Ordinary life challenge response

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine challenged me to post pictures from my ordinary life for 7 days.  I think ordinary life pictures and posts are nice, because it helps people to know that everything isn't hunky dory all the time, but I ran into a little hiccup as I started trying to choose scenes from my life to take pictures to complete the challenge, and at first I worried that they'd be BORING.

That hiccup turned into a hang-up when I started to try to take pictures of things from my life.  What's ordinary for me is probably nothing like ordinary for most people.  For example:  I have 5 kids. (If you count our baby that died almost 2 years ago, I've had 6.) On purpose...All from the same Dad...Who I've been married to the whole time.  That's so far beyond normal....and most of my pictures have my 5 kids in them.  And one of my quests in life has been not to be ordinary or "normal", so i'm not.  I don't swear.  I prefer more creative expressions like "For the love of Pete" or "Oh MYLANTA" or we decided it would be funny if I started saying "Peaches and Cream", because my kids think my other two sayings are weird--so I am trying to implement that one regularly.  Another example: I make up songs a lot.  A LOT.  Sometimes when my kids can't remember things such as 5280 feet are in a mile (incidentally WHY are American's so hung up on using the standard system?  Couldn't we switch to metric and be like the rest of the world, on the EASIER system to remember?), I make up a song to help them remember it.  ("5280 feet are in a mile" is to the tune of La Bamba.) And I sometimes sing with an opera type voice when I'm tired of trying to get their attention.  And my every day life has been BLASTED full of serious moments at random times.  One of my children died, and that has shaken up what is ordinary for me, and I don't think it would be ordinary for anyone else.  When all my kids are playing nicely, I sometimes cry, because I wish he were here to be a part of it.  I count my kids when we go places like the library or the store or grandma's house, and I feel like someone is missing.  All.  The.  Time.  And I have 5--if I was ordinary I'd be like "HOLY COW, WHY DID I HAVE ALL THESE KIDS?" not thinking "1-2-3-4-5...is that all?  It feels like someone is missing," and then my heart throbs because someone IS missing.

So....I have tried to think about what IS ordinary about me.  I do have a problem with the dishes.  I don't like doing them.  My kids don't like doing them.  I don't like hounding my kids to do them, and so some days, my sink looks like this.  Exhibit A:

The thing is, though, that even dishes are a part of my every day life (and I detest them, I truly do, and that's probably normal), I still have things in my dishes area that make the dishes less than ordinary.  Such as my orchid, which was given to me in the hospital when I had Gideon.  Yes, almost 2 years ago.  Yes, it's blooming again.  Somehow I have not killed it, and not only that, but it starts blooming around Christmas and my birthday and mother's day and it reminds me that Gideon is still part of my family on those special holidays. And look at that rose, which my husband brought to me the other day (we are approaching our anniversary).  And my Easter cactus is a monster--I got that in the hospital when I had my first baby, and it keeps growing just like my family.  And I did NOT move them here for the picture, I just stepped back and took it at a larger angle.  This is supposed to be REAL LIFE, and it is my real life, but I think that it's far from ordinary.

Also, you may notice that there are bread pans in the sink.  That's because I made banana bread.  Ooooooh so good.  Exhibit B:

  That's after 3 loaves got eaten already today.  And every day is not a banana bread making day, so is it really ordinary?  And my positive attitude? (Dishes are crappy, but it means that I made banana bread.) That's not an ordinary thing either.  What is ordinary anyway?  Apparently not me. 

So, I'm sorry I can't complete the 7 day ordinary life challenge.  I'm too extra-ordinary.  And I'm OK with that.

It's all in how you look at it.

Last weekend was Memorial Day weekend, and so we made a trip to Gideon's grave site.  Much to my chagrin, when we arrived, the cemetery had the sprinklers on in the area where Gideon's gravestone is found.  I was irritated--already feeling heavy and sad, and the sprinklers being in the way just added to my frustration.  So I did what most modern folks would do: I pulled out my smart phone, and took a picture so that I could share my irritation on social media (and here it is.)

Why did they have to run the sprinklers during memorial day weekend when it was still fully daylight outside?  Couldn't they have set them to run after 9 PM when it was getting dark and people weren't as likely to show up and try to put flowers on graves?  I seethed with negativity.  Yes, even I occasionally get steeped in negativity.

We sat in the car for a few minutes, hoping the sprinklers might cycle to a different location so we could still go see his marker and place flowers by it, but to no avail.  So we got out, determined to quickly place the flowers, try to get a quick picture, and then head back to the car.  It was not what I had envisioned--I planned to sit at his grave site and have a deep conversation with my children about how Gideon had changed each of them.  How were we going to make that happen?!

I am so blessed, though, to be a mother, and to have the perspective of children thrust upon me with regularity.   I hurried the flowers to Gideon's grave and took a quick picture.  The sprinklers were coming around, so we dashed away for a minute.  

After the sprinklers went around, I got everyone together (even my shadow) and we did a family picture at his grave.  I didn't even have a whole lot of time to try and get everyone to look at me. The water was coming around again.After that picture, (and after the water had come around again and I had a minute) I stood at Gideon's grave marker, lost in my own little bubble for a brief time.  Before I shuttled everyone to "safety" when the sprinklers got close to where I was, my children had seized the opportunity to enjoy them.  They did not trod on any grave markers (we've talked about that), but they started reaching their hands into the water, and getting a little wet in the mist.  

 What had been deep feelings of frustration and heaviness began to melt away as I heard my children laughing and enjoying themselves, and I thought a lot about this as a metaphor for life.  How many times have I been presented with a trial or a challenge that messes up what I had in mind for myself?  I get irritated, overwhelmed, frustrated, and I want to complain about and avoid the situation instead of embracing it as an opportunity.  Less than ideal situations often present themselves, they are just a part of life, but I was strongly reminded that I can either be upset about these moments, or view them as a chance to make the most of it, which, in this case, probably ended up being more than I would have originally made it.  In so many ways, that is EXACTLY what Gideon's medical issues and then death have done for us--we were given multiple really tough scenarios to deal with, and we're doing our best to make the most of them and to learn from this challenge.

Later that evening, I looked back at the pictures I had taken and noticed that in the first picture, (my evidence that I planned to share so that I could complain) it was cloudy overhead and the picture is colored with shadow and gloom, and in all the later pictures when we went out to "make the most of it", the sun has come out, and they are more bright and vibrant.  I am pretty sure that's also a metaphor for life--when we grudgingly face life's challenges, we really peer through dimmer lenses than when we open our hearts and give each situation a chance.

We were still able to talk about how Gideon has changed our lives, but we did it in the car on our way away from the cemetery.  I wrote the things my children said down in a journal entry.  Largely, they are learning many of the same things that I've posted about here on my blog.  My oldest child remarked that he takes the choices he makes more seriously now, and in some ways, that is more confusing.  My daughter remarked that she has thought about ways she could live to be able to see Gideon again, and wants to do things to help her be more like Jesus.  One of my boys mentioned that before Gideon, death seemed really scary to him, but now it doesn't seem as bad.   My 5 year old didn't have much to say about how Gideon changed him, but he does miss Gideon, and still talks about him.  And Scott and I have been changed in so many ways it's hard to describe them all (but that's what this blog is for.)  So the conversation didn't happen exactly the way I thought it would, but it still happened, and I'm pretty sure we'll ALWAYS remember this year's Memorial Day weekend, when the kids played in the sprinklers at the cemetery.  

There is no end to Love

If you're not into God, love, and the belief in answered prayers, then this post is NOT for you.

Love is powerful.  Love is kind.  Love never fails.  (1 Corinthians 13)  God is love, and when we show and share love for others, it brings us closer to Him.  I'm so grateful for the love of God in my life, and the way that I've been blessed as others have shown that love to me and my family.  As aware as I am of endings, after watching my infant die, I'm also aware that sometimes what feel like endings are really just new beginnings.  There is no end to love.

God knows what we need.  He loves us, he cares about us, and he cares about our worries.  He wants to help us, and He does help us.  I have had so many experiences in my life where I have been given an answer to a question through inspiration to look in a certain song or scripture, or through a priesthood blessing, I've received inspiration in answer to many pleas for help, and I've had people who have been inspired to step in when I needed help, and the only one who knew about it was Heavenly Father.

A little background--in the church I belong to, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (also called Mormons or the LDS church), we have local congregations called "wards" which are put together into a larger area called a "stake".  Our leaders serve without pay, the stake leaders are called by inspiration through the apostles, and the ward leaders are called by inspiration through the stake leaders.  The leaders in my stake changed today--after serving for many years, and I am overwhelmed by gratitude for their help in a particular time of need.

It's hard to lose a child.  My heart still hurts, and I find that often my happiest moments with my family are rudely interrupted by a burst of missing the boy who isn't present.  I wonder what he'd be doing, what he'd be like, how his laugh would sound.

It's also hard to be the parent of children who have lost a sibling.  There is a large dose of reality, a seriousness that is forever a part of their lives.  While I can see good things that have come from it, it is a heavy burden for them to carry.

When we were first "blessed" by the burden of Gideon's passing away, we worried about all of our children, but particularly our James.  He is a boy who has been "blessed" by his share of trials, with an unusual form of ADHD that manifests as mild autism, and some learning disabilities.  He has a unique and sometimes a very serious way of looking at things, and he took Gideon's death very hard.  He seemed so sad, and so burdened.  He is a tender-hearted boy and he struggled to express his feelings, and to shake off the sadness. We understand that sadness is part of the process, but he seemed VERY shaken up--like his whole world had been rocked violently in a way he couldn't come to terms with.  We prayed for all of us, but especially James.  Scott and I felt so helpless, we couldn't find the right ways to help him, and we asked for guidance to help him through the hard times.  We lacked wisdom, so we asked of God. (James 1:5)  We knew that as we asked, we'd receive (Matthew 7:7-8 and 3 Nephi 14:7).  We didn't know when or how, and we worried that the grief would crush him.

A day or two after Gideon died, we were contacted by our stake leaders who wanted to come visit with our family and make sure we were alright.  When our stake president (whose last name is Love) came in the door, the first person he talked to was our James.  It's hard to describe it exactly.  When we answered the door and invited them in, we meandered to the family room (downstairs in our split level) except Brother Love stopped right there, sat on the couch near our front door and introduced himself to James.  He talked just to James as the rest of us chatted with the other members of the stake presidency downstairs.  He had lost a baby brother when he was a boy, and he could relate to James in a way that nobody else had been able to.  They talked for a few minutes.  I don't know what exactly he said, but I know that it changed James.  His discussion with our son was an answer to our prayers.  He felt guided to spend extra time with James, and then later to talk to all of our children together about when he lost his baby brother.  He told us (as parents) that he knew that we would hurt for a long time, that his mother still hurt and missed her baby she lost, and that he didn't know how that felt, but that he knew how it felt to lose a brother.  His expression of faith, his compassion, and his time spent one on one with our (then) 9 year old made a huge difference to all of us, but particularly for James.  He was different after that visit.

I asked him about it today, and he told me that it's still hard, and he thinks it's still as sad as it used to be, but somehow he's able to handle it better now than he used to.  I'm so grateful to a man (named Love) who was full of love, and willing to listen to and act on inspiration.  After that visit I felt very aware of God's love for me, of His love for my family, and that He does answer our prayers.  I felt today, as they called the new leaders, that God did call them, and I wholeheartedly support them, but I will miss the leaders who served and who helped us in a time of need.  I believe that these newly called leaders are good men who will be able to listen to the promptings of God's spirit, and be able to help others the way that Brother Love helped Heavenly Father to answer ours.

Longer hugs

Happy Mother's Day.  I know there are many people that do not love this day, whether it's because there is pressure to be the perfect mom, or disappointment that the day was not as perfect as you hoped it would be, or perhaps someone isn't a mom and wants to be, or maybe you beat yourself up because you are a mom and you sometimes don't love it...that's OK.  

I am learning to enjoy Mother's Day a lot more than I used to.  In past years, I sometimes cried because I wanted to be a mom, but I wasn't yet.  I've cried because I wanted to be the "perfect mom" and I'm not.  I've cried because the day was so "normal" and the kids fought and I didn't get breakfast in bed or lots of pampering.  I have cried because I have been far away from my own mother, and I missed her on Mother's Day.  And I've cried because I didn't have my Gideon to hold. 

Holidays, especially family-centered holidays, remind me how much I do miss my little one.  I wanted to hug him today, to chase his toddler-aged self through church, to watch him eat food and get sticky and messy, to yell at him not to jump in the big puddles.   I am trying to use this feeling of missing Gideon (who is not with me) as fuel to love the ones who ARE with me better.  

I still fall short.  I yell more than I should.  I don't read to them EVERY day.  I plan to play games with them, and then get busy and it doesn't happen.  I don't always check over their homework.   I'm a human being, and I'm not going to dwell on all the things I am not doing, because that list would be disappointing and depressing.

I DO try to take moments each day to make sure that they get a good long hug, the kind of hug where they feel like they know I don't want to let them go, like the last one I gave my Gideon.  I held him for over an hour after he died.  It was the first and only time I got to change his diaper, to washcloth bath him, to touch him all over, because his body had been too fragile and hooked up to too many tubes before.  I did not want to let go of him, even after his body began to become cold and stiff.  It was so very hard to have so little time.

Letting go of my baby and walking away from the hospital for the last time was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.  It still hurts, even just to remember those moments.  He had so little time to influence my life, and yet he has changed me for good forever.  I WANT his life to have mattered, to have made a difference.  If by losing my Gideon, I'm able to love more deeply and live more fully, then his life was absolutely precious and special.  And so each day, I try to hold my kids, even for just a minute, and remember how I felt when I knew I was holding Gideon for the last time, how precious that hug was to me.  I want my kids to know that they are loved, that their hugs are precious, that their lives are precious, that the time they spend with me is precious, and that they matter and can make a difference.  

We didn't really do gifts this Mother's Day (I'm not really a "stuff" person) and the thing I'm the most grateful for was the extra thought they put into singing to me, to helping in the kitchen, and the extra long hugs I got today.  I missed my youngest boy today, but I hugged my other children and husband a little tighter and a little longer today because I know firsthand how precious those hugs really are.  And despite the ache in my heart, those longer hugs made today a good day.

As long as you love him, you'll miss him.

It's funny, I have posted so many times about allowing people to grieve, about not expecting people to get over their sadness, but I sometimes expect it of myself.  I don't intentionally set myself up on this impossible course, on a path where I expect more of myself than I'd ever expect from any other person, but sometimes I get this superhero complex, and I have unrealistic ideals about how I should be able to deal, cope, and do things better than I do.  Some days, when I miss Gideon, I think to myself "Why?  I shouldn't hurt this much.  It should have gotten better, right?  I should be 'over it' by now."

My husband said something to me tonight that just put me right back in my place. As I questioned myself, upset that I was shedding tears over my baby I hardly got to know, and as I explained that I didn't understand why I still miss him so much, my husband asked "Do you love him any less?  As long as you love him, you'll miss him."

Good point.  That stopped me in my tracks and slapped some perspective into me.  While I'd love my heart to feel all happy and flowery and "bunnies and roses", I'm grateful to love my boy that I don't know very well, grateful to know that I'll have the chance to get to know him one day, and grateful that the perspective I've gained (through the pain) has helped me to appreciate my family more.  I don't want my heart to hurt, but I won't ever stop loving him, so it just will.  And that's going to just have to be OK.

All things denote there is a God (1): Trees

For many years, I have loved reading my scriptures.  There is a calm, a zen, a wholeness that comes when I read the scriptures and feel the truth of what I am reading, when my soul resonates with the words and feelings I'm absorbing.  (Lest anyone thing I'm a super scriptorian, I'll admit that I'm not very good at remembering where to find specific scripture references, and often have to search to find what I want.)

Years ago, I came across this scripture in the Book of Mormon, and I have enjoyed finding ways to prove its truth.  (If you don't want a summary of the background in this chapter, skip to the next paragraph.)  To give Alma 30:44 a little context here's the background story: There is a man (named Korihor) who doesn't believe in God or Jesus, and he has gone around trying to convince the people that they are following foolish traditions for preaching and/or believing in God, Jesus, and etc.  A very faithful people are very bothered by his troublemaking and what he's teaching, and so they bring him before Alma (the prophet) and the chief judge (who I think was named Nephihah), and Korihor does his best to convince them that they are wrong to believe in God, the scriptures, the spirit, and Jesus Christ.  Alma says many awesome things to Korihor, but one of my favorites is:

 "All things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator."

"All things denote there is a God" has resonated with me as I have looked at different pieces of the world around me, and I have found many different ways that it is true.  As spring has begun it's process of bursting forth, and I've begun planting my garden, and seeing leaves bud, I've thought about trees a lot.  I believe that trees denote there is a God.

Trees, through photosynthesis, are able to use light and convert it into what they need to grow, to become bigger, stronger, and taller.  Trees (and plants) that get the light they need are "happier".  They are able to transport water and nutrients through their xylem and phloem to all parts of the plant, even if it's 200 feet tall.  It seems impossible for water and liquid nutrients to be able to be lifted so high, but trees do it.  In seasons when there is less light, and colder temperatures, trees go dormant, they "sleep".  Growth slows, almost halts, until there is more energy available to them.   If a tree has deep roots, it can withstand strong winds, and often trees develop deeper roots when they grow up having to face strong winds. When a tree has been cut down and is being burned as firewood, it is releasing that same "sunlight" that it stored up.

This is FULL of spiritual parallels.  Jesus is the light and the life of the world  (Psalms 36:9, John 1:4, 3 Nephi 9:18)  When we bask in that light, that warmth, we can grow bigger, stronger, and taller.  Our growth potential (like a tree) is pretty amazing, but it's not an overnight process; little by little we get stronger, tougher, higher, and we have to continue to reach up and out.  I have noticed that in my own life, I am happier when I am making sure I get enough "light" each day.  Jesus is also the "living water" (John 4:10&11), and is able to nourish our souls, able to deliver living water to whatever parts we need, unless we cut them off.  We pruned our grape vines a few weeks ago, and in the warmer spring weather, the plant has been sending its liquid nutrients through the vines, causing the cut areas to drip.  If we cut ourselves off, living water can't flow through us.  We all have our seasons, our hard times, when we slow down, but even then, as long as we continue to stay rooted deeply, and wait for and seek for light and truth, we'll grow again. Opposition is like the wind, and we can choose to dig deeper and become more firmly rooted when we face it, or we can let it knock us down.  As we face trials and challenges and become more firmly rooted, we are better and stronger, and more prepared for what storms may come.  And sometimes, we may be called upon to share part of our light, the light we've absorbed with others.  We share the light, the truth, the goodness we've absorbed with others in times of darkness and cold, and we are able to give hope, warmth, and comfort to those who need it, through the power we have been given by the Son of God.

Trees can also represent people, in their various stages and seasons.  For example: An apple tree in winter does not have leaves, blossoms, or fruit.  It could easily be misjudged for almost any other type of tree, or someone might think it is dead.  In the early summer, it may not look like it will have a lot of fruit, or it might look like the fruit is all tiny, and someone might think "That apple tree is broken".

You can't always see everything that's going on, and it would be sad to judge a tree by only seeing it in one moment.  I might look at a tree in the early spring and think "That tree over there is budding, but this one is not.  This one must be a worthless tree."  And I might be completely wrong, I have some beautiful flowering trees that just bud later than other trees.  It's important to not judge other people when we can't see their whole story.  And different trees are good at different things: some flower elegantly in the spring, and some don't flower at all.  Some are great at growing fast and tall, and others are short.  Some might have fruit, and some may provide a wonderful shady spot.  All trees can be good for things, and sometimes it's a matter of putting the right tree into the right place, just like sometimes we have to find our niche before we can really grow into the best people we can be, and before we can really appreciate ourselves.

It may seem silly, but I really think God designed trees because He loves us, and to help us understand Him better.  When I was a kid, my mom would sometimes come home from the grocery story with a box of Better Cheddars (one of my favorite snacks as a child) and say "I was thinking of you."  I don't know how much time, how much individual effort He put in when He created the world, but I like to imagine that as He was in the process of creating, maybe He thought of different individuals.  I think weeping willows are like a magical wonderland, and I love fruit.  I wonder if He thought of me (or you) when He put some of those trees here on Earth for us, to help us to find Him in our daily lives.

Enough

Whether it's the loss of a 92 year old grandmother or the loss of a 7 day old, death hurts.  There is really no amount of time that would be enough time with your loved ones; there is no quota that can be met that makes it feel OK when someone you love dies.  More than most anything, you want more time with them.

The Savior made it so that we get a second chance, we get resurrection, we get more time with our loved ones.  (See 1 Corinthians 15)  To me, that is what makes Easter a day worth celebrating, whether or not there are candies, bunnies, or treats.  Because of the resurrection of the Savior, we get forever to be with loved ones.  He transformed the permanent "goodbye" of death into "see you later".  It's still painful and hard; we still long to be with our loved ones right here, right now.  I got to go to Gideon's grave today, and I missed how much fun an 18 month old would have had hunting Easter eggs.  It still hurts.  Like mud on a bee sting, though, Christ is able to absorb some of that sting, and I know the sting will not last.  Mosiah 16:8 says that "there is a resurrection, therefore the grave hath no victory, and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ."  Because of Jesus Christ, it will happen, I will get enough time with him one day.  That is a wonderful gift.

I often feel so imperfect, and incapable of doing all that I want to do.  I know what I should do, but I just can't keep up.  I can't be enough.  My efforts to be the best sister, daughter, wife, mother, friend, and person do not all succeed.  I fall short, and I will continue to slip up.  Sometimes I wonder if I am good enough to be the mother to my children, good enough to share my thoughts with others, good enough to make the world a better place.   I am, after all, only human.

Romans 3:23-24 explains "For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God; Being justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ, Jesus."

Similar to the Savior's effect on death, His atonement takes the sting out of my imperfections, problems, sadness, sicknesses, and pains.  Where I fall short as a human being, He makes up the difference.  He carries my burdens with me and for me, so that I can do more and be more, He paid the price for my shortcomings and bad choices.  He makes me enough.

I am surrounded by greatness.  My children are beautiful and amazing, and they teach me so much about life and love.

 I am grateful for a Savior that helps me to be enough.  With His help, I can do all things.  (Phillipans 4:13)  I can be good enough (and he'll make up the difference when I'm not), I will get enough time with my loved ones.  I am so grateful for those priceless gifts from Him, and I have felt His love today as I've thought about them.

Happy Easter!