I love you; Zarahemla, and an anniversary

Dear Reader,

First, have I told you lately how amazing you are? Well, you’re amazing, and the best little online community. You are family, our friends from living in different states, and recently, you are friends in our Utah neighborhood.

I love you, Texas! (Not the fire ants. You hurt my babies.) I love you, Arizona! (Not the heat. You nearly killed me.) I love you, Utah! (Not the inversion) I love you, friends in many other places!

Since I’m an introvert and won’t make a phone call, please know that I think of you as I write. This blog is mostly a love letter to family and friends. My older kids read the blog faithfully, and this makes me feel like I can still be their teacher and their friend when I have fallen asleep before anyone’s bedtime (last night…and often) or other times when I’ve created other motherhood epic fail moments.

Next, let’s talk about the book of Mosiah in The Book of Mormon. Don’t worry, it’s just a little sermon.

Most classes I have attended about Mosiah include a big diagram of groups of people from different origins, some splintering off for a time, but everyone coming together in the land of Zarahemla. The details make me tired, so I normally skim Mosiah 25 when all the groups come together.

But last week I didn’t skim and I finally learned a lesson from Mosiah 25. You have all of these groups, and they’ve been through a lot, and everyone has something to share. They gather and take time to listen to one another’s stories. As they listen, they begin to see patterns of the Lord’s hand in their lives.  I focused on the emotions they felt as they try to blend their cultural backgrounds and understand experiences. They feel awe, joy, pain, joy and pain. Amazingly, this sharing (and allowing themselves to feel for others) becomes a catalyst for developing concern not just for one another, but for their enemies.

So in real life, I’m a member of a community and a church, and I visit neighbors and I try to be friendly in my own way. I grow in my capacity to love people who are different as I listen.

I haven’t been much of a listener to my “virtual” community. My biggest request from readers is that I should allow comments. Perhaps we have missed some opportunities to grow in friendship because I’ve done all of the sharing.

I’m celebrating the fifth anniversary of this blog on Sunday. It’s growing up and I’m going to allow comments this year. Your opinions and experiences range over a full spectrum; you’re delightful people; I enjoy hearing from you. If you don’t feel like sharing, that’s okay, too. There will be no guilting for comments and I’ll be nice if you disagree with me, but take a few hours to consider whether to be harsh. If that isn’t long enough, take a year to consider. I’m very sensitive.

Happy fifth anniversary, little blog. I’ve written nearly 950 posts. Some of you have read every word. Thank you. The posts are saturated with ideas and whims, family activities and memories, and it’s grown beyond my original vision for it. I’ve grown a bit, too. And let’s not forget how many inches the kids have grown since we began writing about our lives.

Happy fifth anniversary-of-being-brave-and-sharing-thoughts-online to me!

Happy General Conference weekend with love,

Angela