Drop by Drop

The day after Mother's Day.

A morning in which we awaken after a day of praise and adulation and get back to work as usual. A day when we can't help but compare our lives to the idealized portrayals lauded from pulpits and Hallmark cards across the country.  A time when we try our best to take the compliments and roll with it, while wondering in our heart of hearts if we're really doing enough to deserve it.

Because in the real world it's easy to feel that you aren't doing enough. That the seemingly small efforts we give daily simply aren't enough. And in the darkest of hours perhaps you've wondered if you yourself are even "enough."

It is one of the great lies of our time-- that who we are is not enough. In a world of Pinterest perfection, patient perseverance is underappreciated.

We forget that it is through small and simple things that great things are brought to pass. That small means in many instances confounds the wisdom of the so-called experts and lifestyle gurus. (See Alma 37:6)

Little things do count.

Sister Patricia T. Holland tells the story of her great-grandmother, who after having grown up residing in the majestic beauty of the Bern-Interlaken region of Switzerland, joined the Latter-Day Saints. After immigrating to the United States and traveling westward to be with the body of the Church, they were called to settle the tiny community of Enterprise in Southern Utah.

Now while there is a certain kind of beauty to be found in the desert, it is certainly no Switzerland. I would imagine that being called to leave a perfect picture-postcard locale to make one's home in a barren, windblown desert would be quite a trial of faith.

Sister Holland relates:

My great-grandmother decided she would do something about it. With her two hands and a shovel, she harvested some small pine seedlings from the mountains not far away and planted them around the small church building that had just been erected. Then every day she would carry two buckets of water from her home nearly three blocks away, one bucket in each hand, to water those trees and keep them growing. It was arduous work for a little woman bent over with osteoporosis, but she made every drop count in a daily ritual that over time gave each tree a regular, if meager, drink of moisture.

As she made her way through town to water the pines, she would often bring her young granddaughter with her, sharing wisdom and tales of her life growing up in Switzerland. On one such trip, one of the brethren of the community stopped her, wondering after her seemingly futile endeavor.

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, husband to Patricia and a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, continues her story:

[The gentleman] said, with something of a dismissive tone, "Oh, Sister Barlocker, why do you make this useless journey each day to water those scrubby little pine trees? They will never survive in this harsh climate and difficult soil, and even if they did, they will never grow to any size in your lifetime. Why don't you just give up and forget your high Swiss hopes in this matter?"

Well, little Sister Barlocker rose to the full 4 feet 8 inches of her stature, looked this good brother in the eye and said, "I know these trees will not grow very large in my lifetime. But if I stay with it, they will live and they will grow. And although I will not enjoy their beauty and their shade, this little girl will. I am doing this for her." 

The little girl alongside this good woman in the story was Sister Holland's mother. And though her grandmother would pass on, she and the entire community of Enterprise would live to see the pine trees grow, and grow, and grow-- until they literally towered over the small town. To this day they stand-- a memorial to a mother and grandmother's love and diligence.
(Holland, Jeffrey R. and Patricia T. "What Time is This?" Brigham Young University Women's Conference. Provo, UT. 4 May, 2007.) 

Just last month our family traveled through Enterprise on our way to Snow Canyon State Park in Southern Utah. We stopped at the old chapel, now a museum for the Daughters of Utah Pioneers and enjoyed our lunch in the shade of those magnificent hundred-year-old pines. As I considered them, I was deeply impressed with just how far-reaching the small actions of our simple lives can be. 

In the trenches of motherhood, there are days and weeks where it may seem that our earnest efforts are feeble and fruitless. The mountains seem too high and the valleys too steep. We labor through exhaustion and discouragement, wondering if we will ever see the end results we yearn for.

Perhaps there are moments when we wonder if we are up to the task.
If we are the right person for such a work and time as this.
If we could ever possibly be "enough."

But you and I are enough and more. For God is with us, and with Him nothing is impossible. (Luke 1:37) He fills in the gaps, brings light to the darkness, and strengthens our aching backs as we struggle to nourish the tiny saplings of our lives.

With Him, it is always "enough."

I loved what Sister Linda S. Reeves had to say in her most recent Conference talk:

I love the prophet Nephi’s declaration of what his people did to fortify the youth of his day: “We talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, [and] we prophesy of Christ … that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.”

How can we do this in our homes? Some of you have heard me tell how overwhelmed my husband, Mel, and I felt as the parents of four young children. As we faced the challenges of parenting and keeping up with the demands of life, we were desperate for help. We prayed and pleaded to know what to do. The answer that came was clear: “It is OK if the house is a mess and the children are still in their pajamas and some responsibilities are left undone. The only things that really need to be accomplished in the home are daily scripture study and prayer and weekly family home evening.”

We were trying to do these things, but they were not always the priority and, amidst the chaos, were sometimes neglected. We changed our focus and tried not to worry about the less-important things. Our focus became to talk, rejoice, preach, and testify of Christ by striving to daily pray and study the scriptures and have weekly family home evening. 

A friend recently cautioned, “When you ask the sisters to read the scriptures and pray more, it stresses them out. They already feel like they have too much to do.

Brothers and sisters, because I know from my own experiences, and those of my husband, I must testify of the blessings of daily scripture study and prayer and weekly family home evening. These are the very practices that help take away stress, give direction to our lives, and add protection to our homes. Then, if... challenges do strike our families, we can petition the Lord for help and expect great guidance from the Spirit, knowing that we have done what our Father has asked us to do.

It's not about the extras. It's about the essentials.
With that as our focus, we will never fail-- messy, chaotic imperfection and all.

And what a beautiful mess it is.

Protect the Nestlings

It has been quite the week.

Bombings in Boston, explosions in Waco, massive flooding in my hometown of Chicago, a (small) earthquake here in our little corner of Utah. To say nothing of all of the political and international craziness that is currently going on.

These are interesting times, to say the least.

Here in our home the kids have been battling a particularly nasty stomach bug, and we are also trying to come to grips with how to approach ongoing health concerns with two of them in particular.

In the aftermath of this week the warrior mom has awoken in me. I want nothing more than to circle the wagons and protect my little brood from the approaching storms-- physical and spiritual.

As such, this story related by President Boyd K. Packer of the Quorum of the Twelve has stuck with me ever since his address earlier this month. 

The back windows of our home overlook a small flower garden and the woods which border a small stream. One wall of the house borders on the garden and is thickly covered with English ivy. Most years this ivy has been the nesting place for house finches. The nests in the vines are safe from foxes and raccoons and cats that are about.

One day there was a great commotion in the ivy. Desperate cries of distress came as 8 or 10 finches from the surrounding woods came to join in this cry of alarm. I soon saw the source of the commotion. A snake had slid partway down out of the ivy and hung in front of the window just long enough for me to pull it out. The middle part of the snake’s body had two bulges—clear evidence convicting it of taking two fledglings from the nest. Not in the 50 years we had lived in our home had we seen anything like that. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience—or so we thought.

A few days later there was another commotion, this time in the vines covering our dog run. We heard the same cries of alarm, the gathering of the neighborhood finches. We knew what the predator was. A grandson climbed onto the run and pulled out another snake that was still holding on tightly to the mother bird it had caught in the nest and killed.

I said to myself, “What is going on? Is the Garden of Eden being invaded again?”

There came into my mind the warnings spoken by the prophets. We will not always be safe from the adversary’s influence, even within our own homes. We need to protect our nestlings.

(Boyd K. Packer, "These Things I Know," Apr. 2013 Conference Report)

I may not be able to control the environment that swirls around us in society, but I can do my best to control the environment inside my own home. There may be chaos out in the world, but here within these four walls there can be peace.

In the Bible Dictionary, under the heading "Temple," we read:

A temple is literally a house of the Lord, a holy sanctuary in which sacred ceremonies and ordinances of the gospel are performed... A place where the Lord may come, it is the most holy of any place of worship on the earth. Only the home can compare with the temple in sacredness.

Only the home can compare with the temple in sacredness.

When I read those words for the first time several years ago, I was convicted in my heart. 

Was my home a refuge from the world? 

Sacred?

As time has gone by, I have made it my personal mission to create such an environment in our home. It's not by any means perfect, but we have made great strides. For me at least, it has become a sanctuary of peace. A place where we feel safe, secure, loved.

To quote President Packer again:

Latter-day Saints recognize the transcendent importance of the family and strive to live in such a way that the adversary cannot steal into our homes. We find safety and security for ourselves and our children in honoring the covenants we have made and living up to the ordinary acts of obedience required of the followers of Christ.

Isaiah said, “The work of righteousness shall be peace; and the effect of righteousness quietness and assurance for ever.” (see Isaiah 32:17)

That peace is also promised in the revelations in which the Lord declares, “If ye are prepared ye shall not fear.” (see D&C 38:30)

I have come to know that faith is a real power, not just an expression of belief. There are few things more powerful than the faithful prayers of a righteous mother.

(Boyd K. Packer, "These Things I Know," Apr. 2013 Conference Report, emphasis added)

I believe in the power of faith.
The power of prayer.

I have experienced the power of the Holy Ghost enlightening my mind with insights that I would have never come to on my own merits. I know that God desires to bless His children, and that He will succor them, particularly in the sacred work of parenthood.

These times may be uncertain.
They may be filled with peril, both seen and unseen.

But through our faith, sacrifice, and reliance on the arm of Jehovah, we can protect our nestlings.

And in His loving embrace, we can find peace.

○ ○ ○

Come and share your thoughts on this talk with Becca and the rest of the General Conference Book Club at My Soul Delighteth.

When Skies are Grey

Golden Sun, Setting Through a Snow Storm

On Sunday evening, Bryson, the kids and I got in the car to drive to my in-laws' home for a family dinner. It had been snowing and the skies were clouded over, obscuring the mountains, even. When we rounded the bend, however, we were treated to a magnificent sight. Through the snow storm the golden sun was setting, creating a gilded haze that seemed to embrace the entire valley below.

Had we not changed our direction, we would have completely missed this glorious display of natural beauty.

Fast forward to this morning.

Short version of the story: It did not go well.

Frazzled and stressed out, I felt like a complete failure as I lost my temper with some of my kids who apparently forgot to put their ears on when they got out of bed. Then-- because I like to walk on the wild side-- I made a grocery run with the twins and baby after dropping the older two off at school. Needless to say, by the time I was strapping them back in the car to head homeward I was in need of a time out myself. Silently, I pleaded for a little more patience. A little more grace.

In the meantime, Dani was not pleased with the way I was buckling her in and started howling at me relentlessly.

I sighed and looked at her.

YOU....
I began sternly. I wasn't sure where I was going with this.

And then I paused and took a deep breath.

...are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

I was singing? Where did this come from?

You make me happy when skies are grey.

And then Logan joined in with me with his sweet little two-year-old warble.

You'll never know dear, how much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away.

Dani stopped screaming, and retreated into simply giving me the stink eye. Logan grinned at me from ear to ear. I just shook my head and chuckled to myself, my mood completely changed.

When you're a parent, there are lots of stormy days to navigate through. Sometimes it seems so bleak and clouded over that you might not even be quite sure what lies ahead.

Today I learned that in those moments sometimes the best thing to do is to stop and turn around. You never know what hidden joy you just might find.

Ducks

Slightly eccentric confession:
I just so happen to love ducks.
Seriously. Love them.

I think my adoration originates with some of my earliest memories-- venturing out with my parents to the local park to feed the ducks swimming in the pond. The delight in having them come and nearly eat out of my own tiny hand. The good natured murmur of their quacks rippling across the water. The image of their little families-- father, mother, and sweet little fluffy babies floating along in a row. It was joy incarnate to my young heart.

Even now, they just make me smile.
Ask Bryson, he knows. 

But earlier this month my cousin Robin shared a post with me that gave me an even deeper perspective on these remarkable little creatures-- and it has affected me profoundly. Originally posted in August of 2008 by Ann Voskamp at A Holy Experience, it was reposted in the week leading up to Mother's Day this year. You can read it in it's entirety here.

In it, she relates an experience she had with her children as they studied an Alexander Koester painting in a book. They gazed at the image of a flock of ducks along the banks of a river, and then Ann read the caption underneath the image aloud:

Mother ducks pick feathers from their chests to line their nests. 

Moulting Ducks by Alexander Koester

That singular sentence caused her to stop and allow that image sink deeply into her soul.

She writes:

"I look around at the house. I pause.
And the children gaze thoughtfully at a clutch of plump white, blizzard of feathers fallen down.

But it’s those words that mesmerize me: 
'Mother ducks pick feathers from their chests, to line their nests.'

I lay my hand on the page, on a duck breast puffed, mother plunging beak in deep, and I say it out loud: 'How else did you think nests were lined?'

With leftovers.

That’s what I thought.
With feathers discarded, the molted, the not-so-necessary feathers.
I thought mother ducks picked feathers up from what was laying about, scraps, lining nests with what simply could be mustered after the fact.

But no. 
No, a mother duck plucks each feather out from the heart of her bosom.
She lines the nest with bits of herself — the best of herself.  

A mother cups her brood not with leftovers — but with her own sacrifice."

Like Ann, that image has left me forever changed.

The comfort, safety, and security of our own little nests depends so much on the selflessness of mothers who know who they are and the value and nobility of their calling.

Mothers who give their children the best they have to give, despite all the many distractions and worldly directions in which we are constantly pulled.

Mothers who understand that the care and nurturing of these precious little spirits is of paramount importance; a divine work.

In this world of entitlement, celebrity, and instant gratification, the work of the everyday stay-at-home mom is often marginalized and even looked down upon. There is no fame in this work. No sick days. No worldly wealth. And instant gratification? Ha.

But He who made the Ultimate Sacrifice looks down upon all these feathers we pluck daily with a smile. And although my meager efforts in creating a comfortable nest may not seem like much most days, I know that I am engaged in a holy work.

Just the other day I hung a framed print of that beautiful Koester painting on the wall next to my bedside. I wanted to have a daily visual reminder of the importance of my work as a mother and to urge me to set my priorities where they ought to be. It stands as a tangible emblem of my desire to be the best mother I possibly can.

As I looked on my handiwork with satisfaction, Bryson walked into the room and noticed the new artwork.

Examining the subject of the piece he smiled and remarked, "Ah... ducks. That seems appropriate."

Yes.
Very appropriate indeed.

Who are these Children Coming Down?

The day had been long and my bed had been beckoning.
Alone last Thursday evening, I had wrestled the four little munchkins to bed while Bryson was away on a church assignment.
They all had seemed to have energy in spades.
I...  Well, I was not so fortunate.

The moment when I finally slipped between my clean white sheets and embraced my pillow like a long lost friend was complete and utter bliss.
My welcoming room was quiet, dark, and ever-so-relaxing. 

Almost at that same moment I saw the silhouette in my doorway and heard the tentative voice call out.

Mom?

Suppressing a groan, I lifted my head to get a better look at Taylor, who was peering back at me in the darkness.

After all the effort it had taken to finally get the kids in bed, it was difficult to not feel exasperated.  But in a moment of uncharacteristic clarity, something told me that it really wasn't the time or place for that.  Instead I beckoned him to me, patting the empty space in bed beside me and asked him what the matter was.

I was expecting stalling tactics for going back to bed.
That's absolutely what I was expecting.
And I was absolutely wrong.

For the next fifteen to twenty minutes straight, Taylor poured his little heart out to me.
He told me about misunderstandings with his friends that were troubling him.  Choices that those around him were making that he found to be upsetting.  Worries he had about Reilly's ongoing health concerns.

As I sat and listened to him, it seemed as though I was seeing him again for the very first time.   
Time stood still for a brief moment and then wrapped around itself.

Watching him quietly, I saw him first as my tiny babe in arms, my treasured firstborn.

Then suddenly as I looked into his eyes, I caught a glimpse of the man he will soon be.  All grown up, strong and thoughtful, much like his daddy.

And yet, almost within that same split second I returned to the moment at hand, sitting in my darkened bedroom, holding the hand of my six-year-old boy.

The two of us had a great conversation that night, and I tried my best to help talk him through some of his concerns and fears.  I sincerely hope that I helped him in some small way to feel secure and loved in a world that can often be uncertain.

But as for myself, that night left me forever changed.

This work we are doing as mothers is no small thing.
Yes, the days can often be long and mundane at times, but still the fact remains.
These are no small souls we are raising.
These little ones that have been sent into our homes possess an infinite and almost incomprehensible worth.
Children of a King, with such promise and potential.

Yes, truly this work is no small thing.

Full Hands, Full Hearts

This past fall, our family spent several days exploring Bryce Canyon. Traipsing about the various hiking trails with four small children in tow, we soon discovered that to many people we were quite the spectacle-- not the majestic scenery around us.

With Taylor and Reilly blazing the way, Dani on Bryson's chest, and Logan on my back, we caught many fellow tourists do a double take as we meandered on by.

Many people struck up little conversations with us as our paths crossed, usually beginning with either, "You two look like you have your hands full!" or "Wow, you guys sure are brave!"

Several times, groups would pass by us and then-- thinking we were out of earshot-- remark, "Now that is a lot of kids!"  Sometimes it was said with bemusement, sometimes a bit snarkily. 

My initial reaction to the fuss we were making was somewhere along the lines of, "Seriously?  There's only four!"  I do realize that here in Utah the average family size is much larger than the rest of the United States-- and other Western countries for that matter, but still... four?  Growing up with two siblings of my own in the Midwest didn't seem to raise any eyebrows, why would the addition of one more make such a difference today?

Was it because we seemed a bit young to have so many children?

At 34, I certainly don't feel that young.

Was it because they were so close in age, with our oldest only six?

Given the fertility struggles we had in getting our family started, and nearly four-year-gap between Reilly and the twins, it didn't feel as though we had been especially prolific.
 
Clearly the experience had an impact on me, because here it is six months since our trip and I am still ruminating over the whole thing.

I am bothered by the disparity between how society views children and parenthood, and how I believe God views them.  I see each of my children as a direct blessing from heaven.  The trust placed in me by my Father in Heaven to care for, teach, and raise His children is a stewardship I do not take lightly.  I don't choose to be a mother because I am repressed by a domineering patriarchal faith into staying in the home and not "doing something better with my life."  I choose to be a mother because my faith reminds me of the divine, ennobling calling that it is.  Molding the rising generation and helping them gain knowledge and life experiences that will assist them in ultimately returning to their heavenly home is my career choice.  It is my chosen profession.  It is my life's calling.

President Thomas S. Monson has said:

Let us earnestly follow [the Savior's] direction: "Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for such is the kingdom of God." (see Mark 10:14)

A popular song includes the words, "There are angels among us."  These angels are quite frequently the precious little ones God, our Father, has entrusted to our earthly care. To them we may teach prayer, inspire faith, live truth, and honor God.  Then we shall have heavenly homes and forever families.  For what higher gift could we wish?  For what greater blessing could we pray?  None!"
("Teach the Children," October 1997 Conference Report)

Our hands might be full, yes.
But our hearts?
Even more so.

just a day, just an ordinary day

4:45
Bryson's alarm rouses us from deep sleep.
He is off to the gym and then a day of work.
For me, some tossing and turning and eventually back to sleep.

7:00
The pitter patter of little feet.
Taylor.
I roll over, somewhere between waking and sleep

7:07
Eyes open, but seemingly unable to rise.
The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.
Relishing the twins' sleeping in.

7:12
Mind finally triumphs over matter.
Up and at 'em.
Morning prayers and into the living room.
A glance out the window reveals another cold and snowy day.
I turn our fireplace and the radio on.
Rachmaninov.  It's going to be a good day.
In the kitchen, I discover the bag of chocolate chip cookies the kids and I made yesterday.
Not going to lie, I totally sneaked one.

7:20
The twins are awake.
Good morning, babies, I sing.
Good morning babies!
Halfway into the hallway, Dani pauses.
*Baby?  Baby!*
She runs back into her room, emerging a moment later with her nearly-forgotten baby.
I hear Logan calling out in Bryson's & my room.
*Daddy?  Daddy?*
No, sweetie, Daddy is at work.
So complicated to keep these things straight when you're 21 months old.

7:30
Taylor comes upstairs, toting his binoculars and latest issue of Ranger Rick.
He shows me a picture of shark teeth and another of some baby sloths.
*They're so cute, Mom!*
(The sloths, not the shark teeth.)
Get breakfast going for the three early risers.
I catch up on current events, email, and facebook while I wait for it to finish cooking.
There's a tug on my shirt.
Logan taps the seat next to him.
*Mamamamama.*
I smile and retrieve my breakfast.
Cinnamon-Raisin Oatmeal, cooked in almond milk.
I take my Logan-assigned seat.

8:15
A mad dash to eat, fix Taylor's lunch, and get him out the door.
But Dani has requisitioned one of Taylor's shoes.
There is a moment of panic as we search the house.
*Found it!*
Phew.
In the chaos, we forget to have family prayer.
I'm sure Taylor will chastise me about it when he returns home.

8:26
Out the door and to the bus.
Choose the right today, and be safe!  I love you!
*I love you, too!*
Tugs on my heart strings as I watch him scamper down the drive.

9:00
A moment of calm.
The twins are playing peacefully, and Reilly (aka Sleeping Beauty) has arisen.
Breakfast for her, and a mug of hot cocoa for me.
While the water heats, I tackle the mound of laundry that needs folding.
I sip the cocoa in my favorite arm chair, next to the fireplace.
A moment of serenity.
Followed by a morning of chores.
Laundry, dishes, vacuuming.

11:00
An early lunchtime for us all.
Helping Reilly with some schoolwork, then her turn to get to the bus.
She giggles as I (mock) sternly reprimand her for not giving me a proper hug and kiss in her rush out the door.
She more than makes up for it with her enthusiastic embrace.

12:15
Putting laundry away.
Dani has (re)discovered Taylor's Perry the Platypus T-shirt in the piles.
She promptly commandeers it.  Again.
It hangs down to her knees, but no matter. It is her favorite article of clothing in the entire house.
She has absolutely no idea it belongs to someone else.

1:07
The twins are ready for their nap.
Sippy cups, essential animals, and a Sandra Boynton story are rounded up.
Hugs and kisses and to bed.
A pause.
The exhaustion is starting to hit me.
I am fairly certain that come dinnertime, I won't have an ounce of energy left.
I decide to turn to every pregnant woman's BFF:
The Crock Pot.
Another 30 minutes of defrosting and prepping, and dinner is set.
Chicken Cordon Bleu, slow-cooker style.

2:15
Not much time until the kids return home from school.
That nap I was hoping for doesn't appear to be in the cards.
*sigh*
I decide to get off my feet a little and do something creative.
A short while later, two quilt blocks are completed.
Taylor and Reilly return home.
Snacks and chores and giggles with their little brother and sister.
They have woken up and toddled downstairs to join the party.

4:45
A call from Bryson.
He'll be home earlier than what has been the norm.
He has transferred to an office 45 minutes closer to home.
This is fantastic news.
A happy dance in the kitchen.
I start some rice cooking for dinner.

5:30
Bryson arrives home.
Best part of the day.  Hands down.
Heat up some frozen broccoli, dish up the chicken and rice.
Dinner is served.

7:00
Time for the kids to start their bedtime routine.
The living room is tidied up, to much whining and fanfare.
My patience is wearing thin.
Pregnancy-induced sciatica begins to flare up.
Definitely not helping me on the patience front.
I sit in my favorite chair again and start to write about my day.
Bryson comes over for a kiss.
And maybe one more.

7:45
Family scripture study and prayer.
Then bedtime.
For all of us.  (Sort of.)
I am not ready for sleep, but fall into bed anyway.
(The flesh, it's still weak.)
Bryson follows.
We chat, read, and cuddle until my eyes refuse to stay open.

Tomorrow is Thursday.
My busy day.

However, at this moment, there is nothing
But peace
And love
And bliss.


Tomorrow can wait.
I am reveling in today.

• • •

This post is part of a Wordfull Wednesday link-up hosted by Chocolate on my Cranium!

What does an ordinary day at your house look like?

Consecration of Will

It is ten minutes to ten o'clock in the morning, but it might as well be the middle of the night.
My body just wants to sleep.

I wish pregnancy was easier on me.
I really envy some of my girlfriends, who seem to waltz through the prenatal months so effortlessly.
Gracefully.
Unfortunately, that is simply not my lot in life. (Pregnant or not!)

For me, pregnancy is an arduous process-- it taxes my body, my mind, my spirit.
No matter how prepared I think I am going into things, it never fails to surprise me all over again with just how difficult it can be.

But, really, it's okay.

If this is the sacrifice required of me to bring another precious spirit into our family, I accept it whole-heartedly.
Gracefully, even.
(Most days.)

In the Gospel of Mark we read:

And [Jesus] took a child, and set him in the midst of them:  and when he had taken him in his arms, he said unto them,

Whosoever shall receive one of such children in my name, receiveth me.

Just days after the twins were born, I began having the strangest thoughts come over me while I was holding my newborns-- particularly with Logan (he is the "baby" of the two).  Even though I was *certain* that our family was complete, I kept getting these little impressions that there was yet another pregnancy to come.  At first I shrugged it off, telling myself that I was just feeling a little sad at the prospects of being done with this stage in our lives.  As much as I loved these little ones, I did not especially want to put my body and spirit through the rigors of another nine month ordeal.

The impressions continued, however.  They nagged and resisted my attempts to reason logically with them as to why our family was just fine the way it was.  When they persisted despite all my best efforts to sweep them under the rug, I slowly began to recognize them for what they were.

God had a different plan than we did.
And being that His plans always work out so much better than my own, I decided that maybe I ought to listen.

So I did.  And gradually, over the course of a couple of months, my heart began to soften.
As I opened my heart to the idea, I decided that I probably better break the news to Bryson.

I think I kind of blindsided him.

But after a few weeks of considering the impressions I had shared with him, he had a deeply personal experience of his own that confirmed the path that lay before us.
 
After that, we never looked back.
We've gone forward in faith, trusting in the Lord's timing.

Which is not to say that there haven't been times when I have questioned the sanity of adding another spirit to our family with all that is on our plates.  But at those moments I remember the experiences I have had, and in Whom my trust is placed.  Reconsideration was never an option.  (And a little bit late at this point!)

So while these next few weeks and months will be a considerable challenge, I am heartened by the knowledge that I am not alone.  And that He is happy with the path we have chosen.

... The submission of one's will is really the only uniquely personal thing we have to place on God's altar.  The many other things we "give," brothers and sisters, are actually the things He has already given or loaned to us.  However, when you and I finally submit ourselves, by letting our individual wills be swallowed up in God's will, then we are really giving something to Him!  It is the only possession which is truly ours to give.

Consecration thus constitutes the only unconditional surrender which is also a total victory!

(Neal A. Maxwell, "Swallowed Up in the Will of the Father," Oct. 1995 Conference Report) 

Eighteen Minutes

3:12 in the afternoon.

Only 18 minutes, give or take, until the "big kids" burst in the front door:
Breathless and rosy-cheeked from their sprint home from the bus stop.

18 minutes to be productive.

The kitchen is overflowing.
The carpets need cleaning.
The laundry needs folding.

*sigh*

18 minutes.

Then a knock.
And a cry.

Mamamamamama!

Naptime is ending.

I let Logan out of his room, and give him a quick kiss and a snuggle.

I attempt to set him down.

18 minutes, you know.

But it's just not happening.
Sometimes a boy just needs his mamamamamama.

So we cuddle on the couch instead.
His head on my chest, snuggling in tighter.
Soft, contented baby sighs.
(No sound sweeter.)

One small hand stroking my hair
The other holding his beloved Puppy fast.
(Puppy tail in mouth, naturally.)

18 minutes.

It's simply not enough time.

Louder Than Words

Last week I had the pleasure of guest posting at Chocolate on my Cranium as part of the Grateful Hearts, Giving Hands celebration.  I am reposting that piece here for my family.  If you have ever had an experience where your child has surprised you by serving others, please consider linking up your post to Cocoa's Wordfull Wednesday! 

• • •

Receiving a call from your child's teacher during regular school hours is never something you are fully prepared for.

Last autumn had already been a time of great transition in our family, and I was deeply concerned with how my five-year-old son Taylor was coping.  Seeing his teacher's number pop up on my cell phone was not particularly reassuring.

Bracing myself, I took a deep breath and answered the call.

His teacher began.

I just wanted to call to tell you the sweetest story about Taylor and what a kind heart he has!

This was most certainly unexpected.

She went on, explaining that they were preparing as a class to make applesauce from apples that each child had been instructed to bring from home.  For one reason or another, there were several students who had not brought the requisite apple with them to class.  Happily, there were a few children that had brought more than one apple with them and so the extras were distributed as far as they would go.  This still left several children, however, without an apple with which to participate in their class project.  Saddened by her students' disheartened expressions, the teacher was left with few options.

And then Taylor raised his hand.

They can have my apple, he said.

Just like that.
Without any thought for himself, he stood up and gave his only apple to a boy who had none.

It was one of those moments that does a Momma proud.
Applesauce never tasted so sweet.

Since that moment a year ago, I have reflected often on how our teaching as parents has affected our children's understanding and desire to develop a giving heart.  Certainly, we have done our part in trying to teach the Golden Rule.  We have read the parable of the Good Samaritan as a family often.  These have been lessons taught in a more formal setting.  But I believe that more often than not, it has been the little examples we try to show daily as we give to those around us that have brought about the greatest teaching moments.

Letting them accompany me as we take a dinner to a family in need.
Having them witness their daddy help an elderly couple with a heavy load in a store parking lot.
Allowing them to assist as we prepare the family meal together.
Encouraging them in their efforts as they help comfort a crying sibling.

Because they know that having a giving heart is important to my husband and I, it has become important to them as well.  

A study conducted at Princeton in the 1960's demonstrated these same findings in a remarkable way.

The researchers used adult models to teach children about charity and greed.  These models would talk to the children about both charity and greed and also act in a charitable or greedy manner.  Sometimes the adult would act in accordance with what he was teaching, and other times he would do the opposite.

The study demonstrated that moral preaching by itself did not influence the children.  If the model spoke about charity but then acted greedily, the children followed the example of greed.  Those findings really didn't surprise me in the least.  However, it was also discovered that if the model spoke encouragingly about greed yet acted in a charitable manner, the children disregarded the teachings about greed and instead acted with charity.  (See J. H. Bryan, “Actions Speak Louder Than Words: Model Inconsistency and Its Effect on Self-sacrifice,” Research Bulletin 68–16, Princeton: Educational Testing Service, 1968, quoted also in this article.)

I found that fascinating.

Knowing that it is ultimately our own example that will shape and define our children's desire to give and serve others, I have found myself more consciously aware of how I proceed in my daily routine.  And though I am far from being the perfect example, I have made an increased effort to give a little more selflessly-- especially within the walls of my own home.  

Elder Dallin H. Oaks has said:

We live in a time when sacrifice is definitely out of fashion, when the outside forces that taught our ancestors the need for unselfish cooperative service have diminished.  Someone has called this the "me" generation-- a selfish time when everyone seems to be asking, what's in it for me?  

The values of the world wrongly teach that "it's all about me."  That corrupting attitude produces no change and no growth.  It is contrary to eternal progress toward the destiny God has identified in His great plan for His children.  The plan of the gospel of Jesus Christ lifts us above our selfish desires and teaches us that this life is all about what we can become.  
("Unselfish Service," April 2009 Conference Report)

The world will not teach our children to give.
In this world of disposable income, possessions, and relationships, there are fewer examples than we would like in our children's sphere of influence that teach them the value of a giving heart.

As parents, we must set the standard for them to follow.  And as we strive to, like our Savior, "go about doing good," (see Acts 10:38) each of our hearts will benefit-- growing ever so slightly more like His, which we do our imperfect best to emulate.

The Do-Over

This is me, at approximately one o'clock yesterday afternoon.  Red flannel pajamas, hair unkempt, sans makeup.

Just keeping it real.

To say that the last week has been a challenge would be a horrible understatement.  Last week I was the lucky winner of a particularly unpleasant stomach bug that turned me into a walking zombie for several days.  And of course, being the caring and compassionate mother that I am, I had to share with the rest of the household.  All of us, except Bryson, have fallen victim to this nasty little virus.  Lucky duck.

Because of Bryson's challenging work schedule of late, I have been pretty much on my own taking care of our sick little brood.  It has made for some very long days and nights.  I really don't want to go into revolting detail, but just picture a first grader, a kindergartner, and two eighteen-month-old babies going through the worst stomach virus you can imagine. Welcome to my week.

It has been Vile.
With a capital V.
And I've been a mom for several years now.
There are few things that gross me out anymore.

But do you know what?

I am so incredibly happy. 
Yep, you read that absolutely right.

You see, a few weeks ago I found myself in a similar situation-- albeit not as bad-- as the one I am in right now.  Fighting a minor cold myself, I was struggling terribly as I tried to tend to my sweet little Logan-- who was suffering through an ear infection and sore throat.  He would not be consoled.  There was nothing I could do to stop his heart-breaking cries, except pray.  But my faith wasn't enough to take away my baby's pain.  As his wails continued into the night for hours, I began to feel incredibly powerless.  And resentful.

I wanted a miracle.  I wanted God to take my order and deliver immediately.  I wanted my husband to be home, where he could help me.  I wanted to sleep so that I could get over my own cold.
Wanted, wanted, wanted.

I even called up my husband at an unearthly hour and vented.
Okay, so "vented" may not be entirely accurate.
"Tantrum" is the word coming to mind that seems most appropriate here.

After I got a few meager hours of sleep and came to myself, I started seeing my actions with new eyes.

S-H-A-M-E.

I was mortified.  Had I really just presumed to counsel the Lord?  Had I really just told off my husband with complete and utter ingratitude for all he does for my family?  I wanted to crawl under a rock.  I felt like I had been given an important test and I had failed.  Miserably.

I called Bryson and apologized profusely.  I spent quite a bit of time that morning in silent prayer as I tended to my sick little boy.  I pleaded for forgiveness and for a chance to prove myself, to try again.  I prayed for the strength to do better. 

I got my chance this week.

It has surprised me how different things have been.  Even though the sickness has been so much worse in scope and severity, I have stayed upbeat through it all.  Sure, I'm tired.  But I have seen the blessings of being able to care for my family with such greater clarity this time around.

I am blessed to be in a position to care for these precious little ones.

As I have held them close and comforted them through this illness, there has been no resentment.  Only gratitude.  Instead of being so selfishly focused, I have tried to forget myself and get to work.  (Thank you, President Hinckley!)  And the funny thing is, it has only increased my own feelings of love and happiness.   

In 1984, Elder Russell C. Taylor, then of the First Quorum of the Seventy gave a fantastic discourse on service.  I happened upon it recently, and was struck by the power in these words:

I can say unashamedly, I rejoice in the service of God.  My experience teaches that the highest goodness attainable is a life of unselfish service to mankind...  Some mistakenly think that a commitment to service comes after a great spiritual experience.  This is like the man who is cold, standing before the stove, and saying, "Give me heat, and then I will put in some wood."  The joy and blessings of service follow the rendering of service. 

There comes a time in the life of all people when they must certify with their actions what they believe.  Jesus said of His own life, "The Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister." (Matt. 20:28)

Fathers and mothers, with your strength of example you will influence your sons and daughters for eternity with examples of loving, uncomplaining service far more convincingly by doing than only by saying.
("The Joy of Service," October 1984 Conference Report, emphases in original text) 

I can truly attest to the joy and blessings than come from selfless service.

As I cradled my baby girl recently, bathing her for likely the third time that day, the words of the Savior played repeatedly in my mind.

Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. (Matt. 25:40)

I have learned that as we serve our children with a deepened desire to lay our selfish interests on the Lord's altar, that He will strengthen us in ways we cannot imagine.  He will never shut us out-- and often when we are feeling that He has, it is often due to our actions-- that we have shut Him out.

If we can but humble ourselves, He will lift us above ourselves and fill us with an abundance of peace and joy.

Truly, my cup runneth over.

• • •

Celebrate giving with gratitude this month with us!

Thy Will Be Done

Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear-- not absence of fear.  Except a creature be part coward, it is not a compliment to say it is brave; it is merely a loose misapplication of the word.

- Mark Twain, Pudd'nhead Wilson [1894]

• • •

Sometimes, doing what God asks of us is a joy.
It may stretch us, naturally, but we understand that this is so and walk ahead with confidence in His plan.

Other times, well...
It's not always easy.

In the summer of 2009, things were going fantastically well for me.  I really felt that I was starting to come into my own.  I was in great health, achieving many personal goals I had set for myself, balancing the demands of motherhood relatively well, and finally making peace with my deeply ingrained (and completely unproductive) perfectionism. 

Of course, it is in those moments of absolute complacency that the Lord decides to introduce opportunities for growth.

Now at the time, Bryson and I were fully aware that our family was not complete.  We knew that there was at least one more spirit meant to bless our family.  I was just hesitant to subject my body to the rigors of pregnancy again.

I was stalling.
And to be perfectly honest, I felt justified in that mindset.

You see, pregnancy and I are not exactly on good terms with one another.

It is not always the most simple thing for me to conceive, and when I had in the past, each of the nine months spent developing those precious little babies were a physical nightmare for me.  I experienced toxemia (preeclampsia) with both, and my health suffered tremendously.

With Reilly in particular, I was especially ill.  I gained weight at an uncontrollable pace despite a balanced diet.  My blood pressure jumped to a much higher level than is normal for me.  The swelling was absolutely unbearable.  Even after my sweet girl was born I continued to suffer from these maladies.  The blood pressure increased.  The swelling increased horrifically as well, making breastfeeding physically impossible.  I was rendered fairly incapable of caring for myself, much less my family.  

My sister & I just after Reilly's birth the summer of 2006; us again the summer of 2009

I was terrified of going through that again.

I did not want to suffer through nine months (or more) of illness.
I did not want to feel that I wasn't adequately nurturing my two children who were already here.
I did not want to be dependent on the good will of others to take care of the responsibilities I felt were my own.

Seriously.
I did not want to.

It was at this time that Bryson and I had the opportunity to take Taylor and Reilly to the Oquirrh Mountain Temple open house.

There was a tremendous spirit there, and as our little family entered one of the sealing rooms we took a moment to gaze into the beautiful mirrors together-- our reflections echoing endlessly in beautiful symbolism.  As I stood there with my family, the Spirit spoke very clearly and directly to my heart.

It was time.

I felt very strongly that I needed to pull myself together and trust in God's plan. 

However, just an hour or two later I was starting to waver again.  After leaving the sacred halls of the temple, reality set in.  Chatting with Bryson as we began the drive back home, I casually mentioned that I thought we should start trying for another baby at the beginning of the upcoming year-- several months into the future.

Keeping his eyes on the road as he drove, Bryson frowned slightly.

"Really?"  he postured carefully, "I was kind of thinking that now was the right time.  We'll certainly do whatever you think is best, but that's just the impression I felt in the temple."

I groaned inwardly.

"You felt that too?" I asked, a tinge of shame entering my voice.  "Well, if the time is right now, then I guess we'd better take Heavenly Father's advice to heart."

And a few short weeks later we were expecting.
And a few short months after that we learned we were expecting double.

Twins!

My head began to spin.  I actually laughed at my physician when he mentioned the possibility.  A nervous laugh.

But after the confirming ultrasound, I was filled with such peace and joy.  I knew we were following God's will for us and that we would be sustained-- come what may.

Now, I wish I could tell you that the months that followed were full of sunshine and roses, but that isn't the case.

It was an enormous challenge.

Although I managed to avoid the complications of toxemia, I was still ill throughout most of the pregnancy.  But there were many tender mercies also.  Unlike before, where I was so nauseous and fatigued that just getting out of bed was a challenge, I was at my best in the morning-- enabling me to tend to my children and get them to school with little incident.  While the exhaustion I felt was significant, Bryson's work schedule enabled him to be home to help in the evenings when I was most sick.  Those small but substantial blessings reconfirmed to us that the Lord was there and mindful of our needs.  That He was pleased with our willingness to listen to the promptings of the Spirit-- even with my initial hesitancy.

Sometimes it takes courage to step forward in faith when the way is fraught with uncertainty.
I don't presume to put myself up as an example of bravery, but for me it was an enormous turning point in my own personal spiritual growth.

It would have been so easy to say, "Certainly God would not wish for me to put my life and the well-being of my children at risk to go through another complicated pregnancy."  To take those trusting steps into the dark before the way is lit-- it's challenging at best.  But despite our misgivings, we know in Whom we can trust.  And we need not be afraid.

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
(2 Tim. 1:7)

And yet, following God's will does not necessarily equate to being led down the proverbial primrose path.

Just because we are doing everything we are asked to does not mean that the way will not be filled with difficulty, discouragement, and despair.  But as we trust in His infinite wisdom and love for each of us individually, we discover a resilience and inner strength that will see us through the storms of life. 

President Thomas S. Monson has said:

Life's journey is not traveled on a freeway devoid of obstacles, pitfalls, and snares.  Rather, it is a pathway marked by forks and turnings.  Decisions are constantly before us.  To make them wisely, courage is needed: the courage to say "No," the courage to say "Yes."  Decisions do determine destiny.

The call for courage comes constantly to each of us.  It has ever been so, and so shall it ever be.
("The Call for Courage," Apr. 2004 Conference Report)

With the determination to move forward in faith, we can take courage in the fact that the Lord will not forsake us.  Even in the midst of adversity He will ever be there.  
And by His endless grace, we shall become more than we were before.

• • •

This post is part of a Wordfull Wednesday link-up hosted by Chocolate on my Cranium! 

Family Proclamation Blog Hop: Mom's Search for Meaning

A calling is an offering.

It's giving the best of yourself to a cause that you believe in.
And the price for having the opportunity for giving an offering is that you have to make some sacrifices.

- Jeffrey A. Thompson

Romney Institute of Public Management

Marriott School of Management

Brigham Young University

In September of 1995, I was a senior in high school.  

As a young, bright, over-achieving student I had definite plans for my future.  I had been accepted to BYU, and was intending to major in microbiology, with a minor in English.  I was planning on a career path in the medical field, or perhaps education.  The world seemed to be my metaphorical oyster.  


That same month, President Hinckley read The Family: A Proclamation to the World to a worldwide audience at the general Relief Society meeting of the church.


When I first studied it, I must admit that I balked a little at some of the phrases used to describe the role of women.  At the time, I bought into society's idea that a woman's worth was based mainly on what she did outside of the home rather than inside it.  Ironic, considering that my greatest role model was my own mother, a stay-at-home mom.  But I had lofty ambitions.  I was going to change the world!  Surely that was more important than the mundane daily obligations of being *only* a wife and mother.  And so I went on my merry way, confident in the path of my choosing.  


Oh, how misguided I was.


A lot has changed in sixteen years.  I look back at that young naive girl and feel, well, sorry for her.  Clearly, she had a lot to learn.

About two years ago I listened to a favorite radio program that discussed an interesting study done by BYU professor Jeffrey Thompson on meaningful work.  His research focused on a group of zookeepers, and the sense of calling that so many of them had about their chosen career.  For these zookeepers, the low pay and little recognition they received were unimportant, because deep in their hearts they knew that they were using their talents to do what they were meant to do.   

Professor Thompson related an interesting story from their study in which a nun with a group of students on a field trip to the zoo paused to watch a zookeeper cleaning up after his animals.  To her students she instructed, "This is why you need to go to college, because otherwise you will end up doing something like this."  While it is most certain that she did not intend her words to be heard by the zookeeper, he was unfortunately within earshot and did hear the remarks in full.  This zookeeper, presumed to have so little education was, in fact, in possession of a Master's degree in zoology.  So why did he choose such a seemingly humble career?


The reason is that he unequivocally felt called to do this work.  He felt that he had been given a God-given talent that predisposed him to serve in this manner.  And because of this calling, his work was far from menial in his eyes.  To the contrary, it was ennobling. 

Over the years I have thought a lot about what it truly means to be a mom.  

About the choices I made in life that led me here, to this moment.  The paths that were not taken.  The sacrifices that were made.  And I always come to the same ultimate conclusion:  I wouldn't change a thing.  

Which is not to say that I don't have any regrets.  

I most certainly do.

And I do not mean to imply that I am exceptional at being a parent.  

I am most certainly not.

But when I look on my life with my husband and my four children, there is a peace and joy that I feel that is undeniable.  
I am living my own personal calling in life.  This is what I was meant to do.


The Proclamation on the Family states:

Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to love and care for each other and for their children. ‘Children are an heritage of the Lord’ (Psalms 127:3). Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness...

Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ...  By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families. Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children. In these sacred responsibilities, fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners.

The world would have us believe that a mother's work is menial, ignoble, and somewhat unimportant when compared to other other options available.
The world would set us up as an example, to metaphorically say like the well-intentioned nun, "this is why women must go to college and get an education!" 
The world would call us repressed.
The world is wrong.


As mothers, we carry the responsibility of bringing the sons and daughters of God into the world and loving, nurturing, and teaching them to the best of our ability so that they might gain Eternal Life.  What on earth could possibly be more important than that?


There are some days when I look around at my crazy wonderful life-- bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, a house of definite disorder, with crying sick/teething/grumpy children -- and wonder what some of my like-minded over-achieving high school friends would think.  I think of them fondly, with their impressive resumes and careers that take them around the globe.  They are doing great things-- important things-- with their higher education.


But guess what?
So am I.


And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Together

It should probably be said that Reilly is her Daddy's little girl.  She absolutely adores her father and savors every moment that they are able to share together.

She has even adopted a little mantra when it comes to all things Daddy:
"I go where you go."

Whether it's doing chores, visiting neighbors, or just hanging around the house, when Bryson asks Reilly what she would like to do, the answer is always the same.

I go where you go.

But over the weekend, a complication was encountered.

Bryson, being a cycling enthusiast, decided to go for a ride.  After an intense workout he returned to the house and asked Taylor if he would like to join him for his cool down around the neighborhood.  Taylor, being quite the biker himself, quickly agreed and raced upstairs to join his daddy.

Reilly followed.

"Dad," she pleaded, "I want to come too!"

This was a problem.

You see, for the past year Reilly has fought against learning to ride her bike.  She took a slight spill several months ago, and has adamantly refused to continue learning ever since.  Her only mode of transportation currently involves her small pink scooter, with which she is honestly just as fast as she is on foot.  Bryson, who struggles to slow down enough to have Taylor join him could not possibly involve Reilly in their ride on her little scooter.  She would be left alone in the dust.

His face fell as Reilly looked up at him with those big trusting eyes.

"I'm sorry, Reilly," he explained, "but you won't be able to keep up with us on your scooter.  Maybe we can practice riding your bike later after we get back.  But for right now you're going to have to stay here with Mom and the twins."

She became crestfallen.
"But Dad," she exclaimed, "I go where you go!  I go where you go!"

It was a pretty heart-wrenching sight.
And as I wrapped my arms around her and wiped away her tears, I started thinking.

On our journey here through mortality, we lean on one another quite frequently.  This is particularly true with members of our family, with whom we anticipate spending all of eternity.  As children, we learn and grow under the tutelage of our parents, experiencing life's lessons in a somewhat protected environment.  But sooner or later, we all have to spread our wings and develop our own independent strength and knowledge.

If we don't put in the work to learn, be it things secular or spiritual, we will eventually get left behind.  There are some things that simply cannot be done for us.  And there is no amount of love that can "fix" the situation when those moments come.  If we are not prepared, if we have not prioritized our lives properly, we will be too late.

As a mom, I realized that day that it is imperative that I prepare my children for a future where they can stand ready for whatever life throws at them.

Because when that day comes, I don't want to hear the same heartbreaking cry that I heard recently from my sweet little daughter.  I want to be able to face the moment with our hands clasped together, and looking at each other say with confidence, "I go where you go."

And we will move forward in faith together.