A Testimony

I believe in God the Eternal Father, and in his Son Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.

I believe in prayer, that God sees me, and that I can receive personal revelation if I ask in faith.

I believe in the healing powers of a really good dance party in the car, and that that Shakira song is really weird.

I believe in handknit mittens.

I believe that this February when the Olympics are on I will be building my fort on the sofa and you will have to pry me out of that thing if you want anything from me. And how could you not? Want something from me, that is.

I believe in drinking as much Diet Coke as I want to.

I believe that I am meant to be a mother. And a damn good one at that. I choose to believe that God is having me wait because He needs me good and ready, and those of you who got pregnant "just like that" or whatever, well, God obviously didn't care enough about you OR your kid to get involved too much. So, no offense. I mean, too bad for you!

I believe in sewing (and ::cough:: shopping) as therapy.

I believe that Jesus Christ died for my sins, and that because he atoned for me in the Garden of Gethsemane he knows my struggles, my pain, and my disappointments, intimately. He knows exactly what I am going through, and because of that I know I am never alone.

I believe Sunday nights are for eating. Cereal. Also, ice cream. Tonight I had vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce, peanut butter, marshmallow fluff, and frozen mini Milky Ways leftover from Halloween. Can you get over that? It was basically a diabetic coma in a bowl. To take the edge of the sweetness I had, you guessed it, Raisin Bran. I know.

Coincidentally, I believe Mondays are for detoxing. Obviously. Major detoxing. I don't think I'll be hungry tomorrow until some time around 4pm. Gross.

I believe that there is power in quiet femininity. Being a woman is about the coolest thing there is to be. But don't you think so?

I believe in the power of a compliment. A compliment will get you anywhere, won't it? I was talking to one of my Laurels today, a little lady who is all together too smart for her own britches, and she was telling me that she was raised in a family of women who don't need constant reassurance. I pondered what that would be like for a minute. Truthfully, it sounds sublime, but I just cannot relate. I crave validation. Example! Today as I was finishing a giant (enormous!) Onesie-Twosie order for the art gallery gift shop in town and the irony and sadness of all these adorable little bodysuits in my house with no babies in my life to fill them up with started to weigh down on me too hard, The Holbs miraculously showed up at my studio door to hug it out. He squeezed all of the sadness out of me and said in my ear, Those look really, really good. And then I died inside. But of happiness! Poof! went my sadness. And that is because I crave reassurance, nourishment via the spoken word. I used to think that my Love Language was gifts (and, well, it is) but now I am wondering if maybe it isn't also compliments? But then it is definitely also the physical - I mean, when you tickle my back it is as if your fingers are whispering sweet nothings directly unto my soul. When The Holbs tickled my back while we were dating his fingers were telling me Marry Me Natalie, And I Will Do This For Eternity! His fingers were telling straight up lies, by the way. Do you know how hard it is to get a good tickle around here? Oh but I could grow to be ten feet tall on tickle vitamins! Probably the truth is my Love Language is all of the above. Would that mean I am an extraordinary lover, being fluent in all of the languages? I think yes, obviously.

I believe in hugging it out. I believe you can hug anything out.

I believe that Thomas S. Monson is a prophet of God. I do!

I believe in family traditions. Like, seriously. And, I have decided to host my own Thanksgiving this year. Deep breath. We have been married for six years, and by now I could have a five year old, a three year old, and a one year old; I could have three children, and this is assuming no multiples. Hello! Instead I have two dogs. You guys! But that doesn't mean we're not some kind of family! I'm so tired of all of these "when we have kids" stories I keep making up for myself. If this is what our family is for now, then so be it. And this family is needing some holiday traditions. So I'm taking control, starting with Thanksgiving. This year it's just me, The Holbs, two stupid dogs, and some gosh dang pumpkin pie. There will be turkey for two, mashed potatoes for two, good beans for two. But, stuffing for six, because that is the best part. I'm not wrong, am I? You should know this determination comes from a very sore place in my soul; it's the kind of determination that comes with furrowed brows and set lips. You know that kind of determination? Really, you should see my eyebrows. They are so furrowed, they're like face ruffles. (Ruffles are so in right now.) (Look at me, trendy despite the despair.)

I believe in striped t-shirts. A good striped t-shirt can make anything better.

I believe in babies. Universe! I would like a baby!

I believe in me.

(Shoot, somebody's got to!)

Now I want to know what you believe in.

Go on, make it good.

RIGHT HERE.