"Look Mom! It's Jesus!"

Once I was holding my young daughter’s hand while we passed an ill-kept homeless man on the street. He had a long beard, dirty clothes, and smelled of body odor, liquor and tobacco. I lowered my eyes and kept my distance, hoping he wouldn’t ask me for a handout. My young daughter, on the other hand, stopped then suddenly dropped my hand and ran over to the man.
She stood perfectly still - starring up at him  in wide-eye awe.
Then she said, “Look Mom! It’s Jesus!”

The homeless man gently tilted his head in acknowledgement and smiled back at my little girl. Then he glanced up at me with a glimmer in his eyes. We were both humbled at the reverent way my daughter had seen him.

Each of us has great value and worth. When we learn to see each other and ourselves through the loving eyes of a child we will rediscover the infinite beauty of each son and daughter of God. 

The Robot Who Needed a Personality

The Robot Who Needed A Personality

by

Grandma  Baadsgaard

Happy Birthday Sammy.

I hope you know how much I love yo

Keep dreaming and building

and your wishes will come true.

             Sam gathered up a pile of gears, wires and pieces of scrap metal in his garage. Then he found some batteries. Next he carefully placed all his supplies into a shoe box. He walked into the kitchen where his mother was making soap on the stove with her safety goggles.  

“Do not bother me,” Sam said to his noisy family. “I am going to make a robot and I need my brain to focus. So don’t bother me until I come out of my bedroom. Scientists need to concentrate without distractions.”

Sam’s mother, still stirring the lye mixture, nodded. She understood. But his younger brothers Logan and Liam scratched their heads. They did not know about the vital importance of absolute quiet in a scientist’s laboratory of wonders.

Sam walked into his bedroom then closed and locked the door. First he tried putting his gears and levers together one way, then another. Then he tried hooking up the wires and batteries one way then another.

It wasn’t working.

“AAAHHHHH!” Sam yelled in frustration. “Why can’t I get this robot to work? What am I doing wrong?”

That is when Sam heard someone quietly knocking on his bedroom door. When he opened the door he saw his sister Sophia holding her old doll.

“Yes?” Sam asked. “I thought I told everybody to leave me alone so I can concentrate.”

“I think that you are frustrated,” Sophia answered. “Maybe your robot needs a little personality.”

She handed Sam two popped off buttons for the eyes, a felt smile and two floppy ears from the doll Sam had destroyed when he was in his rocket scientist stage.

“My robot doesn’t need these,” Sam said. “My robot is not a doll.”

“I know that,” Sophie said. “But you never know. Sometimes I think when I go to sleep all my dolls come alive and play around in my room. Maybe it works the same way with robots.”

Sammy rolled his eyes, thanked his sister and closed the door.

“AAHHH!” kept coming from Sam’s room.

Sam worked hard all afternoon until it was supper time. Then his mother knocked on the door.

“Sam, come to supper,” Sam’s mother said through the door. “You’ve been working long enough and you need a break.”

Sam opened the door and followed his mother into the kitchen shaking his head. He saw her home-made soap lined up on the counter.

“It just won’t work,” Sam said. “I’ve tried everything and it just won’t work.”

“Well, why don’t you sleep on it and try again tomorrow,” Sam’s mother said.

Sam nodded. Then he ate supper and went outside to play. When it was time for bed, he put on his pajamas, brushed his teeth and climbed into bed. He saw his lifeless robot standing in the corner of his room. He was almost going to put a face on him from his sister’s doll but he thought twice and decided not to. Then he fell asleep.

When Sam woke up in the morning he saw his robot in the corner of the room with two button eyes, a felt smile and two floppy ears looking back at him. Sam rubbed his eyes and looked again.

Then he scrunched his eyebrows and said, “Where did you get that face?”

Then he rubbed his eyes again and walked over to his sister’s room where he found Sophia playing with her dolls in her three doll houses.

“Sophia, did you put your doll face on my robot after I went to sleep?”

“No,” she answered. “I went to bed before you did remember.”

Sam walked back into his room and picked up his robot. Then he turned the switch and set the smiling robot on the floor. The robot walked across the room, bumped into the wall, turned around and walked back toward him before it stopped.

“Mom!” Sammy yelled, “My robot works.”

Sam’s mother and father, his sister and two brothers ran into his room and watched while Sam wound it up again.

“See, I told you so,” Sophia said. “Even robots need personality.”

Sammy lowered his eyebrows and began thinking of way to stay up all night so he could see what really happens in his bedroom when he falls asleep at night.

“Maybe you’re right,” Sammy answered.

Sammy’s father and two brothers scratched their heads. But Sammy’s mother and sister winked at Sammy because now he knew the secret.

Magic is everywhere, if you just believe.

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STATES OF GRACE

 I once watched a professional stoneware artist working at the wheel, throwing pots. I asked him questions about the formation of the outer walls and how he made the varied shapes he was forming. He told me he only pays attention to the center and the outside walls take care of themselves.
Too often our attention is directed to our outer walls, or the way we appear to others. We find ourselves worthy only if we match up well against everybody else. We compare and compete then find ourselves lacking, never convinced we’re good enough. If we pay attention to our own personal journey, how we compare to others won’t matter any more. We don’t have to be perfect. We don’t have to be the best. We don’t have to compete with others. We have only to be better than we were yesterday.
I remember a day when the parents of the students in my daughter’s ballet class were invited to attend a performance demonstration to see the progress of the dance students. There were obvious differences in the levels of ballet technique and performance competency as the girls followed the teacher’s commands and performed a choreographed dance for us.
My daughter had struggled with shyness for years, along with learning to cope with legs that were several inches different in length. Taking ballet was her idea. She’d found the courage to take classes as a beginner with other girls who had been taking ballet for ten or more years.
Watching her dance that day was amazingly beautiful to me. It didn’t matter how she compared to the other girls. Even her teacher could not possibly know what she had overcome to get to this personal level of grace. Someone attending that class as an observer could not possibly make a judgment that was accurate about her competency or accomplishments. Then I realized only a parent who truly knows and loves their child can accurately assess their progress. So it is with God; only our loving heavenly parents can accurately assess our progress.
As I watched my daughter turn a pirouette that day, my heart caught the very instant she stopped, stood still and smiled at me. Time stopped and she was the only ballerina on the dance floor. That shining moment of grace still dances in my heart to remind me that we all have a parent in heaven watching us with great love like I watched my daughter that day.
The time between our entrance and exit on the stage of life is fleeting and precious. Those around us are dancing as fast as they can but generally no one notices. We all need an audience who knows how hard we’re trying and how far we’ve come. Instead of looking out there for applause we need to look up there. The master potter is at work and is lovingly placing the soft clay of our souls into the hot kiln of life so we can each emerge the unique shining vessels we can become.

IF YOU'RE FEELING ALONE OR DISCOURAGED

 There are times in all our lives when we feel alone and discouraged. There are days when we question whether anyone understands or cares – when we can’t remember the melody or find the will to sing it.... At times like these I believe it helps to join in the strength of those around us.
I play second violin in an orchestra. The other members of the group who play in that section sit in front, behind and on both sides of me. When I lose my place in the music I listen carefully to the musician next to me while I scan the notes on the page to locate where we are in the score. Before long I can jump back in and start playing again. The player next to me can’t stop playing to instruct me without losing their place. So when they can tell I’m lost, they will whisper the number of the measure we’re on.
We can’t always solve the problems of others but we can listen carefully so we are aware when someone around us has lost their place. We can learn to be more in tune with the needs of those around us and we never know what positive influence we have. For example, one day after I’d given a talk at BYU Education week, a woman approached me and said, “You don’t know me but when I was a teenager I read something you wrote that helped me more than you’ll ever know. I was going through some awful things and had decided to end it all. Then I read the article you wrote in the New Era called ‘Holding On’. So I did. Those words literally saved my life.”
Though we are often unaware, those around us are starved for attention and compassion. We can’t always stop our life and rush to save them; but we can in effect whisper the number of the measure we’re on by offering a kind smile or a gentle word of appreciation, affection or encouragement. Before long, they will be able to find their place in the music and start playing again. A symphony simply does not have the same power without every instrument playing their part.
When our orchestra is playing disjointed and out of tune during rehearsals, our conductor will make us stop, memorize a few bars and then ask us to close our eyes and play the music without looking. He will further instruct us to listen to those next to us and also across the orchestra so we can hear how our part fits into the whole. It is amazing how much better we all sound when we do that. When we are focused only on our part and our eyes are glued to the sheet of music in front of us we are too concerned with self – unable to play the notes together as beautifully as we could.
If we want to get in tune with those around us we have to occasionally get our minds off ourselves long enough to truly listen. Then we will notice subtle expressions of need and hear the silent cries of those across the way. When all of us listen this way, we can play the score of life with infinitely more harmony and grace.
So, at those times when we feel abandoned, we need to glace around us. We are not alone; we are surrounded by caring people. When we are lost, they will help us find our place in the score and when they are lost we will help them. If we listen carefully with our hearts and glance up to the master maestro, the melody is never far away. There is love all around and inside us. All we have to do is listen.

Woman Oh Pause

Granny B . . . what is on your mind today?

"Well, for one thing it has always bothered me that menopause isn’t called womanopause. I mean who’s doing the pausing here? I’ve heard about all the hot flashes, night sweats and mood changes that accompany the loss of fertility. Why doesn’t anybody talk about the pause part? I think pause should mean – pause - stop and ponder.
Growing older is not what I expected. I mean I used to think old people were old people. We’re not. Older people are just regular people in old bodies. We stay pretty much the same inside as the years go by but the body goes south. Life is so much shorter than I thought it would be. I think we’re more likely to learn something along the way if we take the time to contemplate what our experiences have taught us.
Once I was sitting next to Emily Watts at a Deseret Book Time Out for Women. We were both on the program and waiting to speak to a large gathering of women.
“They’ve got me billed as the one who’s giving the mother talk,” I said turning to her. "I’m not comfortable appearing to be some kind of expert. I mean, what to I know? I don’t feel like I really know anything about being a mom.”
“Yes you do,” she answered. “Think about it.”
And so I did.
Thinking about it is the part I’m interested in. By the time we hit our fifties, most of us are inching up on the tail end of the crowded years. For the first half of our life we hurried around like Martha taking care of all the needs in our family and the universe. Now it is time to be more like Mary and choose more carefully the better part. Raising a family is a lot of hard work interspersed with moments of indescribable joy. If we don’t take the time to share our dear and not so dear motherhood experiences, the younger moms coming up through the ranks will think they are alone. When new moms lock arms with old moms we are a formidable force for good and much cheaper than therapy.
We spend the first half of our lives acquiring and accumulating. We spend the last half unloading and thinning out. We come to understand less is more. We spend the first half of our lives wishing everybody would leave us alone so we can get something important done. We spend the last half of our lives trying to get those same people to come back because we realize they are the important part.
Menopause ushers us from a fertile time for our bodies into a fertile time for our minds. We are given our bodies back, though a little wider and sporting a C-section scar or two. Now we’re asked to see what we will do with a seasoned heart. That’s why we’re called grand mothers. We don’t have to give birth any more or be the disciplinarians – just the lovers. That’s what makes grand parenting so grand.
Motherhood follows the same cycle of life as in nature with spring time, summer, autumn and winter – each following the other in an eternal round. Whether we’re starting out or ending up, we all have something valuable to offer each other. We start out feeling like we’re giving up something more important to raise children and end up realizing raising children is the important part. We start out thinking we’re sacrificing our personal development and end up realizing the process of learning to love someone is the ultimate road to personal development. We quite literally find our self when we lose our self. In the end we come to know that everything that matters most is sitting around our kitchen table. And that’s something to pause and think about."

Thank you Granny B. We'll be back to visit with you soon.
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Poem For A Two-Year-Old

Happy Birthday Tessa.
I love you!

Here is a poem I wrote just for you

on your 2nd birthday

Tessa is Two

By

Granny B

 Tessa is two
So you better know who
Can call her granny
While she sits on her fanny
And hugs her new bunny
And makes the world sunny

 Tessa is Two
So you better Know who
Can fly in the air
When daddy is there
And sing lovely songs
Where the birds hum along

 Tessa is two
So you better know who
Can eat loaves of bread
Bigger than her head
And make her spaghetti
Into face mask confetti

 Tessa is two
So you better know who
Gives the best hugs
And plays on the rug
And pats your back
So your love tank won’t lack

 Tessa is two
So you better know who
Knows how to moo
And then how to coo
Whenever she’s sad
She doesn’t get mad

 Tessa is two
So you better know who
Can draw in her brow
And give you a bow
Then it’s time for a smile
Her giggle stretches for miles

 Tessa is two
So you better know who
Sleeps in her bed
While angels stoke her downy head
And her both her parents whisper
“When she grows up we sure will miss her”

 Tessa is two
So you better know who
Smiles in her sleep
But doesn’t make a peep
For she knows love is deep
And all hers to keep

 

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Learning the Fine Art of Muddling

The dishwasher had malfunctioned, flooding our house all night as we slept. We didn’t know until one of our sleepy-eyed children came into our bedroom early in the morning and said, “Mom and Dad! It’s raining in the basement!”
The room tha...t was hardest hit was the storage room where we’d recently carefully stacked and dated our pride and joy, a two-year supply of food. In a mad dash to save anything we could, every member of our family hauled each bucket and box out into the back yard to dry out. It took hours.

Just when we finished, we heard a clap of thunder, looked up, and felt several drops splash in our eyes. Then the heavens were opened and the few drops immediately became a downpour. We regrouped and quickly hauled our soggy mess into the garage.

When we finally got every box and bucket into the garage, my son came running to me in tears, informing me his pet rabbit was dead. After finally getting the children off to school, my daughter called from campus saying she couldn’t remember where she’d parked the car at BYU. Then my other first-grader had an accident that required a change of clothing. You get the picture.

“I can’t handle any more,” I said to my husband.

“You don’t have to handle it,” my husband replied. “There’s no rule book somewhere that says you have to go through life handling everything. Just muddle, Jan. I’ve been muddling for years and no one can tell the difference.”

Muddle, I thought. I think I can muddle.

Now every time I’m feeling overwhelmed, I remember my husband’s timely advice. Frankly, I’ve been muddling ever since and so far no one can tell the difference, just like he promised.

Muddling is not mediocrity. Muddling is a relaxed state of mind that allows us to stop trying to "handle" everything that life sends our way. Muddling is knowing that the only thing we are in charge of is how we respond to what life hands us. Muddling stops the self-battering that tells us we’ll never measure up or be good enough. Muddling is accepting our humanness and inadequacies. Muddling is knowing that we all have good days and not so good days. And muddling is never giving up hope that things will work out.Pin It

BEING GRATEFUL FOR WHAT WE ALREADY HAVE

When we focus on being grateful for what we have instead of longing for what we don’t have, what we have will always be enough. I remember a time in my life when I had to learn this lesson the hard way.

One evening after we moved into our ...first new home, my husband seeded our front yard dirt with grass seed. The next morning, he told me it was important to keep the dirt wet or the grass seeds wouldn’t sprout. Then he kissed me on the cheek and left for work. Since it was the middle of July, this assignment was a full-time job. On top of that, I was pregnant and had two baby daughters to care for.

I stood on the front porch, feeling lightheaded and nauseated, squirting the dirt while my one-and two-year-old daughters tumbled down the steps, threw their shoes in the ditch and stuffed rocks up their noses. After days and days of constant watering, our front yard grew the biggest, greenest weeds in the neighborhood.

“This if my life,” I remember mumbling as I sprayed the dirt. “I water weeds. I feed one end of my girls and clean up the other. Nothing I do really matters.”

A few days later, I had serious complications with my pregnancy and late one night began hemorrhaging. My husband quickly raced me to the emergency room of the nearest hospital. After the doctor arrived and slowed the bleeding, he told us our baby was dead. It broke my heart to leave the hospital that night with empty arms. When we arrived home, I found our two baby daughters asleep on our bed. Now, I’d always loved my daughters, but never quite like I did at that night.

"Thank you God," I thought with new awareness. "They are alive. It is such a miracle to have a child who is alive."

Several days later when I went out to check on our front lawn of weeds, I found something I’ll never forget. If I got down on my hands and knees and took out a magnifying glass, I could see tiny blades of grass so small they looked like green sewing thread. All my watering and weeding was starting to pay off.

I understood I needed faith and patience during the growing season. It occurred to me that all the work involved in caring for a young family was like our newly seeded lawn – a lot of labor and weeds at first. You can’t see the roots setting deep in the rich soil of parental love. Then when the tender seedlings begin to grow, they have the means to sustain them through times of drought and frost.

I also realized if I didn’t stop and notice the miracles of my everyday life, I would miss the joy in the journey. In time, my children, like the lawn, would not require my constant care - the fleeting moments of childhood will have passed.

CALEB'S THANK YOU LETTERS TO HIS FAMILY

I felt prompted to help my grandson Caleb
write these letters to his family
on his 7th birthday.
He died unexpectedly a few weeks later.

Dear Mother,

Many years ago you went in for an ultrasound very early in your pregnancy. You found out that I was a boy . . . and you also found out that I was missing my brain. When the medical professionals told you that I had no chance of survival and recommended an abortion - thank you for having the courage to listen to your heart and not your fears. When they told you I would have no quality of life and that I would ruin your family’s quality of life, thank you for choosing to discover what quality of life really means. When they told you I was missing an eye, thank you for choosing to see me as your precious son and not what the doctor called me (not viable - not conpatible with life). When further tests revealed that my entire head had not formed correctly and that my cleft-plate, partially formed nose and multiple missing cranial structures would make eating and breathing in a usual way impossible, thank you for choosing not to despair, but to devote yourself cheerfully and gratefully to my 24-hour care. When the doctors told you to take me home, buy a burial plot and let me die, thank you for choosing to fight for my life and celebrate each day I was in your home.

These past seven years have brought multiple hospitalizations and near death emergencies. We’ve spent a lot of time in hospital, you and me. Thank you for always being there right beside me when each individual breath was painful, labored and exhausting. I’ve heard your every prayer, every heart-felt longing and each exhausted plea to God. And though I’ve never been able to speak a word or raise my arms to embrace you, never doubt how much I love you my precious mother. There is a love deeper than life and broader than time between you and me, an eternal bond that time and circumstance will never break.

I am so grateful that you have chosen to live the past seven years with joy, not sorrow – that my presence was and is enough for you. The world defines us by what we can do. Thank you for choosing to define me by who I am. There will be a day, beyond this life, when I will be able to say all the things I never said, but I have a feeling you already know. When two hearts are knit together, there is often no need for words.

I was born in the winter, a time of waiting before the spring. Always remember that winter’s promise is the hope of spring. There will be a day when the time of waiting is over and all that was lost will be reborn.

I love you mom.

Caleb

Dear Father,

I know you and mom stay up late every night with me so my medication can take effect and also to have some special snuggle time with me. You and Mom usually tuck me into bed around midnight, but it usually isn't long until my alarms start beeping, I need suctioning, a diaper change or more medicine. A few nights a week I have a night nurse who sits with me from 12-6 so you and mom can get some sleep. But on the other nights, it is you and me Dad. You are always there with me when I need you in the night. Those late night hours when it is just you and me mean everything to me. In this life I will never be able play catch, or even speak or hug you. But I know that when fathers love their sons, they love them in the way they need to be loved. With us it is g-tubes, respirators and diapers.

You are always there with me when I need you in the day also. Dad, thank you for going to work every day at BYU so that all of us have everything we need.

Dad, I want you to know about something you may not see. When fathers love their sons like you love me, the powers of heaven open. There are angels around you every night, lifting your arms when you are too tired and keeping you awake when every cell in your body screams for sleep. I am aware of and grateful for every time you turn me, change my diaper, suction me then hug me and kiss me. You never complain, and though I can’t respond when you talk to me, I hear you Dad. I hear every word, spoken or unspoken, every desire, and every prayer to God in my behalf.

I also love the way you tease me like Dad’s do. Like the way you call me One-eye and let me dress up as the one-eyed pirate on Halloween.

I love the way take me everywhere and proudly tell people I am your son. When you come into my room at night I always proudly tell the angels that you are my father.

I love you Dad.

Caleb

Dear Brothers,

Josh, Matty and Mitch - I’m so happy that you are my brothers. You always take time every day to include me and make me an important part of the Moody boy’s story.

I remember when you used to crawl in in crib when I was a baby and sing “I am a child of God” when my heart rate was getting too slow. You always brought me toys and even though I couldn’t play with them the way you do, I imagined myself playing with them and it was still fun.

I love it when you hug and kiss me and tell me about your day. Even though I can’t raise my arms to hug you back, I love the way you lift my arms around your neck and put your cheek next to my lips.

When you talk to me I can’t answer you with my mouth in words, but I hear you listening to me with your heart. When you’re listening that way you can hear me telling you, “I love you Josh.” “I love you Matty.” “I love you Mitchell.” Thank you for helping mom during the day when I need to be turned or suctioned. That is such a nice way to tell me you love me back.

Don’t worry about my eye that is missing. When I was in heaven, I knew the Baadsgaard secret code for telling each other “I love you, you’re wonderful, and you can do it!” It was a wink. I knew that I would never be able to speak to you with words in this life, so I thought of a plan. That is why I chose to come as your brother winking so that you would always know that I love you and believe in you. Thank you for believing in me – believing that I am still your brother inside this body – even though I can’t move, or see or hear or think the way you do. Thank you for believing that even though I’m missing my brain, I’m not missing my heart and soul. Thank you for believing that we will always be one of the Moody boys and we’ll always love each other forever.

I love you Joshua.

I love you Mathew

I love you Mitchell.

Caleb
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Why I Write

Granny B it looks like you've done a lot of writing over the years. Why do you do that?

Well, let me put it this way. . . I write so I don't go crazy. Most of the time my thoughts are just a jumble in my head. Writing is the way I make sense of this business of being alive.
One of my buddies put it this way . . .
"I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say." Flannery O'Connor

That pretty much covers it for today.

Thanks Granny B. We'll be back soon.
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Official Book Trailer for HEALING FROM NEGLECT. . . When Those We Love Don't Love Us

 http://youtu.be/_KHUSmFkJgA
Here is the official book trailer
for my new book
coming out in May
called
HEALING FROM NEGLECT . . . When Those We Love Don't Love Us.

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"HEALING FROM ABUSE" book by Janene Baadsgaard is an answer to prayer

Here is a letter I received from a reader about her experience with abuse in her marriage.

"Two days ago, I left my counselors office and went to Deseret Book, in hopes of finding a book that could help to bring me comfort. I have been searching Church bookstores for more than twenty years, hoping to find a book on verbal and emotional abuse. For 36 years, I have known that things were not right, but the only sources I could find in the church discussed not being so selfish and trying harder to make my spouse happier. Because of those books and articles, I essencially gave away every right to love and respect, let him do whatever he wanted, never voiced an opinion, convinced that I was the problem. He grasped upon this newfound sense of control and raged forward to crush my spirit, while trying to raise his own sense of selfworth. As I lay curled up on a bed in fetal position last December, after an hour of being yelled at, accused, condemned, told that I was the cause of all that was wrong, I prayed throughout the whole night for the Lord to take me home. As it continued the next day, the Spirit came upon me, and in a feeling of warmth and peace, I knew that the time to leave had come. However, even in doing so, I have been plagued with a sense of failure and wondering if I will ultimately be condemned for leaving a marriage that was sealed in the temple. Was I giving away every blessing and chance that I had for the Celestial Kingdom by filing for a divorce? Maybe I was really a sick person and did not know it! Was I just not willing to look at what a horrible person I had become? Could it be that “I” was in denial, and not my husband? Was “I” the problem? My husband affirmed that the answers to these questions was “yes”.
My counselor began to help me see what was really happening at home, and that the answer to these questions was actually a resounding “NO”. I began to feel that I was doing the right thing by leaving, in spite of my grown children’s protests. I gained strength and confidence. But the questions about the eternal consequences I might face continued to plague me. For weeks I had prayed to have some answers….I prayed that there might be a book to help me and answer my questions, so that I could feel the peace I so desparately wanted. The next day, I went to Deseret Book and felt prompted to buy your book. Thank you so much! Your descriptions of the abuser and the abused describe so perfectly the life that I have led for 36 years. The scriptures and quotes from prophets and apostles, along with the explainations and interpretations of their meaning have helped to give me a sense of peace and purpose that I have never possessed. Realizing that by leaving, I am stopping the abuse and am actually helping HIM to not further condemn himself, is a huge help. Thank you so much…..my only wish is that your book had been available 30 years ago, when I searching for such answers back then! I am finally , beginning to look forward to the rest of my life."

 

"Healing From Abuse" Reader Review

I just received this letter from a kind reader.

"I have been meaning to send you a note for ages, thanking you for writing "Healing from Abuse". I know it was not an easy thing for you to do, faced as you were with so many challenges. I admire you so much for your courage and persistence! This is a book that really needed to be published. It is one of the best I have ever read on the subject of abuse. I have given it to several people who desperately to read it.
On a more personal note, thank you SO much for your message in the book that it is not mandatory to continue in a relationship with an abuser in order to experience true forgiveness. Unfortunately and sometimes tragically, this viewpoint is conveyed to abuse victims more often than we imagine, by people who are in a position of trust in their lives. It happened to me. I was told by a church leader many years ago that not only should I forgive the abuser in my life, but 'put my arms around him', tell him how much I loved him, and continue in a relationship with him, because that is what good members of our church do. Believe me when I tell you that this abuser was not someone who should remain in my life, or in the lives of my loved ones. This was a situation in which the authorities had to be contacted. I certainly agreed that I needed to forgive him, but it would have been extremely harmful to continue in a relationship with him, period. I know that forgiveness can be achieved without remaining in a destructive relationship, and as you said in your book, forgiveness is as much for the victim as it is for the abuser, because it is very difficult to move past the abuse if you are locked in the pain and anger of the past. I was angry for a long time. (I wish I had been able to read your book then!) I have since been able to move toward forgiveness but, as you also said in your book, it is a long process and I am not quite there yet, even after all these years. But I haven't remained angry and bitter, and have been able to help others, and that has been so valuable and important in my healing process.
Again, Janene, thank you for going through what you did to publish this wonderful book."

 

I Have A New Author Facebook Page

I have a new author facebook page called Baadsgaard Bylines where I share my news and views. I also regularly interview Granny B for her wit and wisdom. Check it out at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Baadsgaard-Bylines/134614790040114?ref=hl.

If you like it, be sure to click the "like button" for that page and then share it with your family and friends.

 

Granny B do you have anything you want to share today?
"Yes sir, I do. Did you know that after much serious research by learned scholars on the subject, scientists have discovered it's bad to suppress laughter. If you do, it sucks back down into your body and spreads out at your hips."
 

Thank you for sharing Granny B.

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On The Roller Coaster Called Motherhood

I've been writing about the ups and down of family life for many years. Here is a story from my book "On The Roller Coaster Called Motherhood".

I've been going to parent/teacher conferences for over thirty years. Certain meetings have proved to be unforgettable. For example, this is what my daughter's kindergarten teacher told me.

"I have seventy students. There are thirty-five in my morning session and thirty-five in the afternoon. Well, I'd just finished with boots number 137 and 138 on little Billy before I got to the end of the line - your daughter. We shoved and we pushed and we sweated, but we finally managed to get those stubborn boots on her. As I leaned back to take a deep breath, your daughter said, 'These aren't my boots.'
"Oh, great, I thought. Some fellow student has walked off with the wrong pair of boots. So we huffed and puffed and pushed and pulled, and finally we got them off.
"Then your daughter sweetly said, 'Those are my big brother's boots, but my mom makes me wear them anyway.'Pin It