The Other Fertility Challenge

Last week, Isaiah asked me if I could pray to have a baby.  If he knew how far I am from needing divine intervention in such matters, he'd be even more confused than he already is.  The question isn't really, can I have a baby, but, should I?

At church, he's a brand-new Sunbeam, and sometimes I end up in Junior Primary for long enough to observe him bobbing up and down on the front row.  Hearing his, and his colleagues' irrelevant remarks throughout the lesson is my favorite thing ever--"I like dinosaurs!"--but once in awhile it seems that something sinks in.  Isaiah somehow absorbed the story of Abraham and Sarah's miraculous triumph over infertility in their old age...because they prayed.

Isaiah is done with diapers, done with nursery, and absolutely done with one hundred hugs and kisses per day.  He is the youngest of five, and the oldest child I've ever had without a younger sibling in tow.  Every baby I see makes me pine for one of my own.  So Isaiah's question came at an interesting moment for me.  How could I explain to a three-year-old why I'm not going to have a baby, when I really do want one?  After the question was posed three or four times, I came up with, "Because babies cry all night and that makes me grumpy all day."

Of course, there's more to it than that.  "Grumpy" is a euphemism for "chemically imbalanced" or maybe even "unfit to care for children."  But let us proceed.

The older kids on hearing this were surprised that such a small thing could stand between me and the incomparable blessing of another child.  "Mom, you don't have to worry about that!  We'll take care of the baby at night so you can sleep!"

"I don't think that would work," I smiled, and the conversation moved on.  But part of my brain kept going on that derailed train.  They're home schooled.  They get their work done in under four hours each day.  And two of them would be teenagers by then.  They could totally take nights.  And maybe, with a decent nights' sleep, I could be functional!

At which point the logical part of my brain started shouting appalled exclamations about fulfilling everyone's worst stereotypes of home school families.  And I came away surprised at what stretches of the imagination I am willing to indulge--in order to picture myself with another baby.

Fertility is a double-edged sword.  My own sister struggled with infertility for years before giving birth to her son.  Countless couples pour out their hearts to God for year after year as they await the blessing of children.  I honor them.  Their struggles are real.  Their heartache is impossible to comprehend for those of us who have never experienced it.  And their faith is marvelous to witness.

Comparatively speaking, the other end of the fertility spectrum is a good place to be.  But I'm here to say that it can be difficult, too.  Those of us who conceive easily have the dreadful responsibility of deciding when the godly powers of procreation should, and shouldn't be employed. And it's a decision we face over and over again.  Whether, and when to bear children is a question TJ and I have prayed and pondered over extensively: with each one of our five children, we've felt sure that the Lord blessed our decision to give birth.   It still took a lot of faith to grow our family when we were still getting school and employment figured out.  It has stretched me personally more than I can say, to bring children into the world when my own mental health was in the balance.

There are two lists always running in my mind.  The things that contribute to depression, and the things that alleviate depression.  Having babies goes on both lists.

But the Lord never lets us put him in our debt, and for every leap of faith, we have had blessings showered on our family.  We are so happy together.  There are times I watch the kids playing together on a sunny day in the back yard, and I ask myself, "Who am I to deny these blessings to another child who may wish to join this family?"

But there are other times.  Times when, as happy and healthy as my kids are, I can see them only through the veil that chronic depression puts over the mind. My condition colors everything.  It impairs my abilities to sense the true nature of our family, convinces me that I am failing in my mission as a mother, and introduces friction into relationships with those I love most.  Sometimes, I count the hours until bedtime so I can cry myself to sleep.  These are the times when I hope with all my heart that the Lord will not ask any more from me.

Does clinical depression make me an unfit mother?  No.  God's grace has provided my children with everything they need, in spite of my deficiencies.  And if it were truly His will for us to welcome another child into our family, he would enable me to do it well.  It's knowing whether He wants this for our family that is the tough part.  So I am trying very hard to hear the Lord's voice on this one.  TJ and I have been counseling and praying.  I've been talking to friends and family.  And of course, I've spent a lot of time studying God's word.  One dear friend shared this quote with me from an amazing talk given by Richard G. Scott:

Our Heavenly Father did not put us on earth to fail but to succeed gloriously...He is our perfect Father. He loves us beyond our capacity to understand. He knows what is best for us. He sees the end from the beginning. He wants us to act to gain needed experience:

When He answers yes, it is to give us confidence.
When He answers no, it is to prevent error.
When He withholds an answer, it is to have us grow through faith in Him, obedience to His commandments, and a willingness to act on truth. We are expected to assume accountability by acting on a decision that is consistent with His teachings without prior confirmation. We are not to sit passively waiting or to murmur because the Lord has not spoken. We are to act.
Most often what we have chosen to do is right. He will confirm the correctness of our choices His way. That confirmation generally comes through packets of help found along the way. We discover them by being spiritually sensitive. They are like notes from a loving Father as evidence of His approval. If, in trust, we begin something which is not right, He will let us know before we have gone too far. We sense that help by recognizing troubled or uneasy feelings.

I love to get answers and directions from Heavenly Father because it gives so much peace--especially in major life decisions.  But there have been times when I've had to act on a best guess and rely on His promise that He will let me know before I go too far in any one direction.  And for now, that direction can be traveled in our seven-passenger mini-van.

That is, unless Isaiah prays for a miracle of his own.  

Every Marriage Needs Some of This

For Valentine's Day I gave TJ this framed print that we can write on each day.  Our little daily notes don't usually center on the Boy Scouts of America--I wrote this one right after TJ did the Klondike, because I happen to think any guy willing to camp in the snow with a bunch of deacons deserves to be sainted.  But I digress.

My friend swears this little wall hanging saved her parents' marriage, but I wasn't looking for any miracles.  We have been doing fine, really. But a few weeks ago I found myself pining after our newlywed days when each of us thought the other was perfect in every way.  Sadly, TJ and I slip too often into the trap of fault-finding, and whether or not we voice our criticism, that spirit can very quickly poison a relationship.  I began to pray, as Elder Eyring counsels, for the love to see past TJ's weaknesses and rejoice in his strengths:

Pray for the love which allows you to see the good in your companion. Pray for the love that makes weaknesses and mistakes seem small. Pray for the love to make your companion’s joy your own. Pray for the love to want to lessen the load and soften the sorrows of your companion.

I heard a story of a guy who told his wife on their wedding day, "There is 20% of my character that is bad, and 80% that is good.  If you focus on the 20%, we'll be unhappy.  But if you focus on the 80%, we'll have a great marriage."  And how true is that!  When I married TJ almost fourteen years ago, he was everything my heart desired.  Was I a little blinded by infatuation and hormones and the like when I rated him 100%?  Well, yes, probably.  But this I know: regardless of perception, TJ is a better man today than he was then.  So how can it be that I am less pleased with him than I was then?

Surprisingly, the praise TJ writes to me is not nearly as important as the things I write to him.  This simple exercise of looking for something to write each day has shifted my paradigm.  I don't keep mental lists of things I'd like TJ to do better anymore.  If something bugs me, I make a simple, loving request, and trust him to take care of it when he can.  I forgive him as he forgives me.  And most of all, I rejoice that I am married to a man of God.  I never run out of things to write, because he never stops supplying them.

Such a simple thing.  A few little prayers of righteous desire, a suggestion from a friend to do this picture thingie, and enter the miracle.  The Lord does work in mysterious ways.  TJ and I have not been this happy in years and years.   We are happy, happy, HAPPY.

Which brings me back to my title: originally, I wanted to call it "Every Marriage Needs One of These," but really the wall hanging is just a device to bring about a pattern.  Maybe you already have this pattern going on in your marriage.  If you do, how do you?  And if you could use a little help, I hope you'll try this sweet baby for a week.  I guarantee you'll see a huge difference.

He Gives Me Hope

It has been an interesting couple of weeks.  I have been in pain, but there has been a swelling of hope to carry me through.  And I've been enlightened on things I thought I already had a firm grasp of.

Right after I posted my magical formula for mental wellness on Facebook, I started drowning again. I cried in the morning.  I cried at night.  And in my prayers, I cried out in frustration and pleading. Why, after all these years, am I still wrestling with depression?  I thought I had already slain this beast!  How many times must I experience the disappointment of failure after the elation of success?

Maybe, I asked myself, in the remotest corner of my mind, maybe I'm just lazy?  Maybe, with all my openness about my condition, and all the many people who love and support me through it, I have allowed depression to be what we all fear it will become: a crutch.

For days this question hovered over me, until one dark night, I had to voice it and see what would happen.  And as always, TJ was there to hear my darkest fear and to defend me against it.

He was the first of many voices raised in my defense during this time.  One particularly tough morning I spent about an hour in my room trying to put myself together in time for home school. As I prayed, an inarticulate wish issued from my heart that a friend would reach out to me.  TJ was morally obligated to love and support me, and so were my parents and siblings.  But my sick mind reasoned that if someone outside that circle could show concern, I might feel that I was worth something to the world at large.

Within two hours the Lord sent two loving friends to me with messages of love, validation, and encouragement.  One showed up with a sugar cookie and a long note of thanks for my friendship, emphasizing how she felt the Lord must be pleased with me.  When I asked later how she had known I needed help that day, she said she had received a distinct impression that I needed to hear from her. Then TJ's cousin called out of the blue.  We are about as close as two distantly related women can be, who see each other only every one or two years--and I mean that without sarcasm.  So to have a long phone conversation with her about my struggles was uplifting as it was unique.

Their message?  That I am not failing.  That I am doing good, in spite of, and maybe even because of this weakness.  That the Lord is pleased with how hard I try.  And that it's making me into a better person.

Two other friends I've heard from in the past two weeks have been Chad Webb and Elder Jeffery R. Holland, speaking in separate meetings with seminary teachers and spouses.  So, full disclosure, they weren't speaking to me personally.  But it felt that way.  Elder Holland's strength and conviction and tenderness sank deep into my soul and gave me strength, as it always does.  Brother Webb's teachings on the Atonement surprised me by offering a completely new perspective.  He quoted a conference talk by Merrill J. Bateman called "A Pattern for All"

For many years I thought of the Savior’s experience in the garden and on the cross as places where a large mass of sin was heaped upon Him. Through the words of Alma, Abinadi, Isaiah, and other prophets, however, my view has changed. Instead of an impersonal mass of sin, there was a long line of people, as Jesus felt “our infirmities” (Heb. 4:15), “[bore] our griefs, … carried our sorrows … [and] was bruised for our iniquities” (Isa. 53:4–5).

Mind.  Blown.  I have been taught all my life that Jesus Christ bore my sins, infirmities, griefs and even sicknesses, and yet when I heard this quote, my vision expanded.  Christ really does completely remember what it's like to be in my shoes.  And that means that I am not alone.

Not being alone means that Jesus Christ is sending help every day.  It means He inspires loved ones to help in ways that are meaningful to me.  It means that He teaches TJ the perfect words to say that will help me to heal, time after time after time--and it means that He will strengthen TJ to bear the weight of my sickness so he can always be there for me.  It means that He is pleading for my redemption before the Father.  It means that he is suffering beside me, and when the Father sees fit to give me a respite from the pain, Christ is bearing the whole of it.

Jesus Christ gives me hope.  I may never be completely whole in my lifetime.  I will most certainly experience the joys and sorrows of mortality in one form or another, until my earthly mission is fulfilled.  But in the meantime, these struggles are not in vain.  If they do nothing else, they humble me and show me His hand in my life.  And that truly makes it all worthwhile.

#500DAYSOFWAITING

My friend Katie Coleman has been waiting for her legally adopted daughters to come 

home for way over a year, and you can help.  Please sign the petition.

I'm re-posting her latest blog entry here with her permission.

http://rillalev.blogspot.com/2015/02/holding-our-breath.html

Tonight I asked TJ why I was so tired.  He replied, "Because you're so gorgeous.  That kind of beauty takes a lot of beauty sleep."

I kissed him like a well-rested woman would.  

Heaven is Here

Have you read this book?  If you read it when it came out three years ago, have you picked it up yet again?  

This week I was struggling with my old enemy, and I reached for hope when I picked this friend up off the bookshelf.  I am so glad that I did, because my heart feels shiny and new again.  

Here is an excerpt from my journal when I first read the book:

"I admit that I chose motherhood out of a sense of duty and felt I was unqualified for anything grand as a real career.  My faith has hinted that there is so much more to my role--but I have gone about the business of raising a family with an astonishing lack of vision.  Today, on my knees, I felt the spirit testify that I am not 'just a mom--' but a beloved daughter of God with a mission to save souls.

"My thoughts return again to Stephanie's powerful example and perspective.  Even before the accident, she treasured the small joys and pleasures of daily family life: wet baby kisses, little girl giggles, the unexpected turns of a child's mind, stolen romantic moments, beautiful sunsets.  These little moments occur constantly in my blessedly home-centered life.  What worldly ambitions, accolades, or luxuries would I trade them for?  What distractions do I allow to crowd them out?

"Today as I knelt in gratitude, I shed tears of joy--then, opening my eyes, wiped my glasses clean.  My vision gets smudgy and unclear as I rub up against slobbery kids all day.  but as I draw closer to my Father in Heaven, I know he'll help me see a little better every day."

I Am Doing It

Lately I have been feeling that I sit down to the computer a dozen times a day for no good reason.  I am drawn to its shiny connectivity, and find myself checking email far more often than there is anything worth reading.  I have even been frustrated with Facebook's lack of new content.  I know. That's very, very sad.

It's not like I have nothing to do around here.  I've been telling myself for months and years, really, that I'm far too busy to do family history.  But the dead end in  my family tree has become less and less acceptable since Ezra turned twelve and inherited responsibility for it.  (The brethren really knew what they were doing when they assigned family history to the youth--those of us slow to heed the call in general conference will eventually give in to our own children.  I mean, really, who say no to a cute kid asking for help with family history?)  So today I finally sat down to see what I could do.  I had to call the help desk, but by the end of the twenty-minute call, I was well on my way.  In another five or ten minutes, I had printed up my very first Family Ordinance Request.  Ezra, excited by my success, did a little more work on one of my lines, and printed his own request, and then tried his hand at indexing.  

I was not prepared for the elation I've felt all day.  The brethren have taught us that the internet can be a colossal waste of time--or--help us hasten the work.  Turns out, hastening the work is way more fun than wasting time colossally.