Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Once upon a time,

My love story began.  I was eighteen.  I was very silly.  I was a freshman at BYU.  I SAID that dating wasn't important to me.  And then there was a boy.

Tall,
smiling,
laughing.

I remember being in the dorm common area, with all those boys I spent so much time with.  One was playing the piano.  One was sharing some gouda.  He--Matt, I mean-- was lounging on the floor, making us all feel like we were hilarious.

I really wish I could tell you how it proceeded.  I wish I could say "I knew right then that I was going to marry that boy", but I didn't.  All I know, is we continued to have nights like that, plus or minus a few of the other boys, and then minus more of them and more of them, until it was the two of us.

I had no idea he would become my husband.

First, he went home for the summer.  We called once or twice a week.

Then he came back for a few days. It was like no time had passed.

Then he came back again, the night before he went into the MTC.  It was awkward and made me miss him a lot.

And then he we wrote.  Not perfectly. But we wrote.  And that's when we really started to know each other.
4/29/13

Some things I'm thinking about, and being better.

For about 12 minutes tonight, the motivational bug hit me and I was overwhelmed with a desire to organize my classroom, be a neat freak, and put together a cleaning schedule for our apartment.  I was pinning and pinning all these ideas for my classroom and making lists for things I want to do in hopes that I could maybe perhaps be good enough.

Because that's really what it was.  A feeling of inadequacy.  It creeps in all the time, I think to everyone's life, and here was my little bout of it.

It started yesterday (predictably aligned with a certain monthly visit that seems to be bringing crazier and crazier emotions each time it comes around).  It was hot in church, and I did singing time in Junior primary, nursery, and Senior primary.  We're adding a 4th time next Sunday, because their separating the crazy sunbeams out of Junior. (Was that my fault? And such thoughts...) We plowed through lots of songs because oh my goodness if I stop for a second they will all go crazy! (That's what it feels like).  By the end, I was exhausted, and in no mood for the new councilor to come tell me I should make cute posters and "jazz things up" and play games and and and (I know it was just how I was feeling. She was totally nice.)  And then the Stake primary president who was there the whole time came up (what did she think of me? Oh I'm the worst at this...) and gave me a (totally sweetly worded) suggestion, AND just as I was carrying out the huge box of stuff left from an old chorister, I was given a new visiting teaching assignment, which heaven knows is because I have completely slacked on my duties, which I blame on this crazy calling!

I barely made it to the car before bursting into little-kid-i-just-fell-off-my-bike tears.

You know what, this year of teaching that I almost have under my belt has taught me that my strength with teaching is the interacting with kids part. (Which that councilor actually complemented me on amidst her "suggestions".)  Let the world know it, my strength DOES NOT lie in cutesie.  I will not ever have the cutest classroom, or the funnest games, or the sweetheart voice. I will not even have the elaborately planned lesson with 54,782 visual aids, hand outs, and original art.  That is just not where my priorities are, and I'm plain not good at those things.  I am good at seeing kids, empathizing with them, and appealing to their sensibilities.  I am good at making them feel special.  I am good at showing them I care about them.  I am not good at putting a lot of outside time in to make each lesson, each minute, the amazing experience it could be.  And that might be is a weakness of mine.  I will fully admit to it.

It makes me scared to teach third grade next year, because is that what they expect of me?  That terrifies me completely.  That takes me back to the way I felt during my internship (as in, I want to die I hate this job its not worth it I'm not good at it I can never be what they want me to be and if I have to be a sweetheart I can't be and its so much work to plan like this and I just don't have the energy and so on...)

And THEN I think, if I can't do this (or keep my house clean or my car clean or even my bangs clean) HOW could I ever even start to be fathoming that it would be "fun" to have Kosterbabies?  What in the world woman!?!?

Back to positivity.  I have to say, that I know Satan works hard at me through these feelings of inadequacy.  I think its true for all of us.  He finds that one thing to make us feel like we're not good enough, and directs our attention to it until it becomes a ridiculous fixation that is blown way out of proportion.  I have to try and take these little bouts of self-doubt and turn it into motivation to be better.  I have to turn it into "Well okay, so Heavenly Father is trying to humble me a bit.  I knew in my heart before now that I could be better about ______.  Why don't I start by doing _________. "

And then I get 12 minutes of hyperdrive motivation, until I decide to go and write about my feelings.