the wishbone

So, when I was seven and we went to Utah for Thanksgiving with Grandma Gale, I tore a wishbone with my cousin Amber, and I won.

This meant I got a wish, and I was ready. I'd been ready my whole life, practically. I wished to be......

A princess.

This, of course, meant a fluffy pink dress, (think Glenda the good witch, only a darker pink) tiara, and wand. Supreme executive power wasn't really a concern for me; it was mainly the super kickin' threads and mystical powers I was concerned with.

As I climbed into bed that night, I imagined what it would feel like, being a princess. I pictured myself in the dress. I could feel the pink tulle, that wasn't itchy at all like the tutu I wore for Halloween in kindergarten, because this was magical tulle. I clutched my fingers around the imaginary wand, and pondered what my first magical act would be.

When I woke up, I wasn't different at all. No pink dress, no wand. No tiara. Just me, in my jammies. Resigned to life as a commoner, I went out for breakfast. Grandma made me toast with peanut butter and marshmallow fluff, and I forgot my disappointment.

Tonight in the cab on our way home, I recounted my tale for Paul. I'm sure he's heard the story at least ten times by now, but he listened like it was brand new and said really soft like something kinda sweet and mushy about there being other ways to be a princess that didn't involve the extravagant attire.

Huh. More than one way to be a princess.

I actually don't wish the princess wish anymore. Well, not without some serious wardrobe modifications, and I'm not sure what the rules are on wishes like that. I mean, once it's out there, it's out there, and I don't know if an addendum can be made.

Sometimes, though, I wish to wake up a mother.

I'm not even asking for the fluffy pink dress, wand and tiara. I know it's work. I know it's hard.

I always say I believe that Heavenly Father has a plan for my life. That He knows best, that all will work out for my good. That I will, someday, be a mother.

Do I, though? Do I behave the way I say I believe?

Lately, I have been more and more consumed by fear.

Fear that I won't ever become a mother.

Fear that I will become a mother BECAUSE WHAT ON EARTH AM I GOING TO DO???? I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS!!!!

With all that fear, I guess I sort of forgot about faith. The fear just felt so comfortable, you know? I must be afraid for a reason, right?

The other day Miggs told me about when she went cliff jumping, and how she got to the top and was completely terrified. The only thing that got her to jump was seeing all the other people who jumped coming up out of the water, all okay and not dead.

I've been thinking about that, about letting go and believing. Believing that Christ did what I believe He did. That I can let this fear, this sorrow, this pain, go. Believing I can rejoice along with the women becoming mothers, even though my turn hasn't come yet.

Maybe that's a way I can be a mother, right now. Even though it doesn't look quite as I imagined it would.

Tonight, I will lie in bed, and imagine what this will feel like. I'll imagine sadness just sliding off me, feel that slow sweet spreading of joy.

I'll imagine waking up in the morning, waking and feeling that I am exactly as I am meant to be.