Last week in Oklahoma City, our family stopped to play at Kite Park in the exclusive Nickel Hills. The homes that surrounded the park were gorgeous-- old wealth, like the area that surrounds SMU in Dallas. We had the park to ourselves. After just a short time, an early afternoon fog came over me. Greg was playing hard, relieving me of mandatory parenting, so I took Holden's "soft blanket", found a park bench, turned my face to a nice sunbeam, and took a nap.
I woke up to bustle.
After I had shaken the sleep out of my bones and stretched the crick from my neck, I surveyed the landscape. A Shirley Temple-ish Darling was bouncing around in her pink sundress and sparkly, silver flip-flops. Her grandmother, who could have walked right out of a charity dinner or off of the social page of the newspaper, shadowed "Shirley's" footsteps. Then I noticed that minivans were arriving filled with sporty mothers and their national-average 1.2 parochial children in blue pleated skirts and pure white tops and tights. They were so incredibly cute, and reminded me of the orderly march of Madeline and her French school-mates. The sandbox was hosting several beautiful, polished ladies and their clean-faced, toe-headed boys in overalls. These moms were energy, embodied and jogged after their pre-schoolers to play along side.
All of a sudden I felt disheveled. I worked at agitating the serious case of hair lift that I had from sleeping on a Socker Bopper. I folded up my four year old's woobie that had been covering me and emerged into this upscale world trying not to look too shabby and homeless. These were impressive, confident ladies. Eventually, I had a nice conversation with a part-time lawyer and mother of almost two. As she played in the sand, I pushed Holden and Trenton on the swings:
"So how many kids do you have?"
With a no-big-deal shrug of my shoulders."Just six." Nonchalant, I thought.
"Are you serious? No way. Six?" And as soon as she had picked herself off the ground, "How many of them are boys?"
"All of them."
Slowly, with each word emphasized, "How do you do that?"
Trying to forget that I was not wearing swanky exercise clothes, and trying to pretend we had everything in common, I smiled and explained, "Just like you are doing it. One at a time."
Then, prophets and experts words, who are smarter and more inspired then me, starting falling out of my mouth as if they were my own. "I think that as you persist, you are magnified and your capability really is increased. (Thank you, Elder Packer) Also, they do grow up. When they come to you all new and fresh as babies they rely on you for everything. But they grow and develop and can do more and more for themselves, and they become so helpful. (Then Dr Lund from BYU) I have learned (on BYU-TV, thank you) that the secret of parenting is to always be aware of a child's abilities and maturity. Then your job as a mother is to gradually transfer responsibility for their living back to them until they are fully independent."
She shook her head in agreement with a look in her eye that seemed to say, "I'm still thinking about what you just said." Soon, mothering called and she was gone.
And do you know what surprising thing happened next? I sat back on my bed, I mean, the park bench, and felt a bit discouraged. And Greg sat next to me and he listened as I unraveled my head. There I was talking big and confident, like I was some kind of parenting mentor, but at that moment I felt so itty, bitty, tiny small. Those women seemed to have it all-- They enjoyed grandparents close and involved with their childrens' daily care. They had education and careers. They had nice figures, and nice clothes, and nice haircuts. The kids were happy, and adjusted, and spic-and-span cute and stylish. The ladies seemed to have energy for play and focus on their one little one. They lived in this beautiful neighborhood and I imagined they had housekeepers making immaculate homes.
All of a sudden I felt like a mother in disrepair. In this moment of unproductive thinking, I wondered if I was really doing anyone any favors by my full-time commitment to family and home. I remembered the first day-care sponsored Halloween party that Ryan and Jaron attended where they had no idea how to stand in or on a line-- they were free-willy, carefree, and clueless to this kind of order. A little embarrassed, I wondered if my "mother's preschool" wasn't all that it needed to be. There on the park bench, I had this same kind of feeling and I asked outloud, "Life for these ladies seem so great, they seem to be making positive contributions in so many places. They are cute and peppy and have so much energy for their kids, and the kids seem to be just great, too. Here I sit, so tired and worn. Frumpy and threadbare. Shabby and out of shape."
Greg offered, "No one does it all, Val."
The talk was over, but I wasn't through thinking about it. And resolution did not come for two more days. But then------
I came home. Home to my castle.
The yard looked so lovely with Spring popping out. And I remembered that I had planned and planted all of those things that were now coming alive again-- Me. I had created this thing of beauty (to quote my mother). I felt so satisfied.
The inside of our home looked so beautiful to me, and it smelled good and was tidy. And I remembered that I had cleaned in order to leave it that way. All by myself. And I felt so productive and organized.
I walked around each room and was reminded of the wonderful way that Greg provides for our family. And I remembered that this charmed life that I have is more dreamy than I ever invented and envisioned as a moonstruck teen. And I felt so grateful.
Then I put on my shoes and excused myself and I walked down four houses for a talk with my friend. And I remembered how nice it is to have time to do so. And I had a little skip in my step and felt energized.
We talked long about mothering and parenting. And I remembered how wonderful it is to be deep into this very important occupation. And I felt satisfied that I was making a contribution. And I came home and liked the kids very much.
You know, it's really funny-- In my post "Brain Health" on February 27th, 2010, I packaged up all my passion and stood on my mountain about the satisfaction that I felt as a mother and full-time homemaker. Greg read it and said I sounded "defensive". I didn't feel defensive, I was just having a grateful day of feeling fulfilled in my choices. That said, it does seem ironic to me that after that diatribe, that really did come with sincerity from my heart, I would have these feelings on the opposite end of the spectrum-- polar opposites. That disconnect leads me to the conclusion that nature must love equilibrium and bringing things into balance. It seems to me that there is a pattern with me-- When I take a brave stand, counteracting thoughts or experiences follow quickly. I'm not sure whether this antagonism is to humble me, or if it is to make sure that I REALLY believe what I am standing for. Either way it doesn't really matter. Both occur-- humility (eek) and a careful rethink.
And rethink on this one I did. And what I found was a renewed appreciation for the busy, devoted, wonderful women who play in both worlds, AND I found thanksgiving, reward, fulfillment, and happiness in my own choices.
(I also learned not to nap in ritzy parks with your face to a sunbeam. Not only do you wake up feeling funny, you also get a sunburn.)
President Stout talked in the adult session of Stake Conference Saturday night about having faith like that of the Brother of Jared. As he retold this story from Ether 1-3, what I heard was a powerful "type" (or a story full of symbolic representation) of my experience as a parent and the exercise of faith in my efforts there. Stay with me....
The story tells of the Brother of Jared and his extended family who pleaded with the Lord to spare them of language confounding at the time of the Tower of Babel. In order to honor that request the Lord provided a way for the family to leave and go to a land of refuge-- a promised land. To do so they needed boats. God told them, "...Go to work and build..." barges. And even though these men were not shipbuilders, they "did go to work...according to the instructions of the Lord", and they built vessels to take them across the oceans.
During the process of building, the Brother of Jared became concerned about some details of the float trip and worried about perishing: "O Lord, in them there is no light...", "whither shall we steer", and "...for in them we cannot breathe..." And while God was willing to solve two of the problems, (promising that He would be their navigation system "...I will bring you...", and teaching them to make a little hole on the top and bottom that could be stopped up or unstopped for air) He left the Brother of Jared to figure out the light issue on his own.
The Brother of Jared went to the tall, tall mountain Shelem and worked very hard on a solution to the dilemma of light. He moltened sixteen small stones out of rock. Then, he worked them until they were "white and clear" like "transparent glass". After all of the hard work, he prayed: "Oh, Lord, that thou hast all power, and can do whatsoever thou wilt for the benefit of man; therefore touch these stones, O Lord, with thy finger, and prepare them that they may shine forth in darkness."
And in answer to that prayer of faith, "...behold, the Lord stretched forth His hand and touched the stones one by one with His finger." The stones were made bright with God's light.
So, while President Stout was telling the story of the Brother of Jared, I heard the story of me. Here I am with this seemingly awesome responsibility of parenting these six boys, but I am not a shipbulder. I mean, I have never been a parent before. It is all uncharted territory for me. And like the Brother of Jared, it seems to require all of my physical, emotional and spiritual energies. How do I know what to do to build this family into a barge that can cross perilous waters? The story tells me to follow the instructions of the Lord (through scripture and His prophets).
There are times (a lot) when I see the inadequacies of my work (where's the light, the navigation system and the air?) Sometimes the Lord provides me wonderful answers and revelation, but most of the time I have to hike to Mount Shelem and get to work. Hard work. And creativity and resolve and consecration of the best of what I have. All of this work is the action part of faith. We need to be doers (James), planters (Alma 32), harvesters (D&C 4), and laborers (Jacob 5). But we also must remember that after all that we can do, it is by grace that we are saved. (2 Nephi 25:23)
It is our duty to present to God our best efforts, no matter how feeble they may seem, and then believe that He can touch them with His finger and make our sweat and toil shiny and bright and sea-worthy and sacred and enough. We must work and consecrate our time and energy to the development of our children and then symbolically present them to the Savior and pray, "I have done everything in my capacity, now please touch them and make them light." Faith is our personal action and obedience coupled with trust in the omniscience and omnipotence and perfect love of the Savior of the world. He can make shiny stones from our gathered rock.
We might ask why the Lord required that the Brother of Jared work so hard at the milling and purifying of those stones in advance of Christ's touch? An amazing answer was given in that Stake Conference meeting, "God wanted the Brother of Jared to participate in the miracle." Why must we work and labor? So that we feel part of the amazing results of God's great power and generosity. He can make our widow's mite bountiful.
I am going to see the work part of my mothering differently now-- it is a consecrated offering of faith in action so that I can approach the Lord with confidence that I have done all that I can do.
I am going to pray differently now-- "Please touch my efforts with Thy mercy and grace and power, and make them into bright light. Please finish my striving and industry, and work a heavenly miracle."
(Painting by Arnold Friberg)
When I jumped into bed last Wednesday night, I worked at a list to fill my Thursday full of productive things. In the midst of scribbling cleaning projects and family history plans, I had a idea jump into my mind that felt all warm and right, "Tomorrow belongs to the boys."
That idea kind of caught me off guard, and as I thought of how that might be executed, I got all nostalgic for times past. I recalled a time when the kids were younger (and there were less of them) that I had a goal for myself and each child, each day: Read a book, have a talk and play a game. Sometimes I would plunk them up on the counter top and clip their fingernails so that I was looking them straight into the eyes and that proximity assured a conversation. We read a lot of fiction chapter books or biographies of famous people at night as they drifted to sleep. While babies napped, the bigger ones and I would lay on our tummies and do puzzles on the floor. These memories made me so grateful for the kids and the wonderful things we've shared. The memories also made me happy to think about what the next day could bring with my focus on having nice quality experiences with each child.
As fortune played, Trenton had a little fever and sore throat so stayed home from school. We needed milk, so He, Holden and I did a Walmart run. I loved having these little companions on my shopping trip and on this one I tried to listen intently to all that they had to say. We slowed down and visited the toy section and Pokemon card aisle.When we got home, I wrapped Trenton in a blanket and swaddled him like a little baby. He is still so affectionate and cozy and let me hold him and talk to him that way for a long time.
Trenton-- check.
That afternoon while the sun was shining, Holden and I went on a walk at three year old speed. He had so many cute observations and cute things to say. We saw a dog. "We don't have any dogs or sisters." We learned about buds and springtime. "That sidewalk is all broken." We stopped and were quiet so that we could hear the birds. We saw a curb drainage hole. "That's where cats live. I knowed that Uncle Rico (Johnston's cat) go'ed inside there last day." We visited the Conover's swings.
Holden-- check.
Ryan missed his ride home from school and called for me to come to high school and pick him up. On the way home in rush hour he talked all about the book he just finished to meet a nonfiction requirement in English. He read, "Under the Banner of Heaven" about the Lafferty Brothers and the FLDS way of thinking. (ugh. This would not have been my choice for him in non-fiction) He mused on why, as an agnostic/atheist, Krakauer wasn't a credible source for a study of religion. Then he expounded his conclusions from the book. "This is the most telling thing, Mom. Here. I underlined it." Then he read about the faithful, gentle, loving, providing, capable, LDS husband who, when he embraced the FLDS ways, became an abusive, lazy, harsh, murderous man. And Ryan glanced at me with a conclusive look in his eyes as if to say, "That man's change of behavior is the proof." He learned something big. And he shared it with me.
Ryan-- check.
I imposed on Jaron as he worked on his new acoustic guitar in his bedroom. I laid on Ryan's bed and listened to his chording of "Daisy" by Switchfoot. It was really, really good. Then he played me the song from his iPod, and I was impressed at his sound. Then he played his guitar with Switchfoot on his iPod and I was VERY impressed. Slides, and hand changes, and plucking all the strings, and then just a few strings. Amazing. And he is picking this up all by himself by reading guitar music. He showed me an iTouch application that tunes the guitar strings into any key and lets you pluck chords by touching the screen. So cool. I spent a happy half hour asking questions and listening to him talk about this new passion, and it was very rewarding.
Jaron-- check.
Then I went in search of Jamison and found him playing basketball with McKay in the backyard. Great. Two birds with one stone. I picked up a ball and we played P-I-G several times. That Jamison is quite a shot and required McKay and I to shoot hoops from on the top the rock wall, from the deck and from beyond three point range. Truth be told, he crushed us, but it was sure fun. McKay was such a card. Every time he chose the shot it was ten feet out, "With one hand", or "with two divided by two hands", or "with three minus two hands". Always the same. He and I had a Globetrotter passing ritual before my shots and we smiled and laughed a lot. I taught them the granny-shot. It was so nice to stop and play.
Jamison-- check. McKay-- check.
To have this mission made it such a fun, satisfying day. The experience made me stop and wonder why I had to be reminded to focus like this? Shouldn't it be instinctual, or happen more naturally, for individual interactions with the kids to be the day's real target? Nevertheless, the lesson was learned again-- it is really so important that I work at quality one on one interactions with the kids on a daily basis.
Last week in Oklahoma City, our family stopped to play at Kite Park in the exclusive Nickel Hills. The homes that surrounded the park were gorgeous-- old wealth, like the area that surrounds SMU in Dallas. We had the park to ourselves. After just a short time, an early afternoon fog came over me. Greg was playing hard, relieving me of mandatory parenting, so I took Holden's "soft blanket", found a park bench, turned my face to a nice sunbeam, and took a nap.
