Hurt and Tired

I normally try to be positive and inspiring here, saving the wounds for something else.  But I have little else.  My wife listens to me consistently.  I don't have many other outlets.  I wouldn't want to write this elsewhere, because on one hand, when people did respond it would feel like fishing for sympathy, and I don't want to be an emotionally needy sort of person.  I don't want the kind of support-for-the-sake-of-showing-support that I see so much online and in other social contexts.  On the other, when people didn't respond it would be confirmation that they didn't care about things that are deeply personal for me.  But here, I don't expect an audience anyway, so I don't have to worry about people responding or not responding.

I am so tired in some ways.  I am tired of reaching out to people and having them not reach back.  It hurts when people have so many opportunities to demonstrate that they don't care for or about me.  Over, and over, and over again.  It's not that no one ever responds, but the amount of response is discouraging, to say the least.  I keep reaching out to people because I know it's a good thing to do.  People need people and the world is more socially messed up than ever.  But I also just want some people to care about me.  I want to know that there are people out there that I like and who like me in return, and who would voluntarily choose to spend time with me.  It's not as if I never experience this, but it's so little, especially compared to how much I try to reach out to others.

I try to do good things.  It feels like people assign different motives to me at times, and I hate to be misunderstood.  For example, I believe in music, I believe in teaching my children, and I believe that people should share our talents to benefit others, and this leads me to arrange for my family to sing in sacrament meetings.  With many other efforts I feel the same way.  Perhaps there's some arrogance in trying to do anything, but I'm generally keenly aware of my limitations as I attempt any endeavor.  I know that some people appreciate what I do, and yet I also feel that other people think I do it out of pride.  It feels like people support my efforts less because of those false perceived motivations.  And I am so tired from it.

I'm tired of making mistakes, also.  In so many efforts to fulfill obligations and to take on extra tasks simply because I believe they'll be good to do, I've messed up over and over again.  It's not to say that I've had no success, but amid those efforts--whether generally successful or not--I have made error after error.  It stings to realize it, and I somehow often remember those errors years later.

One of my dreams, after retiring from the Army, is to take several weeks worth of food and water and retreat to a cabin in the wilderness somewhere, away from all people and technology.  I would take books.  I would stay there at least until I forget what day it is.

And I feel like I may be tempted to largely withdraw from society in a more permanent sense.  I don't think I could ever really feel comfortable with that.  I know God wants me to serve people--despite my severe limitations--and to receive service from them.  It's pretty much that simple.  I have known it for a long time, and I've had the idea reinforced over and over again.  So I really don't think I could withdraw permanently.

But the idea is appealing.  And maybe by the time I retire from the Army and no longer have a corresponding social obligation I won't have it in me any more to be among people that I hope for real friendship and love from.  When we've been hurt repeatedly over a long time, we just aren't eager to be hurt again.

If anyone does read this, don't worry; I've lived through pain and depression a lot in the past, and I'm not inclined toward harming myself or others.  I'll survive.  I'll be fine.  My faith in my Heavenly Father and my Savior won't be weakened.  If there is anyone who has read other things that I've written here and feels that I've been dishonest before by not expressing this personal sorrow, I apologize, because dishonesty has never been my intention.  Just remember that, just like "in the quiet heart is hidden sorrow that the eye can't see", a heart that is more vocal out of principle can also hold plenty of sorrow.

When I was younger, I remember finding that I liked to ask people what they value, and I asked that they answer in one or two words.  Not necessarily what they value the most, but something they value.  My answer was friendship.  Implicit in that was understanding.  For some time I thought that maybe I didn't need friendship so much any more, but as more years have passed, it's clear that I still want it.

Last thoughts for now:
I should be better at seeking solace from my Savior.  I trust Him implicitly, and I know He loves me.  I just still want to feel love from others, too.  Is that a fault?  I don't know.  Perhaps in five years I'll understand better just how worn out I have been, and maybe it won't be too much.

Things I Remember: "If I Had the Chance to Do It Again..."

I tend to easily put things from the past behind me, and I feel like they gather dust on the back shelves of my mind rather quickly.  It seems that other people tend to remember more from their past than I do, whereas I, for better or worse, tend to not think about most of my past.  But from time to time, someone says something, surely without expecting me to find it particularly remarkable, that sticks with me for years and years.

One of these happened around the time my sister got married.  My wife and I were in Utah, and she was able to attend my sister's bridal shower, which was being held at my uncle Dale's house.  I had nothing better to do, so I tagged along to the house but remained apart from the shower activities.  While there, Dale's wife Diane took some time to talk with me.

We must have spoken for a while, and it was probably mostly just getting caught up with each other's recent life events, but I really don't remember anything she said that evening except for one sentence.  I had commented about her children, and made some general remark about how eight children is a lot.  She then responded with the sentence I will never forget.  As well as I can remember, this is what she said:

"If I had the chance to do it again, I'd have them closer together so that I could have more."

Wow.  That was my reaction: wow.  That wasn't what I expected.  I wasn't at all opposed to having children; quite the contrary, really.  I planned on it.  But that expression from her was so different from what I expect from most people.  Even a family with eight children is fairly rare, but to want more?

I once spoke with an old friend who met me and my wife for lunch.  During our conversation then, he told us that he and his wife didn't plan to have children.  It really hurt to hear him say so.  By that time, we'd already had at least one child ourselves, so we knew how joyous it could be.  Additionally, this friend had served as a full-time missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ and knew, at least on some level, that God wants us to raise children.  In the years that have followed, this friend and his wife have had at least one child, and I was glad to hear it.  But I've heard from quite a few others who have expressed similar thoughts about not planning to have children.

From Psalm 127:3-5, "Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.  As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.  Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them".

My wife and I had many discussions over the years about when to have more children.  We didn't always agree, and sometimes had to wait.  We now have six children and have determined that we will have no more.  I accept that everyone has to be done with that period of their life at some point--eventually the mother's "biological clock" runs out even if she wants to keep going--and we reached it after our sixth child was born.  Would I have wanted more, with less space between them?  Yes; I understand now pretty well what my aunt meant.  Am I happy with my children?  So very much.  When responding to others asking how many children I have, I commonly tell them the number and then very honestly add, "And I like each one of them!"  I would encourage everyone who is able to raise children to do so (having married traditionally so that the children could be raised by both a mother and father).

Last thoughts for now:
I'm grateful that my Aunt Diane expressed that thought to me all those years ago.  The world needs encouragement to follow God's will, especially related to such a vital commandment as "multiply, and replenish the earth."  The blessings and joy of parenting are boundless, and God's children, waiting to come to the Earth, need good homes where they will be loved and taught by dedicated parents.  I'm grateful beyond words to be able to raise my children.