I am a mother who knows what I celebrate. Part 2

... Two Years Later.
In April I gave birth to a second perfect little girl. We named her Addy.  She was a happy baby that slept through the night from only a couple months old.  She reached every milestone- smiling, reaching for toys, sitting up, right on target. By mid-December she was learning to crawl.
The night of December 20, Jonathan was on travel, and I was getting us ready for a trip to Utah for Christmas.  Jonathan would be home in the afternoon and we would start driving.  I had the girls bathed, and in bed.  Suitcases packed and the house clean. The presents were all wrapped and carefully hidden in a large suitcase.  Just as I turned out all the lights - except the Christmas lights -and was going to head to bed, Addy woke up.  I picked her up, and she seemed wide awake, playful.  I was in an excited mood, and so I took her out by the tree and we played on the floor. She crawled back and forth to me.  After a while, I decided I should try to get her back to sleep, so I nursed her.  She was still awake, so I sang to her, nearly every Christmas carol I knew, by then she was still awake, but calm, so I laid her in her bed, and went to mine.  

The next morning 2 year old Kate woke me up.  I fed her breakfast and then went quietly into the girls room to get her clothes.  As I peeked in the crib, I was  --- there are no words for what I was --- my baby was dead.  Even now my body goes numb, and my mind blank, as I try to remember that moment.  

My life was eternally altered.  I was carried by the Lord through the next hours, days, weeks and months.  Eventually, the Lord set me gently back on my own two feet, and I had to really confront all of my emotions, thoughts, fears, and hopes.  I had to know what I really believed, about heaven and eternal families, yes.  But I had to know the details, what was my Addy doing as a Spirit.  What would it be like when I met her again? Would she be grown or back to her infant body? Had she died because of something I had done or was it really God's will and timing?    I began a quest for knowledge.  For Truth.  When my yearning eased, the pain of missing my baby came back - a physical aching in my arms to hold her, and in my chest - my heart.  I learned that to ease the pain I had to return to my quest for understanding.   

Through study, prayer, and personal revelation and more study my questions were answered.  I learned that I had to accept God's will.  Trust that his plan was for my happiness.  I had to forgive myself and God.  I had to get to the place where like our Savior, I could say, "Not my will, but Thine be done."  I cycled in and out of faith and hope, and despair and depression.  But always, a tiny thread at a time, my testimony was growing, and God was teaching me.

Once I learned, and really knew in my heart, that my child was in heaven, and I could have her back so long as I qualified for heaven, my quest changed.  How was I going to be sure and make it to Heaven?  I have so many weaknesses.  Make so many mistakes.  Like Nephi my spirit rejoices, but my flesh is weak.  Why do I wallow in depression when I know the truth of the Gospel?

I had to purge out all iniquity from myself and my home - that was the only way I could get my daughter back, or rather, qualify to go where she is someday.

Along my quest, I began to look at Traditions.  I found that I did have some false traditions.  Some traditions that were not serving to bring me to Christ.  I want everything to bring me to Christ.  As a mortal, I need all the help I can get.    How could I change tradition?  Its very nature and definition mean it is part of our culture, ingrained in us.  I had some more painful learning experiences ahead.

To be continued...

I am a mother who knows what I celebrate. Part 1

I celebrate the birth, life, mission, atonement and Resurrection of Jesus Christ.  I talk of Christ, rejoice in Christ, and write of Christ that my children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins, for healing from pain, for strength beyond their own, for guidance and truth, for happiness and hope.

Several years ago, I started down a road of questioning all of my traditions.  There are many verses throughout the Book of Mormon that talk about the "false traditions of our fathers."  I wondered if I had any false traditions from my childhood, that I was passing on to my children.  I started looking at holidays and the traditions around those holidays.

What I learned took me on a journey and changed how I celebrate Christmas.


My mother made Christmas truly magical.  There were 10 children in our family, so our house was always bustling, and there were always children young enough to get into the magic.  It took 3 full days of hard work to clean the house and put up the decorations, right after Thanksgiving. All the regular wall decor,  and knicknacks were wrapped up into boxes and in there place we put snowmen, Santa Clauses, elves, reindeer, holly boughs, tinsel, ginger bread houses, mistletoe and of course a nativity.  The pink and blue hand towels were replaced with red and green.  There were Christmas lights, in some form or another in every room of the house.  A beautiful, real Christmas tree upstairs, and a fun one the children could decorate downstairs.   Most of December you could hear Mannheim Steamroller and Johnny Mathis' Christmas Album playing, you could smell the sweet spicyness of wasail in the crockpot, ready when you got home from school, or came in from the cold.   And I'm sure there was always a foot of snow ;-)

Every night we would read a different Christmas story.  The first one was The Last Straw.  It was just on plain typed paper, long before the beautiful picture book was published.  Then we would draw names for Pixies.  That was who we got to secretly serve that week.  And each week before Christmas we drew a new name.  I loved this tradition and always liked to make a big deal of doing something for my person every day.  I also would anxiously look on my bed for love notes, and treats from my pixie.  I remember one year there was a week when my pixie didn't come - the first day, nor the second, nor the third.  I was getting very disappointed. Being young, I think I let that disappointment show to my siblings, in hope that my pixie would get on the ball, I also tried all the harder to be an excellent pixie myself, doing a chore and leaving a love note.  Maybe an after school treat, too. 
Finally, on Friday I came home, with the faintest hope.  Before going inside to look though, I went out to the woodshed to check on a new batch of kittens, - our cats always belonged to me, and I loved to play with new kittens.  As I looked in the shed, the first thing I saw was a streak of red on one of the little white and grey fluffballs.  My first thought was "Oh no, somehow she has been hurt."  But as I lifted her out of the shed, I saw that it was a red ribbon tied around her neck. Attached was a piece of paper with "2. Look where you wash clothes."  It was in my oldest, teenage brother's handwriting. (We almost always figured out who our pixie was, but we never let on.)   This was a piece to a treasure hunt.  That was always considered the ultimate gift a pixie could do. It extended the surprise to the maximum.  I was ecstatic, as I ran into the laundry room and searched for the next clue.  I went around gathering the clues one by one, all around the house, until I was led to the microwave where a cup of hot chocolate and some cookies were waiting for me.  I enjoyed it, although I felt bad for having complained about a slacker pixie.  Really I had the best one!  And after I ate my treat, I had the fun of looking for the first clue.  The fun lasted even longer.

I remember writing Santa letters and giving them to Mom.  One year, I got to wondering, though. I remember writing a different letter to Santa, putting it in an envelope and mailing it off.  However, I never was sure if I had the right address, and therefore, I always believed my test had not really been valid.  Just because I got what I had put on the list I handed to Mom, didn't mean Santa wasn't real.  It just meant she had the right way of getting it to Santa, and I didn't.  I have often been told I am a little too trusting!  

I remember Christmas Eve driving home from our cousins house, and watching the sky, hoping I might see Santa's sleigh.  I had a very real belief.  I remember my Grandma Wood telling me a story of seeing Santa one Christmas Eve night when she was a little girl.

My mom had a little bendable rubber elf.  He moved around our house to random places on a shelf, or end table, or the bathroom counter.  He was Santa's special messenger.  He was always watching to see "who was naughty or nice."  My mom was way ahead of the now popular "Elf on the Shelf"  My mother could have written the book on how to make Christmas magical.

Now jump ahead several years to my first Christmas with my husband.  You will probably laugh at this.  But I actually, was very sad and disappointed that I had to acknowledge that Santa wasn't real, and the only presents I would get from him would have to be put under the tree myself. I believe they call this the disease of Entitlement, that my spoiled generation is so prone to.  I had been taught well enough to not act on those emotions of selfishness, but I cannot deny that I grappled with them.

The next year, I had a baby.  Oh excitement!  I could start trying to be the amazing mother, I had been shown.  I delved into the world of making Christmas magical.  We were on a college student budget mind you, and I had a husband wise enough to have taught me about interest - that we want to earn it, and not pay it, and therefore we must not spend that which we did not have.  So I had to be creative and resourceful, but Christmas would be celebrated and magical nonetheless.

Then, two years later, my life changed forever.  Something happened that made me start to question everything in my life.  I had to know what was real, what was truth.  I had to start living more completely according to that truth.

Continued tomorrow...

I am a mother who knows how to grow sweet potatoes!

Last February I found an old sweet potato in the bottom drawer of my fridge.  I love sweet potatoes.  And of course, I love growing real food, so I decided to try sprouting it.  I had nearly given up on it, when about 2 months later we started to get a tiny bud near the top.  So I held on, with new faith.  The bud grew bigger and formed a leaf, and eventually a second bud appeared.  I was ecstatic.  By May we had two nice sized slips growing out of our sweet potato.  I broke one off and planted it in a pot, and planted the other in a pot with the potato still attached.  The one on its own did better, but they both grew.  By mid-June it was warm enough to plant them, and they slowly and steadily grew...  Fall came, life was hectic, and we did not harvest so much of what we had planted . We nearly forgot the sweet potatoes.  A couple days ago, yes, in December, Jonathan and I went out with a spade and here is what we dug up. We are so excited to eat them!

Gardening and Permaculture have taught me about patience, and miracles.  Mostly, they have taught me that the best outcomes in life we can't force.  We do our part - which is small, and God does the rest.

I am a mother who knows

My blog theme comes from a Book of Mormon story:

There were a group of people who had been wicked and "bloodthirsty."  They were converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ, and took an oath to never use weapons of war again.  As a symbol of their covenant they dug a huge pit and buried all of their weapons.  Many years later these people were living in the protection of other believers in Christ.  Enemies were coming against them and they were supporting the war efforts by providing food for those who were fighting, people who did not have the same history and had not taken such an oath.  But they felt terribly the burden they were to those who were fighting in their defense.  It was then noted that their young sons had not taken the oath, and could go to war in defense of their families and freedom.  They were put in the charge of Helaman, and he called them his sons.  They fought in several battles and though all recieved injuries, not one was killed.  Here are some of Helaman's words describing them:

"Now they never had fought, yet they did not fear death; and they did think more upon the liberty of their fathers than they did upon their lives; yea, they had been taught by their mothers, that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them.  And they rehearsed unto me the words of their mothers, saying: We do not doubt our mothers knew it." Alma 56:47-48

I love their mother's faith.  I love the hope that is shown by a people who had once been guilty of serious sin, but through repentance they had full faith and hope of the Lord blessing them. Sometimes I think that because of our bad choices, or negative past,  the consequence is that our children will inevitably have to suffer because of our weakness or sin.  Yes, their sons did have to go to war, and did receive battle wounds, but the Lord also had miracles in store that would strengthen their faith and prove his mercy to them because they had repented.  Therefore, I can have hope that as we strive to come unto Christ, our children will also be strengthened and the Lord will provide them with the experiences they need, to overcome whatever negative baggage they have picked up from us.

As a mother, I know that God will answer our prayers, if we do not doubt. 

I am a mother who knows my role is Glorious.

There is no more influential role in all of mortality than that of a mother.  We have a glorious position of importance and power, as we join with God to bring a new life to this earth.  Then we nurture and guide and help to shape him, so that he might grow safely and strongly into his own role and mission. There is no other role that has more influence on another person's life.
In this world of mortals, with Satan trying to be the God, there is often a feeling that because it is such a hard role - much toil, and labor, and day after day of working at the seemingly same tasks, and because there are no accolades in it, that it is a poor choice, a drudge job, for one who is less qualified for some other more exciting vocation.  This is not true.

Motherhood is a job that requires of, and builds in the woman more skill, knowledge, character, and virtue than any other choice she has.  It is not easy. It does not bring fame or fortune.  It involves pain and hardship from the beginning of pregnancy, throughout life as we watch and feel their heartaches, mistakes, and struggles.  It is a mostly thankless job, if you are looking for cheering crowds, you will be disappointed.

But it is Glorious.

It is how you get to use every ounce of your capacity and talent and wisdom, as you creatively seek for ways to teach, love, heal, help, guide, inspire, feed, educate, build, praise, counsel, correct, nurture, discipline, and grow your child.  There is much joy and satisfaction to be found, despite the toil, as we ask God what he needs us to do for our child each day.  There is always a new challenge to engage our minds and hearts as we strive to teach the next principle our child must learn, to find his own happiness in life.

In the song, Glorious, it talks about everyone playing a part in the symphony of life.  Motherhood is the bass line.  It is the low undertones of the music.  It is hardly noticed compared to the melody.  But it is an essential, powerful, steady part of any symphony.  It is what sets a foundation for melodies and harmonies to ring out on.

I am a mother who knows how to say "I'm Sorry"

Mortality is about practicing.  Everyday I try to live as Jesus would.  Everyday I make some mistakes.  Some days I do something really wrong.  And I feel aweful.  But I can say that the trend if I were charting my progress is definitely moving upward toward living who I want to be - who God wants me to be.

Today I made a big mistake.  I "blew up" as Wyatt, my 9 year old said it.  I lost a battle with Satan.  In hind sight I can see where the little thoughts started coming in.  "This is not going how I planned."  "I'm never going to get my list done."  "I should be getting more help from ____ and  ____ and ____."  "Why is my baby so fussy today.  It is not possible to both love the little ones and teach the older ones to work, and get all the work done."  "Jonathan said he would be home a half hour ago.  Where is he?"  They are just common thoughts of busy motherhood.  But they each have a negative connotation.  They are lacking hope, and trust in God's plan for me.  They are lacking patience and certainly joy.  

That is how Satan works with me.  Subtly.  Nothing so strikingly wrong that I stop and throw it out right then.  But those little thoughts spill into emotions,  I started to become short, unpleasant in my interactions.  Then one more straw...  Today it was two of my children arguing with each other.  I joined in the fight in a most ridiculous way.  I came storming in and yelled at them, and told them if they were going to yell they had to go outside.  

I immediately recognized the absurdity of what I was saying, and because I felt terrible for my behavior, it came out as miserable, which equates to more sharp words as I tried to justify myself by explaining why they were in the wrong.  I hate this ridiculous mortal tendency.  I always want to prove I wasn't so bad, so I go on doing bad.

After giving myself 3 time-outs.  One outside - my just punishment for yelling in the house.  Then one in my room as I rocked my baby to sleep. - That is a very soothing, and calming ritual - what a blessing to me.  My third timeout was sitting on the couch downstairs in deep thought, going over the day and all that led up to my losing  the battle with Satan.  This is called a lost battle analysis and it helps me to prepare differently so that I can win the next battle.

Finally, I was ready to apologize.  To each child individually, then to my Father in Heaven, with my family gathered around me.  I pleaded for the Holy Spirit to come back into our home, that we could feel love and enjoy the remainder of the day, and I acknowledged that it was my fault that a contentious spirit - one of Satan's had entered our home.

Heavenly Father answered that prayer abundantly.  We were a close and happy family the rest of today.

I am a mother who knows how to stay in love.

Friday Night Dates!  I learned this from my parents.  For as long as I can remember they have always had a Friday night date, so when I married Jonathan, I expected one too.
I am so grateful for this tradition.  Each week I look forward to time with my husband, away from the children.  Actually, for many years we had our dates at home after the children were in bed. We would only occaisionally splurge on paying a babysitter.  Now that we have children old enough to babysit, dates are blissful.  They refill my tank, and strengthen my relationship with Jonathan.
Sometimes, people ask me, well what do you do?  Usually we spend most of the time talking, about hopes, dreams, struggles, children, the future,  the past, the gospel of Jesus Christ.  We do this while, driving, eating dinner, going on a walk or hike, or just sitting in our room.  Sometimes we have read a book together - good fiction, or taken on a project like building an RC airplane, or taking a class - most recently a permaculture design course.  The temple is always a good choice.
Tonight we started our date with Crossfit, went and bought chicken and a green drink, drove and talked for a while, and ended up at the temple.  We got out and walked around that beautiful place, and thoroughly enjoyed each others company.  The Spirit was strongly with us.  It was a beautiful night.