Upon Thy Belly Shalt Thou Go

How long will she stay like this? 

How long can I savor this innocence? 

I looked at newborn Kate one day, lying on her belly, and felt this familiar tug—the desire to

freeze that moment forever. 

Then a phrase unexpectedly popped into my mind. "Upon thy belly shalt thou go... all the days of thy life." The curse given to Satan after he tempted Eve to eat Eden's forbidden fruit. 

I looked again at my sweet, completely helpless baby. I realized that I wanted the memory of that moment to last forever, but it would be such a tragedy for her if she never progressed beyond lying on her belly. 

And yet that is exactly Satan's fate. In his rebellion, he lost the opportunity for progression. He will remain forever in an infantile state. 

Six months later, Kate was sitting. Then in another six she was walking. 

Now eighteen months later she is running, dancing, and bursting with personality. She's delightful! Watching her turn into a kid has been such a joy. 

Looking at my older kids I know that in the next few years she will learn to talk, color, swing, and read. And that progression will continue throughout life and into eternity. 

Progression is one of the great purposes and blessings of mortality. Those who follow the Savior will progress to one day become like Him. 

But "he that believeth not shall be damned." Just like Satan, their progression will be halted. They will not be able to reach their full potential, for that fullness is found only in Christ. 

May we enjoy the progress, development, and growth of true believers.

He Understands

I was recently reflecting on an experience that happened about six years ago during an incredibly trying time. I have gone through much harder things since, and it feels almost laughable looking back that I struggled so much through this period, but at the time I was stretched beyond my limit--a feeling I've experienced many times since, and so this lesson continues to be applicable and helpful.

At the time, Miguel was several months into his third year of medical school which is when clinical rotations begin. He would sometimes go days without seeing Jane and he worked 30 hour shifts every fourth day, one of which caused him to miss our 2nd anniversary. My work as an online high school teacher was also very busy at the time with the end of a school quarter approaching and Jane was about 9 months old. While she was fun and happy, she was also mischievous and hated to sleep, only napping about once a week.

On an especially rough day I had finally gotten Jane to fall asleep and as I walked into the kitchen to start the dishes, I just broke down. I think I said out loud, "No one understands this who hasn't experienced it."  Immediately a phrase came to mind that I had heard over and over in Sunday School classes, "Jesus Christ perfectly understands everything we experience." I had depended on that truth through many trials in my life, but I found myself questioning, "Does He really understand? He has never been married to a medical student who works 80 hours a week. He never had to work from home while trying to take care of a baby who doesn't sleep! How could He possibly understand what I'm going through?"

The answer came as a kind but clear chastisement. "That is like someone who stubbed their toe telling someone who had their leg amputated, 'You don't understand what I'm going through!' The amputee perfectly understands everything up to the level of his experience."

Jesus Christ descended below all things. There is nothing outside the level of His experience. His Atonement is truly infinite in breadth and depth. He does understand. He  lived in the flesh and suffered the Atonement specifically so He could understand. So He could strengthen us through our difficulties, so He could weep with us and hurt with us, even though He knows that a miracle is coming, because it always does in one way or another when we trust Him.

"And he will take upon  him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities." (Alma 7:12)

Cleaning Messes and Molding Souls

As a stay-at-home mom I often feel like my entire existence consists of making it look like life never happened. 

Make the basement look like all the toys didn't get dumped. 
Make the shirt look like it wasn't used as a napkin. 
Make the window screen look like someone didn't cut it with scissors. 

It can feel like I'm just undoing rather than creating, which is exhausting and unfulfilling.

But that's not exactly what I'm doing. While there are infinite messes to clean in motherhood, each time I say, "Let's clean this up together" or "How can we make this right?" I invite my children into the transformative process of purification. I work beside them as they learn to fix their mistakes, and when they have put forth their pathetic effort at sweeping or refolding clothes or using wood filler, I come behind and finish the job. 

It feels like we are just ending the day where we started (if we're lucky), but something magical is happening in the process. The kids are learning how to clean, how to mend mistakes and relationships, how to apologize and to forgive. Their souls are stretching and growing. And as we continue day after day and year after year in what often seems like a mundane, repetitive process, they will eventually be ready to step into the role I now have. 

It is the role of counselor, fixer, comforter, and teacher. It is a role that mirrors that of the Savior. 

On the surface it may seem that the purpose of Christ's Atonement is just to "clean up" our mistakes--the ones that we make over and over and over again, and to make it seem like the tragedies and sins of life never happened. It is true that we can be fully and completely cleansed through the power of His grace. When we have put forth our pathetic effort to right our wrongs, He is our finisher. 
But, His role is not merely to undo mistakes and get us back where we started mortality. It is to transform us into new creatures until we become like Him. He invites us into the purification process when he says, "Come now and let us reason together." In a sense He is saying of our sins, "Let's clean this up together" and He walks and works alongside us as our souls stretch and grow.  

Truly, as parents we are His partners in this process, for messes and mistakes are the building blocks of both childhood and salvation. 

Beauty in Brokenness

As I looked at a tray of squished blueberries in front of Kate this morning, I realized that if I had seen them anywhere else I would have thought, "Gross!" and thrown them away without a thought, assuming they had been stepped on and were dirty. 

But since I knew how they got there and why they were squished, I wasn't disgusted; I was fascinated. I took time to look at the different colors and textures and found beauty that I never noticed in squished blueberries before. I explored how much pressure it took before they popped open, and appreciated that they did because that's the only way Kate could enjoy them. 

I thought of the people we see in life who are broken. Too often we pass an instant judgment, even thinking of them as dirty in some way, and discard them from our circle. Sometimes we even think that about ourselves. 

But if we could see through God's eyes and understand why they are broken (for we all are) and how they got there, we would see a beauty we hadn't noticed and be fascinated with colors and textures of humanity we hadn't experienced before. 

Mary Pipher wrote of her experience working with refugees, "I have a much broader sense of what being human can entail." I think that expanded view of humanity is the natural result for all of us as we enjoy each other in our brokenness. And just like Kate with blueberries, that's the only way we can truly be enjoyed—popped open with our true colors, flavors and textures exposed. 

It's not easy to show our own brokenness, or to get to know others well enough to understand theirs, but when we do the result is always love—both for ourselves and others. Mary Lou Kownacki said, "There isn't anyone you couldn't love once you've heard their story." 

Let's embrace the beauty of our brokenness so we can enjoy, and be enjoyed—all across the broad sense of humanness, in all our juicy flavors. 

A Soft Answer Turneth Away [My] Wrath

When I only had one kid I was a mother of endless patience and fun (at least most of the time). Even when Jane wouldn't nap as a baby, even when she was clingy or disobedient, even when she was screaming and I was tired-- I never, ever yelled at her. Then I had a second kid.

When Steven was born, I turned into someone I didn't even recognize and definitely didn't like. A crying baby and a crying toddler were more than I could handle and I yelled more times than I can count, "Stop yelling!" and then I usually started crying because I didn't want to be yelling at my kids, but I couldn't stop.

For the past two and half years I have read several books and tried different reminders and practices to re-learn patience. And I'm making progress anyway. The transition to three kids was a million times smoother because I'm at least a mostly nice mom again.

One of the most important lessons I'm learning comes from Proverbs 15:1: "A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger."

I used to read this scripture thinking it was akin to Dale Carnegie's advice of how to influence (or manipulate) other people. I thought it meant that if someone was angry with me and I could respond kindly, it would kill their anger and they'd smile and hug me instead. Sometimes this is true, but unfortunately angry people are often just angry no matter what we do.

But fortunately, we are only responsible for our own choices. As I often tell my kids, "You just worry about you." It turns out, this scripture has the same aim. It's not meant as a weapon to disarm my enemy, it's meant as strategy to disarm myself. A soft answer turns away MY wrath.

When my kids glue art projects to their walls, sneak nutella into bed but forget to put the lid back on, dump an entire dresser of clothes to build a fort, or clog the bathtub with bread (all of which happened yesterday), I just need to worry about me first. If I can muster a soft response before my anger explodes out my mouth, it will be turned away. But if I let the harsh words come out, my anger will be stirred up.

My kids don't do these things because they hate me, they do these things because they are kids-- Heavenly Father's kids who He is sharing with me for a while. A soft answer helps me remember that.

I'm Just Refilling Your Spoon!

Annie is eating solid foods now, and she loves it. As I fed her blended pasta and carrots last night, she started screaming every time I took the spoon away to get another bite. I kept telling her, "It's okay. Calm down. I'm just refilling your spoon." But she just held on and let me know how angry she was.

I couldn't help but think of Elder Holland's quote as she gripped her empty spoon: "You can have what you want, or you can have something better."

I was also reminded of an experience when a kind Heavenly Father patiently waited for me to let go of my plans so he could refill my 'blessings spoon' and give me exactly what I needed.

I was nearing the end of my pregnancy with Jane and trying to figure out how we were going to make it through two more years of medical school without my income. I was teaching high school and tutoring after school to save as much money as possible, but it was going to be extremely tight. So I started looking for other part-time options.

I found the "perfect" job. It was at a tutoring center downtown, just one stop away on the train line, and the hours would be flexible so I could work when Miguel was home to take care of Jane. The interview went great, I loved the owners, the other tutors, and the environment. But I got a phone call a week later saying I didn't get the job.

In the moment, I was completely devastated. But looking back, I can almost hear Heavenly Father saying, "It's okay. Calm down. I just had to take it away so I could refill your blessings spoon."

I didn't get what I wanted, but once I let go and trusted Him, He gave me something better.

I received a phone call a few weeks later from the director of an online school where I had been tutoring. She said she'd received great reviews from several students I'd worked with and offered me a part-time teaching position on the spot.

Since I was able to work from home while caring for Jane, Miguel and I still had an income and we could protect our limited time together. It was a million times better than the "perfect" job I thought I had figured out.

Next time plans fall apart or it feels like good things are being ripped out of my hands, I hope I'll stay calm and trust that a loving Heavenly Father is just refilling my blessings spoon.

It's Hard to Talk to Someone When They're Crying

Just before Annie was born, we finally succeeded in moving Jane and Steven into the same room. We tried to make this transition several times over the preceding months, but it never worked until Steven learned to fall asleep without screaming for 20 minutes. Fair enough. Jane didn't like hearing him scream, so she would yell for us to come get him, which would just set off the screaming again, at which point we just moved him back into the other room.

But the move was finally successful, and they love it! They tell each other jokes, sing songs and talk themselves to sleep most nights now.

One day, I asked Jane how she liked sharing a room with Steven (she loves it), and we reminisced about the challenge of moving him in there. Her summary was this: "Before I couldn't talk to him because he was always screaming. It's hard to talk to someone when they're crying."

Jane's simple wisdom made me wonder how many times the Lord has thought the same thing about me: "It's hard to talk to you when you're crying." How often has He tried to teach me, comfort me or direct me, but He can't because I'm too busy crying and complaining? How much divine instruction have I missed?

When I come to Him in prayer, am I ready to listen and really talk with Him? Or am I missing what He wants to tell me because I just want to cry about everything that's hard or unfair or unknown in my life?

I hope I can have a fresh relationship with Heavenly Father, filled with joy and meaning-- just like Jane and Steven achieved when he learned to stop crying.