I moved to Idaho from in between 6th and 7th grade. It was a tough time for an early teen to move from small-town Wisconsin where most everyone knew my name and liked me for it, to small-town Idaho where no one knew my name and no one cared. But I worked hard to beat down my shy shell, and built a group of friends I loved, and slowly my life returned to some sense of normalcy. Entering high school, my group of friends shifted (as did my hormones), and I hurt people along the way. One person in particular I still have dreams about, wondering if they’ve ever forgiven me or, at least wondering what they now think of me. As I sift through my memories that contain this person, even the happiest ones are soggy with the guilt of my pushing them away. I had a fairly typical high school experience – one filled with mediocre sport talent, above-average grades, and a posse of friends I could count on to join me for dances, football games, birthday parties, and sleepovers. And yet, just as with my middle school friend, my high school memories have always been tainted with a sense of shame, guilt, and negatitivty. Everytime I’ve visited Idaho since graduating, my mom has asked if I want to invite old friends over to the house. And while I have attempted a few rendez-vous, not everyone was interested and it only solidified the thought burning in my brain….”Why would they come? Everyone from high school hates me now.”

When I think back on my years involved in soccer, instead of dwelling on bonding over long bus rides, sweaty socks, and shin splits, I remember not being chosen as team captain my senior year and assuming it must have been because I wasn’t doing a good enough job encouraging and befriending all my teammates. I think of the times my being on the team meant someone else wasn’t being put on the field, and were hurting because of it.

When I think back on school dances my guy friends invited me to, I can only recall how big of a jerk I was to them, whining to them about other guys instead of just enjoying the time, money, and efforts they had put into the date.

When I think back on my first love and our almost-two-year-long relationship, I don’t dwell on the laughter, friendship, and joy we brought eachother, but instead on the things we shouldn’t have done and the opinion his mother must have of me now.

When I think back to seminary, I don’t remember the uplifting spirit and boost of strength I’m sure it provided me, but I wonder if people knew I was a hypocrite, saying and testifying one thing, only to turn around and do the opposite.

When I think back on my senior year, I can only remember the time everyone ditched me and my then boyfriend at Lagoon because they knew “we were going to do it to them anyway.”

When I think back on my two years as a cheerleader, instead of remembering the friendships I formed and the fun we had, the only thought to play over and over in my head is always, “The one year we didn’t go to State Chamionships was the one year I was captain.”

To put it short – my high school memories are tainted with shame and guilt, and I tend to only focus on the pain I caused other people. I wonder if they have forgiven me – especially those whose forgiveness I have asked for – and I definitely don’t forgive myself. ­­

I’ve been in Idaho for almost a week now. Three days ago, my stepdad pulled 6 boxes down from the rafters. Six boxes containing photo albums, letters, cards, picture frames, notes, notebooks….six boxes filled to the brim with memories. Tangible memories that won’t lie to me and darken with my own interpretation of them.

Six boxes filled with photos of me – and I’m smiling! – and the friends I’m surrounded by? They’re smilling right along with me. Six boxes filled with proof that I loved high school. I loved my friends and my sports and my activities and my classes and my teachers….and I WAS loved in return. At first, I stuck to only glancing through the photos, my heart softening with each one. I especially was surprised at the happiness and genuine love that filled my heart when I came across a photo of my first boyfriend and I. Feeling those emotions as I looked at us, so young and completely unaware at what life would throw at us and what was in store for our futures, I wasn’t thinking about disappointing my mom or hurting my friends, I was thinking that, at the time, he was a true friend to me. We loved as only teenagers can, and we lost as only teenagers can. I was thinking I learned a lot from him, and I’m so grateful life gave me that experience.

At first, though, I could only handle the images, the photos with the smiling faces because that’s what you’re supposed to do when a camera is turned at you. Smile and hug and hold the person next to you. I couldn’t handle opening the letters just yet.

 

But I had too many pieces of papers – too many words – in those boxes to ignore them all forever. I finally thoughtlessly opened one, only to find a letter from a friend I had hurt many times throughout high school. While reading this letter, I was brought back. I knew exactly what I said to him in order to get such a letter from him. I quickly folded it back up and stuffed it back into the box. Eventually, though, I tried again. And this time, it was a letter from a “popular” girl. Someone I only admired from afar, never feeling “cool enough” for her standards. And yet, here was a handwritten letter from her, folded and given to me at some point between classes and in a crowded hallway.

“You were so beautiful tonight {at our high school’s senior pagent} and did such a good job. But more than being beautiful on the outside, I want you to know how amazing you are on the inside. You’ve done more for me than you’ll ever know.”

I almost dropped the note in shock, having completely forgotten ever receiving that note, or ever being told by anyone while in high school, especially coming from this particular person. I put the notes away and didn’t come back to them for a few days.

Now, early this morning, I lay in my bed with three ziploc baggies filled with notes, and open a second one. I find that it’s similar to the last one, and I am once again shocked and surprised…and humbled.

“Meg, You are so amazing and such a great example to me. I don’t think you’ll ever know how much your spirit and our little talks have helped me.”

A note from a mother of a friend said, “Thank you for being an example to my girls. They watch you a lot. You are one of their heroes.”

And then I got to the “Warm Fuzzies.” These are little notes that our seminary class would write to each other throughout the week leading up to Valentine’s Day. They are just supposed to be little notes to tell someone what you love about them or that you are thinking of them. I had a huge stack of them hiding away in a ziploc bag, and over and over again they all said —

You have a sweet spirit
You are always smiling
You have been an example to me
Thank you for being my friend
Thank you for being so nice to me
You’ve helped me be a better person

I realize that that’s the point of these letters – to write nice things about other people, to look for the good in them and let them know you see that in them. But man, do they change the way I viewed myself in high school. One after another, they slowly began to melt my heart and little by little, I found forgiveness for myself.

“Maybe I wasn’t ALL bad in high school, after all.”

And then I found a letter from one of those friends I mentioned above, one that I had hurt many times in high school. Among many other things, one thing they wrote to me was, “You’ve pulled me out of many dark places. I want you to remember me forever.”

And suddenly something clicked in my brain. I did hurt this person – but I also did a lot of good for them. I can’t dwell on the mean things I did to them. I have to let that go – learn from it, yes – but also see that my being in their life also did good things for them.

As I continued to dig through these old notes, here and there I would find slips of paper on which I had written my own testimony. I was happy that these words were ones filled with faith, hope, and desire to be better. Through it all, I knew my Savior lived. I knew I was filled with sins, as all of us are, but I also knew that I could be forgiven.

I used to think I was a pretty positive person, but this whole experience has allowed me to see that I seek (and usually find) the good in others — but what about myself? Am I as kind to myself as I am to others? As forgiving and understanding? Am I really doing as bad of a job at being a mom, a wife, a secretary, a photographer, a PERSON as I think I am?

Are we choosing to dwell on the negative, the bad things in our lives and in our own hearts? Can we stop and think about all the good things we are doing? Can we allow those good things to overpower the not-so-good things?

I know not everyone has boxes of photos and nice notes written about them to make them feel better about their past. But can you imagine for a second that you did? Can you imagine what good things they would have written about you? Forget about your own prejudices against yourself, and just put yourself in someone else’s thoughts. If I know you, and you can’t think of anything – send me a message. I’ll be that person to tell you the good others see in you.

Last week on the blog I wrote about some of the hard things we’d been going through in the days leading up to our travels out west. The hard times haven’t ended – on top of Rhenner being sick, both boys contracted pink eye, Adam’s flight got delayed so he didn’t arrive until Christmas evening, and now Axton picked up Rhenner’s sickness and is so ill that he is covered in hives and we can’t go anywhere or do the fun things we wanted to do. I’m Newborn-Phase tired, after getting up every night with one boy or the other, to soften the sting of a fever or quiet the cries of stomach pains. I’m running low. So it is a natural transition for me to take this experience of forgiving myself as a high school girl, and position it against motherhood.

As moms we are always so hard on ourselves. I think that’s because I know the gravity of my job as a mom – because I realize how important it is to raise a healthy, happy family – I am that much harder on myself when I lose patience, yell too often, rely on the tv, am distracted by devices, complain too much, or love too little. But just as I am now doing, just as I am now able to see my High School Self for what I really was – just a girl trying to do her best, making mistakes along the way, but also doing a lot of good! Will I – 10, 20 years from now, be able to look back on these years of motherhood and forgive myself and say, “You know, I didn’t do such a bad job after all”? Instead of dwelling on the things I didn’t do enough of or the number of tears I caused, will I instead be able to remember the tears I dried, the laughter I encouraged, the meals I prepared, the sleep I sacrificed, the testimony of God’s love I instilled in their hearts, the prayers I gave on their behalf? Will I forgive myself for my shortcomings and rejoice in the honest and completely love-driven efforts I gave? I will probably not have boxes of letters from these boys, telling me how much my testimony affected them or how much my smile lights up their day. No, that is not a luxury most children provide their parents. But hopefully I will have other tokens of their love and appreciation – hopefully I will have visits home from college, a hug before they leave, phone calls and kisses on the cheek. Smaller, and less obvious, but monumental and significant nonetheless.

And if they don’t ever tell me, then I will rely on Elder Holland’s General Conference address, “Behold Thy Mother.” to tell me I’m doing alright. I will share one excerpt from it and then I will encourage anyone who has not yet read the talk in its entirely to do so.

“To all of our mothers everywhere, past, present, or future, I say, “Thank you. Thank you for giving birth, for shaping souls, for forming character, and for demonstrating the pure love of Christ.” To Mother Eve, to Sarah, Rebekah, and Rachel, to Mary of Nazareth, and to a Mother in Heaven, I say, “Thank you for your crucial role in fulfilling the purposes of eternity.” To all mothers in every circumstance, including those who struggle—and all will—I say, “Be peaceful. Believe in God and yourself. You are doing better than you think you are. In fact, you are saviors on Mount Zion, and like the Master you follow, your love ‘never faileth.’ ” I can pay no higher tribute to anyone.

You are doing better than you think you are. Believe me when I say, you may not see it now, but one day you will.