For me, finding fulfillment in motherhood is often tied to my faith, which promotes families and mothers.
I was scrolling through my feed reader a while ago. I saw my usual spate of stories from the LDS.org homepage. For some reason, they’re always just titles, no content in the posts. But I like getting them. Especially when the message is something as simple as this:
And you do: you’re a mom.
What reminds you that you matter?
When I was called as Primary (children’s Sunday school) president in October 2010, I met with the outgoing president. She was very sad to be leaving Primary.
I vowed (silently) that that wouldn’t be me. I didn’t want a big calling right then, with my husband in the bishopric and my kids being 4, 2, and 5 months and already having to struggle through Sunday meetings with little to no help because of Ryan’s responsibilities—and I was pretty stunned to be working in Primary. For perspective, my mom has had a lot of “big” callings on the ward (local) and stake (larger area, cf. diocese) level—but she never had a calling in Primary until a couple years ago. We didn’t do Primary: we did Young Women (12-18 year olds) and Relief Society (adults). Plus, couldn’t I get away from my kids for two hours a week???
Apparently, I was wrong—on all counts. Yesterday I was officially released. It was just time, apparently. The Lord had decided I was finished.
When the Bishop told me last week that I would be released this week, I was pretty shocked—surprised to be released, and surprised at how it felt to know it was coming to an end.
I wanted to stay in Primary. I wanted to be there for the funny things my children say—and they say a lot. I wanted to be there to watch all the kids learn and grow, to see the new 3-year-olds discover the fun of Primary, to stanch the constant turnover in the 30+ positions under our purview. (Ha. This never happens. We did what we could to turn over a full staff.)
When I thought about it this week, I wanted to cry. I expected to on Sunday (yesterday). I didn’t even feel the relief until half an hour before church. When Ryan called my name to stand for my vote of thanks (the custom when releasing people from positions of responsibility in the church), he expected me to cry. (I held it together just fine.)
It wasn’t a long time, but it felt like the end an era to me. It won’t be the same to go to church and not get to see my older two participating in their lessons. And I will miss it. I will miss them—most of all, my own children.
What do you know? I did love Primary.
At Thanksgiving (in America), we remember our many blessings. Usually, we focus on big ones: family, freedom, upcoming books. But remembering the little things is important too, and not just on an annual day of thanks.
In this year’s General Relief Society Meeting, Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf spoke about things that we need to remember, using the image of a forget-
me-not flower as a symbol. One of the things we need to remember, he says, is to focus on the wonderful parts of our life:
The lesson here is that if we spend our days waiting for fabulous roses, we could miss the beauty and wonder of the tiny forget-me-nots that are all around us.
This is not to say that we should abandon hope or temper our goals. Never stop striving for the best that is within you. Never stop hoping for all of the righteous desires of your heart. But don’t close your eyes and hearts to the simple and elegant beauties of each day’s ordinary moments that make up a rich, well-lived life.
The happiest people I know are not those who find their golden ticket; they are those who, while in pursuit of worthy goals, discover and treasure the beauty and sweetness of the everyday moments. They are the ones who, thread by daily thread, weave a tapestry of gratitude and wonder throughout their lives. These are they who are truly happy.
What do you think? How do you forget not the beauty and sweetness of today?
Photo by KH1234567890
The sabbath was made for man, and not man for the sabbath. (Mark 2:27)
And sometimes I question whether the sabbath was made for Moms.
I’ve really struggled with hating Sundays. When I was about five, I had my mouth washed out with soap for screaming “I hate church!” After church, my mother felt so bad, she gave me a bowl of ice cream.
I think I need more ice cream.
I think my real trouble started last year while I was still pregnant with Rachel. There was a solid month, maybe longer, where for various reasons, I ended up in tears before church was over. And not happy-feel-the-Spirit-thank-you-for-your-talk! tears. More like, “How am I supposed to wrestle two small children all by my pregnant-with-a-third-lonesome and why the heck are you even giving me a third since anyway I’m clearly dying with the two I already have and I was obviously not made to be a mother and I’m an awful human being…” tears. You get the picture.
Hormones are not my friend. Thanks a lot, fallen world body.
Fastforward about eight months: Rachel is born, church is hard, but MAN am I in a better mood most of the time. No hiding in dark hallways while I spend the entire second hour of church bawling! And then I get slammed with a new calling: Primary president.
There are two kinds of people in this world: those who like working in the Primary (seriously, bless their wonderful hearts) and people on my team (no wonderful hearts on this side of the line). My husband is still in the bishopric (lay ministry of our ward). So our blessed Sabbath begins with meetings. Thankfully, this year our meetings only start at 8 AM (it’s been as early as 6–oy). Ryan goes to this meeting. I spend the hour getting dressed and often bathing or preparing to bathe the children.
At 9 AM, every other Sunday, I’m supposed to attend another meeting. Which Ryan is also supposed to attend. While our 5-, 3- and 1-year-old do what? We had a friend who would stay with them during that hour, but she moved. So what usually happens is that Ryan comes home after his meeting and I go back to the church (luckily only 3 minutes away) and arrive late to the next meeting and look like a slacker. Not that it makes a difference because 90% of the time I have nothing of value to add. The few times I do have something to say, it’s usually a joke. And—really, truly, Johnny Lion—less than a minute after I crack a joke to no response, someone else in the meeting will crack the exact same joke, using my exact same words, and everyone laughs. I don’t even get to make jokes? This is lame.
Once they release me, we have about half an hour to get the children all dressed and out the door to church. Except that Rachel is almost always asleep during this time. The one day a week I could really use her to wake up on the early side, she sleeps in, which makes finishing a nap before 11:00 church a joke of its own. And this time it’s okay if no one laughs. I’m not.
So sometimes if she’s really grumpy and still asleep, I just let her sleep and I miss the first hour of church. If not, I get to spend 70 minutes of church and in the pews with my three kids by myself (okay, I have gotten a lot of help over the months), trying to keep them quiet/friendly/from killing one another. In a whisper. Add to that Rebecca’s major potty training trials lately and over the last six months, I’ve spent probably more of sacrament meeting in my house than I have in my pew, listening to even a complete phrase. Ryan’s biggest struggle is not to fall asleep during Sacrament meeting. Mine is not to apostatize.
After wrestling enjoying the deep spiritual talks of my beloved brothers and sisters Sacrament meeting, I go to two hours of meetings with the children. We aren’t supposed to drink coffee, but I think some of the parents have been slipping their kids chocolate covered espresso beans in the back of the chapel. The concept of reverence is beyond foreign. It’s freakin extraterrestrial.
Every third month, I get to teach the kids a 15-minute lesson: one for the younger kids, one for the older kids. The following month, I conduct the meeting. (I think that might be a joke?) The third month, I either visit individual classes or, you know, I sit and breathe. (I’m grateful to Ryan for taking Rachel during these hours—it could be worse.)
Once church is finally over, I load up the kids in the car (usually with Ryan’s help, but I swear it only recently began occurring to him that I might like some help with this, you know, every week). I get them home, get the big kids a snack and in front of a movie, and rush Rachel into a nap. Or babbling/screaming/kicking in her crib for an hour. Whatever she feels like.
Twice a month (if I’m lucky, these Sundays alternate with my morning meeting Sundays, but obviously I’m not lucky), I then have to prepare for a meeting of my counselors & secretary in my house. Which means I spend the 90 or so minutes between putting Rachel down and the presidency’s arrival picking up all the Goldfish the kids have ground into the carpet, making out a meeting agenda, and bowing to their every! little! whim! for the kids. Then I have my meeting, with children sporadically joining us to monopolize the conversation/climb on me. Then I often get to make dinner. And dessert.
Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest, not wrestling.
Blah blah blah seasons of our life. I know. I know that this is the season of my life, and this too shall pass. There are times to teach and times to learn, as a very wise sister said to one of my friends. I get it. What I’m struggling with is 1.) getting that rest that we’re supposed to (and I so desperately need) to refuel and prepare for the week, and 2.) not hating the season I’m in.
So, any suggestions?
This post was originally published with a different introduction on April 6, 2008, when my kindergartener was only two (check out the picture below!). It was part of the March/April 2008 Group Writing Project, with the theme “Savoring the season.”
This week I was reading All These Things Shall Give Thee Experience by Neal A. Maxwell (man, I miss him!), and I came across an interesting concept. “Time is clearly not our natural dimension,” he says. “Thus it is that we are never really at home in time. Alternately, we find ourselves wishing to hasten the passage of time or to hold back the dawn. . . . [W]e are clearly not at home in time—because we belong to eternity” (11). I’m glad to hear that problem isn’t unique to me, from wanderlust or mommybrain or what have you. Although this life is a tiny piece of eternity, the experiences we gain here should not be rushed through. They are invaluable to our eternal progress—especially in our families.
This brought to mind a quotation, source long since lost, that a good friend’s mother shared with her:
Wise is the woman who cherishes each season
and cheerfully anticipates the next.
My friend shared this quotation during a lesson in church on having patience. Most of us in the room were mothers, many with young children—and I think we all recognized the very common human tendency to want to rush or move on through the difficult times of parenting.
Focusing solely on the future, the next season of our lives, robs many of us of the joy of today. We dwell on the difficulties that bedevil us now: lack of sleep, kids’ eating problems, overwhelming amounts of housework, lack of time with our children and/or spouse, kids’ tantrums, and on and on. We could all likely spend hours listing the things about motherhood that leave us dissatisfied. For me, at least, after I’ve done that, all I’m left with is dissatisfaction.
When I stop brooding over the “bad” parts of motherhood, however, suddenly my charge is less of a chore. When I look at the cute and sweet things that my son already does, when I marvel at the ways he’s grown and continues to grow every day, I don’t think about the drudgery that it was.
Perhaps hindsight is 20/20; perhaps memory is blind. But as I look back over Hayden’s brief life, my chief regret (aside, possibly, from mildly spoiling him 😉 ) is not enjoying him more, even during the difficult times.
So today, I’ll savor the season. Today, I will do the work of motherhood, and I will choose to be happy. Tomorrow I’ll be able to look back with fond memories of the time I spent today. And I’ll be ready for the challenges—and joys—that tomorrow will surely bring.
Someone in church shared a really interesting quote in their talk a few weeks ago, so I wrote it down. When I got home, I Googled it, and found the talk it came from. The line is at the end of this quote (emphasis is mine):
Who does God’s work will get God’s pay,
However long may seem the day,
However weary be the way.
No mortal hand, God’s hand can stay,
He may not pay as others pay,
In gold, or lands, or raiments gay,
In goods that perish and decay;
But God’s high wisdom knows a way,
And this is sure, let come what may—
Who does God’s work will get God’s pay.I testify to you that God’s pay is the best pay that this world or any other world knows anything about.
The poem and the quote come from a talk about putting God first in our lives. So often when I hear about putting the Lord first, or doing the Lord’s work, I think of the noble pursuits in theology and evangelism and service—all things I really don’t have as much time and effort and me available for with the amount of those things motherhood requires. So, I wonder, am I not putting the Lord first? Am I not giving enough?
But as I read the full address this quote comes from, I came across a paragraph that supported a belief I’ve clung to for reassurance. (Having it set out as a doctrine of my faith makes me feel a little better too 😉 .) (Emphasis mine again, too.)
You mothers who are especially charged with the righteous rearing of the youth of Zion, are you not putting God first when you honor your divine calling by not leaving the homefront to follow the ways of the world? Our mothers put God first when they fill their highest mission within the walls of their own homes.
While there’s always more we can do for the Lord, knowing that the biggest, most me-consuming pursuit of my life is serving Him helps me not only feel better about the state of my life, but also remind me just how seriously I should take this calling.
What do you think? What helps you to remember how important motherhood is? What makes you feel better about the amount of time and effort you devote to Sisyphus childrearing?
Photo by Heidi & Matt