Consecrated Marriage

I knew when I married him that my husband was a man who loved Jesus Christ and was willing to serve Him.  That is what I was looking for, after all.  Because he was committed to keeping all of God's commandments, I knew I could trust my husband and support him.

From the start, my husband has been given opportunities to serve in time-consuming callings of responsibility.  We had two preschoolers when he was called to serve as the second counselor to our new bishop.  This meant at least fourteen hours away from home on Sundays, in addition to at least two weeknights out each week, monthly camp-outs and a week-long scouting adventure each year.  His work was nearly an hour away; he owned a fledgling company which required a lot of his attention and brought in money sparingly and sporadically.  He was also taking evening classes to complete a degree, which took whatever spare time he had.  With a miscarriage immediately followed by children twelve months apart, this was not an easy time for me and I confess that, despite his loving efforts, I sometimes felt abandoned.  I know it was difficult for him, too.

I received a flash of revelation one year, as I listened to General Conference.  This came during the Statistical Report, not a usual time for great epiphanies!  As the thousands of wards, branches, districts, stakes, and temples were enumerated, I started to recognize that each of these had four or five families who were impacted the way mine was -- and every few years, people changed callings, so (theoretically) everyone took turns!  I realized that, even though my husband had never sought opportunities to lead in our church community, he -- and I -- had volunteered years before, when we deliberately chose to lead Christ-directed, consecrated lives; if God wouldn't want him, I realized, I wouldn't either.  I had chosen him because he wanted to follow God, and I could not blame God for calling on him -- or on me to willingly offer Him the most precious thing I had or hoped to have:  time with my husband.

This helped alter my attitude to one of genuine rejoicing in each phase of my husband's ministry.  Since that dawning, eighteen years ago, I can honestly say that I have had opportunities to try again and demonstrate that I have truly changed.  I know that my attitudes, whatever my words might be, will profoundly influence each of my children, whether they are sons or daughters; I cannot fake honest appreciation for the blessings of my husband's opportunies to serve.  There have been inconveniences, for sure (nobody plans their suicide with the bishop's dinner schedule in mind), but the blessings of marriage to a godly man far outweigh any possible downsides.

All photos courtesy of sxc.hu.

Metamorphosis Into Mother

I recently met a young mother, in the last weeks of pregnancy with her third child.  It had been an act of faith to invite this baby; the difficult emotional challenges she had faced with her first two had caused her to question her decision to marry and stay home with her previous children.  She had worried that these difficulties had been caused by marrying too young, or by otherwise being unprepared for motherhood; her marriage had suffered as she had struggled.  She happily reported that she was eagerly anticipating the birth of her third child and wished that she had experienced similarly joyful emotions with the births of her two older sons.

The details of this woman's story may be unique, but the experience is common to many.  The pain experienced as we make the transition into motherhood cannot fully be explained away by hormones, since women who adopt experience many of the same challenges.  I have observed women who returned to work shortly after giving birth express disgust with the "wimpiness" of their sisters or neighbors who have chosen to remain at home with children; when it became "financially wise" to stay home with their own children, they were unprepared for the struggles inherent in the experience.   I have seen women from many walks of life seek a variety of ways to escape the pain that they do not understand or try to explain away with blame for others, their choices, or for the teachings of parents or religious leaders -- and I have seen the miracle of transformation in the lives of those who have chosen to faithfully embrace this opportunity to develop their unique, feminine gifts to become mothers in the most true and beautiful sense of the word.

Before she ever bore children, Adam identified Eve with a title that expressed her Motherhood.  This fact, along with observation of numerous women through the decades of my life, indicates to me that motherhood is not automatically equated with maternity, though the loving nurturing of children may be the most common route to achieve it.

Like the transformative metamorphosis which creates a butterfly, Motherhood requires effort and it is not always comfortable.  We would naturally expect discomfort for the caterpillar in its cocoon; becoming all that motherhood requires is an even greater change.  We are best able to become as we understand, accept, and embrace all that such a metamorphosis requires, without reeling as if we are undergoing cruel and unusual punishment.



All photos courtesy of sxc.hu.

Math Over Mother?

This spring, our two younger daughters participated in a seminar in science and math, geared to girls.  Before we left for our hour-long drive to the host college, my husband gently warned them to watch for even subtle messages discouraging them from motherhood, in favor of a technology-based career.  We set out, fresh and enthusiastic; they were hopeful that the classes they had selected would be all they had anticipated.  I also spent the day in town, doing handwork and reading in a quiet place. 

When we met after their activity, the girls seemed eager to escape the campus.  Even before the car door closed, the first thing they wanted to talk about was the overt, anti-motherhood message.  "I was shocked," the older one blurted out, "I had expected that they would at least mask it a little!  But the very first thing they did was have us all listen to some lady tell us that her job is the most fulfilling part of her life and that her husband and children just have to understand that they are her second priority!"

The fact that the keynote speaker was not very eloquent had not enhanced her agenda with my daughters, who saw her address as too cliche to be taken seriously.  But there were likely many who still believe the lie that girls are routinely denied access to education and jobs in math and science -- and who want to believe that they will find greater satisfaction in the work-force than may be found in creating a home.  The reality is that there are many opportunities for girls who have even moderate interest in these fields, but that the most noble and fulfilling of all professions for a woman is that of a wife and mother. 

Don't misunderstand:  this is not an attack on education in general or math in particular.   We encourage our daughters (as well as our sons) to pursue their educational interests:  in addition to the educational accomplishments of our very bright sons, our oldest daughter is starting her third year of college as a math major and our second girl has been very successful in the biological sciences in high school.  Each child -- whether son or daughter -- needs to consider the impact of his decisions on his future family and choose carefully; our oldest daughter decided to go into math in an effort to bless the lives of her future children and our oldest son has abandoned his youthful dreams of a military career (or as a cowboy, riding the range,) because of the negative impact it would likely have on his future family.

Come to think of it, what is the value of math, anyway?  Contrary to the silly or thoughtless answers we sometimes give our children ("You have to do this so you'll know how to help your children when they have questions with their homework!"), math is a shorthand that helps strip away the extraneous details of our problems to exercise the logical, problem-solving part of our brains. 

In addition to the practical needs we each have for arithmetic, measuring, and estimation; math skills help us think clearly, to wade through deceit and come to decisions based on absolutes (or at least solutions effectively based on the Givens).  We all need the skills math can hone, whether our current issue is political, social, or physical -- perhaps especially mothers.  Math and motherhood should not be an "either/or" proposition:  it's not, if we put our families first.

Build a Little Birdhouse in Our Yard

With the help of his Dad, our young son constructed an aviary in the backyard.  This took a lot of research and preparation -- and several trips to the hardware store!  Yesterday evening, he raided the nest of our resident magpies, bringing down four young birds.

Frankly, despite all the advance preparation, I did not expect that he would actually be able to do it.  I made the hardware trips to be supportive, thinking (hoping?) something would go awry; I am not a pet person, for I believe animals are much more satisfied and successful when they are allowed to care for themselves.  These birds smell awful and they are always hungry.  He loves them.

Whether these helpless creatures live or not, this has already been a revolutionary experience for our son.  He is learning compassion, as he must nurture these nestlings:  they will die if he doesn't.  His sleeping patterns (and location) have been willingly changed; his thoughts go out to what (and when) they will next eat and whether they are warm enough; his awareness of sanitation has been dramatically altered!  He is learning to recognize their nonverbal communication patterns and experiencing the empathy motherhood entails, the more remarkable because his Autistic tendencies make such awareness a challenge in interpersonal situations.

I was moved this morning by one of his concerns:  magpies are clever creatures and can learn to respond to particular behaviors and verbal cues; they can even learn to mimic sounds.  He wondered what he ought to say to these babies when he comes to feed them, so they will learn to trust and expect good things from him -- and it needs to be something appropriate for them to learn to say.  Such concerns echo the worries of a conscientious mother for the development of her children beyond their physical needs.

From specialists who intervene with at-risk children, I have heard of women who do not speak to their children, using the rationale that "they never speak to me!"  He laughed at the silliness of such a thing, asking, "Where are they supposed to learn to talk?"  He already recognizes how essential it is for him to be a good model for his little ones.

He hopes these birds will learn to recognize him as their parent and that, as adults, they will return to him.  I hope he will become a good parent -- now and later.

Practicing Motherhood

This past week, my youngest daughter brought up a problem that she faces at school with a classmate who wants a best friend -- which really means she wants to dominate my daughter's time and attention.  My daughter wishes to maintain friendships with other girls in the class, yet her efforts to be kind to this desperate friend have meant that she has been manipulated to cut off additional school relationships.  My daughter wondered aloud if she is obliged to continue showing kindness to the girl who often comes to the point of ridiculous rudeness in demanding her attention.

This is not a new problem; each of my daughters has faced a similar dilemma with friendships, and it usually starts by about fifth grade.  It is essential for my daughters to learn to handle such situations kindly but with direction and strength:  if a girl becomes accustomed to being prey to such manipulators in her girlhood relationships, she will be an easy target for controlling dating and marriage relationships later.  But how she learns to handle it goes even deeper.

Strength for my daughter means more than merely sticking up for herself; the experiences she is having now are real-life practice for motherhood -- with the potential for real development for her and for the people around her.  If my seventh-grader were a loving mother trying to teach her junior high-age daughter, what would she do?  Perhaps I should phrase it differently:  Because my seventh-grader is am emerging mother with real potential to nurture and help her classmates, what should she do?

There are many "effective parenthood" ways for my daughter to handle her challenge, and this article is not written to enumerate them.  After a discussion of several strategies, I am confident that my daughter will choose options that work for her situation -- and that this is valuable practice in motherhood.


This experience has served as a reminder that the way we view our roles helps us have greater access to the power we have been given to act for ourselves and to make positive changes in the world around us. 

"You Pick Your Battles"

At my twenty-year high school class reunion, I had a chance to visit with the father of one of my classmates.  This was a man I had admired from childhood.  In conversation, I asked him about his talented younger daughter.  When he told me briefly about her life, I congratulated him for the good things she has accomplished.  His face pained, he expressed that some of her choices were not what he had hoped for her.  He leaned closer and with great intensity he added, "But you pick your battles, Daunell.  You pick your battles."

This brief exchange has been one of the most significant events of that reunion weekend:  I know little enough about this man's parenting, but have often thought of his earnest face and how his remark has urged me to become a more deliberate mother.  Whatever he may have intended to communicate, his comment continues to remind me to "pick my battles" carefully.

Love comes first.  Foremost in such a discussion is love.  Many times when we talk of "picking our battles," we mean that we feel forced to choose between maintaining a relationship or abandoning our principles; we seldom consider ways that such "battles" may be an expression of our love. Often, the way we frame something changes the way it is received:  timing, tone of voice, and the wider context of a loving relationship can allow me to be direct without communicating that I am in "attack mode."
 

Advocate for, don't fight against. I don't really want to fight against my children.  When they were younger (and even now, as they grow up,) I have been willing to defend them -- to advocate for them.  Ideally, in our family relationships we can battle against error and evil together; this is a battle I willingly pick.  Because I know there is a God who has defined truth and goodness, my role as mother means that for life's battles I must personally learn and teach God's true principles to my children.  Who is right is less important than what is right.

Seek divine help.  We don't live hypothetically, so each mother needs personal inspiration to know how best to face each challenge.  The fact that something seems to work at one time or with a particular child is not proof positive that all similar situations should be handled the same way.  God knows us and our children and leads parents to know what to do in our real parenting challenges -- but we have to listen and obey.

Calm courage.  Wading into a worthwhile "battle" takes sustained courage.  When you know your position is God-directed/based on true principles, it is easier to remain calm and consistently defend right without becoming defensive.

Hold the line.  I remember my mother often saying that raising children is like containing cattle in a field, and that the fences are a comfort to both the cattle and the rancher.  She grew up on a ranch and had noticed cattle bumping up against electric wires -- occasionally shocking themselves on purpose -- then grazing contentedly after finding the boundaries remained strong.  We can expect that our children will likewise vigorously test the boundaries we have established and that they will later sometimes brush against them to see if they are still there.  Like a protective fence, it is a mother's job to hold up the bounds -- even when complaints against them are loud and manipulative.  The knowledge that a fence is a moving target is an enemy to peace, inviting perpetual, painful testing!

Nip it in the bud.  The most effective battle-picking happens when I take care of problems before they grow big and ugly.  This means starting when children are young and arresting issues before they have a chance to become problems: children may complain a little, but it is much less painful to discuss, establish, and enforce thoughtful rules governing television content, iPod use, sleeveless tops and dating than it is to spring it on an adult child that bringing his live-in lover home for Christmas is a violation of your family's policies. 

I realize that these principles do not guarantee freedom from ever having parental challenges, but I have seen them at work.  They give me power to act, rather than leave me feeling oppressed or acted upon as a parent.  Yes, I pick my battles -- and when I am thoughtful, it usually means we all win and I don't even have to fight.

Unexpected Traditions

My Grandma Jensen was a talented musician and a professional secretary; I doubt she thought of herself as "a knitter," and I don't imagine that, fifty years ago, she was trying to start a tradition when she made a small scarf for my father of variegated wool yarn.  The scarf was a small and simple thing:  just rows and rows of knit stitch.  Dad wore that scarf on his mission to France and for many years after, until the treasure eventually fell apart.  Twenty-five years ago, when my brother left to serve in Washington, D.C., Grandma was asked to make a similar scarf for him.  Now that my son is similarly serving a mission, I purchased some variegated wool and began work on a scarf for him.

The ladies at the store tried to redirect my attention to yarns that were less expensive and more bulky, warning (truly) that such a scarf as I described would be costly and “take forever” to complete; I can now see why Grandma’s scarves were (as I thought) somewhat narrow and short!  Though my amateurish knitting is imperfect and though I was unable to locate the primary color variety that I remember from my youth, my son’s scarf in shades of avocado and copper – and which works up looking suspiciously like camouflage – is part of Grandma’s larger, if inadvertent, tradition.  I was not the recipient of a handmade scarf; yet as I make time to work on one for my son, I become a part of her tradition of love and effort and have hope to connect my children to the qualities I've admired in her life.

Many of our most cherished traditions are like this.  Mothers plan and work to create what we think will be meaningful ways to mark the lives of our family members; but the seemingly insignificant, unexpected things often are the ones about which memories are made.  The Christmas my oldest children began to read, I had a few gifts wrapped for one and nothing ready for some others; I wanted to set out the gifts but avoid discontent, so I made up a simple code and let everyone wonder and hope each gift could be for him.  The next year I had prepared better and saw no need for a code, but the hopeful Code Crackers pleaded in favor of the “tradition.”  And so it continues:  when my children are assigned to write about Christmas Traditions, they always mention the fun of The Code.  

 (Incidentally, this was the way my husband got his wish that we open presents one at a time:  our inadvertent tradition has unexpectedly facilitated anticipation of and appreciation for each gift, rather than a greedy hoarding and unwrapping frenzy on Christmas morning.)

When our oldest child was eight, I had a conversation with an experienced mother and grandmother who provided comfort when she shared this principle with me.  Her eight children were fairly close in age and she knew first-hand the struggles I faced at the time.  She talked about her own high expectations, her health challenges, and about the times when she had felt like a grumpy failure as a mother; but she reminded me that people have selective memories.  She explained that as a parent, she was amazed to hear her adult children reminisce about their happy childhood – and the stories often began with, “Do you remember how we always used to…?” 

“What they remembered might have happened once or twice,” she said with a shrug, “but to them it was our family tradition.”  Looking at the neighbor with admiration, I realized this was probably because a tradition of real love undergirded everything, even the occasional unpleasantness.   

Which gave me hope.