Moments

Gideon's 4th birthday is next week.  Has it really been almost 4 years since this incredible journey began?  Has it been nearly four years since I touched his tender little face, delighted to see his eyes as they struggled to open and make brief contact?  

Alydia age 3

Someone observed to me today "Wow, all your children are so different."  It's so true.  In some ways, it makes parenthood more fun, like a rollercoaster in a dark building (think Space Mountain) or a waterslide with a dark tunnel, where you aren't sure what twists and turns are up ahead.  But in other ways, it makes parenthood much harder, because it's hard to predict, prepare, and plan for all the curves my children throw me.  Having unpredictable children, it makes me wonder even more about the little boy who would be 4. When would he have walked?  What would his first word have been?  Would he be good at snuggling or be too wiggly?  Would he look like any of his older siblings?  Would he tend towards trouble, confidence, mischief, silliness?  I hate not knowing these things about my son, but I do still have faith in eternal families, and in the resurrection; I look forward

to the day when we'll be reunited and I will get to know him.

Ethan age 6

Hyrum age 4

James age 4

In the mean time, I have gained a greater understanding and appreciation for the moments I get to have with people--not just my own children, but all people.  I didn't even begin to understand how precious an hour could be, until I knew we had precious few hours with our own son.  In hindsight, we can think of things we could have and should have done to make those days and hours count for more, but they are days and hours we can't really get back.  We go on, with the knowledge that we were not fully aware of how little time we had, and that we did try to make his time special when he was here, as well as caring for our other children and making sure they were also OK.  So we missed out on some opportunities, and we're painfully aware of the moments we wish we would have used differently.

I'm not necessarily saying we have regrets, because we were trying to follow doctors' and nurses' advice, with hope that his body would normalize and grow and develop, and trying not to push my own body too hard after just having a baby--we were trying to use our time as though he was going to spend many months in the NICU, not realizing we'd have only a week.  And we know we can't beat ourselves up about that time.  We are trying to remember what we learned from the time we wish we'd have used differently and seize more opportunities in the HERE and NOW with the people we have in our lives.  Spending time learning about people and understanding people and especially loving people is not wasted time.  It doesn't get projects done--most often this type of investment is completely invisible, which is very frustrating in the world we live in--a world of projects and achievable, accountable goals, and comparisons, but it is still incredibly valuable time, probably often even more valuable than all the project oriented stuff or entertainment type stuff we spend so much time on.

I know I still don't fully understand this.  I am still learning to make time count for more, I'm still trying to learn that moments reading to my children, moments of tenderness with my husband, moments of learning about another person's needs and filling them aren't time wasted.  I still have my mental "checklist" of things I'd like to get done, and most of the time, I neglect to include "love" in that daily checklist.  And when I do spend time loving and connecting with people at the cost of a different project, I'm learning not to beat myself up about what didn't get done.

I'm still learning to appreciate the madness of motherhood, but I feel that because of Gideon's death, I can more fully appreciate it.  Even if Gideon was a toilet paper unroller, a food mess maker, a kid who giggles at the wrong times, one who struggled to aim at (or anywhere near) the toilet, I know I would take ANY moments with him, even with the messes and frustrations. Thus I am able to enjoy those sometimes less delightful moments with my own family, when normally they'd feel like a huge chore.  Don't get me wrong, cleaning up messes is not fun, and I still get after my children for making messes that they need to learn how to not make.  And I still make them clean up when they miss the toilet.  But I am painfully aware that it's worth it, and I'd rather have the messes to clean up than not have the children in my home.

I have such a long way to go still.  My understanding of how special each person is, and how special each moment can be has definitely deepened.  The sense of loss has made me more sensitive to it, and though I hate that sensitivity because it hurts more, I'm also grateful for it because it is shaping me into a better person.

Are we there yet?!

I am fortunate enough to live in the Western United States, where I can access many of the National Parks and some of the most breathtaking landscapes.  I love hiking, driving, meandering, and just taking in all the amazing wonder that there is in the world, and thankfully so do my family.  But to get to any of these places, we have to drive through miles and miles of desert.  The closest National Park is 4 hours away, and many are 5-8 hours away.  On those very long drives, it looks like there is NO WAY it will ever turn out to be anything but endless desert.  I often think to myself, "How did someone discover this?"  How would they have felt as pioneers, after traveling on foot for months through all kinds of ugly, barren terrain to come upon some of these amazing wonders?  Along the drive I often wonder if we're going the right way, if there is really anything out in the middle of nowhere, and of course, my children have to call out "Are we there yet?" 

Does it look like we're there yet?!

Arches National Park, 2013 me and my sister, Heidi

But of course, we eventually arrive, and the landscapes are humbling and breathtaking and inspiring, and I'm always grateful that I trusted Google Maps or the GPS, even though it seemed like there was no possible way that anything amazing was going to show up after so much desert.

Redwoods, California. Taken in June 2017

Life is like that sometimes.  I have been having an "Are we there yet?" week, when I know I'm doing the right thing and on the right path, but it has felt so frustrating and mundane.  Being a wife and mother is hard, even when married to a good man and when I have good kids.  Taking care of the daily chores of life is hard.  And honestly, sometimes it's not very rewarding, like a journey through so much wilderness.  But I trust that God has amazing destinations in store for me, and so I try to hold on and keep going, despite that lack of inspiration.  I feel like I should know how to enjoy every minute of every part of my children's lives, I've had such a hard lesson about treasuring each day, each moment with my family, because they could be gone any time.  But honestly, sometimes I don't--I'm human.  Taking care of sick kids, yelling at them to pick up their dirty socks for the 10th time, sweeping the floor AGAIN, trying to keep up with endless laundry, helping with homework for the umpteenth time is TEDIOUS, and hardly awe inspiring.  Those moments do exist, though, when I am so excited, proud, delighted, inspired, and thrilled by my husband or my kids or by something I created or they created, some demonstration of love or kindness that I didn't expect, and I catch glimpses of beautiful "vistas" in my life.

Outside of Crescent City California, June 2017

On weeks like this one, I have to hold out hope that they're coming, because I'm still trying to do the right things, I'm still on the path that I chose and that I feel like God wants me to be on.  If I just hold on, I know I'm going to get to see all kinds of amazing things come to pass in my life.

Bryce Canyon National Park, 2014

Solutions

I really believe there are many possible solutions to the world's many problems.  Among them are different gun control laws, planting trees and reclaiming the earth, better help for those with mental illness, stricter prosecution for criminals, and/or banning video games and media that glorify or even encourage murder and rape.  But I honestly, deep in my heart feel like a huge part of the problem is that everyone has stopped realizing what a privilege it is to have friends, to have time to be with family, to love and be loved, and to learn from other people.  People talk to other people--living, breathing human beings as if they're stupid, volatile, and inferior ALL THE TIME.

Have you ever seen Madagascar?  The monkeys say to each other "If you have any poo, fling it now."  I'm pretty sure that happens every day in the comment board on every news story, every social media page, everywhere in the world.

I know there's no way to teach people to love everyone and be kind to everyone.  And obviously you can't trust everyone.  But showing respect to other human beings, and trying to truly understand their point of view is so important.  Everybody is in a hurry to be understood, but nobody wants to take the time to understand anyone else. They're often just busy trying to make other people feel dumb, hoping it'll be a speedy way to get the other person to come around.  How do we not have it figured out that it just doesn't work?  "Whenever someone insults me or calls me names, I'm sure to realize I'm wrong"...said no person ever.

Here's something a real person said, though: “Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.”  
― William Shakespeare, All's Well That Ends Well 

Martin Luther King said "Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."   Too many people are communicating using hateful language--belittling, name calling, disrespectful language is not going to help others see light.  It never will.

What the world needs now, is love, sweet love.  It's the only thing that there's just too little of...

It's a flower child response, I know.  Truly, though, if I could pick one solution to "rule them all" it'd be that we all remember that we are all human beings, real people--we all need love, respect, and to be understood.

It's a privilege

This isn't a goodbye post, though I'm feeling sentimental and nostalgic.  It's a "life is precious" post.  It's a "family and friends are a treasure" post.  And words won't be enough, but they're what I've got.

Before I buried a child, I never felt grateful for the opportunity to be awakened in the night by a sick little person who was fevered or throwing up. I didn't realize that potty training was a privilege. I couldn't appreciate that fighting homework battles, teaching them not to throw a fit, spending hours convincing them to try a new food, and/or removing privileges because they were disrespectful are all special pieces of a journey that I should be thankful to be a part of.

Lest I sound like the woman who has it all together, who is always keeping a perspective filled with love, laughter, and delight, I'll just make it very clear that I'm not that person.  I hope that I'm on the path to becoming that person, but I'm not there yet.  I still get frustrated, aggravated, sleep deprived, and attitudinal (I love that word).  My house is messy, and I am harder on myself than I should be in some ways, and not hard enough on myself in other ways. 

I just...I know how it feels to bury a child.  I know how it feels to notice that someone is missing.  I watched some of my children sing "I am a Child of God" in a church meeting last week, and I just ached because my son should have been up there singing for his first time with the primary children.  I know how it feels to miss out on birthdays, and on opportunities to snuggle him when he's sick, to potty train him, to do all the "normal" parent things.  It still hurts.  I don't blog about it as often any more, because I feel like I've said it so many times already, but the pain is still there.

With that pain, though, has come this amazing awareness that being a mom is such a blessing.  I look at my children and remember (not always, but many times) that it is a privilege to spend time with them each day.  And in light of the recent mass shooting at a high school in Florida, that awareness has been brought closer to the surface this week.  I am heartbroken for the parents and friends that have to bury children.  The tragedy has sparked a lot of arguing about what the solutions are (and I'll talk about that in another post) but I hope it has also sparked a realization that every day is precious.  And that there is a NEED in the world for every person to feel loved, special, even treasured.  I don't know what happened to drive the shooter to the point that he chose to do what he did, but what if he had felt precious to someone every day?  What if he had a connection with someone good in his life every day, and felt loved, safe, and secure?  Earthquakes and hurricanes and storms and accidents should ALSO make us aware that it's important for us to be grateful for every day, to let our loved ones know they are special to us, and to reach out to those who we truly care about that might need our help.

In the last few years, I've seen many marriages fall apart that have stood for years.  I know, when I first fell in love, that spending time with my (then) boyfriend or fiancee was a privilege and I took every opportunity to be with him.  Now I'm blogging, while he watches TV (and that's OK, he knows that this is important to me, and he's understanding and supportive.  In fact, me starting a blog was his idea so that I could cope with my emotions and share my thoughts after we lost our son.)  My point though, is that back when the relationship was very young, it was obvious to him and to me that being with him was a privilege.  Life is hard, marriage is hard, and relationships are hard and take commitment, because we are human and we screw up and we don't always communicate well.  And out of necessity, things change--we can't always spend every moment together, it can't always be a honeymoon, and space can be a good thing too.  But, for those of you in a relationship, when is the last time you felt like it was a privilege to be with your partner?  And when did you tell them?  Or...when did you last feel so special--like the person you're with felt like it was a privilege to be with you? 

I feel like I can and I need to do better about making sure people in my life know that I feel like it's a privilege to know them, to love them, to be influenced by their thoughts, opinions, and experiences.  Even in the hard times, like tonight when my toddler had a hard time going to sleep because of a cough and a sore throat, so I had to go back in and hold her and help her settle down far after bedtime, it's a privilege to love and care for her, even when it's not convenient or fun. 

If you're one of my friends who reads my posts, who cares about me enough to want to hear my thoughts and feelings, know that you're precious to me.  People who care are something really special, and the world needs more people like you.  It's a privilege to know you.

Gifts

I don't know about anybody else, but for me Christmas has just about every feeling possible crammed into the season.  I feel elated and excited, anxious and amicable, grief and gratitude, sympathy and sadness, delight and dread all swirling around as I try to dig deeper, be kinder, find ways to serve others, spend time thinking of the Savior and Heavenly Father and the gift they gave, and as I try to make sure everyone in our family has the right balance of presents and that they're wrapped and festive and fun.  I try to take time to create memories and also to reach out to others who may be in need.  It's a lot.  The purchasing and the wrapping of gifts and trying to plan and make everything perfect is definitely so overwhelming.

It is so easy to look around and see all that there is to do alongside all that needs to be done and then feel like I am drowning.  I want the house to be even more clean than normal (which is impossible when crafting, cooking, or creating anything--which I ALSO want to do more of.)  

I have 6 children, but people can only see 5.  It doesn't really make the child who died any less real, but he's less visible.  Because of that, I have been thinking a lot--for months, actually--about things that are not seen.  Struggles that lie hidden underneath the surface, talents that remain dormant when unused, and some of the amazing spiritual or personality gifts that many people are given, but aren't really easy to see all the time.  It's easy to see presents that are under the tree, but there are so many gifts that we forget to take time to appreciate. 

I am grateful for the gift of life.  I am more keenly aware of my ability to breathe after watching my child struggle for his last breaths.  I share that gift every single day with many other people.  For example, I keep my children alive by doing boring things like feeding them, and helping them learn to toilet train, and by giving them a home that feels safe and warm.  (I also don't kill them when they're making me crazy. )  As moms, sometimes we don't give ourselves credit for being alive, or for keeping others alive, or for enriching other's lives.  That is truly sharing a gift, and should not be discredited or discounted, even if the floors went unswept that day or the laundry ended up not folded.  

The ability to sympathize is a two-edged-sword type gift.  I am grateful that I am able to mourn with those that mourn, because it is what God wants me to do.  Possessing that gift means that I cry more, I hurt more, and I want to help more than I would otherwise, which often adds to my feelings of being overwhelmed.  Honestly, though, I wouldn't trade the gift away, because I know it has helped other people who really needed it.  And having been the recipient of true giving in my own time of need, the gift of being sympathetic means that I am better able to pay that forward.

Being able to easily talk to people is a gift.  The funny thing about that, is that there is a sister gift that is very different--which is the ability to truly listen to people.  And not just chit-chat and small talk, but the real, deep talk when we are trying to figure things out in our lives.  Our world seems to be gradually becoming void of people who nurture those gifts in themselves, which is why we now pay therapists and psychologists hundreds of dollars to listen and to talk to us about the things that really matter in our lives.  (And also, I think why politicians are unable to discuss or listen when they need to figure out real solutions to big problems.)  These are gifts too--not visible, but very much gifts.

So many talents are gifts.  I have been very blessed with musical talents, and I try to share them freely (without showing off--because I don't think that helps anyone to feel special.)  I have been very blessed by others who have shared their talents with me, whether it was sharing music, their ability to do makeup, sew clothing, make really great food, draw, paint, or take pictures.  All talents are gifts worth sharing (and receiving and working on), but none can be wrapped or put under a tree.  Except perhaps art.  My sister in law made this beautiful sketch for me and gave it to me recently. 

It is one of my favorite tangible gifts.  

Similar to talents, the gift of creating is so incredible.  As a mom, I have participated first hand in the creation of a human life, and that is something special.  Moms on bedrest often feel like "they can't do anything", and don't give themselves enough credit for investing so much of their life in creation.  Construction work isn't often considered to be a "glorious" profession, but creating homes and buildings is amazing!!

God has given so many gifts that can't be wrapped.  Families.  Love.  Earth.  Promptings of the Holy Ghost.  Commandments and blessings.  Prayer.  The list could go on and on.

Time is a gift--it's limited for all of us, but we just never know how limited it is.  Almost ANYONE that you ask wishes they spent more time with a loved one, especially once that person is gone.  And moments are precious.  Obviously each of us can't invest time in every single soul on the planet--that would be insane.  However, we can make our interactions with each soul in our sphere of influence count.  Whether it's driving considerately (because all of those people matter too), smiling at a stranger, sympathizing with a mom who has crying children at the store or the bank, holding the door for someone, or talking a little longer with someone who needs it, we all have so much time to spend on the people around us, and we might as well make the time count.  We often don't think that strangers can have an effect on us, but it's not true.  When I was a teenager, I remember once walking down the street and saying to a man "Hey, how are you?"  And he responded "I'm blessed, I'm blessed, I can't complain."  His response struck me and has stuck with me for all these years.  It taught me so much, in a 15 second interaction.  The time you spend everywhere will tick by whether we use it to share goodness or not, so make that gift count!!

The ability to love and be loved are such beautiful gifts, and even though they seem like they should be as natural as breathing, I really believe that different people are blessed with varying levels of ability in both of these areas.  Some people have the ability to love anyone in whatever "love language" they speak, and others struggle to speak more than their own "love language."  Some people truly struggle to feel genuine love (and often, as a result of mistreatment in their developing years, which is such a tragedy.)  I think, far too often, I don't count time spent helping someone feel loved as "getting something done" or "giving a gift", when truly, there aren't many greater gifts.  

So many times I've read the scripture "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends" (John 15:13) and thought it was only talking about dying for someone.  What if that's not the only thing it's talking about?  What if it's talking about giving someone a part of your life?  Your time?  Your ability to love?  Enriching their life?  As a mom, I set aside many of my own personal goals each day in order to give each of my children the gifts that can't be seen.  Isn't that one version of "laying down my life for my friends?"  

To everyone caught in the same swirls of emotion and feeling overwhelmed as I have been: don't let the tangible things block your ability to see all the amazing gifts that you give every day.  Don't let your hustle to buy a present or wrap a present get in the way of you giving someone a hug or a listening ear. Just because everything on your "to do" list didn't get done, don't beat yourself up if you were spending your time with people, trying to improve their lives.  Don't discount those things that you do everyday--shuttling kids to and from appointments, making or buying food for your family, interacting with coworkers, creating buildings or homes or lives, listening to people--those count.  They may not be on your "to do" list, or under your tree, but they are gifts that are beautiful and special, and should be recognized too.  Happy Holidays to all my friends.  (This includes Happy Hanukkah to my Jewish friends, Merry Christmas to my Christian friends, and Joyous Kwanzaa to all my friends of African descent.)  And I hope all of you who read this take a few minutes to realize what an awesome gift each of you are, and the amazing gifts that you share every day.

  

My "me too" healing journey

Typically, the "joy in the journey" name of my blog applies to the joy I find on the journey of healing from the loss of a child.  I have felt a different joy from a different journey this week, though.  Most likely, people have noticed the trending status "me too" intended to bring awareness to sexual assault, abuse, or harassment.  I have been surprised how many of my friends (including even one of my male friends) have posted "me too".  My emotions have swirled--relieved to be able to talk about it, even as simply as "me too", horrified that so many can talk about it from the side of having experienced it, comforted by the support of so many, and cringeworthy emotions triggered by the memories of my experiences, as a child, and preteen.

I'm not going to go into the details. I have had more than one bad experience, and more than one perpetrator.  One perpetrator was a family member, another was a group of about 4 boys.  I was young, and I don't like to think about or dwell on the experiences I had.  I have experienced too much sadness, far too many nightmares, felt too much weight and too many effects from them.  I'd bet than anyone who really loves me would hate to hear the details (other than from mere curiosity) and it would probably bother them a lot to hear me talk about it.  And anyone who doesn't know and love me doesn't need to know.  I know some women who have chosen not to write "me too" for that reason.  They are strong, they are not hiding, they are simply choosing to have their experience remain theirs.  And those who are sharing are also strong, choosing to share a small tidbit of themselves that usually remains hidden to bring awareness to a subject that is uncomfortable and awful.

I've thought about how many "me too" experiences I've been able to share with others, some good and some bad.  I've had a miscarriage.  I've buried a baby I held in my arms.  I've been nearly hit by crazy drivers.  I've held the hand of an old person who didn't recognize me and listened to them talk to me as if I was someone they knew well.  I've given birth.  I have friends from different races, countries, sexual orientations, and religions.  I've been in a snowmobiling accident that nearly paralyzed me.  I'm grateful to be able to say "me too" as a way of standing shoulder to shoulder with those who feel happy, those who feel sad, those who feel overwhelmed, those who feel brave enough to talk about any of these things, and those who don't. 

In my later teen years, when the truth came out about my "me too" experiences with my family member, it felt like my entire extended family turned upside down.  My father looked old to me for the first time on the day he found out about what happened.  In some ways, when my extended family went crazy with the news, it felt like the damage was fresh, like the "bandaid" of years of saying nothing had been ripped off and the wound was fresh all over again.  I learned that there had been more victims in my family, and I wished I had spoken up sooner.  Perhaps if one of us had said something, less damage could have happened. 

But it wasn't my fault.  It wasn't their fault.  And it wasn't your fault.  And that was a huge part of what made my healing easier for me: knowing that it was not my fault, but the bad decision of someone else.

My mother was also sexually abused, by a family member (a different one).  For some reason, she grew up believing that it was her fault.  Her healing process was severely stunted, because she truly believed that it was her fault, that she had done something to deserve or earn that treatment, and that she had to "repent". (I use repent here in quotes, because I do believe repentance is a real thing.  I have felt so much better after repenting.  However one can not repent if one did nothing wrong, which is true whenever a child is abused--they did nothing wrong.)  And when she finally talked about it as an adult, her family struggled.  And she felt like it was her fault for bringing it up, like she should not make waves because it made everybody upset.  Truly, I am not sure she is fully healed yet.

Guys....it should make everybody upset.  Family members and friends should be upset by this.  Everybody should be upset by this.  The point of the "me too" thing is not necessarily to create upset feelings, but to upset the status quo that it's best not to make waves, and to help everyone realize that this problem is ginormous.  It's gargantuan.  And part of the reason it's so big is because only the "tip of the iceberg" is ever seen.  Most people don't talk about it, most people don't know about it, and most people don't know about the things that have happened in each other's lives.

I know there are women who don't want to say "me too" because they don't want to stir the pot, they don't want to make everybody upset.  I know there are women who won't say "me too" because they don't want to admit that anything wrong happened. I know there are women who are confident in themselves, who feel like they have moved on and don't want to share their feelings, and so they choose not to share their "me too".  I am certainly not going to judge any of them.  Because I can't see anything beyond the tip of the iceberg.  I hope that they feel loved and accepted and supported in all of this too.  And if nothing else, everyone should learn from this "me too" trend that we only EVER see the tip of the iceberg when we are dealing with other people, so we need to quit judging each other.

I do feel like I have moved on, forgiven, and let it go, but I still occasionally have nightmares and struggles because of it.  I don't know if there is a healer in this world who can prevent nightmares from happening, but I do believe there is a master healer.  In my later teen years, I really struggled with my experiences and how to react, feel, and move on.  I went to counseling.  I talked with family members.  I read a book about recovering from sexual abuse.  None of those things helped me more than my belief in Jesus Christ, that He felt this weight with me through the atonement, that He is horrified by these things, that He values me.  When I read about how He talked with people, the ways He taught, the way He healed people as individuals and not as a big mass healing, it helps me to see that He loves us individually, not just collectively. 

Anyone who follows this blog knows: I have said many times that I look forward to the resurrection when I will finally get to hold my Gideon again, watch him learn to crawl, walk, talk and grow. But I also look forward to the resurrection as a time when my healing can be made perfect.  And when my mother's healing can be made perfect.  I truly believe that God, who is fair and just, will heal me.  I truly believe He will fully heal everyone who has suffered at the hand of others.  There was a time in my life when my experiences left my emotions in so much turmoil, but I have felt the Savior's healing influence, the calm, the peace when I have prayed for help and turned to the scriptures.  Perhaps some may say it's all in my head, but I'll take the placebo effect (if that's what you want to call it.)  I am grateful for the peace.  John 14:27 puts it pretty well "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I to you.  Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."  There is no peace better than the peace He gives.  There is a spot in the Book of Mormon (in 3rd Nephi 17) when the Savior tells the people to bring anyone who is lame, blind, halt, maimed, leprous, or afflicted in any manner.  And the people bring all those who were "afflicted in any manner" to the Savior, and He did heal them EVERY ONE.  I honestly believe it happened then, and I believe I've already experienced much of the healing He offers, and that the finishing touches will happen one day. 

This week, I have been grateful to look back on my journey of healing from sexual offenses and see the peace I have been able to find.  I have been grateful to see that there is support from many other men and women.  I'm grateful that the fear, anger, and pain that I used to feel so often are now mostly replaced by a sense of peace, love, and wholeness.  I'm grateful to have a family support system.  And I'm grateful for a Heavenly Father who had a plan in place that allowed people the supreme right to choose, but provided a Savior to heal those who had to suffer because of any of those choices.  I can see how far I've come on my healing journey, and I believe that is possible because of Him.

Do you have DNA?

It is amazing to me how the simple moments of motherhood sometimes seem so profound to me.  Here is one that has been replaying itself in my head for days, and the lessons it keeps teaching me are so simple and beautiful that I wanted to share.

Because we are moving to a new city, we put our children in their new schools at the beginning of the school year.  It means that I have had to do much more driving back and forth and we have gotten to have some great conversations in the car.  A few days ago, when returning home, my 12 year old was talking to my two year old, and asked her "Do you have DNA?"  (He was holding a model of DNA that he had made out of licorice, marshmallows, and toothpicks that day in one of his classes.)  Of course, being two, she said "No."  And he explained to her what DNA was and that everybody has it, and then he asked her again if she had DNA, and she said "No."  Bless her little heart, she just isn't ready to understand what DNA is, and since it isn't tangible to her, she told him "No" even after he tried to help her see and understand.

In that moment, I felt so strongly that there was a profound parallel meaning in that conversation, and I shared it with my children.  Sometimes I think we are like that when Heavenly Father wants us to learn a lesson.  It might be as simple as "I am here, listening to you.  Can you feel it?"  If we are ready, we can understand and feel it.  Sometimes, we just aren't in the right frame of mind to comprehend.  And sometimes, like a 2 year old, we are just contrary and so sure of ourselves that we aren't truly open to whatever explanations might come upon us.

And other times, amazingly someone comes along and helps us to see what was there all along, waiting for us to understand it.  They might not have done anything awesome, just shared something they learned and understood, but they do it in a way that resonates with us, and suddenly instead of saying "no", we get it.  I love those moments.  And I love the people who share them with me and help me to understand things.

You have DNA.  And you are loved by a Heavenly Father who listens and wants to help you, when you're ready.