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.