Six, Going on Sixteen

My firstborn is a bit of a challenge.
Half sweetness and compassion and the other half stubbornness and intensity, each day never fails to present a new adventure.

I am often overwhelmed with love and exasperation for this young boy.
Mostly love.  But exasperation, frequently.

Over the past week we have been trying to teach Taylor the importance of being respectful and courteous to everyone, even when we are upset or having a bad day.

He had a bad day at school last week.
A Really Bad Day.

After a phone conversation with his wonderful and patient school teacher last Friday, I was so very disheartened and disappointed in the poor choices he had demonstrated in his class.  For such a generally good, kind, smart boy, these somewhat infrequent bouts of rebellion and testing his limits always bring me back to reevaluate what lessons we are striving to teach him as parents.  It is a fine line between encouraging his natural determination and preventing it from blossoming into bull headed obstinacy. 

Forget toes, this boy keeps me on my knees.

Over the weekend I lost a lot of sleep as I tried to discern what I could be doing better as a parent.  Taylor's mood swung back and forth between remorse for his actions and indignation for what he believed to be an unfair assessment of his behavior.  The fact that he had some favorite privileges revoked as punishment only added to his discontent.

I did my best to stay calm and firm in my resolve.
You see, I can be awfully determined too.

By Sunday morning he had become much more contrite, but I was still wound up pretty tightly.  I was in a foul temper and still discouraged by the events of the last few days.  I was feeling inadequate as a mother and impatient with myself and those around me.  Needless to say, the rush to get ready for church by nine did not go well.  We arrived after Sacrament Meeting, just in time to get Taylor to Primary where he was assigned to give a talk on Jesus' disciples, and how they were blessed for following the Savior.

I hustled Taylor and Reilly into the Primary room and quickly went to hang up coats.  Bryson, who had been away at stake meetings that morning, met me in the hall and whisked the twins off to Nursery.

As I turned to return to help Taylor with his talk, I could faintly hear his voice in the distance.

I was too late.
He had already started.

I stepped into the room and stood at the back, and listened as he delivered his talk with only the slightest bit of help from the counselor in the Primary presidency who stood by his side in my stead.  He read the words we had typed out together with conviction and clarity.  At once, my frustration and anger disappeared.  Pure love was all that remained. 

Silently I prayed, thanking God for the gift that this special boy was in my life and repenting for my weakness and shortcomings as a parent. 

Sitting in Gospel Doctrine class, I listened to the verses being discussed and my heart resonated with the message that was imparted from one of my most favorite passages in all of sacred writ.

Nevertheless, not withstanding the great goodness of the Lord, in showing me his great and marvelous works, my heart exclaimeth:  O wretched man that I am!  Yea, my heart sorroweth because of my flesh; my soul grieveth because of mine iniquities.  
I am encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins that do so easily beset me.

And when I desire to rejoice, my heart groaneth because of my sins; nevertheless I know in whom I have trusted.

My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions in the wilderness; and he hath preserved me upon the waters of the great deep.

He hath filled me with his love, even unto the consuming of my flesh.
(2 Ne. 4:17-21)  

I was filled with His love, and an enormous amount of humility.

All of these little experiences of the weekend led to what I consider a "perfect storm" of keyed up emotions.  As Gospel Doctrine ended and Relief Society began, and we discussed various testimonies of our Savior as the Living God, I sat feeling overwhelmed with His love and my love for my family.  I was on the verge of tears nearly the entire hour.  I was kind of a wreck.

As she closed her lesson, our teacher said that she wanted to share three testimonies of the Savior that meant a great deal to her.  The first was the testimony of her father-- a family treasure with great personal meaning.  The second was the final testimony of Elder Bruce R. McConkie, given in General Conference just weeks before he passed away:

And now, as pertaining to this perfect atonement, wrought by the shedding of the blood of God—I testify that it took place in Gethsemane and at Golgotha, and as pertaining to Jesus Christ, I testify that he is the Son of the Living God and was crucified for the sins of the world. He is our Lord, our God, and our King. This I know of myself independent of any other person.

I am one of his witnesses, and in a coming day I shall feel the nail marks in his hands and in his feet and shall wet his feet with my tears.

But I shall not know any better then than I know now that he is God’s Almighty Son, that he is our Savior and Redeemer, and that salvation comes in and through his atoning blood and in no other way.  ("The Purifying Power of Gethsemane," April 1985 Conference Report)

And after this powerful testimony of Elder McConkie-- right when you didn't think the testimonies could get much more moving, she shared her third and final testimony.

They were the words of a six-year-old boy.

My Taylor.

The Gospel is true.  I'm trying to be good.  I believe Jesus lives and that He helps us.

You better believe that those tears that had been forcibly held back the entire hour came spilling out.  In gushes.  My face turned bright red as I pleaded with myself not to go into The Ugly Cry.  I wasn't very successful.

Afterward, I went home and talked to Bryson about the entire experience. 

"I feel like such a hypocrite," I explained.  "Everyone was looking at me like I am such a good example of a good mother raising a good son.  I'm SO not!  I don't deserve to be put up on some pedestal.  I don't even deserve a stepping stool!"

Of course, he was able to put things back into perspective.  He always does.

Nobody is perfect, Tiff. 

Nobody.  

He looked directly into my eyes. 

You need to give yourself some credit.  Yes, Taylor can be headstrong and he makes mistakes.  But he is also a good, smart, and faith-filled kid.  And you have much to do with that.

Maybe there was a little truth to that.

Regardless, I find that my little boy teaches me so much more than I feel I teach him.

Hopefully he learns a few things from me too. 

Going into his room at night to tuck him in, I took a moment to just gaze at him in wonder.

I wonder how I got so lucky to be entrusted with such a remarkable spirit.
I wonder how on earth I will ever live up to being to the mother he needs and deserves.

Parenthood.  It truly is a marvelous work and a wonder.