The best gift I ever got for Christmas

Sometimes, my learning journey may teach me something I already know, in a new, deeper way.  The last few years of my life, since Gideon died, have definitely been just that for me.  

The Christmas just after his death, I strongly suspected that I was pregnant again.  I could have taken an early pregnancy test to find out, but I was already fairly certain that God and Gideon had teamed up to send me something that they knew would help bring healing to my heart, and a way for Gideon to send hugs from heaven.  2 days after Christmas, I knew for sure that we were expecting a baby.  She has truly brought so much goodness and love into our home, and we appreciate her so much more after losing a baby.  What a wonderful Christmas present our rainbow baby has been.

My heart still aches to hold my son, the holiday season is still one of the harder times of year because I want my family to all be together during the holidays, and I have yearned to be able to give to my Gideon like I can give to my other children.  I have started crying right in the middle of Christmas shopping, because I wished I could buy presents for him.  The only gifts I can possibly give him now are gifts that can't be bought.

I have thought a lot about these gifts that can't be bought lately: love, devotion, service, quality time, memories, health, family, forgiveness, life.  I have been given a lot of gifts.  Our energetic, hug-and-kiss-filled young daughter has helped us to give those gifts that we wanted to give so badly to the son we lost.  We love sharing these gifts with her, and we love that she shares those same gifts with us.   Last week, I had concluded that she was the best Christmas present I ever got.

Then I took it one step further.  I thought about how much hope, joy, and love this baby has brought into our lives.  And then I pondered the bigger picture; how much hope and love the baby Jesus brought, not only into the life of my family, but of all families and individuals everywhere.  Because of Him, I have ALL the gifts that can't be bought, and I have the ability to share them with others.  Because of Him, my Gideon will be resurrected and I will get to share all these amazing gifts with my son.  Because of Him, forgiveness and mercy are possible, and not only do I get these gifts, but they are offered to ALL people, everywhere. What an awesome gift that is.  It is no wonder that angels sang His praises.  It is no wonder that when the angel declared it to the shepherds, he said that he brought "tidings of great joy".  "Great joy" just isn't strong enough to express how much joy His life made possible.  Death is NOT the end anymore, because of Him.  He knows how to heal ALL our wounds, and He will heal them all one day.  As much as I appreciate the love I feel for my children and my family and the amazing gift that my little daughter has been, Jesus Christ, my Savior, is the best gift that was ever given, because He makes all the other gifts possible.  

Video: Because of Him

Do you see what I see?

When I was young, I thought that the song "Do You Hear What I Hear?" was fun.  I knew it was a Christmas song, but I hadn't listened to it enough to really pay attention: it was talking about sheep, a star, a shepherd hearing angels, and the baby Jesus.  Somehow, I just sang without really thinking about the words, what they meant overall, and particularly what they mean to me.

For the last few days, as I've thought about this song, I have stumbled across a new idea, a new meaning that has touched me deeply, and that I thought I'd share.  What if Jesus was singing this song to me or about me, instead of the other way around?  What if the first verse said THIS instead:

 "Said the Savior to His little lamb 'Do you see what I see?  Way deep down inside little lamb?  Do you see what I see?'"

When he sings "Do you see what I see?" and I know that He can see into every corner of who I am and who I have the potential to be, would I really be able to see myself that way?  What does He see when He looks at me?  If Jesus sang to me "Do you hear what I hear?" after hearing me speak to (or about) others, would I be grateful that He can hear the unspoken things I want to communicate, or would I feel ashamed?  When he says "Do you know what I know?" about what I could achieve, can I really comprehend it, and would I try harder to reach for it if I could?  And when He (the Mighty King) says "Listen to what I say", would I realize that His counsel would help me to become that amazing person He can see?

I think, because He can see our potential and see the desires of our hearts, because He gives us points for trying, that many of us would find that we are far more amazing than we ever give ourselves credit for.  We need to be kinder to ourselves, love ourselves, and embrace our very best selves more often.

I love this song on a whole new level this year.  I hope every time I hear it from now on, I think about what the Savior sees when He sees me.

In case you haven't heard it before, here's a very beautiful version:
Do You Hear What I Hear: by former Celtic women

How gratitude saves me

As Thanksgiving approaches, I have given a lot of thought to the idea of gratitude, how much it means to me, and how much it has helped, and continues to help me.

One thing that I have learned in the last few years, after the loss of a child and the grief that accompanies it, is that there is much more to what is going on in my life than I can comprehend.  Most things have a much bigger picture than the tiny lens in my eyes can capture.  I have experienced overwhelming awe, incredible compassion, intense longing, and a new perspective and I am a different person because of it. 

The experience of awe has been shown to be good for us.  Every time I experience the birth of a child, I am overwhelmed with awe at the miracle of life, that my husband and I managed to produce and grow a living human being, that my body knows what to do to grow it, nurture it, and then how to give birth.  There was also a great sense of awe as I saw how many miracles take place on a daily basis in the NICU, from amazing doctors and nurses, to advances in medical technology that allow babies born prematurely to finish developing outside of the womb.  Seeing how much technology and watchcare was required instilled a deeper sense of awe that my body knows how to take care of a life even better than all these machines and technology.  I was often completely overwhelmed while Gideon was there.  Though the miracle I wanted most was for Gideon to live (NOW), I know I'll get that miracle one day when he is resurrected, and I appreciate the miracle and the gift of resurrection now more than ever.

This entire article is worth a read, but the main point can be summed up well by this quote from Paul Piff (who I actually went to elementary school with). Researchers study Awe

Researchers believe awe is powerful because it takes us out of our own heads. “Awe minimizes our individual identity and attunes us to things bigger than ourselves,” says Paul Piff, assistant professor of psychology at the University of California, Irvine.  

The week before Gideon was born was actually a very fun, blissful week of celebrating for our family.  I had met with my doctor, who was concerned about what he saw in the ultrasound, and he had forwarded my care to the U of U hospital (since things weren't looking great), but my brother was getting married, and we were able to attend the wedding, enjoy the festivities, and return home safely.  Three days later, we met with the doctors at the new hospital, who ultrasounded me and then gave us the grim news that our baby was far worse off than we'd previously understood-- his only chance at life was to be delivered early, have his kidneys drained, and see if they were able to function at all.   They didn't even want to send me home, they decided to admit me immediately and monitor him, get steroids in his little body to give his lungs a growth spurt, and then deliver him as soon as those steroids had long enough to take effect.  When the doctors told us his condition might be lethal, we were floored and devastated. 

A week or two before this all happened, I had watched the movie Pollyanna with my children.  I set a goal within the first few hours of the hospital stay that I was going to be like Pollyanna, I was going to play "the glad game" and find ways to be positive about what was happening.  I'm a pretty optimistic person, and I like a challenge, and I figured if I could find a way to be positive in these moments, then I was well on my way to being a "champion level optimist".  I am pretty sure that is the hardest time I have ever had being an optimist, and I'll admit that there were moments when my resolve crumbled, and I broke down in tears of frustration, anger, and hopelessness.  Looking for reasons to be glad, though, helped me to step outside my bubble, to attune myself to a bigger perspective and a bigger picture, and it has saved my sanity over and over since then. 

A few things I was grateful for, and this is not even close to all of them.  1. My blood sugar results came back high, so I had gestational diabetes and had to be careful what I ate, but since he was going to be born so early, that meant I only had to be careful for a very short time.  2. It happened over the weekend of Pioneer Day, which was not fun to be in the hospital for, but at least my husband already had the day off, and many of my family members also had the day off, and were able to help our family out.  3. Most of my stretch marks form during the last few weeks of the pregnancy, which I hadn't gotten to yet, so no new stretch marks.  4.  My mom had been injured in a car accident earlier in the year, and had to take some time off of work because of her back and neck injuries.  Consequently, she was available to be with me and my kids during the experience.  5.  I have an awe inspiring network of friends and family who not only prayed for me, but DID stuff for our family.  Meals were brought in, my home was cleaned, people sent notes and letters of encouragement and support, a few generous people helped us pay for funeral expenses...I can't even.  Lots of crappy stuff happens in our world, but I know a lot of good people, and I feel so grateful for that.  6.  God.  I didn't want to put him last, because He is really the biggest and greatest of all the blessings, but I felt Him.  I had such feelings of love in my heart, and I knew in that week where we were unsure whether Gideon would live or die that whatever happens, God was indeed watching out for us, AND I am reassured by His promises that we will all get to be resurrected one day.  That hope makes whatever happens in this life, on this Earth OK. 

Maybe you think I'm nuts for trying to be grateful in a horrible situation.  There is good science behind why being grateful is good for us, here are two articles about it:  Newsweek: 5 scientifically proven benefits of gratitude    Neuroscience of why Gratitude makes us healthier

One great source of comfort for Scott and I was a talk given by an apostle from our church, Dieter F. Uchtdorf, entitled Grateful in Any Circumstances One of my favorite quotes from it is now up in my house: 

How much of life do we miss by waiting to see the rainbow, before thanking God that there is rain?  

I was looking for so many reasons to be grateful, and they WERE there, but I did have to look for them.  And I can see what that "rain" has done, in the hindsight of a few years.  I am better because of what I have experienced, even if it is painful.

I had a striking epiphany this week.  In Luke 17 you can read the short story of when Jesus heals 10 lepers, and only 1 comes back to thank him for it.  When this happens, Jesus talks to the one who came back and tells him (and only him, since he's the one who came back) "Arise, go thy way: thy faith hath made thee whole." He didn't have to tell the man this about his leprosy; it had been healed before the man came back to thank Jesus.  And the man could have gone on his way without coming back to talk to Jesus and getting Jesus' permission to do so.  Maybe... or even probably, Jesus was talking about something else that had been made whole by his faith, by his recognition of the Savior's hand in his life.  And I realized that perhaps it was like me.  Faith makes me whole.  Losing a child still hurts, it feels like there is a part of me that's missing, and I just have to carry on without it.  That pain, though, is made better by the knowledge that it is temporary, that we all get to be resurrected, and I am deeply grateful to the Lord for that plan, and for the influence I feel from Him in my life.  That faith, my faith, makes me whole again.  My gratitude to the Savior, in many ways, saves me from despair and grief, from being overwhelmed.  I am amazed at the love Jesus offers me.  That sense of awe and gratitude is a literal life saver for me, and it probably always will be.

U.S. Elections and the attempt to balance optimism, pessimism, and realism with humanity

So...I'm an optimist.  A realistic optimist, hopefully, and sometimes an unrealistic optimist, but an optimist nonetheless.  I'm not a fan when people "pop" my optimism bubble, because I like my happy world, where I believe that most people have more in common than they realize, and have the same exact basic needs.  This is a really useful visualization of what I'm talking about.   I know--you didn't think you were going to get a lesson in psychology or human development today, but here it is:

The gist is this: our base needs must be met before we can worry about the next "level" up.

It's a tricky thing, choosing someone to vote for.  Of course, we all want someone who will protect our basic needs, but also who will help protect the needs of others, especially those we care about.   And sometimes, during an election season (and after) people feel like their needs and wants are threatened.  And they're probably right, as some politicians have an agenda that may indeed knock someone down a level (or two or three) on the pyramid.

All elections aside: different people are at different places on the pyramid, and it's sometimes hard to understand those who are in a different place than we are.  If I'm starving to death because I have no home, no food, and I haven't slept in days, I'm probably not going to feel as bad about stealing a loaf of bread (thanks Jean Valjean), as if all my needs are met.  I just wouldn't be in the same position as a well-to-do person who never experienced hunger, who only philosophized about how stealing is wrong.  (And it is...I'm not saying one should steal, just that it's much harder to achieve a self actualization type mentality when your physical needs are suffering.)  Even if we were all in the "self actualization" area, where all our basic needs are met, we feel safe, secure, loved, and we're working on achieving things and being creative, we're going to go about those things in hugely different ways.  Welcome to being a human being.

When I vote, I look at the candidates, what they represent, what type of a world leader they will be, how they will help me and the other people in the country to achieve their needs, and then I vote for the person who I believe will be best for the country as a whole.  We have to remember, though, that our needs are not a "one size fits all" and so there are going to be many people who choose a different candidate based on different needs and ideals.  And that's AWESOME.  In the end, the idea behind a democracy is that the majority of people will have their needs/ideals met by choosing a leader that best matches their needs, wants, and ideals.

I think, especially in this USA 2016 election, that there really wasn't a great leader who could by a HUGE majority best meet the needs, wants, and ideals of most people.  This was a really tight election--Trump took the electoral college, and Hillary took the popular vote, which leaves a lot of people unhappy.  AND in many states, they both took less than 50% of the vote, with a few additional percent having voted 3rd party. So, less than half the people got who they voted for, and even if Hillary had won, there'd still be more than half of the population who would not have gotten the candidate they chose.  It's a rough year for satisfaction with the election, all around.

To be open/honest, I did not vote for either.  I felt that the USA could and should do better, and that our two party system had failed us by giving us people who didn't really represent our needs/wants.  The Democratic nominee should have been Bernie, if they wanted to represent the actual people.  And Donald Trump isn't actually a conservative person, so he's not very representative of the Republican party.  And as a "realistic optimist" I knew that there was no way my candidate could win, and a lot of people told me I was wasting my vote, and that I shouldn't vote at all, and that I HAD to choose between the two candidates, and (well...you probably know the rhetoric.  Perhaps you have heard it or rehearsed it to someone else.)  I knew I'd be disappointed, and I steeled myself for it, knowing that either way, I'd feel like the USA could have and should done better, a lot better, at providing candidates that "We the People" actually wanted.

I typically like to believe the best in people.  I have found that I usually care about any/every person I take the time to get to know, and I believe that would be true for the rest of the people on earth (with a few exceptions.)  I really think that most of us are good inside (again--with a few exceptions.)

So here's where my optimism bubble gets popped.  We seem to have forgotten that other people are still human beings.  In the aftermath of the election, many people are consumed with their feelings of disappointment, anger, and shock, and are giving in to name calling, judging, telling people they should be in Hell, making threats, losing friendships....We ARE ALL PEOPLE.  We all have a need for safety, and some people legitimately feel threatened by Donald Trump.  (This is maybe unrealistic optimism, but I'm optimistic that since we have a checks and balances in place with a legislative and judicial branch, it won't be THAT BAD, and he won't be able cram unconstitutional laws down everyone's throats.)  I can't blame people for feeling threatened or nervous about a Donald Trump presidency, because I am nervous about it too.  (I'm doing my all to keep this post NON-negative; I don't want to say ANYTHING negative about either of the major party candidates, because negativity has been spewed enough, and this post is about being a human being, not about being on one side or the other.)  I would have also been nervous if Hillary Clinton had won.  People who are nervous about a Trump presidency should not be mocked, belittled, or certainly not gloated over (especially since Hillary Clinton won the popular vote.)  People who voted for a third party should not be mocked, belittled, or certainly not gloated over (after all, they just wanted better choices, and there wasn't much to go on this year.)  People who voted for Trump should not be threatened, sworn at, and should not gloat.  They were trying to make a choice based on their own interpretation of needs/wants.

For some reason, social media has made this worse.  I have personally been belittled and made fun of by complete strangers on Facebook during this election cycle.  Would you talk to a person you were seeing in the grocery store, at the post office, or at the library the way you talk to someone on social media?  Probably not--because for some reason, talking to someone on a screen seems to be less real, we forget that the person on screen is a person.  They're just words on a screen to us, not someone who maybe has a family, who maybe lost a child, or maybe whose wife has cancer, or who just came out of the closet.  We are all REAL human beings.  So lets BE KIND and help each other feel safe.

A friend of mine (a beautiful, funny democratic friend of mine named Sarah Zarate-Braudaway Clark) shared this, and I wholeheartedly agree with what she observed.

1. I don't think hate won.2. For some, it was about hate and others, fear. 3. So much fear. 4. But for others, for people I love and respect, Trump was the best choice they felt they had for many reasons other than fear or hate. 5. Just as mine was in Hillary after supporting Bernie in the primary.6. Just as other friends did in voting third party. 7. I panicked tonight. I panicked and hurt and cried and almost lost myself in the fear that hate had won, that none of us are safe.8. I'm still afraid of what all of this means for so many and what it will mean over the next four years for our nation. 9. But I don't think hate won. 10. It was exposed, showing all of us the work that still needs to be done. 11. I don't think hate can win unless we let fear win and stop fighting for each other. 12. And I don't think fear will win, not for me, because I will not stop working for the society I believe we could have.

I'm also going to point out (as I think it merits explaining, and fits in with Maslow's hierarchy of needs) that she said she able to observe all this from a place of privilege--she is safe and not as threatened by a Donald Trump presidency as some other groups of people might be.

To assume that people voted for Donald Trump because they hate others and are bigots is an unfair assumption, and belittles their humanity.  To assume that people voted for Hillary Clinton because they love evil is an unfair assumption, and belittles their humanity.  Many people voted for the one of the two that they felt was less threatening.  Most of us, though, are trying to work hard for a future where there is peace and prosperity for all of us.

I believe in a better country, in a better world, where we're trying to help each other succeed, where we're helping each other feel safe, loved, successful, and free to pursue our creativity and morality in ways that don't step on the toes of other people's safety, success, and creativity/morality.  That's a super tricky balance to achieve, and we do a lot of teetering back and forth as a country, and as a world.  If you've ever been on a balance beam with another person, and tried to knock them off balance, you know that it's almost just as easy to throw your own balance off when knocking someone else down.  So don't try to throw the other person off balance--we're all in the middle of this tricky balancing act, lets communicate respectfully and work together.

President Obama said today: "We are not Democrats first, we are not Republicans first, we are Americans first", and I'd like to add "We are human beings first."  So let's act like it.   There is much work to be done to make the world a less hateful place, and saying hateful things to someone who doesn't agree with you is not going to help.  (And there is so much irony in saying hateful things or doing hateful things to someone who you believe is wrong for following a hateful person.)  I'm optimistic that we can do better and become better, and that we can fight dark with light, fight hate with love, and fill our nation (and the world) with respect and dignity.

Am I good enough?

This is a hard one.  It's tough for me to talk about it, to admit to myself that these thoughts go through my mind, but they are real, haunting, and need to be shared.  I don't know exactly why I feel so strongly that I needed to write these down, but I do.  I am guessing that I am not the only parent who has felt this way after the loss of a child, or just after a bad day.

When we learned that Gideon might not make it, I began to pray more desperately than I have ever prayed before in my life.  I asked Heavenly Father for some time with Gideon, and especially that my other children would be able to see him, at least have some memory of him.  That prayer, was thankfully granted, though our time was so short.  They were, at very least, able to come to the hospital, and were given the chance to touch and kiss their baby brother .I know some people don't even get that much time, and I'm very grateful for what I did get, even though I still wish it had been more.  The reality that my prayers had become more real to me, made me feel like my "normal" prayers were much less than what they should have been, and that I personally was much less than what I should have been.

I wondered if part of the reason he didn't get to stay longer was that I wasn't good enough.  Maybe I wasn't a good enough mother.  Maybe I didn't want him enough.  Maybe I dreaded the sleepless nights too much.  Once he was born and in the NICU, I wondered if he would have done better if I'd have stayed there with him all night long, talking to him, instead of going back to my own hospital room and resting.  (Doctors and nurses recommended that I take care of myself too, and not obsess over caring for the baby, but in hindsight, I still wish I'd have spent more time with him.)  I can't help but ask myself if there are more things I could have done to help him survive.  Even though the problems were in his body, because I grew him, I felt like I messed things up pretty badly, like somehow my body hadn't given him the right nutrients, the right genetics....I have thought of many ways that it was partly my fault that he is dead. 

Let me be clear, I have spent many hours feeling these feelings of inferiority and doubt, but I have also spent hours reminding myself of many great and important truths that have helped me to pull myself away from the terribly depressing thoughts and feelings I have had.  They still pop up and haunt me, but I am much more able to chase them away now.  I suppose it's a little bit like learning where the different light switches in your house are--knowing which switch will chase away which darkness, and feel that I am more aware of both the darkness and the switches in my life now.

In a Christian perspective, I believe we all ask ourselves "Am I good enough?"  There are two completely opposite and true answers to this.  The first is "No."  I am a sinner. I am very imperfect, so I am not good enough.  Romans 3:23 For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.  In 1 Nephi 15:34 (and in other places) the scriptures discuss how unclean things can not enter into the kingdom of God.  And that's OK because I don't have to be perfect.  Alma 42 gives a fabulous explanation of how the Atonement helped balance God as both a just and merciful being--and that price has been paid.  God knew that I'd fall short, and that's why I have the Atonement.   I still have to try, to give effort, because his grace should change me if it truly touches my life.  I am not trying to earn my way into heaven, but I am trying to learn to be heavenly.  So the other answer to "Am I good enough?" is a resounding "Yes!"  Christ is the author and finisher of my faith (Hebrews 12:2) which means that he finishes when I'm not good enough.  When I don't have the strength, he finishes for me.  And He loves me, and wants me to succeed.  He is absolutely a God who wants me to be happy, to have joy, (2 Nephi 2:25) and to learn and grow.  And He knows me.  He has heard and answered my prayers, and I have felt His strength so many times in my life.

I have had to remind myself that I can't understand God's reasons for doing things. (Isaiah 55:8 For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.)

I've had to remind myself to quit judging myself so harshly.  It's unfair for me to pass judgement (even on myself) that God decided I wasn't good enough.  Matthew 7:1 says simply "Judge not that ye be not judged." In the same chapter, it gives an analogy of noticing a sliver in someone's eye when you have a beam in your own eye, and reminds us that we shouldn't do that.  Having had something in my own eye before, it's amazing how a tiny piece of wood or dirt or dust can really seem like a huge thing when it's in your eye, and you may falsely assume that you have a HUGE something in your eye, when it's really a tiny thing.  So...I need to quit judging myself, because I think sometimes I'm thinking that my imperfections are more huge than they are, and it's difficult to see anything clearly (including yourself) when you have anything in your eye.  Yes, I've got to keep trying and doing my best, because "faith without works is dead" (James 2:26), but then I need to give myself a break.

I have thought about the fact that when Jesus' good friend Lazarus died, He wept.  Mary and Martha approached him, broken hearted. He knew that he was going to raise Lazarus from the dead, that what had happened was to give Him a chance to show His glory and power, and still he wept with sympathy and love.  And I believe that he feels my pain and heartache with me too.  Part of why immortality and resurrection are such a wonderful gift, are He knows how much it means to those who are excited to see loved ones again.  He's experienced that sadness, so He knows the joy the gift will bring.  I have taken those feelings, and become more excited for the chance to see Gideon again one day, and to thank the Savior in person for that gift, both of the Atonement (so that I can be good enough) and for the resurrection (so Gideon will live and have a healthy body).

I have begun to pat myself on the back for the good things I'm doing in my life, and focus not only on what I've done in the past, but on what I want to do going forward to keep making the world a better place.  I volunteer in my children's classrooms, I volunteer my time and talents in church, I teach piano, I try to reach beyond my comfort zone, especially when I notice someone who appears to be struggling.  It's important to give one's self a pat on the back , not just occasionally, but frequently, instead of only noticing the places where I'm not keeping all the balls up in the air.

Twice in the last two weeks, I have been listening to someone, and have been DEEPLY overwhelmed by the feeling that I am good enough.  The first time, it brought me to immediate tears--I knew that God wanted me to know that He knows I've been worried about it, and that He wants me to quit worrying about it.

This is a flowering plant we got for Gideon's funeral.  It always helps me feel happy to see it bloom.

I am trying each day to be better than who I was, and to not only improve myself on this journey, but to take others with me.  I believe that one day I'll understand, and I'll see more of what God sees, understand what he understands, and this will all make sense, and hopefully those thoughts will be laughable.  Until that day, I keep reaching to become my best self, and help those around me do the same, and trust that it is, indeed, good enough.

There's always a choice

This train of thought won't leave me alone.  I keep trying to talk myself out of writing this post, but I can't shake the feeling like I need to share with anyone who wants to listen, so here it is.

As a preface: My five year old sometimes gets very frustrated when presented with a scenario he's not happy about.  For example, he's been known to begin having a fit when I make dinner and he doesn't like what we're having.  My awesome husband was inspired with an idea to help him realize that he still has choices.  Dad sits down with him and gives him a few options that often go something like this: 1. Not eat dinner and be hungry.  2. Go outside and eat grass for dinner like a bunny.  3. Drink water for dinner.  4. Have a fit in your room and after you're done, come eat dinner.  5. Skip the fit, and come eat dinner with the family.  This has worked like a miracle for our son, and he often realizes the ridiculousness of the other choices, and then makes the choice that is the obvious best one (usually coming to eat dinner.)  This has worked for other things like getting dressed, practicing piano, or other things he doesn't really love or want to do.  He often likes us to give him a total of five choices, because he's five.

Of course, this occasionally drives me crazy, especially if I asked him what he wanted for dinner, and then I got no response, so I just made something.  Then when he complains, I feel like he has NO business stating his opinion, since I tried to ask for it BEFORE it was made.

When I have had to think of five choices to present to him, I've been surprised at the realization that we really do have more choices than we acknowledge.  There are moments when we are confronted with scenarios (such as the death of a child or a loved one) and we feel like we have absolutely no choice, we are trapped and have to deal with whatever situation we are in, like it or not.  We always have some type of choice though.

Years ago, I was very touched when I read the book Man's Search for Meaning, written by Victor Frankl.  In it, he speaks of some of the life lessons he gained from living in and surviving Auschwitz, and things he has put into practice since, as a psychologist.  He points out that even when people were given seemingly no choices at all in a concentration camp--when to sleep, what to wear, what to do, what to eat, they still were able to choose their attitude, whether to share their food with those weaker than them, whether to try to smile or connect with other people, those types of things. 

“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”  Victor Frankl

When we learned that our son Gideon wasn't going to live (his organs were not functioning the way they should and he was too tiny and frail to even possibly receive any type of organ transplant) it was incredibly hard information to process.  I still remember the way it felt, and it still hurts when I think about the weight it brought.  Over two years later, it's still hard, we look at his pictures, we see the little prints of his hands and feet that we made while he was with us, and we miss him, and want to know more about who he would have been by now.  We are trying hard, though, to control what we CAN control, our attitude, what we're doing with what we've been given.  We're looking for what we can learn from it, we take more pictures, we hug each other more, we try to appreciate the time we do have here with our family, we try not to sweat the small stuff (hence my house is rarely clean).

As a related aside, in this election cycle for the US president, I feel that many people feel like there are only 2 choices, and many people can't handle the idea of either of the major 2 parties' candidates actually becoming the Commander in Chief.  Some are deciding not to vote, as a way to "voice" their displeasure . I would contest that voting for a 3rd party candidate (or even a write in) would be a better way to tell the Democrats and Republicans that you don't approve of their choices.  To any "naysayers" who don't believe a 3rd party candidate can win, I'd just like to remind them that Abraham Lincoln was a 3rd party candidate.  ALSO if/when a candidate wins and they aren't who you voted for, you still have options.  One can throw a fit (like my 5 year old if I make spaghetti.)  One can choose to leave the country.  One can decide to be respectful.  (Again a reminder that the President does represent our country, whether you personally elected him or not.)  One can pray for the President, and should, whether he's "your" candidate or not.  And if you chose not to vote, don't fuss and whine when someone is elected, since you didn't voice your opinion in the first place, it's certainly not time to start after the fact (just like when my son complains about a dinner I made when he wouldn't give his opinion in the first place.)

Everyone has the ability to choose, every day.  It's a beautiful gift God gave us.  Losing a son has made me step back and look at my life and my choices;  I've asked myself if I'm really living my life the way I want to, because life and time are precious and too short to waste.  It feels good to acknowledge my choices each day, and to feel satisfied and happy with the choices I'm making, about the path that I'm on.  It hurts to miss my little boy, but my life is more rich and full because I have decided that I truly love it and that my choices are what I really want.  I am making a difference in the ways I want to make a difference.  It feels so good, and I highly recommend this to every person: Take a deep breath and be glad that you chose to get out of bed, that you ate healthy, that you read to your kids, that you exercised, that you laughed with someone, that you called your friend--find choices you made that you're happy about and give yourself some credit for making good choices.  And if you didn't make choices you loved today, tomorrow will give you many more opportunities and you can choose--be happy with what you choose.  There's always a choice.

Hurts so good

A dear friend of mine sympathized with me when, a few months after Gideon passed away, I held her baby, and hurt because it felt so good to hold him, but I missed my own boy so much.  They'd have been very close in age, and it was such a tangible reminder.  She said "It hurts so good, doesn't it?" (Incidentally, she is a foster mother who has had to "return" several babies that she'd have loved to keep too.)

I have since had many "hurts so good"moments.  There were a few acquaintances that I have who were pregnant with their own children at the same time as I was pregnant with Gideon.  Most of their children are now 2, and when I have the chance to observe these sweet kids, I love it because I enjoy the reminders of what my son might have been doing or saying, but it also makes my heart throb, because I feel his loss more keenly in those moments.

And my daughter, my sweet little girl, my rainbow baby.  She "hurts so good" every day.  I hug her more, kiss her more, enjoy her more because I missed out on so many of these moments with her older brother.  And when I see her start to babble, sign words, laugh when others are laughing even though she has no idea why we're all laughing, stand independently, and make messes with food...my heart swells and aches and rejoices all at the same time.  I never knew that life could bring so much joy and sadness simultaneously. 

Since Gideon, I find that life often "hurts so good", but I'm discovering it hurts in a way that causes growth--I believe I am better at feeling sympathy and expressing kindness toward other people.  I'm reluctantly learning to be grateful for the good this pain draws out of me. 

My therapy

I have been asked by some people how I have managed to keep a smile on my face, how I've not gone crazy from the roller coaster that losing a child puts you on.  First, let me clarify that I'm pretty sure I am crazy already, so that's a lost cause, but the smile I manage in a few different ways.

One is that I try to find reasons to be grateful.  Another is that I'm often looking for what I can learn and how, in the long run, I can use whatever I'm experiencing as a launch point, to help myself or others.  I also try to keep this in perspective, and do my best to trust in God's plan for me, even when I don't understand it. One thing I do that I'd like to elaborate on is that I try to fill my life and keep myself busy with things that make me very happy, which tend to be various ways of creating.  I love to create music, I love to create art (I'm no artist, but it's fun), I love to help children learn (creating geniuses and confident people), I love to create yummy food, I love to create beautiful gardens...I'm a sucker for creation.

Dieter F Uchtdorf gave a talk about happiness and creation a few years ago, in October 2008.  I love it, and I've referred to it many times in my life.  If you want to read it, click on this link: Happiness, Your Heritage, Dieter F Uchtdorf

This picture was taken from my driveway in fall of 2014.  Gorgeous, huh?!  What a Creator!

As I thought about this today, I have thought about how very logical the idea of creativity as therapy is.  I'm God's daughter, right?  If He's the creator of all, and I'm His child, then it makes sense that I inherited both a natural desire for creation and also a natural aptitude for it.  I think I've perhaps been given an extra large dose of the desire to create, and maybe not quite as much natural aptitude...I want to be able to create and do everything (I have "olympics envy" going on, as I watch gymnasts, divers, swimmers and runners and think how awesome it would be to be able to do those things as well as they do.)  Realistically, I know that I'm not going to be perfect and good at everything, (have you seen my house?!) and that's OK too, but I have come to realize that having a desire to create: to do good, to make something, to improve something--that's part of my heritage as a child of God, and I've begun to embrace it.  When I feel down, on those days when I wonder if the reason that Gideon was taken home was that I couldn't be a good enough mother to him, or when I feel like I don't really do much good, I take that Heavenly heritage, and I find a way to create something.  When I speak of creation, I don't necessarily mean things that can be put on display or in a talent show.  (Heaven knows, on down days it's hard to pull myself up and create anything, but especially anything fancy or display worthy.)  Creation can be something as simple as creating a smile, a glimmer of hope, creating faith in humanity, or creating a space that's beautiful simply by tidying it up.

To double the therapeutic power, I love to simultaneously create something and help another person learn to create something.  Teaching my children to cook, helping other kids learn to play the piano, sharing my feelings about a scripture in Sunday school, all those things make me feel so much better about who I am, they all help me to create, and hopefully inspire others to create too.

Creating makes me feel good, and I think that, in part, it's because it brings me closer to God, as a creator. Helping another person learn to create is also part of His work, to help all His children grow into their potential, and so that's another way to help me be more like Him.  When I'm closer to Him, I'm happier, and able to find myself and find reasons to smile, even when things are hard.

Two years ago

I think August 1st will always be hard, but also that it will always be dear to my heart.  Two years ago, Gideon went home, and we had to say goodbye.  This day...I have some of the best and hardest memories.  We wanted so badly to spend time with him, we wanted special moments with him, so our children (and we also) would have something to hold onto...some piece of knowing him and having him with us in our family.  We had a 1 week birthday celebration for him.  We had party hats and sang Happy Birthday to You, even though it was just his 1 week birthday.  Music therapists came in and wrote a lullaby with us.  We took pictures.  The kids helped make him a blanket that he used that day.  That lullaby and these pictures, and all those who helped make our time with him special by bringing in meals and helping clean our home...those mean so much to me, I can't even find words to express it.  It was miraculous that we got a week, and I treasure that week, and in his honor, I try to remember to treasure all my time, especially time spent with people I love.  I can look back now and see how much we've changed.  My children (except Gideon) have grown so much.  My soul has grown so much.  Life is more dear, my children more precious, and my time is a treasure now that Gideon has touched our family.

 

The last few days have been chaos, as I've been going to and from girls camp and preparing to go on trek with youth in my congregation.  It has felt like a fitting tribute, and I'm loving the time spent sharing my faith and hope in the chance to see Gideon again, and my gratitude for Jesus Christ for making it possible for families to be together, and for my sins to be forgiven, so I can be perfect like Him and like Gideon. 

I sometimes feel like I am more broken, but I also sometimes feel like I am more whole because he joined my family.  In the midst of the chaos, I can still miss Gideon.  It sneaks up on me and surprises me, and I start crying right in the middle of laughing.  When my kids came in for a group hug, I wish he was a part of it.  When they're noisy and rambunctious, diving in to tickle me with Dad's help, I wish he was here with us.  We love and miss our little boy so much.  It's been 2 years since I've seen him alive.  I wish I'd have held him a little longer during those moments I did get the chance to hold him, because they were so very limited.  And I'm so grateful that I did get to hold him, sing to him, pray for him, and love him so deeply.  I wish I'd told him a million times that I love him, but I think he knows.

Throw a Starfish

My heart has done a lot of aching over the last few weeks.  Our family is approaching the 2nd birthday of a baby who never got to come home from the hospital.  I wonder about who he would be, and I miss what I might have known.  What would he have loved?  How would his laugh sound?  What would his first sentence have been?  And lately, my heart strings are pulled as I hear story after story of other families who now have a loved one who won't be coming home, and not due to a natural medical ailment, but because another person took their life away.  I know how it feels to lose a son, and I'd never wish it on anyone.

I feel so lost, so overwhelmed sometimes.  I want to help, but I don't know how.  There are so many awful things, and I just want to hug everyone better.  I keep thinking of a story I heard once, and had to find and re-read.  Here it is:

The Star Thrower

A man was walking on the beach one day and noticed a boy who was reaching down, picking up a starfish and throwing it in the ocean.  As he approached, he called out, “Hello!  What are you doing?”  The boy looked up and said, “I’m throwing starfish into the ocean”.  “Why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?” asked the man.  “The tide stranded them.  If I don’t throw them in the water before the sun comes up, they’ll die” came the answer.  “Surely you realize that there are miles of beach, and thousands of starfish.  You’ll never throw them all back, there are too many.  You can’t possibly make a difference.”  The boy listened politely, then picked up another starfish.  As he threw it back into the sea, he said, “It made a difference for that one.”

I'm a thrower of starfish, like the boy.  And sometimes, like the man, I'm a skeptic.  I see all that there is to be done, and I just feel so bogged down, I don't know where to start, and I don't think it even matters, because I can't possibly make a difference.  My current wonder is: What if the boy had hollered to his friends for help, and they each got a friend, could they have saved all the starfish within a mile?  There are thousands of starfish, but there are also thousands of people who visit the beach each day...

I'm doing a shout-out, calling out to anyone willing to make a difference, even just to one person.  Gideon's birthday is July 25.  His "death day" was August 1st.  Please take a day within that week, and "throw a starfish".  Reach out to someone that you normally wouldn't have.  I don't know what I'm going to do yet.  I've got a few ideas swimming around in my head, and I want to find one that my other children can help with, and one that will make my heart really feel.  Even though it hurts to feel the love I have for my son, because he's not here, I also rejoice in the fact that my heart has grown more tender, and I want to take that empathy and use it to improve myself and my sphere of influence.  I can't fix all the world's problems, but I'd like to make a difference to someone.  I don't know what to do, but some ideas I've had are to visit a hospital or a retirement home, where many people are sick or lonely, and give them time--one of my most precious gifts.  I wish I had enough money to make a difference to many homeless people, every day, but I could try to make a difference to one, maybe two during that week.  Perhaps it could even just be spreading random kindness to strangers, like paying for people in a restaurant or drive through.  The world needs more love, more kindness, and more compassion.  So start chucking those starfish with me.

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.