer. For some reason, it's just not okay to joke about cancer.
But, you see, it is okay to joke about diabetes. Even on television.
Should have known that if my husband and I were going to start watching (and loving) a show from BYUtv, at some point it would make me seething mad and incredibly, emotionally wounded.
Great, just great. Candyland becomes Diabetesland. Oh, that's funny.
NOT.
And you know what? I'm not even offended because I am a diabetic and therefore supposed to be fat, ugly, and never allowed to eat any sugar, ever. I am offended for all of those children out there who have to wear insulin pumps to school and check their blood sugar while the rest of the class heads out to recess. Those who only get candy when their blood sugar is low and they are feeling confused, nauseous, shaky, and scared. Those whose parents never get to sleep through the night because they always have to wake up at least once to check their child's ketone levels. The kids who don't really have a choice, even if they are terrified of needles. You think one shot a year for the flu is bad? You think it is hard to watch your child get immunized? Try being the one giving your child a shot four to six times daily. Just to keep him or her alive.
Please, think a little next time you go to laugh at their expense.
Some things just aren't funny.
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