Reflections on My Due Date

My due date came and went three days ago, and I am still pregnant, large, and not-really-in-charge. And I've been doing a lot of reflecting on life.

I should probably preface my next sentiment by saying that there are scads of women in this world who I am sure have harder pregnancies than mine. Yes, I feel pretty darn lousy for a few months in the beginning, but I almost never throw up. Yes, I experience lots of other aches and pains throughout the nine months, but I am sure there are lots of women whose experiences are worse than mine. So the last few weeks whenever I have started to think I was a little bit miserable (such as when the kids and I came down with bad colds at 37-1/2 weeks along), I have reminded myself that I chose this because I think our children are worth it. They are. And that little thought always pulls me out of my pity party in a hurry.

I wish I always felt so cheery about life's challenges. But the fact is that some miseries in life aren't our choice and never would be. Sometimes life presents true anguish and heartache. Some hard times don't have a silver lining like a beautiful new baby to snuggle. That was certainly how my cancer felt for a few years.

Recently we attended the wedding of Cameron's brother, where we enjoyed seeing and catching up with lots of relatives who we don't see often enough. Among them were Cameron's aunt and uncle who opened their home and took such good care of us when we had to go to California for my cancer treatment. During one conversation we had with them, Cameron's uncle recalled the terrible trauma of my cancer experience. I responded with something like the following:

"When I look back now, I don't remember the trauma much anymore. I see the miracles and blessings and how much I've learned. I think any trial can become a blessing if we let it."

Of course, getting to this place of peace was no easy road. But as I look back through the last few years, I see how God put the right people and experiences in my path to bring me healing. And I know that I am safe in His hands.

"Behold, I have graven thee upon palms of my hands..." Isaiah 49:16

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We do not know what the future holds. But we know who holds the future. 

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"The center of His will is our only safety" --The Hiding Place

I do not know all the reasons why I got to have cancer. But I know if I walk with God, He will show me. And I will marvel at His plan.

I do not know when my baby will come. But I know we are both in His hands. And though I may be tired and huge, being in His hands is still the best place to be.

Making It All Better

Sometimes as mothers we desperately wish we could make everything all better for our kids, don't we? We want to provide them a nice, smooth path with no bumps, weeds, or bruises. And when something goes wrong, we want to do anything we can to fix it. I had one of those moments recently. Grace's finger had been caught in the screen door, and I could immediately tell from her cry that something was both different and wrong. I rocked her in our rocking chair, prayed, sang, kissed her finger over and over, and did everything I could think of to soothe her. And I thought about how life will present her with oh so many owies through the years that I will be powerless to heal.

I also thought of a day last summer when a sweet, well-meaning woman at church inquired after my health. Referencing my cancer, she looked carefully at my eyes and noted how similar they are even though one is plastic. "You would never know the difference, would you?" she asked. I wanted to tell her that I can tell a difference every time I look in the mirror, but I am slowly learning to bite my tongue. For a while afterwards the comment grated on me, and I finally realized why. So often people want to tell me that my eyes look exactly the same, and to me the message is, "Isn't this great? You had cancer and lost an eye but nothing has changed. Everything is all better now." They want to make my cancer all better. But I don't want them to. My cancer changed me forever, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

Because of my cancer I am much more personally acquainted with sudden, acute trauma. I know what it feels like to be told I have a life-threatening illness. I know what it is to worry if I will live to raise my children or wonder if it is safe to have more. I know what it feels like to look different, to have people stare and point. I know what it feels like to be afraid to go out in public and have people treat me like I’m handicapped. I know how awkward it feels to run into old friends who are afraid to talk about why I’m wearing an eye patch. I know how incredibly alone you can feel after a major loss when people don’t know what to say or do so they don’t say or do anything at all.

Now I know what all of these things feel like. And I hope I know in some small way how to better love and reach others who are hurting. I don't want anyone to make my cancer all better. That healing ultimately lies in the hands of my Savior, and He does an amazing job of providing the experiences I need to heal spiritually and emotionally from the trauma of my cancer.

In the same way, as much as I want to protect my kids and make everything all better, that really isn't my job. Its His. My job is to lead them to Him, let them feel His love, and know that in the end, no matter how many thorns and weeds are on the path, Jesus Christ will make it all better.

Luxury Bathrooms and Life Lessons

We recently finished re-doing our master bathroom. Last summer Cameron found some water damage and gutted the whole room. I should have taken some pictures, but if you can just imagine a room without a floor and with only some of the walls left intact, you'll pretty much have it. The last several months we talked to plumbers and shopped for fixtures and parts. And boy is it nice to have a bathroom again.

We got a luxury two-person tub on clearance.

And we finally have the dual shower heads we've always wanted.

Of course, pregnancies spent working on home renovation projects remind me of June 4, 2009, when Cameron spent the evening hammering baseboards into the playroom we were building. We were so excited for our second baby, who was due the next month, and we couldn't wait to watch our kids play together. The next day I walked into a doctor's office and was diagnosed with cancer. Quite suddenly finishing the playroom didn't matter. Purchasing the last couple baby items didn't matter. Eating didn't matter--I had no appetite. All that mattered was our marriage--our covenants with God and each other. All that I cared about was whether I would live to raise my children.

Months later as we started trying to regroup and crawl away from the trauma that encompassed that summer, we talked about what we had learned from my cancer, and we formulated what we now refer to as the cancer test. In the midst of my cancer all that mattered was our faith and our family. Life is so easily filled with things of no worth. Now when we make decisions, we hold our options up to the cancer test. If choices don't bring us closer to each other or to Jesus Christ, there's an excellent chance they aren't worth our time and money.

I think of the cancer test as I look at our bathroom now. If a fancy tub and shower gives me and Cameron a few extra minutes together, that time is precious to us. And if our three little monkeys all want to splash together in Mom and Dad's huge new tub or use it for their "cave" the answer is always yes.

Bathrooms come and bathrooms go, but families are forever. Thank goodness.

Beauty for Ashes

For years I have loved this section from Isaiah 61.

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the broken hearted, to proclaim liberty unto the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound;...to comfort all that mourn; to appoint unto them that mourn in Zion beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.

I remember reading it, among other scriptures, to Cameron hours after my cancer was diagnosed. Even in the midst of such incredible trauma, I had perfect faith that Christ could and would one day turn our grief into joy. That is why we rejoice every day, but especially at Easter. He knows us, He knows what we need, and His plan is perfect. No matter what happens to us, He can turn it for our good.

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God~Romans 8:28

As the months following my cancer and eye removal crawled slowly past, I would look mournfully at old pictures and think, "I used to have two eyes."

My heart was broken. I knew that Christ heals broken hearts. But I wasn't quite sure how He would do that for me in this instance.

And then, just as the sunrise peeks slowly over the horizon, hope and joy crept into my heart as the first Easter following my cancer approached. I realized in a brand new way that the joy of that first Easter morning was in the news that He had risen. And because He did, each of us will, too. And when I do, I will have two eyes again.

Up to that point in my conversion I had rejoiced in the Savior's ability to redeem me from my sins, heartaches, sorrows, and disappointments. Suddenly, I was rejoicing in Christ's gift of resurrection. He lives and one day each of us will, too.

He is risen!

Planning a Christ-Centered Easter

I've mentioned before that I am a holiday worrier and I am passionate about building worthwhile family traditions. Apparently I've been working to perfect this trait for a long time. Many years ago, long before Cameron or any of our kids were in my life, I found this book at a book store and snatched it up in a heartbeat.

It is a useful little book full of ideas for keeping Easter centered on Christ. Don't get me wrong--I think dying Easter eggs is fun, and I enjoy Cadbury and Russell Stover. But I want our kids to understand that we rejoice at Easter because of Jesus Christ, not chocolate.

Our Easter traditions are in a constant state of evolution. As a general rule, we enjoy spending the week leading up to Easter focusing on what Christ did each day in the week before the first Easter. Cameron and I brainstormed and mapped out a rough plan a couple weeks ago. Then we held a little family council with the kids where we chose an Easter song from the Children's Songbook that we want to learn over the next couple of weeks. Our goal is to practice the song each night as part of our family scripture study. Then for the week of Easter here is our plan:

On Palm Sunday (the Sunday before Easter), we always re-enact Christ's triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Cameron is always the donkey, and each child takes a turn riding on him while the rest of us wave "palm branches" (usually green towels) and shout Hosanna. We like to explain the story to the kids, and I am especially fond of the version in Luke 19--I love talking to the kids about how the stones would have cried out in joy at Christ's arrival.

On Monday we discuss how Christ cleansed the temple. I love the version from Matthew 21. We can explain to the kids that after the temple was cleansed, Christ healed the blind and the lame (see verse 14). Similarly, we can serve Christ better when we are clean and worthy.

On Tuesday we like to choose a couple of the teachings or parables that Jesus shared on the Tuesday before Easter. This year Cameron and I are choosing to focus on Matthew 22: 36-40 where Christ shares the commandments to love God and love our fellow man. We'll be discussing with the kids specific ways that our choices can demonstrate our love for God and others.

On Wednesday we're going to be talking to the kids about Judas and his tragic choice to sell Christ. We will prepare a couple little examples of choices we might make to "sell Christ"--little everyday decisions we might make that aren't what He would want. We'll be doing some role playing and re-enacting to bring it all down to our kids' level.

On Thursday evening we would usually be having our Passover dinner. But alas, this year Cameron's mom offered to take the kids for a night so we could have a little getaway. It so happened that this was the only night that fit in our crazy school/pregnancy/kids schedule any time in the next three months, so we jumped on it. So Thursday evening this year we will be praising the name of my mother-in-law and enjoying a little breather.

On Friday we will have our little Passover dinner with our kids. There is rich symbolism behind the traditional Passover food. We recently had a little family night lesson on Moses, the children of Israel, and the first Passover to help the kids piece things together a bit. I like to keep our Passover meal fairly simple. This year we're planning lentil soup and a side platter of cheese, olives, and dried fruit (similar to foods Jesus would have eaten) along with the traditional Passover unleavened bread, roasted eggs, romaine lettuce, and haroset (a mixture of apples, nuts, cinnamon, and grape juice. There is a basic recipe for haroset here if you are interested.)

We also like to read this book by Caralyn Buehner with the kids and discuss the Atonement on a basic, child's level. From our experience, movies depicting the crucifixion are pretty scary for our kids at this age. But we like the tasteful way this book deals with Easter.
                                    
On Saturday we have traditionally done Easter baskets, complete with a little trail of jelly beans/fruit snacks/mini marshmallows/fill-in-the-blank sugary item that leads from the kids rooms to the Easter goodies in the living room.

We like to do baskets on Saturday so they don't detract from the Savior's triumph on Easter morning. We will also decorate Easter eggs and enjoy traditional Easter activities.

On Easter Sunday we always have popovers for breakfast--they're empty inside like Christ's tomb on Easter morning. We like to fill them with lots of whipped cream and yogurt and things. While we enjoy them we typically share our testimonies of Jesus Christ, His perfect life, Atonement, and Resurrection.

Easter is a beautiful time of year, and I love ramping up for it by studying the gospels personally and with our kids. He is risen, and I want to teach our kids to rejoice in the eternal life He offers us.

Lazarus, Easter, and the Rameumptom

We had been listening to our New Testament Scripture Scouts CDs in the car, and one day while running errands we heard the segment from John 11 where Christ raised Lazarus from the dead. Apparently Jake got the song stuck in his head, because he spent hours that evening running around the house boisterously singing, "Lazarus, come forth!" (It was cute the first five or so times. After that I was wishing outside temperatures were a little more humane so he could share his enthusiasm with the backyard.)

Later during dinner I had a lovely chat with the kids about some of the beauties of John 11--specifically the fact that Jesus wept when He saw Mary and Martha's grief, even though He knew He was about to bring Lazarus back. We worship a God who grieves when we grieve, joys with us, and is touched by our experiences. To me it is a principle of incomparable beauty and wonder. After I explained it to the kids Jake said, "Maybe Jesus cried when you got your cancer."

"Maybe He did," I said. "That was really scary for me because I wanted to live to be your mom."

"Yeah," Abby chimed in, "but you didn't need to worry because we have the Rameumptom."

Uh, I think the word you are searching for here is Resurrection.

Easter is coming soon. How nice that we already know what vocabulary words we will be focusing on.

For Vanya

I have a very sweet husband. A month or two ago he noticed a new local restaurant that touted southern soul food. Having spent years listening to me comment about the food I ate on my mission, he decided that for the 15-year anniversary of the day I arrived in my mission we would all go eat at Papa O's. So Monday night I ate hush puppies, collard greens, pulled pork, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, baked beans, coleslaw, grits, and cornbread for dinner. And I was transported back to the precious time I spent in the Virginia Richmond Mission--a time when I was led by the Spirit, discovered sacred truths about my Savior Jesus Christ and His Atonement, and loved the people I met so much I thought my heart would burst. I have spent the last few days lost in my memories. And I have wept tears of sheer gratitude for the opportunity I had to serve and the beautiful experiences I still treasure.

In the beginning of my mission I served in Smithfield, Virginia--a quaint little town with people I adored.

My heart has turned to Vanya, a wonderful girl I know from Wales who will arrive in the Missionary Training Center this week for a few weeks of Slovakian language training before heading out to the Czech Slovak Mission in March. What would I tell Vanya (or any other prospective missionary)?

First, I would say that the decision to serve a mission is one of the best you can ever make. No, missions aren't for everyone. But if you serve a mission you will benefit from it the rest of your life. I can think of no better preparation for motherhood or life in general. Fifteen years later I still think of my mission often. And I have always been so deeply grateful I got to serve.

I would tell her that missions are hard, hard work--harder than anyone can really comprehend before they go. But I would give her the advice my mission president gave me: "Get addicted to the Spirit." As you dive into the work and throw yourself into the scriptures you will develop a sweet relationship with the Spirit. You will see miracles, have beautiful experiences, and feel a deep peace, happiness, and joy that is unmatched in life.

I would tell her to love the people. The richness of a mission (and life) is in the depth of the love you feel. So love the people you teach, the local church members, the other missionaries, and the people you meet every day. The more you feel the Spirit, the more you will love them. That love will mean deep disappointment with some people's choices. But in missions and life the best choice is always to love people anyway.

Finally, I would tell her that the best convert she will gain on her mission will be herself. Some missionaries teach and baptize many; some teach and baptize few. But if you are changed throughout your mission--if you come to know your Savior, learn to lean on His Spirit, feel your infinite worth as a child of God, discover the power of the scriptures, and see God's power operating in your life--you will come home a forever better person. And as the years pass you will look back and realize that as much as you loved the people and experiences you had, you are eternally grateful for the deeply personal ways that you were changed. It is a sweet, sweet discovery.

Of course, Vanya is a bright, talented girl who is probably a much better prepared missionary than I was, and she probably doesn't need my advice. But this week as I have been summoning up memories and basking in their warm glow, I have thought of the people I loved and the things I learned. And I couldn't help but share.

I love you, Vanya! You will be an awesome missionary!

O Come Let Us Adore Him

We will be spending Christmas Eve morning this year cooking and serving breakfast at the local Ronald McDonald House. Early in the year I was praying about how to help one of our kids, and I felt that we needed to provide them more service opportunities. We did a bit of research and felt good about the Ronald McDonald House.

For those who aren't aware, Ronald McDonald Houses are built around the world to serve families of sick kids who are staying in nearby hospitals. They provide a temporary group home for these families who are enduring medical trauma. After our little road trip to San Francisco a few years ago, we have a lot of compassion for people in these circumstances. We were incredibly blessed that during my cancer adventure Cameron's parents came to San Francisco to care for us and help with Jake, and Cameron's Aunt Kim and Uncle Craig provided a place for us to stay, love, and warm meals when we weren't in the hospital. We will always love all of them for the way they jumped to care for us.

The first time we made breakfast at the Ronald McDonald House I struck up a conversation with a young mother from Idaho. I asked about her baby, and the woman told me the baby was four months old and had cancer in her eye. They were going to the doctor that day to find out whether she would need to have her whole eye removed.

What would it be like to be told that your beautiful baby daughter has cancer and might need to lose an eye?

I told her my story and indicated which of my eyes is a prosthesis. She commented that she felt a lot better after seeing my eye and talking to me. I hope that she went to their doctor's appointments that day with a bit more hope.

The Babe born in Bethlehem so long ago whose birth we celebrate each year with gifts and carols lives today and guides our lives.

He sent dozens of people to my rescue during my cancer ordeal.

And He sent me to a local Ronald McDonald House this year to comfort a young mother whose baby had cancer, too.

O, come let us adore Him.

Like Him

It all began on the first Father's Day after Jake was born. I got Jake a red bow tie to match the tie Cameron had from our wedding. I thought my boys were so handsome that day.

That was the first of many times through the years that they have dressed alike. They seem to both like it. A few weeks ago when Jake wanted to dress like Cameron for church we paused for a photo.

Then the girls wanted to join the fun.

As I looked at these beautiful people I love so much, something tugged at my heart strings. How many more years will Jake want to dress like Cameron? How many more years will Abby talk about how she's going to marry Daddy? How many more years will Grace feel seriously snubbed if Cameron forgets to give her a kiss whenever he comes home or leaves to go somewhere? How many more years will they want to be with us and like us?

Of course, in the end we hope they don't grow up to be like us at all but like Christ. We hope that as we work and strive and learn ways to use the Atonement and grow more like Him, our children will follow suit. We hope that the more Cameron and I try to be like Jesus, the more our children will feel His love reflected through us. We hope that we can lead them to Him. Hopefully in the end they won't want to look like us or be like us at all. They'll want to be like Him.

Cocoons

Since my cancer, I find myself even more drawn to scriptural accounts of Christ's healing power.

Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you; my bowels are filled with mercy.

I picture myself at the feet of the Savior. He would heal my eye. I close my eyes and try to remember what it was like to see out of both eyes. I'm starting to forget.

And it came to pass that when he had thus spoken, all the multitude, with one accord, did go forth with their sick and their afflicted, and their lame, and with their blind, and with their dumb, and with all them that were afflicted in any manner; and he did heal them every one as they were brought forth unto him.

 And they did all, both they who had been healed and they who were whole, bow down at his feet, and did worship him; and as many as could come for the multitude did kiss his feet, insomuch that they did bathe his feet with their tears.

Recently when I saw a depiction of Christ's marvelous healing recorded in the Book of Mormon in 3 Nephi 17, I was struck with a new thought: If Christ were here to heal me now, what growing experiences would I miss? How would my eternal progression be stunted? What would I not become?

And then I thought of butterflies and cocoons. Butterflies must struggle and work to emerge from their cocoons. But if that struggle is cut prematurely short, their wings don't have the strength to fly. They are forever stunted.

The Lord gives each of us cocoons to struggle against. One of mine is living with one eye. Like Paul, we may sometimes wish to be healed of our "thorn in the flesh". But if His perfect wisdom was overcome by His mercy and He cut our struggles prematurely short, our growth would be forever stunted. We wouldn't become what He made us to be.

Photos courtesy of Wikipedia commons

In Their Shoes

Both of my girls have gone through stages this year where they like to try on other family member's shoes. Abby mostly tries on mine, but Grace will try on anyone's shoes that she can. One day when Grace brought me Abby's shoes to try on, I thought of what it's like to be in Grace's shoes.

The night before, for some bizarre reason, Grace had been wide awake between 11 and 1. I believe in taking care of my babies at night--I want them to trust me to take care of them even when it's inconvenient, and I believe with all my heart that it's what Jesus would do. So I got up with her. And when I started to feel desperate, Cameron stepped in for a turn. (Thank goodness for a husband who will help at such times!) But there were definite moments in those two hours when I was frustrated and wondered why in the world she was awake. Were her incoming teeth bothering her? Was her stomach hurting? Was she getting sick? Did she have a bad dream? Or did she wake up to review and ponder her new toddler vocabulary? I will never know. But do I spend enough time thinking about what life is like in her shoes?

When I am helping Jake with his homework and feeling frustrated that he can't remember a word, do I remember that it really is a lot of work to begin to string letters and sounds together into words and sentences?

When Abby is pretending something in her little preschooler world and I want her to finish a task or hurry to go somewhere, do I pause to remember the joy of childhood and let her finish what she's doing?

My mom sent these cute wooden Dutch shoes, and both girls love them!

Do I think of what it's like in their shoes?

Do I think of what it's like in Cameron's shoes when he gets up early to go to work all week and has school all weekend?

Do I think of what it's like in my neighbor's shoes? Or the shoes of the rude driver in front of me? Or the grumpy person at the check-out stand? Do I think of what I could do to lighten their burdens?

Isn't Christ's knowledge of what it's like in each of our shoes one thing that we adore about Him?

I don't have Christ's omniscience. I don't even have His perfect love. Not yet. But I can keep trying to think of what it's like in someone else's shoes.