I was watching Olympic highlights the other night, and learned to my surprise that badminton is now an Olympic sport. How did I miss that? How long has that been on the roster?

It got me thinking. Perhaps someday there might be something admitted to the Olympic arena that I could actually be good at. And it has occurred to me at last what that might be.

Floating.

I really believe I could float at an Olympic level. Judging would be based on how still you could hold and how much of your body was actually on top of the water. Perhaps there could be extra "degree of difficulty" points for lifting both feet out of the water at the same time while lying on one's back. I'm very good at all these things.

Regrettably, I think capacity to float is directly related to body fat content, which doesn't work so much in my favor in the real world. But hey, if it were an Olympic sport, training for it would be a dream come true!

I've been more or less glued to the Olympics for almost a week now, with brief pauses to throw food at the kids and answer the telephone once or twice. One thing that has fascinated me this year is the new way of scoring the gymnastics. "No such thing as a perfect 10 anymore," the commentators keep saying. Once I figured out what DID constitute a great score, it got to be more fun to watch.

Here was the thing that really got to me. One of the Chinese gymnasts made a major blunder, and he still ended up getting a higher score than some guys who seemed to have been almost perfect. And that, of course, was because he had a higher "start value." His routine was a lot more difficult, so he got more points up front for that, which made up for the points deducted for his missteps. Of course, since I'm not a gymnast, I don't really know what moves are the hardest, so it's a good thing I'm not judging because I'd probably vote for the routine that seemed flawless, when maybe that competitor wasn't nearly as skilled in the end.

What I wish is that I could remember to be astute enough to apply the same kind of scoring in my own parenting. Some kids are just plain harder to parent than others. And all kids are harder at certain stages of their lives than they are at other times. Shouldn't I be factoring in the degree of difficulty when I'm evaluating my own success? In the end, maybe I'm more skilled than I'm giving myself credit for.

And I"ll bet you are too.

Many, many years ago, I attended a Young Adult fireside where I sat toward the back of the cultural hall where there were no hymnbooks. The closing song was "Abide with Me, 'Tis Eventide," and as we sang, I was surprised to find that I actually knew it pretty well. But the even greater revelation was how much those words suddenly meant to me as I concentrated on them and FELT them instead of just singing them along with everyone else the way I usually did.

Years later, when I was trying to manage infants and toddlers at church, I discovered that it was a lot easier to participate if I knew the hymns by heart. I almost always tried to sing without the book, and though I missed words here and there, it was usually pretty easy to follow along.

Now, unless a hymn is really unfamiliar to me, I don't open the hymnbook. And because of that, I've (out of necessity) memorized a whole lot of hymns. They're a blessing to me. I sing them in the car. I sing them when I'm cleaning the kitchen. I sing them when I vacuum. Sometimes I even close the door to my office and sing them at work. But I never seem to be able to learn a new hymn if I keep using the hymnbook to sing it. I can only get it down by staggering through it a few times, which forces me to pay sufficient attention.

So, this is my challenge to you. Try having a no-hymnbook Sunday. You might be surprised how well you already know these words, and singing them without the book may help you feel them in a whole new way. Or maybe you won't know them as well as you thought, and you might be motivated to learn them better. Either way, I promise you that carrying hymns in your heart will bless your life.

Try it!

On my way in to work on TRAX this morning, I made a little to-do list just to try to keep straight the tangle of things I knew I would need to accomplish today. On the list, in a moment of whimsy, I added, "Relax and enjoy the day."

It's after 1:00 now, and I was just on my way to lunch when I thought I'd better check my list and make sure I was staying on top of stuff, that there wasn't something urgent I needed to attend to before stepping out of the office for a while. It sounds goofy, I know, but when I saw "Relax and enjoy the day," it was as if I had permission - an assignment, even - to go out and take a good, solid break.

Does that seem bizarre? I don't care if it is - I'm just kind of grateful I felt inspired to write that on my list today. It's already made things better for me!

I've just come from the dentist, where I learned that my teeth are fine, just fine, they look great, but if I don't watch out they're all going to fall out because my gums are in such bad shape. I knew they were going to tell me this because my gums have been sore for the past couple of weeks. I have "stress mouth," which I always get in the summer because it's the busiest time in the publishing business (trying to get that fall lineup off to press), and it's also the time when I want most to be home doing fun stuff with the kids, and when I'm stressed I eat sugary foods, and when my gums hurt I hate flossing. Sort of a vicious cycle.

The hygienist said my gums need more stimulation. She gave me a little tool to use to improve the blood flow to them, which I was grateful for, but the whole experience got me thinking.

What if my whole life is really like my mouth? I'm managing to accomplish most of the important tasks, so it seems like things should be fine, great, right? But what if the underpinnings are weak and in danger of giving way? What if this vague sense of malaise I sometimes feel, especially when I'm stressed, is actually a case of understimulation of the spiritual things that hold my life together?

What do YOU do to "strengthen the gums," so to speak? Do you have any little tools that you use to improve the flow of the Spirit to the needy parts of your life? How do you find time for this when you already feel stretched to the max?

If you've ever been in Utah on the 24th of July, you know that the parade downtown is the BIG event of the year. What you might not know is that a week or two earlier, there's another parade. Or at least there used to be. This was the Children's Parade, and if your ward was chosen to participate, you got to march several blocks in costume from downtown Salt Lake to Liberty Park.

The year our ward drew one of the lucky slots, I think we must have been long on creativity and short on budget. Our Primary leaders got the bright idea to buy rolls of corrugated cardboard, paint it gold, and staple lengths of it into tubes with holes cut out to see through. In case you haven't guessed it, we children were thus magically transformed into the pipes of the mighty Tabernacle Organ.

All I really remember about that parade was that it was hot in my costume, that my parents probably didn't know which organ pipe was me except that I was one of the taller ones, and that we got a blue Popsicle at the end of the parade route. But, given the fact that I remember even that much about an event that occurred more than 40 years ago, I think it would be safe to call it one of the formative experiences in my young life of Church participation.

Truth is, I was proud to be an organ pipe. I was proud to be part of a genuine parade, an important celebration. I was proud to BELONG.

And I still am.

I am attempting to perform delicate editorial tasks requiring intense concentration. Outside my window, a jackhammer is sounding  - but the sound is intermittent. Just when I think, with a sigh of relief, that they are finished banging around out there, they start back up again.

This is the joy of having an office in downtown Salt Lake City during the most intensive area renovation since they started throwing up buildings 160 years ago. (Okay, I can't really document that last statement. But it FEELS like the most intensive renovation.) It's going to be GREAT to work here four years from now. I'll be the envy of all my friends. But for the foreseeable future, we've got a high-rise condo going up on the west, a lower-rise condo on the east, and all kinds of stuff coming in on the south. It looks and sounds like a war zone. If I miss my train and have to drive in, my parking spot is a quarter-mile away, and they've closed the mid-block crosswalk I used to use, so the route to my office is now a tedious walk AROUND Temple Square instead of a restful walk THROUGH it.

It doesn't help that my husband keeps forwarding me email reports of crane accidents.

When I think of how much easier it would be to email myself my files, pop them on my home computer, and work on them in my jammies, in silence, with a fully stocked refrigerator close at hand, it really makes me wonder what I'm doing here.

Hold all my meetings, friends. I'll see you in four years. (I wish!)

One of my favorite summertime treats is generically subtitled "Naturally Flavored Sparkling Water Beverage." I used to feel virtuous about drinking this in preference to soda, until it became quite evident that what it really is, basically, is sugar-free soda without the dye. No matter. I still like it, I still drink it, and I rationalize that at least it's better for me than caffeine. Plus, I'm avoiding all that artifical dye.

Anyway, the peculiar tendency of this product is that it always, always spurts out the top when you open it. I don't know if it's the size of the bottle or the level of the carbonation or what, but at our house we always open these drinks over the sink because you can just count on them spraying. But I was at work with this particular bottle, and I didn't have a sink handy. So, thank goodness the stuff comes in a plastic bottle with a screw-on lid. I loosened the lid ever so gently, let a few bubbles out, then screwed it back on quickly as the stuff surged to the top. I had to do this several times, until finally it got to a point where I could leave the lid slightly loosened and the speed of the bubbles rushing to the top was balanced sufficiently that they didn't overflow.

It just got me thinking. Seems like sometimes the pressure builds up in my heart and mind until I just explode. I fall apart. All my energy spurts out and dissipates into the atmosphere, and I'm helpless to accomplish anything. Wonder what would happen if I tried letting just a few bubbles out at a time?

Here's what that might look like, in terms of self-talk: "Yes, I know the laundry is waiting and the bills have to be paid and this and this and this project all need attention at work, but AT THIS MOMENT I'm just going to deal with the 'get the overdue car registration turned in' bubbles."

Then, an hour later, it might be the "throw in a load of towels so the kids won't have to roll around on the carpet to dry themselves" bubbles. Soon the "what shall I fix for dinner" bubbles will rise to the top, but they can wait their turn. I really think this might work. All it is, really, is a tacit agreement not to worry about everything all at once.

On the other hand, I don't want underestimate the potential benefits of a good explosion once in a while. Sometimes you just have to let it all go and start over!

As an editor, some of my happiest days are the ones when I send a book off to press. I did so on Friday (Leven Thumps and the Wrath of Ezra, in case you were curious), and it felt GREAT. Seeing how far we had come from the original manuscript, how fabulous it looked all typeset and neatly laid out, with the illustrations in place, was a pretty rewarding experience. And even though I know as soon as the book comes out we'll start getting the emails pointing out the mistakes I missed, I feel like there's one little corner of my life where I have "arrived." That book is done--and even more glorious, it's going to STAY done. (Unlike my laundry, which will never be done, let alone stay done. But you've undoubtedly heard my philosophy on that, which is that the only people whose laundry is truly done are the naked and the dead.)

Anyway, it got me thinking about the whole process of eternal progression and trying to be perfect, and it occurred to me that there are actually some areas in which I am pretty close. I'm not dead yet, of course, so I guess I shouldn't just make assumptions, but I can say that so far I am perfect in never having smoked a cigarette (or anything like unto one). I have never knowingly consumed an alcoholic beverage. I graduated from college. I live with my family in a house that will be ours free and clear in 7.5 more years. I have accepted and tried to magnify church callings for the past 36 years.

Sometimes, when I'm overwhelmed by my own weaknesses and the thought of how much I have yet to conquer in the challenge of governing myself, it helps to remember these things. It's like looking at the shelf full of books that I've sent to press in the past. Even if there's a whole library ahead of me still to work on, I can say that these are finished.

I really meant to stay current with this feature, but hey, if I actually DID everything I've ever really MEANT to do . . . well, I would weigh a lot less, for one thing.

Anyhow, I want to catch you up, because if you haven't encountered this little book yet, you're missing a treat. The book is Mary, Martha, and Me, and the author is one of my favorite people, Camille Fronk Olson. I got to know Camille when we went to a couple of Time Out events together last year, and I'm telling you, you would have to look hard to find a more articulate, well-grounded, scripture-genius, likable person. She has taught ancient scripture at BYU for many years, and her incredible discussion of a scripture story I thought I knew well is a great read.

When we think of Mary and Martha, it seems like most of the time it boils down to, "Yeah, Mary chose right and Martha got it wrong." And I know lots of women who characterize themselves as "Martha types" who believe in their hearts that they're "getting it wrong."

Camille takes a different approach. She points out that the Lord never said Mary had chosen "the better part," but that she had chosen "that good part, which shall not be taken away from her." He wasn't actually comparing the sisters at all, but pointing out their right to make different choices. If He was rebuking Martha at all, it was not because she had chosen differently but because she had brought her grievance to the wrong place--to Him, instead of to the person who had grieved her.

The point of the story, Camille says, is to find the "one thing . . . needful," which is Jesus Christ. And we can find him in a lot of ways. There's Mary's way, sitting at His feet and listening closely to His teaching. There's Martha's way, serving others and making them comfortable. And both ways (and lots of others, too) are valid if they lead to the proper end, but they never will if we insist on comparing and forcing others to do it "our way." I love this perspective, and I love how Camille points out that just before Christ's passion He went once again to the house in Bethany, and "There they made him a supper; and Martha served" (John 12:2). She didn't complain. She didn't compare. She did what she did best, and she had evidently learned to find joy in her serving and, through it, to find Him. She, too, chose a "good part" that would not be taken away from her.

I'm sometimes amazed at authors who have access to the same scriptures I'm using, but seem to get so much more out of them. I'm so grateful to have the benefit of Camille's great insights!