Motherhood Is...

It was Jake's birthday, and the basement was crammed with relatives who had come for his birthday dinner. After dinner and cake Jake started opening the presents, and his favorite was definitely this little fellow.

OK, I have to be really honest here. Jake's pet is completely nocturnal, I am not, and my attempts to catch a shot of our little guy have been completely unsuccessful. This pic was stolen from the internet. So just imagine this one is ours, because this is what he looks like. 

Yes, Jake is now the proud owner of a Madagascar hissing cockroach. And as I watched different relatives take turns letting this lovely little friend crawl all over them, I couldn't help musing about what motherhood is.

Motherhood is boldly going where you've never gone before...like to the pet store to inquire after the needs of your cockroach. (Yes, I am quite sure I never saw this coming back in my single days when I started tiara-wearing trends at work and actually paid attention to how my toenail polish was faring.)

Motherhood is full of amazing discoveries...like how low-quality crepe paper dye is. You get to discover this sort of thing when your kids leave their library art projects on the floor and then step on them with their nice wet feet after their bath. For good measure, they spread some of the dye to their towels which were unceremoniously forgotten on the floor rather than hung up or placed responsibly in a laundry hamper.

Motherhood is courage and strength when it's needed most...like when you are five months pregnant with your fourth child, your husband has to work 12 and 13 hour days (plus an 8-hour Saturday at school), and you are left home to care for your puking children and all the laundry and stains they generate.

Motherhood is sacrifice and wisdom...like when your family goes to the fun center and instead of mini golfing you try to keep your toddler out of the water, rocks, and bushes while everyone else golfs. But you realize that when you go to a fun center with your kids, you do it so they (and not you) can have fun. And you're OK with that.

Motherhood is full of discoveries you never thought you'd make--discoveries of strength, love, sacrifice, and joy you didn't know were possible...which reminds me, I need to go help Jake clean out his cockroach's cage.

Baby Hungry

We were having one of those lovely family evenings together. We had decided to do a movie night, and Jake had selected his favorite movie for us--Mountain of the Lord. (Yes, our children live a wonderfully sheltered existence.) Cameron was in the kitchen popping the popcorn, and the whole house was scented with the buttery, salty smells of anticipation and family togetherness. I was sitting on the floor with the kids while they rolled around together in their jammies. Jake squeezed Grace, Grace laughed, and Abby and Jake launched into a discussion about how much they love Grace. I smiled and thought, "This is why we keep having kids."

There is something delightfully joyful and addictive about babies--their soft squishiness, their smiles and belly laughs, and the cute things they do that we all coo over. I love the way Abby and Jake adore Grace. They love to hug her, play with her, and laugh at the silly things she does. When our patience with her temper tantrums runs thin, they step in to help her. Families are a beautiful thing. I can't wait to see the kids fawning over our new baby this fall. August can't come soon enough.

Quiver Full

The snow pounded outside our living room window, silently coating the landscape in fluffy whiteness. Inside we were having a cozy Sunday afternoon. Cameron had retreated to the living room couch for a little snooze. I watched from the rocking chair as Jake and Abby gleefully retrieved blanket after blanket to bury Cameron in. He kept right on sleeping as the kids added pillows, stuffed animals, and love notes to the pile. I smiled contentedly and thought of Psalm 127: "Children are an heritage of the Lord...happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them." 

I love motherhood, and I believe family joy is one of the deepest joys you can experience in life. But the joys of family sacrifice and love aren't messages you hear out in the world today. You would be hard pressed to find hope or examples of such on newsstands, TV, or the radio. And there are lots of people who would think I am completely crazy for having a fourth child.

But perhaps such people have never felt the joy of watching their kids bury their dad in blankets during his Sunday afternoon nap.

They probably haven't listened while their little girl led her baby sister down a dark hallway with these reassuring words: "There aren't any monsters, and your big sister is here. And I'm not afraid."

Surely they haven't heard their little boy exclaim, "I love Mom because she's awesome."

I can't think of a better compliment. I'm so grateful for my little quiver full. And I'm grateful my quiver isn't quite full yet.

Motherhood Love, Joy, and Sacrifice

When I was pregnant with Jake I looked around in sheer awe at all the women I knew who had more than one child. I was miserably sick (though not as miserably sick as some women), and I couldn't believe women would endure such suffering multiple times.

A couple years later when I was pregnant with Abby I was once again sick and miserable. But this time I would look at my sweet toddler Jacob and think to myself, "It's worth it. It's worth it. It's all worth it." By then I was starting to suspect that there was a purpose behind the miseries of pregnancy, labor, and delivery.

Motherhood is governed by the same law as the rest of life: we care more about the things we work for. So if we spend a few months feeling pregnant and miserable, or a few years wondering if we will ever be blessed with a child, perhaps we are being silently, slowly, imperceptibly transformed from women with slightly more self-centered motives to mothers--people who are called upon at all times of day and night to care for little people who can't provide for themselves. Our souls are being stretched to love another person with a love that is more pure and deep than any other force on earth. We become mothers through our sacrifices.

I have thought of that concept the past few weeks as I have wished that my morning sickness would go away. The house hasn't been as clean because I have been too sick to care. And I have spent lots of time lounging on the couch because I have been too tired to do much else. So I have sat and read books, snuggled my kids, told them how much I love them, and gazed with wonder into their precious faces. I have marveled at the beauty of motherhood, that I am allowed the privilege of getting to know these delightful little souls who are entrusted to my care. It is a beautiful journey and a sacred trust.

I have also thought about joy. I feel joy when I look into the faces of my children, and the beauty of their little eyes, cheeks, noses, and mouths takes my breath away. I feel joy when they play nicely together, share, help, and comfort each other, and I rejoice in the choice we have made to give them another little sibling to love. I feel joy when they know I am sick and offer to bring me a snack or let me rest a while. I take joy in the little moments of motherhood that I might otherwise be too hurried to even notice.

The pains and sacrifices of motherhood and the joy of motherhood are just two separate sides of the same coin. And I rejoice that I can sacrifice and be on the journey of motherhood. I thank heaven for little children--for my children--and that I can be their mother. Yes, it is worth it. All of it. Even morning sickness.

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!

Grateful

It sneaks up on me and I never quite know when it will hit. Someone says something or does something. I see something, hear something, or feel something. Suddenly I can do nothing but quietly weep with overwhelming gratitude. I had cancer and I am still alive. I am with my precious family. Hopefully I can still grow old with Cameron. Hopefully I can still raise our children. Hopefully we can still have more children one day.

I have never felt like I have had words to adequately express how traumatic it was to be diagnosed with cancer while I was pregnant. Words don't describe the agony of wondering if you will live long enough for your unborn baby to remember you or the anguish of picturing your sweet little toddler at your funeral.

But on the other side of such surpassing sorrow is soul-deep joy and gratitude.

At Thanksgiving we all pause to reflect on what we're grateful for. This year, as in every year since my cancer, I am just so grateful I am alive.

Work and Joy

Recently we were singing the hymn "Go Forth with Faith" in church. When we sang, "Go forth with faith to tell the world the joy of families," I felt a little troubled. It wasn't a week where I was feeling the joy too much. The laundry had piled up when the belt in our washing machine broke. It was my turn to drive the kindergarten carpool (and listen to the endless rounds of, "He's not buckled." "Stop that!" and "He's kicking my chair!") The solar oven I had been excited about was failing dismally (and so were my dinner plans.) And I was feeling like a mother with three children under the age of five and a husband who is working full time while earning his MBA.

A couple days passed. My children were peacefully painting our driveway with sidewalk chalk, and I was musing about the relationship between work and joy. Yes, a young family provides a sometimes insurmountable amount of work.

But it also provides joy and satisfaction. I don't think you can have true joy without work. The joy of holding a newborn baby comes after nine months of (often) miserable pregnancy and at least a few hours of hard labor. The joy of watching a child make good choices comes after years of teaching, training, loving, and setting a very conscious example.

Do families bring joy?

Yes, yes, and yes.

They are a lot of hard work. But joy doesn't come any other way.

Small Moments

Last weekend I was running errands and the kids suggested we stop by the splash pad park for a bit. We had swim suits in the van but no towels. Of course, wet car seats were a small price to pay for their shrieks of delight and huge grins. It was by far the highlight of my day. (Bless the inventor of splash pads!)

Motherhood joy comes in spontaneous, fleeting moments. You have to savor it while you can.