Don't let the Devil Get You Down, Brother.

Dear Elder I,

February has gone by too fast. I can’t believe it’s the last day of the month today. It’s hard to believe the spring is right around the corner. I can’t wait for warmer weather here. I’ve been imagining baby J crawling around in the grass this summer. He is so big; really—a chunk of a kid, and so stinking adorable. Jdog is wiggling around, arching his back, holding his head up when he’s on his tummy, and smiling with a triple chin all of the time. He makes me work to get him to giggle, but when I do, it’s worth it.

This week was somewhat strange. The husband’s injury ended up not being too serious—a cracked metatarsal and sprained ankle. Much better than what it could have been (phew!). I’ll send you the story I wrote about that evening. I think it would give you a good laugh. So, every morning the boys and I drive the husband to school. It’s somewhat early, so we’re not even dressed yet. Atrain loves to bundle up in his ducky blanket and be carried out to the car. We all exhale cold clouds into the air on the way to the husband’s school/work. Right now he’s doing his Radiation Oncology rotation and he loves it. I think he’s made his final decision. It won’t be easy—one of the most competitive residency programs to apply to, but I know things will work out. I’m lucky to have him as mine.

This weekend was our stake’s conference. The messages shared filled me with motivation and desire to do better. Elder Kearon of the First Quorum of the Seventy and his wife spoke to us. I loved both their messages, but his wife’s thoughts are still resonating with me. She read the lyrics to a song. I forget the name, but the lines “But you made wine out of water, raised Jarius’ daughter, fed thousands with a few fish and some bread…can you make more of me” have been replaying in my mind. She talked about how easy it is to feel empty and inadequate with all that we have on our plate, but God can make wine out of water, and He can feed thousands with only one plate of food to work with. Why can’t he make more of me—change me into something sweeter, more divine? He can, I just have to let him.

I think the process of changing me into something more must be more difficult than changing water into wine. I’m more stubborn. I don’t perfectly obey every one of God’s commands. I want to be wine, but sometimes I’m just water. I want to be more patient, more loving, more charitable, more like Christ—and I’m trying. But when I mess up, when I’m just me, it’s hard to imagine how I could ever be more. Our Stake President spoke on Sunday and the thing I remember most from his message was this: if you want a revelation, ask God to show you your sins. Then ask him to help you overcome them.

That’s what I did this morning. And there wasn’t a shining vision filled with all my wrongdoings, but later—when I was trying (again) to motivate little Atrain to get dressed for school—I saw myself from a different light. Atrain was getting upset with me that I wouldn’t let him have another chocolate egg. He was really mad and he yelled, then raised his hand to hit me. I raised my voice and told him to stop. He didn’t. He kept hitting me…all the way to time out.

As I held the door to his room closed I started crying. I was so angry. I was angry at myself for not teaching him well enough to obey. I was angry at him for not listening when I asked him to stop, used the “stop sign,” told him to “put his hands in his turtle shell,” dishing out all of the “red light” phrases I could think of that we have taught him. But he wouldn’t stop. And then someone helped me understand why. A thought came to me from somewhere outside of my frustrated, offended mind. I know that it wasn’t from God because it didn’t make me feel guilty or inadequate. It taught me that my anger was wrong.

Yes, I was angry at my three-year old because he made a mistake. I was angry at him for not remembering to do something the right way. Even worse—I was mad at him for doing things that God forgives me for on a daily basis. And he’s not even old enough to be held accountable. I was angry, and Atrain could see it in my face. He could hear it in my voice. He could feel it in my body language. He was mad that I was mad. And he was just trying to tell me. My angry reaction taught him nothing.

So, as I sat there holding his door shut, I heart him say, “I’m sorry mom! I’m sorry! I want you to hold me!” I broke down into sobs, sorry for the way I reacted, sorry for my own sin. I scooped him up and held him and said, “Thank you so much for telling me you’re sorry. I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I got angry. I love you.” Atrain thought my tears were funny. He laughed. He frankly forgave me—teaching me again how I need to be. How I want to be. No wonder God wants us to become like little children.

Anyway my dear brother, I sure love you. I know that God can make more out of us than we can ever make on our own. I know that he can also teach us how. Don’t ever listen to feelings of inadequacy that you may have. Don’t ever let anything or anyone tell you that you’re not good enough, that you’re not doing enough. This morning I did have a revelation of sorts when I asked God to show me my sins—God gives us sorry when we flub up, not guilt or feelings of inadequacy. He will teach us and motivate us to do better. Don’t let the devil get you down, brother. I’m so proud of you. Keep up the good work. Thank you for inspiring me.

Love,

MJ