Messages of Peace

In the early afternoon, my house is bathed in light.  It is a singular time of day for me as the brightness floods in, bringing out the honey grain in the wood, the rich colors.  The brilliance of it seems to draw my attention, calling me at the same time to bask in it and reflect, commanding an immediate sense of quiet from somewhere inside.

Years ago, as a little girl, my family traveled to the cabin for a week in the summer.  The cabin wasn't plumbed and when we had to go to the bathroom in the night, we depended on having each other and a flashlight.  You could get to the outhouse just fine without the light, but who would want to face the dark woods alone?  We were young, the woods were deep and dark and quiet, and it felt good to hold something that could pierce that and give you a direct, clear line of view.

I've thought about that as a metaphor for the Holy Ghost.  We are, as it were, away from home for a time, in a world that while stunning and beautiful and full of remarkable blessings, is becoming increasingly darkened by unbelief, skepticism, injustice, and disregard for moral standards and behavior.  In a discussion on Sunday this talk was referenced, comparing light to revelation.  Sometimes it comes so pressingly, as though, in one step, you've walked from a dark room into a light one.  Other times, the light seems to distill gradually, like a morning sunrise.  Both are ways that the Holy Ghost communicates with us. 

One of the roles of the Holy Ghost is to bring peace, REAL peace, the kind that money cannot buy, the kind that success and prestige of any kind cannot replicate.

I was asked on Sunday if I would share an experience where I had felt the influence of the Holy Ghost, and after doing so, I challenged myself and the women I was with to start looking more earnestly and try to recognize the Holy Ghost in the day-to-day-ness of life.

  Last night I burrowed into my bed late, spooning up to Mr. C. to warm my body and my forever-and-always cold feet (thank you, I love this).  I found myself thinking about the messages of peace I've recognized and felt lately, even just over the weekend.

I remembered Saturday morning, lazy, lazy, waking up late.  Scott and the children were gone on their Saturday morning outing.  I ate a bowl of cereal in the quiet and started into a book.  Moving the couch into direct sunlight, I wrapped a cozy blanket around me and sat in that warmth, reading, for almost three hours.  Quiet, peaceful, time to think and process and engage.

Later that evening, Mr. C. and I knelt in prayer to begin fasting together, discussing beforehand the things we were pondering in our hearts and minds, things we desperately feel we need direction on.  As he was voice for our prayer, I felt the power of uniting in faith, trusting that this road is possible because we're on it together, and because God hears and answers prayers.

Sunday morning was beautiful and crisp out.  Blue sky, morning rays of sun kissing lawn and curtains and carpet.  Light like that is contagious.  

All the children came into our bed, and we began our new book, reading the first chapter of Summer of the Monkeys.  Peace, my friends.  It was there.

In church I sat listening to a young man in our ward talking about faith amid the questions of science and those questioning belief in something greater.  He finished and I was up on my feet, so touched and motivated by his remarks.  I kept thinking I was going to be able to hold it together but his words touched me so deeply, my emotions literally spilled out, too.  I was so proud of him for saying that choosing faith can be hard.  I wanted him to know that we continue to have to choose that.  Life, as I've contemplated so much in the past several months, is about choosing faith.  I feel as though I've had to surrender, in so many aspects of my life, to choosing faith and forging ahead in trust.  We are here to see if through all the battles, we will continue to choose what we chose before we came: the freedom to believe and exercise faith in Jesus Christ.  That is the answer, and it is a lesson I continue to learn again and again. 

Before going to bed on Sunday night I wrote love notes and tucked them into boxes, feeling love within my heart as I wrote to each of my children and my husband.  It was so real and so calming and filled me with gratitude.

And last evening, the kids and I listened to Scott's lesson for us in our family home evening.  He told the story of Enos, and had taken the time to draw pictures for the children.  Every once in a great while it seems like there is a lot of extra quiet in family home evening, and we're dialed in more than other nights.  That was last night.  He had told the kids that he wanted them to think about things they could learn from this story before he began.  

  (Enos goes into the forest to hunt.)

 (Scott realized, too late, that he should have drawn a bow and arrow instead of a rifle.  Love it.  He goes to hunt wild beasts, and while there, remembers the words his father often spoke about Jesus Christ.)

(Because of his reflections, he prays seeking a renewal of the Lord's spirit in his life and to receive forgiveness.  That forgiveness comes and he wonders how that can possibly have happened, and is answered that it was because of his faith.)

I found myself pondering implications of that story for me.  In the end, the Spirit whispered to me that choosing to exercise faith in Jesus Christ is also choosing to change, to repent, to want continual progress, not stagnant hope without any working on our part.  If you truly pick up one end of that stick, you automatically pick up the other end, too.  As Elder D. Todd Christofferson said, 

"Repentance means striving to change.  It would mock the Savior's suffering in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the cross for us to expect that He should transform us into angelic beings with no real effort on our part.  Rather, we seek His grace to complement and reward our most diligent efforts.  Perhaps as much as praying for mercy, we should pray for time and opportunity to work and strive and overcome.  Surely the Lord smiles upon one who desires to come to judgment worthily, who resolutely labors day by day to replace weakness with strength.  Real repentance, real change may require repeated attempts, but there is something refining and holy in such striving." 

(for full talk, go here)

 Sometimes it seems as though the version of myself that I hope to be and what I actually am are disparagingly far apart.  But I am grateful for a God who, through the Holy Ghost, helps me recognize His beauty and power working, even for one as simple as me.  I am grateful for the challenge and for the journey and for opportunities, great and small, to reflect and try to tune in.  The Holy Ghost fills me with hope and joy, urges me forward, and calms, at times, my troubled heart.  He helps me to see the holiness in striving, confirming the next step, that small flashlight beam penetrating the darkness and fear of the unknown, bringing clarity, insight, and peace in His wake.

(Go here for a video that touched me this weekend.)

Brave Choices

I’ve told you about this photograph before, the way it sits on my nightstand lending me strength in the blessing of reminder and legacy, offering a sort of benediction and admonition to my life. Last night as I was climbing into bed I found myself thinking about mothering and the constant choices that you make.

Mostly it started from a conversation earlier in the evening, where I walked away feeling blessed by friends who feel similarly, and who ground you. And I’ve been blessed by similar conversations with women I love the past couple weeks that made me feel empowered by some choices I am currently making. Choices where, at times, I have felt like I need to stick my neck out and stand, even in an array of different opinions and viewpoints. The gift of that experience is evaluation and introspection, digging inside and pulling the roots up to examine so that clarity comes within reach.

One friend talked with me about an insight while studying the "Proclamation on the Family" and what it says about a mother’s responsibility – that our primary role is the nurturing of our children. She said, essentially, that this responsibility encompasses making these choices for our children – their environments, what they will think about things – in addition to feeding and clothing them, loving and teaching. The thing I liked so much about what she said was that it almost seemed like an exclamation point on owning our job as mothers, not apologizing to others about how or why we do things the way we do. I believe in inspiration and in that channel of communication from heaven to guide us and to try to understand what we need to do. I think that parents are blessed with that channel, because I believe in loving Heavenly Parents who also want the very best for their children in the varying environments and circumstances that we live in. It’s an exciting AND daunting job. It fills me with wonder and analysis on a daily basis. It is a constant challenge – exhausting and exhilarating.

Last night in the quiet, and all morning today out working in my gardens, I have found myself thinking about mothers having to make brave choices. We all do it differently, and that’s okay. I don’t think there’s one right way. I DO think that we are prompted for our own households, and through revelation received in personal study and as revealed through prophets in venues such as this.

I think my mom made some brave choices. I remember my sister saying once as she had her own children that my mom had done a brave thing in letting us dress ourselves. I felt pride as I read that statement, thinking about how my mom let us be our own agents. (And, consequently, as I remember some of my awesome, mismatched, orphan-child-like outfits I donned as a kid, all without one word from my mother. She never seemed to be worried about us fitting some social expectation or, heaven forbid, what the neighbors would think!) I think that was perhaps one of her greatest gifts to me, at least, illustrated by even that small point. We were allowed to think for ourselves, without the expectation that we would have to conform to a set, prescribed way of thinking. My parents always cultivated openness, and not fear to differences --- whether that was differences of belief, viewpoints, cultures or lifestyles. They taught me to not be afraid, but to embrace and enjoy and learn and love. That was brave. I’m so grateful for it now.

I think about the freedom my mother gave me, another thing I find very brave. I learned responsibility while having the room to breathe. I find myself hoping I can do the same, guiding without infringing.

I think about the choice my mother made to read to me every night. I am far and away below being a stellar mother, but someone recently said to me that she admired how we read to our kids every night, that it took patience at the end of a long day to do that. She’s right – sometimes it’s exhausting, and sometimes we miss it because the ends, so to speak, are all unraveled. But generally, it is the routine. But I choose to do it not because there aren’t times that I’d rather do something else (ie. time by MYSELF!!), but because that simple thing cultivated a love of words and learning and thinking that I will forever be grateful for, and to me, that was brave. That is a gift I hope to give to my children. I am sure she had times where she felt how I do at the end of the day, probably very often. But she did it for me. She did it for us. And any time you offer a gift to someone else, even, and maybe especially, when your needs become secondary, that is brave. I think as a parent, you do that exact thing a lot.

My mother isn’t what one would call a hands-on mother. But she loves us fiercely, her devotion is palpable. I know she has had a lifetime of debating, weighing, and deciding. She has fought, trying to find that path and honor and be true to her beliefs. That is brave. I think this is something we are all trying to do, and it isn’t for the faint of heart.

I guess I realize how brave it really was then when I am trying to do the same thing now. It seems I appreciate these gifts of braveness more and more the older I get. My parents weren’t perfect. (I know you’re shocked!) My mother wasn’t perfect. There were things I would have wished different. But today I find that comforting, to some extent, because I feel very aware of my own inadequacies and the obvious bumps in my parenting. But I can say one thing for sure: Like my own mother with us, I love them fiercely, and my devotion is deep. And yes, they will find a very flawed mother, but I also hope they see a woman asking questions, not being afraid of the unlighted step in front. I hope they see a woman who tried in every way she knew how to instill belief – in God, in themselves, in a beautiful, promising world despite the trouble. Belief in their dreams, in the beauty to be found in others, in the power that is in trying to be open. I hope they embrace and learn, and try on the questions. I hope they have the courage to face things head on. I want them to be real, and to think about what they believe, not just passively follow suit.

In the last few years, this has to have been one of my all-time favorite talks. It is all about taking your job as a mother head on. There were a lot of folks that were buzzing after this talk was given, but for me – it was empowering. I felt like it was a great, celebratory, wake up shout to own your job as a mom. It is not secondary to having a profession. It is not anything less. It is demanding but delicious, devastating and decisive at times. It requires choice, and as Sister Beck says, you are required to “…choose carefully and do not try to choose it all.” It requires weighing priorities and acting, even when you’re unsure. And how scary that deciding can be sometimes. I find myself hoping, frequently, that I’m doing the right thing as I live and learn and try on faith. I’m grateful today for a mother who encouraged my being my own agent.

Mothering is a great act of faith I think, in part, because you cannot see the fruit yet. And maybe this is also because it is in a constant fluid state, ever changing, growing, and being added upon through the generations, while trying to put in concrete foundations. What a paradox. You see it only in small pieces, small teasing tastes. But in the midst of all the ordinary and mundane, there are occasional bright bursts that define why you do what you do, and how deeply you feel it inside. And for me, these moments reaffirm why I love it – even while tenaciously trying to figure it out.

When Scott and I met and dated -- and then eventually married -- it was just the two of us.

But both of us had the anticipation of those we would bring here, of the people that would continue us, be a part of us, make us complete. Now I have moments, when we're all together, that amid the noise or activity that we're doing, or conversation we're having or song we sing together with little voices chiming in -- that I often think to myself, "This is it. Look at these people. Look at what we've created. Isn't this beautiful?"

Do you want to know what the best part about my life is?

The best part is that if anyone asked me what I'd have if I could have anything I ever wanted, any life dream or ambition?

The best part is that I honestly could say I'm living it. .

Right now.

I'd choose this.

But that doesn't mean I don't have my moments. In our faith we have visiting teachers, a way that we help look out for each other, take care of each other, make friends. At our last visit my visiting teacher surprised me by making a comment about how I was just amazing because I had it all together and wasn't frustrated by anything, etc. Seriously? Let me just say that I made sure she knew I have days. Oh my gosh, I have days. I have moments. I have hours. Oh yes, I do.

But the great thing is that I have strikingly beautiful moments. Really gorgeous, lovely moments. I revel in the testosterone that is flowing through my son, cracking me up with his repeated exclamations of "dude!", his need for adrenaline and the way he practically walks in his dad's shadow. The way his voice revs up when he sings or laughs. And the way he'll sing with me at night in his bed, sweet like he doesn't have any of that manliness in him.

And the other one cracks me up with how particular he is. The way he asks me to lie down with him each night. The way he sings songs, loves to be involved in cooking, loves to help with any task you will allow him to participate in, loves gum and food and chips. He is darling to watch when he talks on the phone, so serious and communicative. And he loves his sister, which is so cute to observe.

And my baby. My gosh I love my baby. A friend told me that she will have enough children, but never enough babies, and I feel the same way. I could call this gal my right hand because she is always with me, and it is so nice to always feel loved and needed and adored. That is how she makes me feel, and moments with a baby are magical. Magical. I will never have enough. Her laugh and smiles. Her crazy hair. Her bright blue eyes.

Ever since I was a little girl I wanted to be a mom. That isn't to say that I don't have other things that I want to do someday, but this dream has been my dream of ALL dreams. And I get to live it.

Today

Today the boys woke me up just after 7:00. After telling them it was too early to come out yet and going back to our bed to hopefully sleep a little longer before it was time to get up, I found Mia awake. (She had been in bed next to me.) The boys, surprisingly, were quiet, and after about 30 minutes or so, I saw Mia starting to get tired. She and I lay there in the quiet, and after watching her close her eyes a couple times, I closed mine. I woke up probably 30 minutes later. Went in to get the boys, changed dirty, wet diapers and opened the curtains in their room. All three of us ate cheerios with bananas at the kitchen counter. A beautiful snowstorm came last night -- so beautiful I wanted to watch it fall in the quiet instead of sleeping -- or take a walk, or go for a run with Scott in it. But, instead, I watched it falling from our bedroom window, and then, just before falling asleep, I walked out onto the back porch and stood there watching it fall. The world was lighter and still. I watched the trees getting weighed down, each branch getting highlighted instead of blending into the otherwise several-hundred-dark-branches of a tree in wintertime. I stood back at the window, watching again, before climbing into bed and watched the trees and wondered how something I've seen over and over again can still startle me and seem new, something magical, like I haven't ever fully recognized its beauty, like I'd forgotten it somehow. This morning, consequently, was beautiful. After breakfast I helped both boys into their snowsuits and boots and mittens. I snapped photos of them tromping around the backyard. After Mia went down, we went for a walk. I didn't hurry the boys as we walked around the block. We went at their pace. I was in between Isaiah, who was leading the pack, and Benji -- a very slow caboose today. We stopped at the park on the next corner and built a small snowman just off the sidewalk. They played on the slides, not really bothered at all by all the wet snow. We walked home and stopped at the neighbor's house and said hello. When we came in we took all our wet stuff off in the bathroom. The boys got in the tub, playing in the water and bubbles. Scott came home and I went for a run. When I came home it was time for lunch and naps. I got the boys in bed and lay down with Mia the way I always do at naptime. I nursed her laying down the way I always do, her little body pulled into mine, and she clutched my hand with hers, holding my fingers -- the way she always does. We slept a couple of hours. When we awoke I realized, happily, that Scott was just about to come home. I had Mia in my lap and the boys on the bed by me and we read 4 1/2 stories. Scott got the boys dinner. We all had leftovers. The boys went out in their snowsuits again for 15 minutes or so. Scott got them ready for bed. We read scriptures together on our bed. As I was preparing to put Mia down, he was reading them their bedtime story. We had family prayer together. I tucked Mia in, and then went to sing to the boys with Scott. I lay down in Isaiah's crib with him and we sang for awhile and he laughed while we played with his binky (I'd bite it and then spit it back out in his face). Then I lay down with Benj and we sang some more. Scott had gone down to shower. He came up just as we were finishing. We said goodnight to them. And then Scott and I watched a movie tonight that made me think about the joy and deep beauty that fills my life. And I am talking about the whole package, the good and the bad. It increasingly becomes more beautiful to me. When Scott and I met and dated -- and then eventually married -- it was just the two of us. But both of us had the anticipation of those we would bring here, of the people that would continue us, be a part of us, make us complete. Now I have moments, when we're all together, that amid the noise or activity that we're doing, or conversation we're having or song we sing together with little voices chiming in -- that I often think to myself, "This is it. Look at these people. Look at what we've created. Isn't this beautiful?"

I felt renewed gratitude tonight for Scott and for this journey. I'm thankful to him for his desire to do this too, for being supportive of my dreams, for the way he is such a sweet and good father, for the sweetness of the man that he is. I feel grateful that we have chosen to have a family, to share this joy, to be together. And the best part is that if anyone asked me what I'd have if I could have anything I ever wanted, my life's dream or ambition? The best part is that I honestly could say I'm living it. Right now. I'd choose this.