Scripture Thoughts

   Our last Sunday in King Salmon, Nate and I were asked to speak in church.  The topic was "Your Relationship with the Lord," and although I did think about it a lot, with packing and preparing for the move and all the normal demands of life, it wasn't until the night before that I actually sat down and put pen to paper.  It took me awhile, but eventually my thoughts began to flow and my talk took shape.  I don't really remember much of it, except one insight that I know did not come from my own wisdom.
  Going back a little further, sometime during the summer weeks that Nate was gone flying, I decided to read the Bible all over again.  In 90 days.  There are reading schedules out there that make all the figuring out easy, so I found one and began following it.  It definitely took commitment!  My scripture reading had suffered since having children, and going from a haphazard chapter or two of the Book of Mormon (sometimes verse or two was more like it!) to 10+ chapters of Old Testament a day was a big change! At first I was a little grumpy about it - I'd been reading for a few days, and while the Genesis review of all the old scripture stories was not bad, I certainly didn't feel particularly blessed to be reading about people's bad choices and the twisted lines of their lives from long ago.  I wasn't feeling the inspiration flow.  It wasn't relating to my life with that *BLING* of revelation and light.  After about a week, however, I did notice a difference.  I wasn't receiving pillars of light or angelic visits, but I was calmer.  I did have more patience.  My heart was happier.  Parenting our girls was easier, and dealing with Nate's absence was less aggravating/sad.  I continued my reading, and became more convinced of its effect all the time.
  And that is where my stroke of revelation for my talk came from.  Reading scriptures is totally important, but not because it is always going to speak to us in golden tones of heavenly light.  It is important because it builds our relationship with the Lord.  And THAT is where all the good things come from.
  It comes easily to most of us, given a listening ear, to pour out our hearts, our wants and worries, our desires and dreams.  Just like a baby, crying out for food or sleep, we feel our state so acutely and naturally reach out for help.  But as we grow in our relationships, we realize the other side has something to share beyond just what we might ask for; we want to get to know the other person, not just be served.  We don't expect every conversation with a friend or spouse to be deep and life-changing, revealing secrets and enlightening our understanding.  Just saying hello regularly deepens our connection.  Laughing at something together, hearing what drives them crazy or makes them really happy, discussing what happened with their day - these are the communicative bricks and mortar of a relationship.  These everyday, common conversations lay the foundation of understanding and connection that allow deeper and deeper discussions, that lead to those life-changing moments we remember all our days.  So it is with reading the Scriptures regularly.
  With that background, here are some thoughts I had today.
  I've been thinking about all the things I want, and don't yet have.  :)  While so very grateful for the blessings that are mine, quite frankly, there are some prayers that are, as yet, unanswered.  It is easy to worry over them.  It is easy to just want and want and want them so bad that, while waiting to receive, hope falters.  I want to believe that my Father will truly bless me, but when I want the chocolate cake and it feels like I'm being handed a bare carrot, its easy to feel let down.  So the other day, when these words popped into my head, I certainly was intrigued.

 "Or what man is there of you, who, if his son ask bread, will give him a stone?

Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?

If ye, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father who is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?"

  And then, today, 

"...he that will harden his heart, the same receiveth the lesser portion of the word: and he that will not harden his heart, to him is given the greater portion of the word, until it is given unto him to know the mysteries of God until he know them in full."

  I believe that my Father is a giver of good gifts.  Better than I can even imagine. I believe that he hears my prayer for bread, and he is not giving me a stone.  I do not aspire to know the mysteries of God "in full," but I do choose to not harden my heart, that I might receive those good gifts that he has for me, not the least of which is a closer walk with Him.  

Today's Relief Society Lesson and Me

This week's Relief Society lesson was all about character, integrity, and one's standing before the Lord.  I have to confess, I have really slacked (up to this point) on reading the lessons in preparations for Sundays.  I know I should, I know I would get more out of each meeting and be able to contribute better, but there are so many reasons why I just haven't done it.
Thursday was a stake leadership training meeting.  Of course, I couldn't go, but they had it all set up so that we could call in like we do for church and at least listen to what went on.  Calling in has its pro's and cons.  I love being able to sit on my couch with my feet up and my pajamas on, nursing my baby as she needs it, while still attending my meetings and fulfilling my calling.  (For church on Sundays, we do dress up and try to make it a little more formal.)  However, I don't like not always being able to hear or tell exactly what's going on, and the trickiness of participating highly discourages that kind of connection.  The one piece of counsel that I heard, remembered, and applied was the admonishment to at least read, if not study, the lesson prior to Sunday, not only for my own benefit but so that I could contribute to the lesson and help the teacher out if needed.
So I read the lesson.
And, as I knew it would, it blessed my life.
One part struck me, not so much while reading it on my own, but definitely during the lesson.  The paragraph reads-
     "We must hearken to ... whisperings (of the Holy Ghost) and conform to its suggestions, and by no act of our lives drive it from us.  It is true that we are weak, erring creatures...but so soon as we discover ourselves in a fault, we should repent of that wrongdoing and as far as possible repair or make good the wrong we may have committed.  By taking this course we strengthen our character, we advance out own cause, and we fortify ourselves against temptation; and in time we shall have so far overcome as to really astonish ourselves at the progress we have made in self-government, and in improvement."
Our teacher asked for some of us to share experiences regarding these words, and, as the staticky moments ticked on without comment, I searched my brain for a something to say, some way to "help" my teacher out. What floated up really amazed me, and though perhaps it didn't help anyone else, it opened my perspective again to the work Heavenly Father is doing in my life.
When we came here, last year, it was the beginning of a really hard time for me.  So many things about this situation have really pushed me beyond what I thought were my limits.  More than once - many times, actually - I felt the darkness of depression, despair, discouragement, loneliness, anger, frustration, and misunderstanding settle over me, and found myself struggling to see the light.  Through much effort, faith, and time, I gradually came out of that darkness into a certain resigned, if consciously blinder-ed, contentment, and from there to a real peace and a joyful life again.  I rejoiced to leave for the holidays and Lucy's birth.  I privately, and publicly, hoped to never return. :)  And when we made the decision to come back for another 8 months, I cried.  And yet...
Somehow, its different this time around.  It may be partly because of the end in sight, and partly because I'm not dealing with the physical and emotional effects of pregnancy, but I think its more than that.  I looked back at my difficult Alaska summer during my time of strengthening and rejoicing in California and wondered how I could have been such a  "weak, erring creature."  Why was it so hard?  Was I just a wimp?  Was I just making mountains out of molehills?  If I look at it that way, then some of of this blog is a pretty embarrassing look at my vulnerabilities and struggles.
I prefer not to look at it that way.
Rather, let's consider it from this angle.  Weakness is a natural state of being.  Its how we all start.  Anything. We may find natural talent, or ease, in a situation or skill, and perhaps certain other strengths, previously developed, give us a headstart, but no one is strong at the very beginning.  Strength is developed.  Therefore, weakness and struggle is not something to be ashamed of!  It is a start, an opportunity, a sign that you are still living and growing and progressing.  A sign that you are human, just one of a large family of people who each struggle in their own way and time.
So I look back, and I look forward, and I ponder my present state, and I "astonish myself at the progress I have made in self-government and improvement."
Isn't it amazing what we learn about ourselves when we do what we know we should? :)

Mother of Two

Somehow, I never thought it would be such a huge transition, going from one child to two.  I've done kids before!  Multiple kids, of all ages!  Why would adding a new baby to my so-far only child be so different, so  challenging, so down-right HARD?

(Okay, I didn't actually think that.  I just didn't really think about it at all.)

It was a challenge from the first weeks of pregnancy to adjust to parenting Eden under the simultaneous demands of morning sickness, milk decreasing, girth increasing, energy waxing and waning (but mostly waning), and all the changes that come with the expectant state.  I learned a lot about slowing down and allowing or even asking for help as I thought I needed it.  Thankfully, Eden was mostly happy and ready to become more independent, bit by bit.  

But when Lucy was born...

One night, when Lucy was just a few days old, Eden woke up crying.  I was in bed, next to the wall, with Lucy, and we had already spent most of the night wrestling with repeated newborn poopy diapers and the process of establishing breastfeeding.  Nate, sleeping to the outside, got up to comfort Eden and help her go back to sleep.  Except that she wouldn't.  She was still getting over a nasty cold, and all she wanted was her mama.  All I wanted was to go to her and make it all better, but Lucy had just latched on and was nursing avidly.  I knew Eden was safe in her loving daddy's patient (if somewhat exasperated) arms, and that I needed to lay still and let my body heal, as well as take care of Lucy, but my heart felt like it was going to leap out of my body!  It was so hard to not be able to be there for her!  (And I will ever be grateful to my husband for dealing so patiently with all of us that night and not just leaving her to cry it out.  I don't think I could have handled that!)

It was such a hard thing for me to learn and be okay with the fact that I could no longer give my all to my one child, because now I had two children to give my all to.  And the logical extension of that realization is that each child, therefore, gets less.  And I was not okay with that!  The depth of desire I have for my children to be blessed and cared for is beyond what I could have comprehended before they came into my life.  It is hard to back up, let go, and trust, when all I want to do is make it all right for them!  In this light, I can understand better some people's decision to limit the number of their children in order to provide more, be there more fully, or in any way, make their lives better.

Except...
I am the fifth of eleven children.
I do not feel deprived, neglected, or like my life was in any way worse for having ten siblings.
I am very glad that my parents did not stop before I was born, and just as glad that they did not stop after I was born!  I treasure each one of my siblings, and each has contributed so much to my growth, my development, and the quality of my life.
I love and admire my mother and my father; I never doubted their love for, and devotion to, me, and to all of my brothers and sisters.  I knew they were sacrificing and doing a hard work in inviting all of us to their family, and I was so glad they were willing to!
I do not consider myself to have received "less" of anything, really, due to multiple siblings.  Only more.

So I am learning to trust that Heavenly Father will fill in the gaps, and that even as my capabilities are stretched to beyond their limit, His glorious grace will pour through the cracks into my children's lives.

(And yes, as the weeks pass, we are settling into our rhythm together and finding ease once again.  As a wise man once said (and I can't remember who it was), "That which we persist in doing becomes easier to do - not that the nature of the thing has changed, but our capacity to do it has increased." Or something like that.  But I know that much of that ease is coming as I learn to more fully rely on Heavenly Father as a mother of two.)

Looking Up, Not Down

Oh, My, Goodness.  It is so easy to look down.  It is so easy to feel the weight of my “burdens” and sag beneath the load that is mine.  It does me much good to get a little perspective now and then – that's why I love to read. 

            In the hormonal maelstrom of the early postpartum weeks, missing my newly-returned-to-Alaska husband, trying to balance the needs and demands of my now two children, and struggling with guilt and resentment at my somewhat incapacitated state of recovery and the service that required others to give, I found myself definitely looking down. 

            And then I had a few moments when both girls were asleep, and I was able to get online.  I checked emails and facebook, of course, and did a few more things before heading over for the first time in a few months to one of my favorite blogs.  I’ve been randomly following The Blessing of Verity for over a year now, and the chronicles that Susanna Musser has kept of her family and her own heart never fail to uplift me.  But not in a high-flown, fancy, head in the clouds way.  Oh, no.  This is very much a down to earth, practical application, day to day life sort of blog.

            Anyway, here is this mother of eleven, simultaneously expecting an twelfth baby and thirteenth child (older, with extreme special needs) by adoption, homeschooling and raising her children to love and serve one another, already dealing with the special needs of her youngest daughter, born with Down syndrome, and another daughter, adopted not that long ago, who also has Down syndrome as well as special needs resulting from her life pre-adoption.  Whew.  It wears me out just to type all that!  Yet she exudes a spirit of faith, love, determination, and worship.  I know that what is communicated through a blog is just a snippet of life, a little window through a wall, but when those snippets add up to a consistent whole, when each little window shows a slightly different, but very congruent, piece of a picture, I take it as a good sign that it's a true picture.  Besides, it’s just too much work to be fictional, or dishonest, on your blog when you have so much else to do! J

            She’s an inspiration to me.  She reminds me of where my focus ought to be.  She helps me feel new gratitude for my blessings, my challenges, and my Savior.  She shows me how to live with grace, and in reading her words, I find that much needed perspective on my own life.  She helps me to remember, as President Monson is quoted to have said,  to “look up!  It is better to look up than to look down!”

Mission; Mothering

I've been home from my mission for four years and four months.  It was truly a very wonderful, very difficult, absolutely challenging and fulfilling, fully worth every moment, year and a half spent loving and learning and growing and serving.  If someone asked me, "Should I go?" my answer would be, "Absolutely!"  But get as ready as you can first.  Be worthy.  Have a testimony.  And determine to do everything you can to serve however you can, to lift rather than to weigh down.  It was a wonderful time - but more challenging than you could ever imagine.  :)

I've heard it said that those mission years were the best two years of one's life.  I've rarely heard it said that they were the hardest two years, maybe partly because that is not a very positive view of such an important period of service, and who wants to admit that anyway?  I will say it though!  They were the hardest of my life up til that point!  However!  Life goes on, and I feel glad and blessed to say that now, while I count my mission as a very special time, it is neither the best nor the hardest years of my life.  I do feel, however, that the experiences and learning that happened during that time have been the best training I could have ever received for the rest of life.

(Some may wonder about my focus on what the mission did for me, seeing that the mission is supposed to be about what we can do for other folks.  I must admit, while others can claim baptisms and miracles, cite numbers of lessons and Book of Mormon placements, my mission was, in those terms, not so successful.  The truth is, I don't really know all that my mission did for others.  I hope it was a blessing to them.  I was able to participate in some baptisms (which, every time, were marvelous, blessed events!) and I know that I was able to do the work the Lord had for me, but I didn't get to see a whole lot of the fruit.  So, while I can't really say what my service did for others, I do know what the Lord did for me through those experiences.)  That being said...

Yesterday was a hard day with my little charge!  We had an epic struggle, and although it all eventually ended well, it spanned nearly an hour and a half, had me in tears at several points, and truly brought me to the end of my wits.  Without going into details, I will simply say in retrospect that it involved, in small degree, obedience and cleaning up, with a large measure of age-typical non-compliance, an already not-so-good day for me, and ... I can't even remember what else now!  It got blown way out of proportion and turned into a real perfect storm of a power struggle.  It was HORRIBLE!

I talked with her dad, and called my mom for suggestions later and, after Eden was asleep, did some reading and pondering.  I was comforted, :) and enlightened, and encouraged enough to keep going.  But more than anything, I was reminded of my mission, the true, eternal, overwhelmingly important mission of motherhood  (or parenthood, I guess you could say.)  It helps everything to have to proper perspective.  I'm not little H.'s mom, but I am acting in loco parentis for a good portion of her life right now, and of course, I have my own daughter and new little one coming.  It helps me to remember what I am actually doing here.

I'm not trying to only shape behavior.  I'm not being the boss just because I'm bigger and its easier if I run things.  I'm not (primarily!) making them do things to make my life easier!  What I'm really trying to do is exactly the same thing I was doing in Spain, and that is, the Lord's work.  Bring souls to Him.  Invite them to come unto Christ.  Every little thing I do influences these little ones' perception of Heavenly Father and His love for them, and who and what our Savior is.  Every teaching, implicit or explicit, registers in their little hearts and minds and leaves the mark of love and truth or the opposite.  (Good thing they're so forgiving and resilient, and we can try again tomorrow!)  I just as much, if not more, need His inspiration and guidance to mother these little ones as I ever did to teach the gospel as a missionary.  I just as much, if not more, need to draw upon His words, His revelation, the power of prayer, the guidance of the Spirit.  I just as much need to examine myself, repent, and be worthy.  Of course, mothering looks a whole lot different and has a different timeline, but I know of no better preparation that I could have had for this crucial and eternal calling in which I am now privileged to serve.

(And just to be clear, I find this calling to be way harder and way better than the other one - but then the other set the stage for this, so I'm not saying its an either/or thing!)


And if you're still reading, past all the parentheses, probably-run-on sentences, and highly condensed, somewhat cryptic thoughts, I give you a gold star! :) And I have a really really good book to review sometime when my little Eden is not pulling at my knee and loudly demanding my attention.

God Wants to Hear You Sing

This song was a timely reminder for me, here.

I thought maybe some of you could use it too...

Here are the words.

Their chains were fastened tight
Down at the jail that night
Still Paul and Silas would not be dismayed
They said, "It's time to lift our voice, 
Sing praises to the Lord
Let's prove that we will trust Him, come what may."

God wants to hear you sing
When the waves are crashing round you
When the fiery darts surround you
When despair is all you see
God wants to hear your voice
When the wisest man has spoken
And says your circumstance is as hopeless as can be
That's when God wants to hear you sing

He loves to hear our praise 
On our cheerful days
When the pleasant times out weigh the bad, by far
But when suffering comes along
And we still sing Him song
That is when we bless the Father's heart

God wants to hear you sing
When the waves are crashing round you
When the fiery darts surround you
When despair is all you see
God wants to hear your voice
When the wisest man has spoken
And says you circumstance is as hopeless as can be
That's when God wants to hear you sing.

Why is this so easy to forget?

And so hard to do?

Balancing our very real human grief, sorrow, pain, and discouragement with the faith that allows us to "sing" in the midst of it all.  I don't believe that it does any good to deny those experiences and just pretend its all ok - that is not what God requires of us.  Jesus Christ, our very Savior, wept, groaned within himself, even asked that "if it were possible" the cup could pass from him.  Surely we too may do those things in the depths of our struggles.  But to be able to not give in to the temptation to let our sad times then become our sour times... that, for me, is one of the real tests.  And maybe that's what people mean when they say we were sent here to be tested - not that our hard times are our tests, but that what we choose to do with them shows what we have become, are becoming, just as a scholastic test is supposed to demonstrate what we have learned and what we still lack.  

Anyway, sometimes the only song we can manage is the faint melody of duty done for duty's sake.  Even that is precious to our Heavenly Father, I believe.  I appreciated this song, though, because it reminded me to allow that stage to pass and to let the full song come forth in my life as my strength does increase.  To not wallow in misery but to push through it and come out on higher ground.  

I'm thankful for tender mercies like this one.

Women of Character

First, thank you to all of you who have left comments on various posts!  I love to know that someone is reading my thoughts, and your words uplift and encourage me.  I may not reply to your comments specifically, but please know that I read and treasure them.  They mean so much to me!

A few weeks ago, I received an unexpected package in the mail.  I always like to get mail, even those random catalogs that come from LL Bean and the like, :) and this proved to be much better than a random catalog!  A dear friend who has known me nearly all my life very thoughtfully sent me some words of encouragement and a book entitled "Women of Character."  Its full of the stories of LDS women, from many backgrounds and through many choices and circumstances, from the early pioneers to today's women.  The essays are just the right length for a busy, tired mama (or anyone else!) to snatch up and read during a baby's nap, a bathroom break, or a brief moment of quiet on the couch, and then mentally chew on throughout the rest of the day's duties.  Its been a blessing and an inspiration!

The other night, after a particularly difficult day, I lay in bed and this book came to mind.  I was having a conversation with myself, arguing back and forth between self-sacrifice and insistent discontent, between bad attitude and stuffing emotions, between wanting to be a good wife and wanting to have things my way...  The mental club kept whacking me upside the head, "This shouldn't be so hard for you... Just suck it up and be happy!...Come on, 'daughter of the pioneers,' what happened to cheerfully living with your decision?..."  I don't know why those things even come to my mind to say to myself; I'd never say them to someone else who was struggling!

So this book came to mind, at first as more ammunition to launch at myself - they did it, why can't I? They even had it worse, what am I complaining about?  Look at all my blessings, why can't I just be content?  It was not pretty.  But then I started to see things differently.  Yes, they were great women.  Yes, they overcame difficulties and persevered and demonstrated faith and love and sacrifice.  BUT! I was reading their stories after the struggle, on the other side of the difficulty, when the trials were passed.  Of course what stands out is the fact that they made it, they did it, they got through with grace and went on!  That's why we read such stories for inspiration!  It suddenly struck me that these women surely had their moments of inner turmoil, that being mortal, they had their moments of weakness, that there were undoubtedly moments when they wished things were, or could be, different, and probably even times when they (*gasp*) had to vent or complain or even burst into tears!  Yet those moments didn't diminish the greatness of their lives, the truth of their triumphs.  I doubt any one of them thought of herself as a heroine or someone who was going to be set apart in history as an exemplar of certain virtues, but here I am, reading their stories for encouragement and inspiration in my struggle.

I don't think of myself as a great heroine or some exemplar to stand on a pedestal.  I know too well my inner (and sometimes outer!) struggles and faults to presume that role even if I wanted to.  But it was a blessing to realize that having these struggles does not mean I am bad, or unable, or weak, or even particularly selfish.  Hard things are hard, regardless of why or whether they "should" or "shouldn't" be.  The point is to get through them the best we can, with forgiveness, faith, and a healthy measure of God's grace to see us through.

Yes, I've been really struggling.  Yes, there are days when my attitude needs pretty constant adjustment.  Yes, there are times when things are not so good.  But I make it through, day by day, and when I can humble myself enough to accept it, the light of heaven gently shines through in small and unexpected ways to ease my burden and help me along.

Beautiful Savior

Over the last few weeks, I have not written much, either privately or here on the blog.  I've been a little drained by the demands of daily life combined with the natural effects of the first trimester of pregnancy, and had to let a few things go by the wayside.  As Nate so patiently put it, living with a pregnant mama (at least this pregnant mama!) in the first trimester is a lot like bachelor life again - everything tends to be put on a "do it only as it needs doing" schedule, rather than the more ordered and routine manner in which we try to accomplish life usually.  I am grateful that he is so supportive and loving.

Although I have not written much, my mind and heart have been full.  I have come up again against the conflict between the desire to honestly share my heart and experiences as they flow out of me, and the desire to protect against misunderstanding, judgement, and assumption.  But why write at all, unless I write honestly?  Why write at all, unless I write about what is important to me and weighing upon my heart?  So I have waited out the conflict to write.

Much on my mind has been my first baby, my first pregnancy.  Not Eden, but the first.  You see, for three years now, I have been pregnant at this time of the year.  This year, I am almost out of the first trimester.  Last year, I was two months away from giving birth to Eden.  The year before that, 2010, I was in my second trimester, barely recovering from horrible morning sickness, not knowing that in about two weeks I would deliver my tiny, precious, lifeless firstborn.

Someone asked me, once, after I had briefly shared that experience, if it was still hard to talk about, if it still hurt.  I don't really remember what I answered at that time.  I would say that it is not hard to talk about - it has never been hard to talk about.  In fact, it was (and is) harder to not talk about it.  Of course, as time passes and life goes on, it is not so present, so pressing, so immediate all the time.  But yes, when the moment is right - it does still hurt.  A mother's heart holds all her children, and longs for them when they are not with her, even with understanding and peace at their absence.

I will share, over the next few posts, perhaps, that experience.  It has touched and changed and broken and filled me more than any other one event in my life.  I do not share it lightly, and know that there will be those who do not understand or who maybe don't want to read it.  That's ok.  Take it or leave it, as you please.

But today, sitting on our somewhat smelly old couch, Nate and Eden and I just relaxed after church and watched an old DVD from his mission, entitled "Fisher's of Men." It contains quotes from conference talks by prophets and apostles, testifying of Jesus Christ and his mission, over a background of videos of His life and beautiful instrumental music.  I heard it for the first time on my mission, and have always been so touched by it, but today I found the tears just rolling down my cheeks.  I thought of my childhood and youth and the beauty and peace and blessing of growing up in the gospel.  The way I never doubted the truth of the Savior, always knew my Heavenly Father loved me, found answers and solutions and blessings for all my small and childish concerns.  I was truly encircled in his love.  Then, gradually, how my life encountered more and more of the more serious difficulties, trials, and disappointments that are natural to this fallen life.  I never used to cry when I felt the Spirit - I just felt peaceful and filled with joy.  I think that is my natural tendency, but I know that now I cry because I know my need, I know my brokenness.  I know that life is not about fairness, and there is no guarantee of the perfect ending in this life no matter what we do.  My heart has been shattered in ways that I never could have dreamed of, and I'm still at the beginning(ish) part of my life! And yet...

And yet, I cry because I feel His light streaming in through the cracks.  I cry because I am so humbled, so grateful, that He stops to reach me, where I am.  I cry because I long for the day when all the wrong shall be made right, and all promises fulfilled.  I cry because I see my brother, enfolded again in the longing, loving bosom of our family. I cry because I see, in my minds eye, that tiny little baby in my arms, in white, never again to depart.

Beautiful Savior!

Lord of the Nations! 

Son of God and son of man!

Thee will I honor, praise and give glory!

Give Glory evermore!

Evermore!

To Tell or Not To Tell

Some of you may have seen this post about Desires of the Heart, and perhaps, knowing me, thought it was about a desire for this:

Actually, somewhat surprisingly, it was not.

The burning desire that prompted the writing of that post had much more to do with this:

About six months ago, I was in the process of looking up information about raising children with special needs for a friend of mine.  I love children, and I love learning more about raising them, and I love looking things up and finding things out, so it was a fascinating experience.  Thru a series of blog hops, I came to a blog that completely captured me.  It is written by the mother of 11 children, and was begun halfway through the pregnancy of her 10^th child when ultrasounds revealed that this baby would probably be born with Down Syndrome.  In raw honesty, she journals her fears, her faith, her concerns and struggles, and ultimately the joy that comes with her precious Verity.

As I lay in our darkened bedroom, evening after evening, nursing my own little Eden to sleep, more than once I wanted to stop reading.  I wanted to shut off my Iphone, delete the link, forget about this topic.  Irrational fear whispered that I should close my eyes, close my ears, choose to not let this into my life.  As if not knowing would protect me somehow.  From what? I don’t really know.  From having this as part of my life, mostly.  At the same time, however, I was drawn on, as if “hearing a word behind me, saying, This is the way, walk ye in it.”

As I read, and saw various pictures of this family, my heart and my mind gradually began to change.  This mother’s faith and testimony touched me.  The beauty that love and truth impart to ordinary life shone out undeniably.  What had been difficult to look at, speaking honestly, became normal…

even beautiful. 

As if that journey wasn’t enough, this family then chose to bring another little one into their family through adoption.  Another little one with Down Syndrome.  Smaller, more fragile even than their biological daughter had been.  But this little one’s special needs were infinitely compounded, not by the nature of having Down Syndrome, but by the life she had lived up til then.

You see, little Katie was 9 years old.

But she only weighed around 10 pounds.

Developmentally, she was a tiny infant. 

Severely neglected, basically starving, abandoned, unwanted, almost at death’s door, this little girl was deemed of no worth in her birth country.  And why?

Because she wasn’t “perfect.”

Because she had Down Syndrome. 

Her adoption saved her literal life, of that I have no doubt.  And the way she has blossomed has been nothing short of a miracle.

The Blessing of Verity

Go read it.  Start at the beginning of Verity’s story.  You will not regret the time spent.

And so I was introduced to this world of Reece's Rainbow, of special needs adoption, of little ones who are seen as worthless by their countries and cultures because of various “imperfections.”  A world of miracles and faith, of redemption and great sacrifice.  A world of children who wait and wait for a mommy and a daddy, who live with the very probable destination of an adult mental institution when they age out of the baby house at four years old. 

Four years old!!!

That’s my nephew’s age! That’s the age of the little girl I babysit!

My heart was truly pricked, though, when I saw a little girl listed with Osteogenesis Imperfecta.  My uncle had Osteogenesis Imperfecta.  I never knew him, as he died in a car accident at 17 years old, but his memory and personhood has remained alive and well in our family.  I knew somewhat of the nature of his condition, and the difficulties it included, but I really never thought of him as  “special needs.” He went to public school.  He participated in clubs and seminary and did the things kids do.  I have read some of his writings, and he was a normal boy, living an extraordinary life.  

And it all became personal.

Don’t be surprised if this is not that last you hear of this topic!

But for now, our path has taken a different turn.  Some of you must have been praying for what you thought that first post was about because

Guess what?

We are.

Given our previous experience, we do not share this news naively.  There are no guarantees, this we know.  But we rejoice in the blessing right now, and invite you to rejoice with us.  

Thinking about the road to Emmaus

Just for a little update...

Eden is now moving forward under her own locomotion, which consists of pulling with her arms, and inching with her toes! Although it hardly looks efficient, she can get places unexpectedly quickly.  She is also sitting up and laying down again by herself, and pulling up to knees and standing on anything she can reach.  She's figured out how to open drawers and cupboards, and is especially interested in the drawer underneath the oven. She's also figured out "Peek-a-Boo" and we're treated quite often to her mischievous little grin popping out from behind a towel or table or wall corner.  She also tries to put on any piece of clothing she gets - if its off - and to take it off if its on.  So amazing to see her learn and grow so rapidly!

And,

Mama cut her hair! 

Ha! For many years, I reveled in a glorious waistlength mane. (At least, it felt glorious.  I can't vouch for how glorious it looked all the time!) I truly loved my hair, and felt like it was almost a part of my identity.  In a certain pruning episode on my mission that felt terribly traumatic at the time, but really resulted in some personal growth and blessing, I ended up with a much shorter hairstyle, though it probably was still quite long by most people's standards.  And since I've been back my hair has varied but mostly been about mid-back length.  Well, the other day I just wanted to cut it.  Myself.  So I did. I don't have any pictures yet, but it really turned out quite well, with long layers from just below chin to just below shoulder length.  It made me laugh again to realize that we're not all grown up when we officially become adults - many different parts of us mature over time.  What once seemed impossible or a fixed part of our nature can become possible, changed, and even happily so through the mellowing of time and experience.  :) Pictures will come!

The thoughts about the road to Emmaus came as I listened to Hilary Weeks sing her song by that title.  It helps my mama heart to maintain its peace during busy days and needy kids if I listen to particular music.  This song is included in that playlist.  I was sitting on the landing, the baby finally asleep for her afternoon nap, H. on the guest bed having quiet time with her stuffed animals and some books, and just letting peace wash over me.  The words drifted up the stairs and cast ripples in my mind.  

"We went our way that day 
To a village called Emmaus 
Three days since our Loard had died 
And Judas had betrayed us 
Along the way a stranger came 
And asked to travel with us 
But we couldn't see He was 
The King He was 

So we told Him of our sorrow and confusion 

How we trusted we'd be led 
To a mansion in God's kingdom 
How all our hopes had faded 
When they nailed Him to a cross 
Still we couldn't see He was 
The King He was 

On the road to Emmaus 
As He opened the scriptures to us 
And our hearts burned within us 
On the road to Emmaus 

We heard a familiar voice 
As He quoted from the prophets 
How the Son of God must give His life 
And rise again to save us 
Then as we saw the nail prints in His hands our eyes were opened 
And we could see He was 
The King He was 

Then He was gone 
Vanished from our sight 
But the Spirit made it clear to us 
The Lord was by our side"

The second verse caught my heart, and I could just imagine the disciples, so discouraged, walking along the dusty road, explaining how they had been so sure that this was the Christ.  They had been sure (in my mind's eye) of what the plan was - how it was all supposed to work out!  And then ... it didn't.  Catastrophically, didn't.  It wasn't supposed to be this way!  The almost disbelief that such a strong witness could have been wrong! And yet, Jesus was gone.  Dead.  There was no way it could work out now. 

I have felt like that. 

I knew (or thought I knew) how it was supposed to go. But it just didn't go that way, and my mortal mind was left reeling, confused, baffled by what seems to be the wrong ending.  Its especially so when I have felt so spiritually sure, only to have it all end in disaster, or at least just not go the way I was confident it would.

From our vantage point, we can see the happy ending.  The thing that seemed to shatter their hopes and make impossible that which they had so confidently foreseen was actually the very key to those hopes and that testimony.  They couldn't see, for the time being, how the tragedy and loss were just a step.  A hard step, a step that they didn't foresee, but a step all the same to making what they had been sure of, true.  They hadn't seen wrong.  They just hadn't seen it all.

I can't say that I see how certain heartbreaks and struggles and paths that haven't worked out in my life are key to making the greater plan, the greater good, come to pass, but I wonder how many of them have been just that.  Key to the Father's plan, which is so great that "eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man."  Its a strange pair of glasses to wear, but I like it - it gives me hope, and restores my faith.  Its not always that I have seen (or dreamed) wrong.  More likely, I just haven't seen, or dreamed, it all.  The happy ending will be happier even than I had hoped.  

Addendum to "Desires of the Heart"

Delight yourself also in the LORD and He shall give you the desires of your heart. 

Commit your way to the LORD, Trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass.

Psalm 37:4-5

The Scarlet Pimpernel

Yesterday I took Eden and H. to the library to check out some books.  Eden was mostly interested in pulling all the books she could reach off of the shelf and then chewing on them, so she was mostly confined to my hip.  H. found a little stuffed raccoon on one of the children's shelves, and then spent the next twenty minutes in the armchair with it, deeply engrossed in the book "Pecos Bill."  I loved watching her face as she studied the Steven Kellogg illustrations!  While she was occupied, I spent a few minutes looking for some things for myself, and ended up selecting a movie my sisters highly recommended, "The Scarlet Pimpernel."
After getting Eden to bed later that night, Nate and I settled down on the couch to try it out.  I must admit, I wasn't sure we were going to make it through the whole movie for the first few minutes!  But as we went along, it drew us in and by the end I could only say that it was one of the best movies I have watched in quite a while. Its about an English secret agent in France during the French Revolution.  The secret agent plots are thrilling and engaging in themselves, but the twist is that, in order to keep his identity a secret and maintain his ability to access inner French society workings, Sir Percy Blakenell, aka. the Scarlet Pimpernel, acts the foppish fool.  (And he REALLY does.  His affectations almost made us turn off the movie before we understood what they were all about.)  No one can even entertain a suspicion of his involvement because he is all about fashion, society, and the silliest of empty-headed nonsense.  Only his cadre of close friends, who work with him in the undercover work, know the truth.  Even his wife, though she hopes and suspects there is more to him than appears, only sees the fashionable and handsome fool til almost the end.  It involves secrets and counter-secrets, intrigue and double-crossing, humor and pathos, and ultimately comes to a satisfying ending.  I HIGHLY recommend it!
It did spark some interesting thoughts, though.  I think that most people don't mind doing hard and exciting things, heroic things.  Not only don't mind, many of us even crave that opportunity to do important things and make a difference in some way.  And even if we don't want it, when we're called upon to do so most of us step up to the plate and do our part.  Of course, the natural desire in that is to be known for our contributions, to have our sacrifices recognized and lauded.  Sometimes we're also satisfied with just remaining behind the scenes, outwardly living sedate and normal lives while quietly accomplishing what must be done.  But how many times are we willing to be taken for the fool in order to do the Lord's work?  How many times are we willing to be seen as unrealistic, zealous, silly, and foolish in order to save others - however they need to be saved?  How often do we allow concern about the judgement that others may pass upon us and our actions to influence our decisions?  I'm not saying we should all don the mask of silly superficiality to cover our good works.  Just remembering...

"The foolishness of God is wiser than men... the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God."

1 Cor. 1:25, 3:19

Desires of the Heart

You know how it is when you want something really, really bad?  When you are just consumed with it, obsessed by it?  When you spend your free time dreaming about it, praying about it, hoping for it, and researching it?  

Sometimes its a thing, 

sometimes a relationship.

Sometimes its a job,

and sometimes a stage in life.  

Sometimes its even for another person.

But whatever it is, you find it occupying your consciousness and soaking up your time.

Usually, I don't find myself getting caught up in the "thing" desire very much anymore.  I remember wanting a (fairly basic) karaoke machine for my 11th birthday.  I'd been to a friend's party, and she got one, and I thought it was the neatest thing ever.  I thought about it, talked about it, and probably even prayed about it.  I did not get it.

And, really, that was ok.

I got over it.  

Even at that age, I did realize that it wasn't that important.

Desires for a certain job, a certain school, a certain relationship have all come and gone, each with their own degree of involvement and angst, with the exercises of faith and will.  They have been important in their time, in shaping my life and allowing me to grow.  Probably the most difficult, wonderful, heart-shattering and faith-trying desire of my life so far has been that of becoming a mother.  

Two years ago yesterday, we found out we were finally expecting our first baby.  Four months later, we lost that little one.   The doctors eventually told us that we probably could not ever have children without invasive   and aggressive infertility treatments. The full experience of that time will have to wait for another post.  Suffice it to say, I was truly shattered. 

When you know that your desire is selfish, or material, or really unimportant in the eternal scheme, it is really not hard to let it go if it doesn't come.  But when you know that your desire is righteous, and in accordance with Heavenly Father's eternal plan, when you know that it would bring about good to yourself and those around you, when you know that it is even a command and all you want more than anything is to fulfill that mandate...

Its hard to let that desire go.

It is hard to exercise the faith that believes and hopes, yet doesn't cling desperately.  It is hard, in those times of passionate yearning, to learn to let your ultimate desire be to the Source of blessings himself, rather than to that specific blessing.  

But the other options are:

A) sink into a dark pit of sorrow and depression and come to doubt God's goodness, if not his very existence.

B) harden your heart, saying, "Whatever...I don't care anymore," and walk into the cold indifference of cynicism.  

C) Continue deeper into the obsession and, whether you receive it or not, become superstitious, overzealous, and highly sensitive to offense.

(OK, maybe those were just the options for me. :) I'm not wise enough to know how it is for everyone under the sun.)

Its a choice.  Its probably the hardest choice ever, to let go of those deepest desires of your heart without giving up on them. To trust that Heavenly Father's hand is good and present, and somehow, even in what seems to be a wrong turn in our lives, His plan is working out for our eternal joy and to bless those we love. I recently read the quote,

 "When you push God's will, you miss His blessings."

Its not that he doesn't want us to desire, or to mute our requests.  But he wants for us much more than we know to want for ourselves, and we can only receive ALL he has for us when we trust Him.  Even when our own righteous desires seem to be lost in the process. 

"For I know the thoughts that I think toward you," saith the Lord, "thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected (or hoped for) end."

Trust Him.

Eden Update

She's doing much better! After three days of listless fever, she finally cooled down Friday morning.  Saturday, she broke out in a mottled rash all over her abdomen and head, even the scalp, and was a cranky, miserable little crab.  Last night she only woke up once (hallelujah!) and this morning she woke up laughing and trying to grab her sleeping daddy's nose at 6:30am! The rash is fading, and she is almost back to her own happy self.  Thank Heavens!

Sick Baby

My happy little imp has not been herself lately.

And we don't know what's wrong, which makes it twice as sad and a little bit scary,

She's had a fever for a few days now, and since we don't have a thermometer (it was packed in the truck, which has not yet arrived) we don't know how high it really is.  Thankfully, some friends gave us some infant tylenol, and I have dosed her a few times.  She sleeps restlessly, kicking off the covers and waking up in a full cry at random times of the night.  

Teething? Maybe.  She doesn't show a lot of the other classic signs, but its still possible.

A sick bug? Maybe. But probably not, since we've had o cough, no sneezing, no congestion or runny nose or goopy eyes.  

The addition of a few new solids to her diet? Maybe. But probably not - its just been a few bites of banana and  some bits of bread.  Although it has impacted her diapers already.... yuck.

She's just listless and easily upset.  And hot.  And wants to be held ALL DAY and ALL NIGHT. 

Poor sick baby.

Today she seems to be more cheerful and not as hot, so we're praying she's on the mend.

Will you, too, please?

So Far Away

Sometimes, the actual distance becomes very real.  When you've been without a phone for two weeks, when your internet connection has been spotty and not in real time with real acquaintances, when the world outside is covered in wet, white slipperiness and the only living things you've talked to all week besides your husband and baby are two neighborhood dogs you first thought were the neighborhood wolves you'd been warned about - oh, right, I did actually get to talk to the two people who came to install our local landline yesterday - you realize how far away you are.  And when the baby has been fighting sleep for an hour every nap and bed time for the last three days, but when you let her stay up she's just cranky and unhappy anyway, its easy to feel the negativity creep, roll, swirl back in.  Grumpiness.  Resentment.  Bitterness.  Frustration.  Ugly words.  Ugly emotions.  Easy to sink in the slow quicksand of self-absorption.
But like I told my friend upon learning of this move - "I am not happy about it, but being unhappy won't make me happy, so I'm trying to be happy about it." Ultimately, no one else is going to "save" me from this.  Others can comfort, distract, and help with some of the struggle, but I know from past experience that if I want to actually get out of the quicksand, I have to reach up to the only One who can really lift me out of it and choose to hold on. His hand is extended and He is willing to help me, it is true, but I have to choose to raise my arms and cling to His outstretched hand.  Its sounds so trite, almost, and easy, so picturesque and storybook, but let me tell you - it is not.  It doesn't happen just by saying.  It doesn't work to make a token effort and then expect the miracle of salvation.
Sometimes we say, "Well, I tried and it didn't work, so really what I need is ____." What I really need is whatever other fix seems attractive and available and easy - shopping, medication, chocolate, a girl's night out, etc. (Please note: I am NOT saying these things are bad or that they can't help.  Sometimes they are needed and can help, and if they are in our power, great! Go for it!) We think the solution would be to change the situation. (Again, sometimes that IS the solution; I'm not against that!) 
When its really hard, though, and those other things are not available, or don't help, and you can't (or shouldn't) change the situation, I've found that the real solution is to change myself.  And that is HARD.  And sometimes I just don't want to!  But then it comes back down to the question -
Do I really want to be happy?
Because if I do, the choice is clear.  Do the work it takes to cling onto His hand.  Choose every day, every hour, every minute if you have to, to focus on Him.  Choose to fill your mind and heart with His words, His promises, His praises, to the conscious exclusion of the negativity and darkness that lurks ever-ready.  Choose to trust Him and trust that He has a plan for you and that somehow, this is part of His plan.
I know it works, because it's worked before, in darker, harder, worse situations than this.  I just have to do it.
And, hey! I'm a daughter of the pioneers! Talk about "so far away!"  Maybe I should just pull up my, er, bootstraps, and realize how good I really have it!