Motherhood and President Benson

Summer is a such a hard time to visit teach with everyone going in different directions.  So this month, I decided to send my sisters I visit teach a letter.  I love the message this month because it goes right along with what I've been studying in my class this past semester.  I wanted to record the letter I sent to remember these wonderful words of prophets and apostles on motherhood.

This past semester, I have been in a class called “The Eternal Family”, and we have studied the Family Proclamation in depth, so this month’s message has been on my mind a lot.

Elder Anderson shared the following in a recent conference address:  “My daughters recently referred me to a blog written by a Christian mother (not of our faith) with five children. She commented: ‘[Growing] up in this culture, it is very hard to get a biblical perspective on motherhood. … Children rank way below college. Below world travel for sure. Below the ability to go out at night at your leisure. Below honing your body at the gym. Below any job you may have or hope to get.’ She then adds: ‘Motherhood is not a hobby, it is a calling. You do not collect children because you find them cuter than stamps. It is not something to do if you can squeeze the time in. It is what God gave you time for.”

I know I am so grateful for my calling as a mother, but the truth is, I struggle to find the joy sometimes.  President Benson gave a wonderful fireside in February 1987.  His talk titled, “To The Mothers In Zion” is inspiring, and I would encourage you to read the whole thing sometime.  I wanted to share just a few things he said.  I hold on to promises like these so much through all the difficult tasks and days!  President Benson quoted President McKay, “…she who rears successfully a family of healthy, beautiful sons and daughters, whose influence will be felt through generations to come, . . . deserves the highest honor that man can give, and the choicest blessings of God”.  President Benson instructed mothers to:

• ·      Be at the Crossroads (be there whenever your children are coming or going)
• ·      Be a Real Friend
• ·      Read to Your Children
• ·      Pray with Your Children
• ·      Have Weekly Home Evenings
• ·      Be Together at Mealtimes
• ·      Read Scriptures Daily
• ·      Do Things as a Family
• ·      Teach Your Children
• ·      Truly Love Your Children

Sometimes it’s hard to look at lists like these and not feel guilty, but I don’t think that’s their purpose.  I believe that from these wise words we can pick one or two things we can do better and do our best to a little better today than we were yesterday. 

One more story President Benson shared:  “Here is a beautiful tribute by a son to his mother:  ‘I don’t remember much about her views of voting nor her social prestige; and what her ideas on child training, diet, and eugenics were, I cannot recall.  The main thing that sifts back to me now through the thick undergrowth of years is that she loved me.  She liked to lie on the grass with me and tell stories, or to run and hide with us children.  She was always hugging me.  And I liked it.  She had a sunny face.  To me it was like God, and all the beatitudes saints tell of Him.  And Sing!  Of all the sensations pleasurable to my life nothing can compare with the rapture of crawling up into her lap and going to sleep while she swung to and fro in her rocking chair and sang.  Thinking of this, I wonder if the woman of today, with all her tremendous notions and plans, realizes what an almighty factor she is in shaping of her child for weal or woe.  I wonder if she realizes how much sheer love and attention count for in a child’s life.’”

Summer is the perfect time for us to slow down, look at our children and find moments to spend with them and show them our love.  I know that the Lord is with us in this journey of Motherhood and He, more than anyone with all His forgiveness and mercy, is rooting for our success.

My Missing Puzzle Piece

[This is most certainly the most raw and honest thing I've ever written that has been read by another human being.  The hardest part of this essay was knowing that others would have to read it.  I knew there would be peer editing and even a grade, and that terrified me.  I vowed to myself to be completely honest and true because really the only person I was writing this for was me.  I have been needing to get it out of me onto paper for a while now. It has been healing.  As I wrote, I felt every single emotion just as I originally did.  There was also a tender mercy that was given to me in this process. I was at my mom's house when this rough draft was due.  I had hardly even begun to form any thoughts in the outline I had submitted the week before.  One night I couldn't sleep.  I woke up at 2am and tossed and turned for hours.  Finally, at 4:00, I decided I might as well get up and do something productive.  So I went downstairs and began to write.  I wouldn't have been able to do that with people awake and walking back and forth behind me.  That lost night of sleep was well worth it, and I know that it was a tender mercy given to me by a loving Father who knew what I needed more than I did.]

My Missing Puzzle Piece

           

            As wakefulness began to come upon me, I willed myself to go back to sleep.  I was not ready to face this day.  The hollow pit of despair was heavy in my chest, and I knew today there would be words to confirm what I already knew to be true.  The signs were all there, but more than any physical implications was the unshakable feeling deep inside that I knew too well—the little heart beating inside of me wasn’t beating anymore. 

               I flipped my autopilot switch.  There were lunches to be made, spelling words to review, backpacks to be packed, tiny teeth to brush, and goodbye hugs and kisses to be given.  I tacked a smile to my face and commanded the simmering pot of emotions to be still.  After calling the doctors office and learning it would be hours before I could be seen, I told Aaron to take me away to anywhere I could escape my thoughts.  That place didn’t exist, but there was a mountain bike trail with a promise of blue skies, cool air, and a beautiful view of the city.

            My bike met the trail, and I felt the burn in my legs as we started to climb.  My tires spun round and round, but my mind spun faster.  The emotions were like a carousel going in a circle—usually too fast to focus on one object, but every so often, you catch one and focus until it disappears out of sight.  I let the emotions of the past ten weeks flood through me, and the pot boiled over.  First, there was total shock; this baby wasn’t planned or expected.  There was the shame and the guilt as I laid, sobbing on the cold, tile outside of the shower, angry at myself for feeling that way.  How many times had I begged, pleaded even, for a baby?  This was new.  There was fear and dread of Aaron’s reaction.  There was clarity and understanding of my emotional state for that past few weeks.  All of those emotions soon made way for another set:  acceptance, anticipation, excitement, and joy.  We had given the boys their best Christmas present ever when we told them we were going to have a baby.  Then there had been the humor in finding out it was another boy.  Of course there was some disappointment when the doctors office called with the results of the blood test.  After all, I knew with certainty it was a girl.  The three different varieties of saltine crackers stashed in my bedroom and my car were signs of that; I had never experienced morning sickness before.  It took me all of five minutes to laugh it off and realize that boys are what we do.  In the middle of a noisy basketball game a few weeks later, there was anticipation and hope as we talked about names and pictured another little blond-haired boy.  The carousel kept spinning, and I was quickly right back on that red, dirt trail, engulfed with sadness.

            The day seemed to go on forever, but it was only a few short hours later I laid in the dark room on the hard table.  The ultrasound gel was cold and sticky, and I closed my eyes and listened.  Nothing.  Total silence.  “Please, please let me be wrong,” I pleaded, longing to hear that little “whoosh, whoosh, whoosh”.  I opened my eyes and looked up at the screen.  Just thirteen days before, I had seen that exact little gummy bear body.  Those little arms and legs had been moving all over, and now they were so still.  Up over his little head, his hands close together as if he was praying.  My eyes filled, and a single tear escaped, but I took a deep breath and vowed to feel all my feelings when I was alone.

            Over the next week, there was a hospital room and needles and anesthesia.  There was going home with empty arms—again.  There were many thoughts.  Never will I do this again.  Never will I walk away from the hospital with empty arms again.  There were unanswered phone calls, unread text messages and the cocoon of my dark quiet bedroom.  Most of all there was The Question.  Why? Why, why, why?  Our hands were too full and life was already too crazy.  We couldn’t handle anymore.  We were done.  Why was I given this gift I didn’t know I needed?  And WHY was it taken away?  So many questions spun through my mind.  Mental chaos unsettled me, and I craved peace.  Although I didn’t know if there would be answers, I knew there would be peace in the temple.  I went with anticipation and breathed deeply as I let the serenity surge through every part of me.  I reflected on the past couple of months, and I asked all of my questions.  I felt the importance of eternal perspective.  I took time to pray for each of my family members, and I expressed gratitude for my eternal family.  And then, the words came with such force into my mind I could almost reach out and hold them, “NOW your family is complete.”  Just like that, I understood why.

            I visualize my life like a giant jigsaw puzzle.  I see images and colors that bring a smile to my face and fill my heart with joy.  Every day, a new piece is placed, and as time goes on, the picture becomes more complete.  Time is supposed to heal, but for now, there remains a hole in my picture that I cannot fill.  A few months ago I was at the doctor just for a routine check-up, and I was thinking of everything I needed to get from the grocery store.  My mind busy while I waited, I heard something from the room down the hall . . . “whoosh, whoosh, whoosh” . . . a little heartbeat beating so fast and so strong.  I felt like all the air was punched out of me, and I wept.  I saw and felt that hole in my picture, that missing piece of my puzzle.  Just as before, The Question crept into my injured heart, but I quickly remembered the answer.  I know that in a different place and time that missing puzzle piece will be there.  My picture will be complete.  But for now, my arms remain empty and longing. 

[November 2014-January 2015]

I Believe in Road Trips

I Believe in Road Trips

            When I was six or seven years old, I went on a road trip with my aunt and uncle, my cousin, and my brother.  Where we went, I cannot remember.  What I do recall is sitting in the back of a very hot car, learning how to blow bubbles with cold and creamy, bright blue bubble gum ice cream.  The frigid ice cream made the bubble gum so hard; it was like trying to chew pebbles.  My cousin, brother, and I giggled, laughed, and cheered each other on as we would engage every muscle of our jaws to soften that gum enough to attempt a bubble.  What resulted was wads of purple and pink, orange and green stuck to the roof of the car.  Our stomach muscles burned as we laughed until we couldn’t breathe.  I don’t think any one of us learned how to blow a bubble on that trip, but we three happy travelers made memories and bonds that molded our relationships as we rode along in the back of a car.  I believe in road trips.  I believe that road trips teach life lessons, link generations, and enhance relationships. 

            At the beginning of my junior year in high school, my grandma passed away.  My mom and youngest sister flew out to be with my grandpa as soon as we got the news, leaving my dad to drive the rest of us the 1100 miles to the funeral.  My dad worked the days and nights away getting ready to leave, and as soon as we started on our journey he said, “I haven’t slept in days.  You’re ready for this right?”  As a new driver, I was scared, excited, and determined to do my part to get my family there safely.  I drove comfortably along, watched the last bit of daylight disappear, and listened as everyone breathed the sound of peaceful sleep.  Going up a hill, our eleven-passenger van began to struggle as the incline grew steeper.  I reached to get some assistance from a lower gear.  Pushing the lever away from me, the engine screamed in high-pitched opposition, shattering the peaceful silence.  My dad, eyes now as wide as golf balls, bolted upright and threw his hands out to brace himself for whatever was coming.  “Oops,” I whispered sheepishly, as I fumbled around to find the right gear.  A lesson forever imbedded itself in my mind that night:  don’t shift the car into neutral when you are driving 65 miles per hour.

            I’ve learned all kinds life lessons as I’ve journeyed along all kinds of roads.  Roads that were buried with snow and hidden behind blankets of fog have taught me to pray with fervency and that continued breathing, in and out, in and out, is absolutely necessary.  A road-tripping car full of fighting, antsy, little boys has taught me the value of laughter.  I’ve tried the “reach back and swing for anything or anyone that will stop the chaos” method, but laughter is the only way to overcome the madness.  Life lessons learned on the road are the ones that stay with you forever.

            Road trips have the power to link generations.  I remember traveling somewhere with my grandparents in their motorhome as a young teenager.  My grandpa drove as my grandma and I played cards, told stories, and enjoyed the views of rocky hills and dried up riverbeds.  Our hearts were woven together that day as we journeyed along.

            On trips with my mom and dad, I became familiar with the voices of John, Paul, George, and Ringo.  My parents proudly listened to their own carful of “monkees” belt out the words “cheer up sleepy Jean, Oh what can it mean…” I have a distant memory of some girl named Catalina Madalina Ooka Sonna Donna Something with her hair and teeth pointing awkward directions.  I never quite got that one down, but these are all connections to a generation that wasn’t my own.  Now I sing Bono, Madonna, and Steven Tyler to my own children, and no doubt, they will hear it down the road and smile remembering the good times.

            I’m not quite sure why road trips have the power to solidify a relationship into something even more beautiful and firm than it already was.  Perhaps it’s that you have a captive audience that has nowhere else to look besides the road in front of them.  Maybe it is the deep conversation, goal setting, reflection, and life planning that so often happen in those two bucket seats in the front of a car.  I remember the first road trip Aaron and I took together as a married couple.  We drove to California.  I don’t remember much except for our new pet Beta fish that we affectionately named Afton.  What I do remember is feeling like that moment and all it encompassed was all I needed to be fulfilled and happy.  It set a precedent for our marriage and for our relationship.

            On the road, common distractions are often left behind.  I listen, I look, I search, I think, I feel, I touch, and I laugh.  I learn and I find deeper love for those I journey with.  I believe in road trips.

            

Lake Powell, My Love

[I am finishing up an English class right now.  It has been a challenge and good for me at the same time.  Some of the essays I wrote are memories deep inside me, buried by time, and I wanted to include them here in my blog to have in this journal of sorts.  This was a fun one to write.]

Dear Lake Powell,

            It breaks my heart to write this letter because of the distance between us.  Your absence has imbedded a growing hole in my heart that will only be filled when I feel your cool embrace on my toes again.

            I often daydream of the many days we spent together.  I can feel your warm sun burning my cheeks.  I close my eyes and see your vivid red rocks standing tall and majestic against the bright blue sky.  My nose recalls the fishy smell of your water, and although it may not be the most pleasant smell, it is you.  I love the good and bad; I love everything about you.  I can taste the sweetness of many ice cream bars eaten while enveloped in your hot, sandy beaches.  With perfect clarity, I recall the sound of your soft, lapping water against the rocks on a calm day.

            Why has it been so long since we have been together?  Life was so much simpler when I was younger.  Childhood granted me time that has been taken away by other demands in the passing years. Some of those demands have come in the form of three rowdy, playful boys that would certainly love you almost as much as I do.  I can imagine the sound of splashing accompanied by carefree laughter and shrieks as they wrestle and play within your shores.  One day I will bring them to meet you.  They will be able to experience for themselves the joy and bliss that you taught me so completely.

            I have always known that my heart belongs solely to you.  I have traveled to other places, and many beautiful wonders of this world have vied for your spot in my heart.  They cannot take your place because of what I feel deep inside.  You bring peace to my heart and contentment to my soul.  To me, you are heaven.  You are home.

            I have experienced so many emotions within your waters and canyons.  Fear, exhilaration, courage, apprehension, adventure, relaxation, love, and freedom have all been mine as I’ve grown along side you.  All these emotions have created a connection between me and you that cannot be broken.  That connection will remain ever after.

With love,

Lindsey