Wisdom in my Order

Tonight I cuddled with my baby. Jdog curled up against my chest and we sat in the recliner as the late afternoon sunlight warmed our skin. Atrain chased dust particles illuminated by the rays. The husband flipped through studentdoctor.net to catch up on the latest residency application gossip. And I just sat there quietly, thinking, breathing, and watching my baby's head dip in and out of the beams of sunlight with every inhale. It was a simple moment when I listened, and heard a soft reminder from the Spirit about how happy I am because of these boys--because of my family.

It's not that I ever really forget such an important piece of information. I always remember that fact. It's just easy to forget how it feels. Stress numbs my senses too often, and I loose purpose and direction. I become so exhausted with worry about what I have to do, and how I have (or haven't) done it that it's hard to soak in the reason for doing.

In the scriptures there is a section where a king is speaking to his people in the wake of a great spiritual renewal. After they had fallen to the earth "because they viewed themselves in their own carnal state," he goes on to teach them how to be saved through the Atonement of Christ; to come to know God, to repent and have humility. He goes on to stress the necessity of loving caring for and teaching my family, and also the importance of doing the same for neighbors. And then his advice is divine, "And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order, for it is not requisite that a man run faster than he hath strength..." (Mosiah 4:27).

This scripture can be interpreted in a lot of ways, but at least this time as I read through it, I felt inspired to focus more on God's love as I'm doing my daily deeds, rather than on His expectations. It is good to know and understand who God wants me to be. But, it's better to know God. Having wisdom and order in my doings means that I first know and believe, and then my doing will be more purposeful, joyful and fulfilling. I don't need to outrun my to do list. I do need more mothering moments where I stop, listen, and let my heart be filled with joy.

Lose Yourself

Many strange things have happened to me as a mother. I’ve watched my abdomen balloon to the size of a basketball and independently wobble with life inside; I’ve become completely tolerant of touching many disgusting bodily byproducts; and, random line-ups of toy cars are an integral part of my interior decoration scheme (just to name a few). But, perhaps one of the strangest things that occasionally happens amidst all of the things I’m trying to find (sunscreen, keys, the card, the grocery list, the email responses, the dirty diaper, where Atrain may have put Fin McMissile, which side I fed Jdog on last, etc. etc. etc.), is that it’s easy to loose myself in the mix.

It’s strange, really, when I search for the familiar sense of self I thought I knew so well, only to find pieces of that person and some undefined stuff in between. I hear my voice and the nagging, “Please obey me when I ask you the first time,” words I speak and I idealize the former version of myself, wondering where the fun, sweet, spontaneous me went. Next, I lose focus, which then inevitably leads to a harrowing, guilty conscience. Yesterday, I actually asked my mom, “Why do we do it?” The words tasted biter and full of regret as soon as they left my tongue.

Of course I know why. And the only reason I asked my mom such a stupid question was because I knew she would understand what I really meant: help. After a few good conversations and some un-tethered time catching up on my scripture study, LDS conference council and enjoying my kiddos sans household duties, my perspective is a lot clearer. I am a mother because I love God. I am a mother because I love my husband. I am a mother because I love the little souls I am blessed to nurture—so much that I want to turn myself inside out to protect them. I am a mother because I know that raising good kids is the greatest contribution I can make. Nothing is more important than this responsibility I chose to bear.

Perhaps that is why it is so difficult; I want to be the best mothering-me I can be, but I am still learning who she is. I’m sure I will always be, and I am ok with that. This weekend the words of a familiar scripture wrote themselves so clearly in my mind, and took on new meaning:

Matthew 10:39, “He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.”

I want to get lost in motherhood. I don’t need to be concerned about that me that I was when I didn’t have kids and how she compares to the me that I am now. I am going to focus on who I am becoming, rather than who I was. And, when I’m wishing for a little more of myself to go around, I need to remember that God can make more of me than I could have ever make of myself.

Keep on Plugging

I feel somewhat stuck in a rut. Gray clouds are gathering overhead, challenging my perspective. Maybe it's a post-vacation hang over. Or maybe it's because I'm having an incredibly hard time conjuring up a bit of quiet, reflective, reading time of my own. It could be that Atrain has developed a silly/snappy/stubborn alter-ego I've deemed his 'Darth' side that requires me to endlessly nag and remind him about good and bad choices and their coinciding consequences before he obeys (and after he disobeys). And I don't have the patience of a Jedi knight.

It's hard when I don't feel like myself, and when I don't like the self I seem to be. I've crumbled to my knees a lot lately--especially when I remember that I forgot again to say my prayers--seeking inspiration and more peace of mind. That's hard too; turning to God to ask for help when I don't quite feel up to par. It's kind of like going to a cousin's baptism with my son who stained the seat of his pants on a slide doused in Gatorade. We go on anyway. I pray on anyway. God came to Earth to mend the brokenhearted and strengthen the weary. He can also help me relocate the bit of myself that I somehow misplaced.

Dear June,

Welcome. It’s hard to believe that you are here already, but here you are. We are half way through the year. I am living in a sublet apartment in Texas as the husband invests two months of 2011 to bolster his residency applications. And then I wonder where residency will lead us. Temporarily setting up shop here has thrown my mind into imagination mode. I can’t stop looking at real estate websites and online house plans. I can’t stop pondering the possibilities for the future: our city, the kid’s schools, Atrain’s audiologist, the climate, the culture, our apartment, or even (gasp) maybe our house. Though that would rock my world harder than Elvis rocked Rock ‘n Roll, all that really matters is that we rock on together. Or something like that. Home is where the heart is.

Time to refocus. In just a few days I'll be returning to our apartment to spend the rest of your month with half of my heart. That’s right. I’ll be leaving the other half in Texas with the husband. But don’t worry; he’ll take good care of it. He always does. Besides, in an attempt to ignore the bleeding hold in my chest cavity, I’ve been making plans: swim lessons, family reunions, rock climbing, summer reading series with the boys, cousin sleep-overs, spiritual renewal, home improvement (de-clutter) projects, gardening, etc. etc. etc.

I’m excited about our plans—about being deliberate in the outcomes I want to achieve with the kiddos. I want us to be happy, to learn (which means occasionally being sad), to adventure, to find buried treasure, and to patiently await the day daddy will return when we will all celebrate at the theaters with Lightning McQueen, Finn McMissile and the rest of the Cars 2 gang. It won’t be perfect, but at least that’s what we’re shooting for. For now, I have seven days of you left with the husband. And we’re going to have a blast.

The Hairs on My Head

I’m shedding. It’s officially been three months since I had a baby. I’m pulling long strands of hair out of clothes as I fold them. Hairs are hiding between the creases in my baby’s triple chin. My shower wall is streaked with wet hair balls whenever I wash. A bird could nest inside of my brush. Ew.

I’m sure the husband notices, especially when he picks never-ending threads of hair from his underwear. I know that God notices: “Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God? But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows” (Luke 12, 6-7).

If God notices how much hair I’m loosing lately, He must also notice how hard I’m trying to do good lately. Even if my efforts yield rather small, seemingly insignificant results…He notices. Even if it’s hard for me to really measure the meaning of it all, I’ll keep trying—just like I’ll keep shedding. Maybe someday I’ll see where all of it ends up.

Missionary Monday

Dear Elder I,

Hello JD. I hope that you are doing well. I have been thinking about you so much lately, wondering where in the world you are now, if you’ve been planting any more palm trees, if you’ve had any more opportunities to teach “golden” investigators, etc. I’m sure a lot of investigators are golden—some just need more time to refine than others. I sure need a lot of refining. I’m glad that the Lord has patience with us.

Yesterday was an interesting Sunday. The husband left for meetings really early and didn’t get back to pick us up until five minutes before church started. I was doing my best not to be impatient, especially with myself. I couldn’t seem to find anything to wear and I was getting more and more flustered by the minute. I don’t know why. I stood there flinging through the dresses in my closet, feeling sorry that my little one just wanted to be held, that I hadn’t don’t a great job preparing for Primary’s singing time (a calling that I don’t technically have any more—it’s complicated) and that I was a little miffed that my husband wasn’t home yet (he had the car and I’m trying to be early for church these days…). So, when the hubby came through the door at five minutes to the hour I was relieved to see him, but I shot him a wide-eyed “what took so long” look. As we rushed out the door he apologized, explained that the meeting went extra long, and then went on about concerns that were much more substantial than my “what should I wear” worries. Clothes don’t matter. People do. I felt stupid and sorry that I had even cared about which skirt to put on.

I sat there at the beginning (well, partway through the opening song if you want to be technical) of the meeting trying to pinpoint what exactly I was feeling: ashamed—sort of; restless—yes; tired—always; sorry—yes; guilty—no. I think that we Mormons misuse the word guilty. At least, I do. I stick it to situations like being late for church or not making cutesie home-baked refreshments or not dressing up enough for meetings, as if I’ve committed a moral crime. Perhaps a cultural crime, but that’s not what is most important.

I need to be better at the basics, like Elder Uchtdorf said last October, “As we turn to our Heavenly Father and seek his wisdom regarding the things that matter most, we learn over and over again the importance of four key relationships: with our God, with our families, with our fellowmen and with ourselves.” I think that the last couple of months have thrown me off in a few of these areas. I’ve readjusted pretty well after baby J’s birth, but I’m still relearning how to use my time. If I try a little harder to be a little better at developing these relationships, I know that I’ll find more happiness and fulfillment in each day. I know that it will help me be a better wife and mother. I know that God can help me understand the person I am and who I can become.

I don’t know what you’re going through out there, but I hope you don’t get discouraged over things that are not the most important. Don’t follow my lead on that one. J I’m going to do better at focusing on the simple, most important thing in my life. In Oct. 2006 Elder Ballard gave a great talk about Jacob’s “O Be Wise” call. He said:

Brothers and sisters, may we focus on the simple ways we can serve in the kingdom of God, always striving to change lives, including our own. What is most important in our Church responsibilities is not the statistics that are reported or the meetings that are held but whether or not individual people—ministered to one at a time just as the Savior did—have been lifted and encouraged and ultimately changed. Our task is to help others find the peace and the joy that only the gospel can give them. In seven words, Jesus summarized how we can accomplish this. He said, “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).

I sure do love you JD! Thanks for your example and all that you are doing to bring peace and joy to others. I hope I can do the same out here, at the very least in my own family. That is what is most important.

Just so you know, I’m not this crazy every Sunday. Last week was much better. We got to take a loaf of our bread to church to be used for the sacrament. We went early and sat in the pews to watch the husband set things up. We talked about it a little, but I didn't really notice how much Atrain was soaking in until we got home from church. Atrain insisted on carrying the bag of left over bread in from the car. Then, when we got home he told me to sit down on the bench. He then told me to be reverent while he opened up the bag and passed me an entire slice. "I'm a sacrament boy," he said. "Just like dada." I hope he continues to see himself as a sacrament boy. Now we'll just have to work on saying prayers that are longer than, "Dear Heavenly Father...Amen!" Two steps forward, one step back, right.

I’m proud of you.

Love always,

MJ

Supermom Moments

I had a few supermom moments today: breastfeeding my baby while buttering 8 pieces of toast, driving an SUV with 6 children inside, letting my husband catch up on his sleep (undisturbed) after a night in the hospital, managing tantrums without getting frustrated, and getting my running pace back down to 8 minutes/mile on the treadmill (impressive for me). I’m choosing to ignore the fact that I never got in the shower, the piles of laundry that remain untouched and all of the dirty dishes lounging in my sink. I’m not going to let them ruin my supermom day.

The Puddle Project

#1

Something happened today that could change my life. And that something had nothing to do with the trampoline that hit me in the face. I'll explain that later. That something has more to do with the question that my dear husband asks me every day: "So, Dar--what were your thoughts today?" Then, I stand there and wonder what exactly I should say about my puddle of a mind.

Some days there are significant thoughts or non thoughts that stand out--like the moment you realize that your hands and cheek are covered in blood and you can't quite pinpoint why. But most days aren't like that. Especially lately, it's quite easy for my thoughts to get lost in their puddle jumps. Quite frankly, lately "which side did I feed him on last" is often the most pressing question on my mind. Maybe that's because I'm making my way through my second case of mastitis. I’m just being honest, but when I reflect on the most poignant or patronized thought puddles of the day, I don’t want my breasts and antibiotic doses I forgot to take at the top of the list.

I want the sum of my thoughts to amount to something more. That sum doesn’t necessarily have to be more glamorous, gross, inspirational, sad, professional, personal, familial, political, or spiritual, etc. I think that most often the most life changing moments are embedded in the mundane. I just want help to make something more of them than the muddled puddles they presently are. Help, in the form of a project—a potentially life changing project: The Puddle Project.

For every day of 2011 I will write about at least one of the puddles my mind jumped into that day. There are no length requirements, just sincerity requirements. A new space has been created to pool my puddles. This family blog has no room for whatever I may find lurking in the mud. The goal of this project is to examine, define, describe and change. My mind can still muddle in the mundane; most often, it must. But it must mean something. I can’t wait to see what. I already have some catching up to do. At least the next time hubby asks me, “What were your thoughts today,” hopefully I’ll have something more definite to say. Not that he minds…he likes my muddling.