Grateful in any circumstance

A few weeks ago, I was able to speak in church with a young lady who had recently returned from serving a mission in my church. I was one of the leaders in our youth group many years ago, and now she is an adult, and asked if I would mind sharing some of my thoughts and feelings, as she shared what she had learned and experienced while serving a mission. Since it was around Thanksgiving time, my heart turned both to thoughts of happiness and gratitude. This post is mostly what I said during that talk, as well as accompanying thoughts.

In April 2014, when I was pregnant with Gideon, we had general conference in which the apostle Dieter F. Uchtdorf gave a talk called Grateful in Any Circumstance, which helped us immensely through the difficult process of finding a new normal as we lived with the grief of losing a child. Its message was timely, what we would need in the coming months. We didn’t know how much we would rely on this talk, but it has become such a treasure to Scott and I. There are many words of wisdom in it's pages, and I still frequently read it and find ways to be more happy because of it.

"I believe that all of us experience times when the very fabric of our world tears at the seams, leaving us feeling alone, frustrated, and adrift. It can happen to anyone. No one is immune."

I am currently serving in Young Women’s in my ward in Syracuse, and recently gave a lesson about spiritual self-reliance. No-one is immune to challenges. Being prepared with a treasure chest full of spiritual resources--quotes, favorite scriptures, songs, or hymns that can help one feel the spirit and feel the Savior’s love is a fabulous way to try and be prepared for whatever lessons are coming at you through difficult circumstances ahead. Even if a person does not believe in religion or being spiritual, having a treasure chest full of confidence, wise words from great books, and good friends and family can help a person to be more ready for the curve balls that life will inevitably throw at them.

"It might sound contrary to the wisdom of the world to suggest that one who is burdened with sorrow should give thanks to God. But those who set aside the bottle of bitterness and lift instead the goblet of gratitude can find a purifying drink of healing, peace, and understanding."

Elder Uchtdorf challenged us to be grateful not just for blessings, but for situations and circumstances, and that we make gratitude something that is a part of who we are.

"Could I suggest that we see gratitude as a disposition, a way of life that stands independent of our current situation? In other words, I’m suggesting that instead of being thankful for things, we focus on being thankful in our circumstances--whatever they may be."

For a few years, I had a calling that was very terrifying to me--I played the piano for stake choir. It was an incredibly intimidating calling for me, but I learned so much from it. I knew that there were people who had much more musical skill than I did, and sometimes wondered why I was asked to perform that service, rather than someone more qualified. However, I know that I learned and grew from it, not only musically, but spiritually, and that the Lord put me in places where I could learn what he needed me to learn. In the stake conference following Gideon's passing, we sang a song that made me cry so hard I was nearly shaking at the piano each week. I’m sure if you try to imagine singing the words to this song within a few months of burying your baby, you can understand why it was so meaningful to me. The second verse says “An infant’s smile, a mother’s touch, a sister’s gentle hands. A father guiding childish feet, through shifting treacherous sands. For bonds that cross eternity, for ties that never cease. For such a special family, I thank thee Lord for these.” The chorus says “Oh Lord, anoint mine eyes to see and let my spirit sing and give all thanks to thee. Oh Lord, my heart would sing thy praise, my voice in gladness raise, for all thy hands have made. Until I hear and see and feel thy hand in everything.” This song became such an anthem to me as I sought ways to be grateful, and to see the Lord's hand in the trial I was facing at the time.

The message of that song is exactly what I believe Elder Uchtdorf’s talk is about. We can ask the Lord to help us see his hands in everything, to recognize his goodness, even in our difficult times.

I love to be in control of things in my life. I’m not quite a control freak, but I’m pretty close. Also, I love super heroes--I’m a big fan of most of the Super Hero TV shows and movies that come out. I love the Marvel heroes, and the D.C. heroes, and pretty much all super heroes. Our family has watched “The Flash” together over the last few years, and there’s an episode where one character explains to another “You have 4 rules: 1 Make the plan. 2. Execute the plan. 3. Expect the plan to go off the rails. 4. Throw away the plan.”

Many of the difficult circumstances I find myself in occur when my plan goes off the rails. Most people don’t expect or plan on divorce. We don’t plan on kids getting sick on holidays so we miss time with our extended family. We don’t plan on burying our tiny people. We don’t always plan for the need to relocate, or for losing a job. For me, I particularly resist changes in my life that feel like an ending. Elder Uchtdorf reminds us in this talk that endings don’t feel natural to us as mortal beings because we are made of the stuff of eternity. I really detest the feeling of losing control over my plan. Truly, though, when I have tried to take a step back and acknowledge that the Lord knows more than I do, that the things I’m experiencing will all help me learn and grow if I let them, then instead of doing my plan, I turn the plan over to the Lord and let Him make more out of me than I could have made out of myself.

I’m no artist. I can do music, but cutesy, artsy things are not a gift of mine. So the idea of myself painting a masterpiece is truly ludicrous to me. I can imagine myself starting out with a plan in mind, and then having it “go off the rails”. I’d be all too happy to throw the plan away, hand that paintbrush over to a master, and watch them make it more amazing than I could on my own. And I believe that the Lord is the master--who can make it beautiful and awesome in ways I never could.

It sounds so plain and simple “Just have an attitude of gratitude and ask the Lord for perspective.” This is definitely one of those things that is far easier to talk about than it is to actually put into practice.

I have found many times that when I have asked the Lord for understanding, I haven’t got it. I still do NOT understand so many of the trials I’ve had to face. But I have had a peaceful reassurance that one day I will understand, I will be able to see how much our family has grown from Gideon’s life and death, and in general, that the trials and frustrations will all add up to be a part of a masterpiece that I just can’t comprehend right now.

Elder Uchtdorf put that into these words “In any circumstance, our sense of gratitude is nourished by the many and sacred truths we DO know; that our Father has given His children the great plan of happiness; that through the Atonement of His Son, Jesus Christ, we can live forever with our loved ones; that in the end, we will have glorious, perfect, and immortal bodies, unburdened by sickness or disability; and that our tears of sadness and loss will be replaced with an abundance of happiness and joy ‘good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over.’”

I feel so strongly, even still, that the Lord answers my prayers. Even when Gideon continued to deteriorate, I knew He knew what I truly needed, and what our family truly needed. I still find that I don't have all the answers. I still miss Gideon, I still don't understand all the reasons behind what is happening in my life. Christmas time is hard, as our family spends time together making memories, I miss all the things that could have been: what he would have wanted for Christmas, the look on his face after the first snowfall, building his first snowman. I still hold firm to the faith that I will get to experience these moments with him after he is resurrected, and I am grateful for that faith, and for the plan that allows death to not sting so much.

I know that the Lord is mindful of me, in all the situations I’ve faced. I’ve felt His peace, even as I have lacked understanding. I have found answers many times doing those basic daily tasks “read the scriptures and pray”, but I don’t have all the answers and I know I won’t for a long time. I am so grateful for the answers I do have, though--that God loves me and knows me. That His plan for me and for everyone is truly a plan of happiness. I know that the Savior made it possible for us to be resurrected perfect and whole, and to be forgiven for our failures, our mistakes, and the pain we’ve experienced in this life. I know that my entire family will get to be together one day, and I am grateful to be able to have peace and hope that God has a plan for me that is bigger and better than the one I’d have picked for myself.

No, that boat was never sinking

I learn so much about faith and scriptures and Jesus from teaching children.  Mostly my own, but sometimes other people's children too.  Since this is about my learning journey, not just from grief, but from life, here's a recent moment I had.

A few weeks ago, I had a profound moment of spiritual learning when my 3 year old daughter was looking at the picture of Jesus calming the storm.  If you aren't familiar with that story, it's in the Bible in Mark chapter 4 (which I'll admit, I'm not enough of a scriptorian to know that off the top of my head, I had to look up where to find it.)  My daughter asked me a very simple question "Is the boat sinking?"  And I thought about it for a minute, because the frankness of her question surprised me.  I've never really asked myself "Is the boat sinking?" before.  Hearing the story in hindsight, of course I know that the boat didn't sink, that the Savior calmed the storm, and that everything turned out fine.  However, something in the way she asked the question made me think about it more in present tense--like if I was on the boat, would I think the boat was sinking?  Again, with hindsight, I understand who the Savior is, and that the boat was never in true danger, because the Savior was on the boat.  So it was easy for me to say "No.  That boat isn't sinking.  It's in a big storm, and the people on the boat are afraid it's going to sink, but Jesus is on that boat, so they're safe. And Jesus told the storm to stop, so it did."

 

After I explained it to her, I continued to think about how it must have felt to been on that boat and to wonder "Is the boat sinking?" That conclusion was easy for the Savior's followers to make in the very moments when they were on the boat and the waves were getting higher, and the storm was steadily worsening, and the boat was probably getting harder and harder to steer.  They hadn't seen all His miracles, they didn't understand that He'd conquer death by being resurrected, they didn't understand all the things He had tried to tell them about who He was.  So they truly feared for their lives, lacking the understanding that when the Savior is on the boat with us, we're in no real danger.  

And then I thought about me.  About the figurative boats I've been on, and when it's felt like I'm going to die, like that ship is going down and it's all going to be over for me shortly.  I might look like I have it all together, but anyone who knows what happens on the inside of me knows that I struggle, that I still get dreadfully overwhelmed, and that I have hopeless, intensely frustrated, doubting moments.  There have definitely been times in my life that I thought my figurative ship was going down.  Many of those moments happen when I have forgotten who the Savior really is, and what he's capable of.  And some of those moments were moments when I was probably in the wrong boat, not the one that the Savior is in--and those ships CAN go down.  But as long as I'm in the boat with the Savior, that boat is never sinking. 

So...in a nutshell, her question gave me the inspiration to pause and ask myself whether or not I'm in the boat with the Savior, and what do I need to do to make sure I'm in the right boat, and then what do I need to do to remember who He is and how His ship doesn't ever sink.  

Yes, I still miss him, especially today

So many things in life are cyclical.  The water cycle, the cycle of each year, the patterns of each day.  And because of those cycles, grief still occasionally slams into me and catches me off guard when I don't expect it.  I think grief is like that for many people, especially as certain holidays and traditions cycle around and the memories tied to those traditions are incredibly powerful, and sometimes so is the sadness from realizing that those memories are a thing of the past, not the present; there are no new ones to be created in this life.

Today would have been Gideon's first primary program.  For those of you who aren't familiar with what that means, in congregations of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (aka Mormons) each year the primary children (aged 3-11) prepare songs, scriptures, and short messages to share with the entire congregation in a special meeting.  They spend months preparing for it, learning songs and parts and today they sang, shared their parts, and brought such a beautiful spirit of humanity, life, and faith, and I loved it.  Today, as I heard the children singing "Families Can Be Together Forever", it hit me: the memories of singing that song just days after his death and the pain that I was feeling, the realization that Gideon would have been up there today doing his best to sing the songs and share his part, and the truth of the words "families can be together forever" and a gratitude that he's mine forever, but feeling that loss today and wishing he were here already.

It does get easier, I don't miss him as painfully now all the time as I used to.  Grief is something I have learned to live with and grown accustomed to.  I still think of him every day, but often the thoughts aren't as consuming and heavy as they used to be. 

Today was my reminder that as the cycle of the big holiday season approaches, it's a time of memories, and so it's a time where life can be painful for those who have reasons to miss someone.  It's a good reminder to me to be sensitive to other people, and also a reminder to treasure the chance I have to make memories with the loved ones I have here and now.  Since the beginning of this journey, I have been determined not to let the grief I feel over Gideon's death keep me from living a beautiful life full of other amazing memories with my loved ones and the children I do have here with me.  What an opportunity life gives me EVERY DAY to get to know and love others more deeply and to share time with them.  

Today, I really still missed Gideon, but I'm grateful that his short life continues to help me learn to appreciate my life more, and that I'm able to live mine more fully because of all I still am learning from missing my little boy.  As long as the grief continues, my learning and growing journey continues.

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.