1/16/2012
I am unsure of how I need to start this post: somehow, I feel I need to write it. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. If not for you, then for myself. For my posterity. For anyone who may need to hear it. Because I guess it deals less with fertility and more with matters of life and faith.
In posts past, you may have followed or gathered that getting pregnant hasn’t been an easy road for us. If you are family, you know our specific trials: trying and trying, getting pregnant, and then it ending with a miscarriage. I currently was serving in the Relief Society, and it required a lot of care for new mothers. Some asked if that was hard. It could have been harder, but for me, it really wasn’t. It was exciting to see that the reality of parenthood was coming to good people. After I had healed (physically and emotionally) from my miscarriage (it was a devastating time for me), when we were ready to start trying again, we tried and tried–but no luck headed our way. We moved to Michigan, which was a good fresh start and something to look forward to each day. I began my work with LDS Family Services, and as luck would have it, they needed help with their adoption casework. How ironic. You know, I often tell people that we had to go to Michigan to get Bridger, my first born son: a lot of the things I learned (both on the job and about myself) helped me to get from point A to point B: it required a lot of faith, softening of the heart, and giving of myself. Freely.
While working as an adoption caseworker, I learned about the love of a mother. I worked closely with many birthmothers–I saw firsthand the sacrifice that it took to make such a decision to give a child life–not only life, but the hopes of a good life. As I worked more and more with them, my heart began to ache for them. I thought about them often. I prayed for them. I fasted for them. I did everything in my power to help make their decision a little easier. Suddenly, all of my wants and needs and desires started to mesh together, and then, it was as if they began to lessen. Trust me, they were still present, but they faded into the background, and I had more strength to overcome. My own trials were no longer top priority: listening to an emotionally overworked birthmother spill out her pain, taking a birthmother to countless doctor appointments, staring at a computer screen for hours trying to file paperwork, or visiting downtown Detroit (in some of the scariest places I have ever been) trying contact the birthfather–suddenly all of that seemed more important to me.
All of the “Why me?’s turned into “Why them?’s. I saw that life is short and there were bigger things to worry about rather than if I was going to ever become a mother. I saw families lives blessed with these sweet children that had come to them in nontraditional ways–and I began to see that if my life headed that way, that would be okay. But there was a part of me that wasn’t letting go completely of my own control: I kept thinking that, if I could just be a little more faithful, if I could just try a little harder, if I could pray a little more to the Lord, than he would bless me and finally, I could get pregnant. That was my thought anyway.
Fast forward ahead. After another month of a negative on a pregnancy test, all of my strength began to buckle when my sister texted (she texted because she didn’t know how else to let us know) to say baby #1 was on their way. Little does it matter, but then, a younger sister, who had been married for less than we had–who had to give so little effort in hopes of conceiving—did. And that stung. I tried to be happy for her, but the weight was just too much. I remember sobbing on the bathroom floor in the dark, while my husband Garrett mourned with me.
That weekend, an adoption fireside was set to take place. The area had just been pounded with snow, and the roads were super icy and slick. Unfortunately, the church house was about an hour away, so with nasty conditions, it was unknown of how long it would take. I had been looking forward to it all week–not really for the families who had and were adopting–but selfishly for me. I was at a crux and I needed some help. Garrett was a little wary of us going (understandably) but I felt like I needed to go. I needed this.
We ended up going. At this fireside, something changed inside of me. In one of the most sacred experiences I have ever felt, my heart was softened, and I changed completely. My heart was stilled, and I realized that I needed to not only have faith, but I needed to have faith in the Lord’s plan for me–not only if it worked out [as I had planned]. But especially when it didn’t. And that was where I was now.
I was ready to accept what He had in store for me. And every part of my being truly believed that!
We didn’t give up trying and working to do all that was in our power. After several meetings with some doctors, I had met with a specialist that would address our specific needs, and we were set to begin testing. Ironically–we didn’t need to test, because I discovered just a few short weeks later that I was pregnant. Although I worried constantly that it would end in miscarriage, I was so grateful for every moment.
Fortunately, (and gratefully!) Bridger filled my mother-heart. I still attribute much of my love that I have for him to all the hard work I had to go through to get to where my heart was ready and then the Lord could bless me. Was the Lord waiting for that? I am not certain, but I’d like to think that He needed to know that I had all trust in Him.
When you have to wait so long for a child to come (I know, just under three years isn’t that long to wait–some have to wait so much longer, and some are still left waiting, but to me–it felt like such a long time), I knew we shouldn’t wait too long before we started trying for #2. I was more ready than Garrett was, but once we were on the same page, we began trying again. Although never confirmed, I believe that halfway into our time, I experienced the signs of a very early miscarriage. I wasn’t ready for this again. I mustered up courage, and through the prayers of family, gained back my strength, not only physically but spiritually. I knew I could do this, I just needed to have greater faith and the Lord would see me through (but not necessarily give me what I wanted).
The next year had ups and downs in relation to us struggling to get pregnant, and now, looking back, gosh, I am sure glad it happened in the way that it did. I sure did learn. A lot. And it hurt. And it stretched me. And it was difficult. But my faith was tried, and now, I can surely say that I can see.
I enjoyed re-reading my journal entries of the past year when I found out that we were [for sure] expecting baby #2 a few months ago. I reread them again today. Specifically, when I write in my journal, I try to recognize specific ways the Lord has shown us His tender mercies–and then I write about it, as short as it may be. Its amazing how many times I had written about being on “day #33” (or somewhere around there) in hopes that it was sign that I was pregnant, or writing about my upcoming ovulation (I know, tmi), or that blasted darn charting. That gets tiring. 🙂 On a more serious note, I had some close tender mercies about where I learned and gained strength for the day (or the week, or the month) through scripture study and pondering. One one occasion, I wrote:
“Yesterday, during scripture study, I learned that sometimes the Lord doesn’t see fit to get us out of certain circumstances until its time (Mosiah 21:15-16). Blessings come in degrees, and the Lord tries our patience and faith (Mosiah 23:21-22). BUT, if I put my trust in His-the Lord will deliver me someday.”
Later in the month, I wrote:
“…I wondered why I didn’t feel depressed or saddened after my period came full force on Sunday. After much thought, it occurred to me the story of the people of Alma who were under persecution from the Lamanites. Heavy burdens were placed on their backs, and they cried out to God in faith. He didn’t remove them immediately. But after the people of Alma showed continued, and, even greater faith–even with heavier burdens still on their backs–he made it so the people could bear up their burdens with cheerfulness. However, to me, the important part is that he didn’t take them away.
I felt so many similarities and parallels in this story–I felt as this was my direct tender mercy from God. Eventually, as you know, the story goes on to where the people are given a way to escape. I’m not there yet, but I know that eventually–if not in this life–I will be “freed” completely. I also know that my heart is where it needs to be. It is a continual struggle-but I will keep working to get there.
Someday.”
Right before I wrote this, an experience pushed me to break [yet again], and I asked for a blessing. In the blessing, I was told that in due time, I would bear a child. Peace filled me, and I was stilled and calm. You know, I recognized that I felt the Lord’s love in my life, but I actually felt it before that specific part was said; although I was told and promised that in due time I would get pregnant–I didn’t feel any better about my trial than I did before that part of the blessing was given. Why?
I had to work for it. I had to ponder, I had to pray, and I had to do a lot of soul-searching. I read in my scriptures, trying my best to follow the spirit and act on any impressions I received. I wrote them down so I didn’t forget.
I guess what I am trying to say is that I was able to find the peace and perseverance I needed–just like the Nephites prayed for strength–before I was told that a blessing would come (and eventually I would come to know the reality of that blessing). Heavenly Father had tried my faith over and over again (or at least it felt like it!), and slowly the effects of the Atonement were becoming real in my life. I found tender mercies in the scriptures, in my thoughts, in people. As I showed more faith in His will, I was given the strength I needed to overcome my weakness. (Ether 12:27)
We all know the common scripture: “… Faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith…” (Ether 12:6). I can say that my faith was tried, I worked on my faith, and indeed, I received my witness. “I truly saw with [my] eyes the things which they had beheld with an eye of faith, and I was glad” (Ether 12:19). I felt of the Lord’s goodness for me, his child, and I held onto the covenants that I had made with Him. I knew that sometime in my life (whether on earth or in the eternities), I would know the reality and blessing of children. Many children at that! I just had to do my part of the bargain, and sometimes, yes, it was “enduring to the end.”
Was my desire to have children bad? No, certainly not! Did I need to show more faith in Him that my life was going to turn out okay, even if it didn’t go as planned? Certainly! I can now say in hindsight how important it is to be open to the Lord’s timing and accept His will as our own. After all, isn’t that what Christ did in relation to his Father’s will?
I have such a strong testimony of these things. I know that in our weakness and trial, we can be made strong through the faith we have in Him. I know that if we are looking and working, we will see His hand in our lives, whether it be through infertility or any other trial we may experience in this life!
As it is so applicably said in Hebrews 11:11, I echo these words: “Through faith also Sara herself received strength to conceive seed…because she judged him faithful who had promised.”
11/22/2013
Awhile back, I found myself getting frustrated with everything in my life.
I couldn’t keep the kitchen floors clean enough, clutter filled up all around me, no matter how many times I tried to organize something. Toys were always strewn all over the floor, and no matter what I did to avoid it, I would always step on that blasted Matchbox car, barefoot. I always had that forever-existing muffin top, no matter how many miles I ran a day, my clothes were so drab and outdated, and my hair roots were starting to come back in full-force from my last color. Old furniture from our apartment days stared back at me each day, and we were miles away from looking like a home straight from a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. I always felt like projects were piling up, and gosh darn it, I never had the time to do any of them. But when I asked myself what I did each day, somehow I just couldn’t fill a respectable list to explain why things weren’t getting done. And my walls STILL needed a good coat of paint and some pretty pictures to hang on them.
Sigh. (I have been doing a lot of that lately.)
All of this perception quickly changed in a few short days.
And it took me months to finally get it.
The first part of September came, and no period showed. Of course, what were our odds, we just talked about the idea of a baby, but figured it was a long ways away, especially considering our pasts with our first pregnancy, Bridger, and Liam.
When a positive pregnancy test showed, I was a bit in shock. I think Garrett was more excited than I was, and I tried to adjust to the new news. Another baby in May? Would it come on our anniversary, or Liam’s birthday? September 16, in the evening, I remember just before we were about to pray, I told Garrett how glad I was that I wasn’t feeling sick yet (as I shuddered remembering how things were with Liam).
And then September 17th came.
I woke up feeling nauseated, tired, and not ready to face the day. Both boys had doctor’s appointments, so I knew I had to get up and get going. I remember wincing all through breakfast, dreading needing to leave the house. Luckily, the nausea lightened toward the end and I was able to make it through without heaving or gagging. I even decided to take Bridger on his much-awaited birthday treat to redeem a coupon for a free kid’s lunch at Chick-fil-a, just because I had promised him. When we came home, and I crashed on the couch. Little did I know, that couch was soon to be my home for the next few months.
Each day seemed to get progressively worse. I felt miserable. I mean, when I say miserable, I mean every bit of that dirty word. Life was so hard. Smells were so overwhelming, and I could eat nothing. I went days without eating much of anything. Some days were so hard, I would have to spend hours with a clenched jaw, focused hard on just breathing; I remember counting the seconds that I had surpassed to give me some kind of hope. One day, all I could do is just sob as Liam just cried and cried because he simply wanted to be held, but I couldn’t even muster enough strength to pick him up. I felt as if I had failed as a mother and wife, and nagging dark thoughts creeped into my mind each and every day. At the beginning, my body would shake and tremor, probably because it was so overwhelmed with all of the hormones I had surging through my veins. There were days that if I could merely survive and exist, then it was considered a success. I felt as if I was in my darkest hour.
One night as I sat on the couch, I felt spent, alone, weak, and helpless. The nausea was too much to bear. My body shook with what it was given, and I was at the end of my rope. I sobbed and sobbed to try and release whatever took possession of my body. I mustered enough strength to cry out to Garrett and tell him how hard this trial was for me. I didn’t think I could go on. I feared knowing that I may have to experience something like that again (I had always wanted more children than 3), and that fear was overwhelming. As I wrote in my journal:
“My sweetheart (for he is that for me), Garrett, sat next to me as I poured my heart and soul to him because that was my last hope. As he listened to every word, my spirit was broken. I felt pain, every possible way: physical, mental, emotional. I was discouraged. I felt like I could not go on. Why was this so hard? Why would God allow this to happen to me? To any expecting mother? Why was the system of creating life set up so that oftentimes, the mother was so deathly ill? Don’t we sacrifice enough as is? I was filled with anxiety just by the thought of having to do this yet again. This, I knew, had to be our last child. I couldn’t possibly imagine doing this again, even if it meant a little one could come to earth and be born. I was desperate for relief… even a glimmer of hope. It was so hard, so dark, so cold.
Then Garrett began to speak. I don’t remember everything he said, but I felt as if God were speaking directly to me. My soul stopped and I was still. I listened intently. This is one of Garrett’s gifts: I know when he is inspired because he is full of light and confidence. He shared an excerpt from a talk given by Jeffery Holland. He quoted, filling in the necessary blanks:
"Anyone who does any kind of pregnancy will have occasion to ask, Why is this so hard? Why doesn’t it go better? Why can’t my success be more rapid? It is the truth. I believe in angels. I trust in miracles...
You will have occasion to ask those questions. I have thought about this a great deal. I offer this as my personal feeling. I am convinced that pregnancy is not easy because salvation is not a cheap experience. Salvation never was easy... How could we believe it would be easy for us when it was never, ever easy for Him? It seems to me that mothers have to spend at least a few moments in Gethsemane. Mothers have to take at least a step or two toward the summit of Calvary.
Now, please don’t misunderstand. I’m not talking about anything anywhere near what Christ experienced. That would be presumptuous and sacrilegious. But I believe that mothers, to come to the truth, to come to salvation, to know something of this price that has been paid, will have to pay a token of that same price.
For that reason I don’t believe motherhood has ever been easy... nor that continued faithfulness is. I believe it is supposed to require some effort, something from the depths of our soul.
If He could come forward in the night, kneel down, fall on His face, bleed from every pore, and cry, “Abba, Father (Papa), if this cup can pass, let it pass,” 16 then little wonder that salvation is not a whimsical or easy thing for us. If you wonder if there isn’t an easier way, you should remember you are not the first one to ask that. Someone a lot greater and a lot grander asked a long time ago if there wasn’t an easier way.
The Atonement will carry mothers.... When you struggle, when you are nauseated, when you are in pain and feel awful, you are standing with the best life this world has ever known, the only pure and perfect life ever lived. You have reason to stand tall and be grateful that the Living Son of the Living God knows all about your sorrows and afflictions. The only way to salvation is through Gethsemane and on to Calvary. The only way to eternity is through Him—the Way, the Truth, and the Life."'He said exactly what I needed to hear that night. It didn’t lighten my burden in the sense that I felt any better, but goodness–I got through it. I guess it gave meaning to my trial, and that is what I needed to pick up and go on.
Slowly, the days passed. I tried to make the goal to shower, make certain my boys had food, brush my teeth, and hoped to eat at least something 3x during the day. If I survived, then I would look forward to sleep in the day and at night. Luckily, I was easily able to drink ICE water, so I don’t think I ever got dehydrated. I tried every over-the-counter remedy you have heard of: ginger, lemon, complaining to a sister-in-law (Andrea) who shared my same situation, cinnamon, complaining some more, SeaBands, relaxation, peppermint, spearmint, Coke (caffeine-free and caffeinated)… nothing worked to provide real relief. I wanted to avoid drugs as best I could, but simply put, I wasn’t functioning as a normal sick person would. I couldn’t even leave the house, I barely was able to take Bridger to preschool 2x a day, crying to cope and sucking furiously on LemonHeads and ginger ale all the way to and from, with a grocery sack open–just in case.
Finally, I had enough. I was tired of the LemonHeads burning holes in my mouth (literally, since I was eating several an hour), and I was ready to turn to the next viable option. I tried a B6 supplement, 75mg/daily. Unfortunately, that seemed to do little, so then next on the list was B6+1/2 unisom. I read about it EVERYWHERE possible, called clinics to get advice, and decided it was there for me to try. Luckily, a pill with that combination had first come out in the 1970s, and many studies had been done in Canada to ease my concern about taking this drug during pregnancy.
I tried it, and it worked! It didn’t take the nausea away like some had said it would, but it did take off the edge some of the time so I could get up off the couch and do things when I felt ok. There were days when it didn’t make a dent, and some days I felt good. Life was so much better than it was, but it was still very difficult.
As the days slowly ticked by, I felt inspired to find at least one way that the Lord had helped me that day, and somehow knew that if I did that, I could get by. Here are just a few of His tender mercies (in no particular order) that gave me courage and hope to keep going:
-As I lay with my head on the kitchen table, just overwhelmed by my physical burden and my whole body sobbing, I head a little voice on the stairs say, “Heavenwy Fader, please… (sniff)… please bwess my mommy… (and then illegible words)” and he closed the prayer. My home felt sacred and I was reminded of what mattered–faith. I didn’t feel strong enough, but my son had enough that day to get me through.
-Kristyn came over one afternoon to play with the boys while I just sat on the couch.
-Katrina called, even when it was probably hard for her
-Lisa brought me the same soup that she made while struggling with my pregnancy with Liam (it hit the spot!)
-Jami texted with a meaningful quote
-My mom took the boys for 4 days so I could rest
-She cut up my ripe peaches and froze them for me so they didn’t go to waste
-Garrett held my hand
-Hailey prayed for me
-My name was on the prayer roll in at least 2 different temples, each on opposite ends of the world
-My dad shared one of his last chocolate Butterfinger eggs (our favorite!)
-Alex came over late one night to administer a blessing. In the blessing, I was promised that significant revelations would come. How I held onto that knowledge! He then ran to the store for gingersnaps and redhots. 🙂
-Even though we had to cancel babysitting on them, Anita and Clint came all the way from Eagle Mountain just to drop off pizza and chicken noodle soup.
-I sat through all 3 meetings at church
-Brienne came and picked up Bridger so I could rest
-Anita and Clint came, just to bring me pizza and soup
-I am finding relief
-Lifesavers are… well, lifesavers!
-I have found good coping skills
-A quote Andrea sent to me
-UNISOM, UNISOM, UNISOM!
Then came October 27. I wrote:
“Today marks a hard day-perhaps another day for growth. I woke up this morning and went to the bathroom, only to discover dark brown blood. I am not certain where this will lead, but I am ready for whatever may face me…
I have told myself over and over again–I can’t do this again–get pregnant–it has been so hard! But as I thought about this over breakfast, I realized that not only could I, but that I would. And then I wondered, is this what the Lord was asking of me? Was that what he needed from my heart? Don’t we come to this life for that purpose? To show our willingness, to follow and accept His will, ‘at all times, in all things, in all places?’
Perhaps all the things I have faced in the past month and a half has been for that crowning moment–the moment where I realized that truly, with God, all things are possible.”
Unfortunately, this entry ended on a sad note, I ended up miscarrying that night. Earlier in the evening, after a trip to the hospital to get a Rhogam shot and some bloodwork, we ended up seeing a doctor that Garrett oversees in Labor and Delivery. He stopped us and asked us why we were there. We explained briefly the course of the day, and he told us to step into a room so he could take a look on ultrasound so maybe he could see what was going on. Upon looking on the ultrasound, he said it appeared that I had a blighted ovum. I could tell he felt awful telling us the news, and I surprisingly held it all together. As we left the hospital, I remember walking down it’s long corridors, tear-stained eyes, knowing that I wouldn’t be there, at that hospital, to deliver this child. As we drove home that night, I came to see that having Dr. Allen there was a tender mercy in itself, not only for diagnosis, but also to prepare me for what lay ahead. The miscarriage was excruciatingly painful, and I bled a lot. I cried quite a bit too. It was hard, and I felt very tired.
Knowing that the pregnancy had come to an end, I was ready to get back to a normal life. For the first time in a long time, I actually didn’t feel the heavy nauseated feeling any more. I could eat things. Smells didn’t get to me like they did. I could sit on the floor and play with my kids. Although my body wasn’t ready as fast as I was to get back to normalcy, I had been rescued from a heavy burden and I was able to accept what had happened.
As I reflect on the past 3 months, I have been stretched in ways I didn’t know I could. I have been tried and tested, even to what I thought was the bitter end. I learned so much about our Savior, His Atonement, and the parallels of His sacrifice to the expectations of motherhood and the power that lies within me. I’ve learned about submission and humility, and that I can only control my reaction and my dedication to situations. I’ve learned of His love for me, individually, and what it means to apply the Atonement in my life for strength and help when in need. I struggled, but I had hope. I felt miserable, but He gave me courage.
I still do feel a sadness knowing that come May, I have nothing to show for it. That I suffered for something that, in the end, would never come. But my suffering was no longer in vain. Just as my personal struggle and yearning in the past to have Bridger and Liam join our family taught me much, in a way, this taught me so much more. I can walk away knowing that I have been changed through my experience: I can do hard things.
And now, I find myself loving every bit of my life, even the difficult things I have had to face.
For now, it is in His hands.
9/3/2015
Dear Daughter (Whose name is yet to be known!),
So many thoughts and feelings surround my heart when I think about just what I want to do when you are finally here. Already, although I can’t see you, I feel you, not just physically, but as if I know you. Maybe it is a connection that has kept us together and stretches back through our mothers, and their mother’s mothers, all the way back to Mother Eve? This is a beautiful connection and heritage and is one that I hope to instill upon you forever.
When I first found out this baby inside me was a girl, I was speechless. It was you. How could this be? A girl? Although we’ve only had two babies before you, and they both have been boys, it almost ridiculously felt (and it is silly to even think it!) as if we just made boys and nothing else. So I will admit: I was a bit in shock! I was elated to know what you were, Suddenly my world of Matchbox, and Imaginext, and explosion-like sounds would likely change: would a world full of pink princesses, curls, and a feeling of calm nurturing fill my existence? Perhaps. As I thought about these changes and what I hoped for you, an overwhelming desire to teach you the power of motherhood and righteousness filled my heart.
A wave of emotion and a knowledge that this was one of God’s many tender mercies he had chosen to give to me came when I found out what you were, and I felt that especially after a period in my life where I struggled tremendously both in spirit and body. Only a woman could experience what I had gone through in the past year, and somehow, knowing that I held a female, a potential mother inside of me, made me want to become an even better mother than I already was. I held a daughter of His, you, and it was up to me and your Daddy to bring you life, to teach you, and to protect you. I felt tied to you, in a way I have never felt to any of my unborn children. The knowledge of you has given me a greater determination to stop surviving in this pregnancy and, as Elder Maxwell so eloquently once put, to “not shrink” (Elder Bednar, That We Might Not Shrink, March 2013). Because of you, I could do this. I could do this with strength and wisdom, and actually enjoy holding you and giving you life, despite its challenges, because we were women. We could do this together with the Father of our souls. Suddenly, I was empowered with complete love for you and for my Father in Heaven.
As the weeks went on, I began to think about what lay in store for our family, and for me, personally: it would be me who would teach you about womanhood, about motherhood, about your potential for good. Of all the lessons I have learned in the past 2 years, I have never felt better prepared for such a task. I’ve learned how applicable the Atonement of Jesus Christ is specifically for women; I’ve tasted for myself the power that can come from trusting fully in Him and His power to save and strengthen. The pattern and story that is taught in the temple has increased my understanding and gratitude for our mother, Eve, and I get to be the one to show you that you too can be wise and brave and make tough decisions like she once had to make (and likely throughout her lifetime). I hope you come to find your inner beauty: beauty to love, your charm, your spirituality, your femininity, your gentleness and dignity. I get to teach you that above all treasures in the world, nothing will bring greater happiness to you than by giving charity to others, more specifically to your husband and children as they come to you when you get older. I get to show you that you are worth more than just physical looks, your body, what you wear: that you can achieve whatever you set your mind to, that you are to be heard, valued, and understood. Of all things, I hope that we can teach you the differences between ways of God and the world: “The world has enough women who are tough; we need women who are tender. There are enough women who are coarse; we need women who are kind. There are enough women who are rude; we need women who are refined. We have enough women of fame and fortune; we need more women of faith. We have enough greed; we need more goodness. We have enough vanity; we need more virtue. We have enough popularity; we need more purity” (Sister Nadauld, “The Joy of Womanhood,” October 2000). What a glorious role to take part in as a daughter of God!
Your brothers will learn the importance of womanhood, and you too, will learn the power and dignity of manhood and fatherhood. You’ll learn to respect and hold these roles with a quiet goodness, and your brothers will do the same. We will celebrate the fact that you are different than they are, and that is great! Each of your qualities will complement each other.
Am I grateful I will have a daughter? Absolutely. Does it bring me to my knees to know that my Father knew I needed you? Without hesitation. Do I already love you in a way that cannot be expressed adequately by a mother’s limited heart and choice of words? Most definitely.
I cannot wait to meet you, my dear darling daughter. How I already love you!
5/31/2020
And here, I sit at the computer. I am now 36 years old. I am married to my sweetheart and we now have two boys and two girls. We have a home, life is fulfilling, we are covenant keepers, and we are happy. We just celebrated our 14th anniversary: in those 14, there was a lot of hard. A LOT. There were some ugly times—ones I don’t care to ever repeat. But you know what? I wouldn’t trade them. I think to myself, upon reading these above entries with the eyes of someone who has lived through those hard times, how has my view expanded since they were first penned? In so many ways! It is deeper, has much more meaning, it’s actually exhausting—and yet,… fulfilling. Peaceful. Full of meaning and wisdom. I see the Lord’s hand in my life so much, there are parts where it is actually quite overwhelming when I realize how much They are a part of my story. And I am so grateful to know my Savior and Heavenly Parents have been by my side the entire time.
- * *
I love being a mother. I love the experiences that have taught me what “mother” means. It’s much more than just bearing and/or raising children: it’s the life story of pain and joy, learning and failing, heartache and love—the stuff that only “Godmaking” can be a part of. When I will face the many challenges that this mortal life throws at me, I will think to the example of my Mother Eve. When filled with these tough decisions and challenges, she showed courage, made her decision, and as she did so, she faithfully replied, “There is no other way.”
And I will echo the same.