Happy Birthday, Anne Marie!

Six years ago, life as we know know it changed forever.

In the words of one of my favorite children's books:

On the night you were born, 

The moon smiled with such wonder

That the stars peeked in to see you

And the night wind whispered, 

"Life will never be the same." 

For there had never been anyone like you...

Ever in the world.

I'm sure every parent feels the same way about their kid, but you, my dear, are special. You were special from the beginning. In so many ways you are like me, and in even more ways, you are not. I love you for both.

People joke that we are both distracted — that we don't pay attention, and breakable things just tend to fall to the ground around us. :) I prefer to say that we are always thinking. I can understand the kinds of things you are thinking when I see you wander your room instead of finding your shoes like you've been told, because I've thought them too ... "What would life be like if I were a princess? A pioneer? An astronaut? What if I lived in the woods among the chipmunks and fairies? What if I am a fairy?"

Don't ever lose that thoughtfulness. You are a wonderful reader, and your brilliant imagination is going to grow even more as you discover great, faraway lands in books.

And don't ever lose your thoughtfulness towards others. Even if I teach you nothing else, I want to teach you that the most important thing we can do is care for each other and help those who need it.

We are very different in our love of accessories. I have trouble keeping one piece of jewelry on for a day. You are most comfortable in six or seven. You love to draw, and I never did. But it makes me incredibly happy to see your creativity come out in all sorts of ways.

A lot of people get sad when they see their babies grow because then they aren't babies anymore. Watching you grow doesn't make me sad — it makes me excited. I have loved being a part of your journey so far, and I can't wait to see the person you are going to continue to become. I love you!

Heaven blew every trumpet

And played every horn

On the wonderful, marvelous

Night you were born

Why I Prefer Cookies

This year, the neighbors and I made a big leap — some might call it a leap of faith. Every year, like many neighbors, we exchange Christmas goodies. This year, however, she left a framed picture of Jesus.

It's not that I don't like Jesus — of course I know that He is the reason for the season, and we keep Christ the center of our Advent and Christmas traditions. It's a nice picture, and I know the thoughts behind it came from a good place. But it's part of a trend in our relationship that makes me less than comfortable.

This neighbor constantly invites me to activities or events with her. She calls them "girls nights" or "cooking classes." What they actually are is relief society meetings at her church. When I said I was busy, she offered to give me a ride. I'd been feeling guilty that the only reason I always turn her down is that they are church activities. But a co-worker pinned down why I feel uncomfortable — it's not because I don't want to do something in a church that isn't my own. It's because that is the ONLY place that she asks me to go. We don't have lunch together. We don't chat on a regular basis. She doesn't know what kind of books I read or what movies I like, or that we attend our own church every week. She doesn't know that my daughter attends a school with a religion-based curriculum.  Our main connection is once every few weeks when she invites me to church. It changes the message from friendly and neighborly to "I fear for your soul."

I made a joke to a friend (who is of the same religious persuasion as my neighbor) that maybe she wants to start a theological discussion, and I should send her a crucifix, a symbol of my religion (although not a Christmas one) in return. She laughed and said, "Oh no! If there is one thing we don't like, it's to be converted."

I don't want this blog to sound like an anti-religion piece — I have no problems with the beliefs of any of my friends and neighbors, whether they be LDS, Lutheran, Jewish, Muslim or athiest. I really enjoy good religious discussions among friends when they come from the right place, one where people are free to share experiences and knowledge without someone viewing their beliefs as good or bad.

But my neighbor and I are just that — we're neighbors. We're not close friends who are sharing deep convictions. If she has a question about my religious beliefs, I would be glad to tell her. If I have a question for her, I would feel comfortable asking. In terms of sharing your religious beliefs to acquaintances, however, I have a better way. This year, I didn't drop off a crucifix. I dropped off cookies.

My advice to those who want to share their faith with others — share what your faith means by showing how people in your faith live. Don't just invite your neighbor to church every time you see her. Instead, make small talk. Be friendly. Do nice things for people. My faith is an important part of my life, but I believe the best way to share it is through my actions. I don't care if people know I am Catholic. I want them to know that I am a good person. I care that people know that I care about others, that I am respectful, and that I love my fellow humans as Christ loves us. That's what really matters.