Redefining the Nature of Work

When I was expecting my sixth child, the doctor ordered bed rest because of preterm labor. This order produced more than a healthy nine-pound full-term baby boy. Six weeks of bed rest dramatically altered my point of view concerning work. Before this order I’d wasted my fair share of time inwardly complaining about all the work I had to do. Suddenly and without warning, I wasn’t allowed to do any work at all.
Actually, the first day was great. As a mother of five little rascals, the chance to rest felt sublime. The next day I was antsy to get out of bed and do something . . . anything! It took an army of people to fill in for me and I was embarrassed. By the third day I wanted to climb the walls. By the second week I felt the gears of an internal attitude adjustment suddenly shift. I understood for the first time that the ability to work was a gift – a gift that can be taken away at any moment. I vowed to never complain about having too much work to do again.
By the third week I discovered my children needed the busy hurried me less than I preciously thought. My maternal work description needed to include more than productivity. My children rather enjoyed having a mother who was right there where they left me, a mom who wasn’t too busy or stressed-out to be truly present in the moment. While I was in bed and unable to care for my children in the usual ways, I learned what else my children needed from me. Yes, they needed a mother who could fix their meals and clean up after them. More, they need a mother who had unhurried time to hug them, read stories, snuggle and sing songs. While in bed all day, I found my children needed my peacefulness, patience and skin to skin affection. The doctor didn’t order a distressed mother, but that is what my children got. I stopped defining my value by how much work I accomplished during the day.
Most of us define ourselves by the work we do. One of the first questions we ask a new acquaintance is “What do you do?” Yet we often confuse our paid work with our real worth. Our culture tells us that our vocation is a proper gauge to determine how important we are. So, we spend most of our lives on egotistical things like career, car payments or mortgages. We get strapped onto a materialistic treadmill where someone else keeps turning up the speed until we can’t get off. We live in a society that teaches us we can never have enough. We need more, more, MORE! Then eventually retirement comes and we are left to wonder, “Is this all there is?”
If we want only more things - this really is all there is. Yet having more things never satisfies our inner most needs. What satisfies is personally offering others what we have to give – a song, a sincere thank you, a smile, forgiveness, a story, warm meal or a heart-felt hug. If we devote ourselves to offering our time, love and devotion to those in our own homes and communities we will not become bitter, empty or disillusioned.
The next time you’re feeling sorry for yourself because you have too much work to do, imagine being ordered to bed for the rest of your life. After the first day, you wouldn’t like it there. So, put a smile on your face and be grateful. If we make it our life’s work to care for others with compassion and joy we will find the only path to personal refinement and discover the ultimate fulfillment of life.

A Weekend to Remember

Elder Holland came to our Stake Conference this past weekend. It was a weekend to remember. The first session of conference took place in the temple earlier in the week when we invited members of our stake to join together for an endowment session at the Provo temple. When we arrived the waiting room was filled to overflowing. So many members of the stake came to the temple we filled several sessions. It felt like walking into heaven when I entered the celestial room and saw the faces of so many people I love dressed in white.
On Saturday, my sweetheart Ross met privately with Elder Holland. They also held several other Priesthood Leadership meetings. Before the adult Saturday evening session I prepared a meal for our visiting authorities. We invited the family members of the Stake Presidency, secretary and clerks to attend the dinner. As we ate together each family introduced themselves. Elder Holland stood and expressed his sincere appreciation to each wife and child in the room for the loving sacrifices they make each day that allow their husbands and fathers to serve.
The adult session of conference filled the stake center to overflowing. I was so touched by Elder Holland’s sincere and hopeful counsel. A master teacher, Elder Holland told us God loves to mend broken hearts . . . “when we lay our broken hearts on the alter, God gives us back a new one.” He told us to let go of our fears, to pull up our socks, to grow up, to endure and to face our problems with courage. “Stay in the boat and be of good cheer for Christ has overcome the world.” He told us we will all have times when we think we can’t face our challenges, that God doesn’t love us or that God has abandoned us. He told us God is trying to help us become like Him – that when we feel most alone, God is most with us. He told us not to jump out of the boat and dog paddle on our own. “Look to the Master of earth and sky who says, ‘Peace . . . be still.’”
We were asked to prepare for stake conference by asking ourselves how our activities are bringing us closer to Christ and what we can do to better strengthen our families. Elder Holland met with the prospective elders in the stake early Sunday morning and reserved the front chapel for these prospective elders and their families during the combined general meeting later Sunday morning.
Elder Holland told one particularly touching story on Sunday morning concerning the late President Hinckley. He told us that our late prophet came to a meeting in the temple and told his counselors and the twelve apostles that he had cancer but he didn’t want them to tell any one. Then he told them he would be receiving treatments. When some expressed their worries for him and the difficulties of cancer treatments he told them he had no choice because all the Primary children in the church were praying for him and he owed it to them to remain alive as long as possible. He was given three more years.
Elder Holland stood as a witness of Christ. He told us he could not walk away from him wife, children and grandchildren for this work over and over again without an absolute conviction that, “God the Father and Jesus Christ really appeared to the prophet Joseph Smith.” Then he left us all with an apostolic blessing of comfort and joy.

Missing Ashley

My daughter Ashley is gone on a choir tour to California this week. She’ll be singing in cathedrals and going on rides at Disneyland and Six Flags. She’ll be hanging out with friends and wiggling her toes in the wet sand on the beach. I know Ashley will relish every moment – from the annoying “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer” song the kids sing on the all-nighter bus ride - to the brilliant overtones she’ll hear resonating off the arches in the Crystal Cathedral.
Ashley lives in the moment and relishes the here and now better than anyone I know. Her smile is like a beam of light that welcomes everyone into her safe harbor. If you have Ashley for your friend you are one happy sailor anchored safely in her love.
Ashley knows how to suck the marrow out of life . . . literally. When she was a baby she used to crawl over to my bare feet whenever I was playing the piano. Then she would suck on my toes while they bobbed up and down on the pedal. Now she plays that same piano with so much grace and beauty if takes my breath away. When she was a little girl she loved her cloth doll so much she sucked the stuffing out of the top of her head. Now she tends her nieces and nephews with so much gusto she can suck the grouches right out of them. Like sudden bursts of sunshine, Ashley’s laughter pops all around you like soap bubbles.
Ashley’s trip to California this week is my primer course in living without her. She will be moving out in a few months to begin a new journey at BYU. She’s ready. I’m not. We have our children in our homes for such a short time. I want to share Ashley with the world, I really do - but for now I want to take this moment to really soak in the enormous treasure she is in my life.
It’s too quiet around here when Ashley is gone. No one can take her place. You’d think having your children leave should get easier and easier the more times you’ve done it. It doesn’t. It just gets harder and harder. This will be my eighth launching party and I’m getting worse and worse at watching my babies leave. I don’t know where her voyage will take her or how often it will bring her home. I do know she is ready for the grand adventure that lies before her. And so I let her go with joy and sadness because now it is her time to sail toward the horizon without me.
I envy her roommates. Ashley laughs as easily as breathing. She throws nutritious meals together in minutes. She invites you to relish the world with her by going for a walk, listening to a new piece of music by Brahms or sharing her latest piece of exotic fruit from the produce department at Reams.
Ashley's bedroom down at the end of the hall isn’t tidy. It doesn’t bother me. Her room is like a mosaic of her treasured life . . . a dried corsage from the Sweetheart’s dance, a piece of sheet music from the choir concert, old Christmas candy, a soft turquoise robe, journal, a picture of Jesus, worn backpack, biology textbook, piles of makeup and a pair of high healed shoes next to a pair of worn sneakers. Behind the door is a teddy bear she has had since she was a baby and some rumpled plaid flannel pajamas. Cleaning out a bedroom when a child is about to leave home comes much too soon. After we pack all her things and haul her to college this summer, I know I’ll walk by her clean room and wonder where she’s gone without me. I don’t think children realize how much their parents love them until they have children of their own. Ashley doesn’t know how much she will be missed. I do.

Happy Birthday Letter to a Five-Year-Old

March 20, 2009

Dear Sammy,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
I am so excited you are turning 5 years old today. You are such an awesome little boy and I love you so much. The last time I saw you, you ran into my arms yelling, “Grandma!” and gave me the biggest hug in the whole world. I felt SO happy I almost danced a jig.
I still remember the day you were born. Your mom’s family was at a party at your Uncle Jordan’s house. When we got home from the party, your parents called me from the hospital and told me that you were about to be born. We were worried because you weren’t supposed to be born for several more months. We prayed so hard that you would be safe.
When we got to the hospital, you came into this world so fast. You were so tiny that the doctors and nurses had to help you breathe and eat. We worried you might die but you didn’t. You surprised everybody because you were SO strong. You had to stay in the hospital for a long time so you could grow bigger and stronger. Your mommy stayed with us while you grew and grew. Our whole family was so happy you were born. We thanked Heavenly Father for you every day.
When you were a baby sometimes your Mommy and Daddy would let you come and visit me. You would peek at me from your car seat and look deep into my eyes for a long time. Then you would smile at me like you missed me and were happy to see me. I felt like I had sparklers inside my tummy every time you smiled at me. I was so excited whenever I found out you were coming to my house. You were my first grandchild with dark brown hair like me. Did you know your mother used to be my baby and sometimes I still want to wrap her in a blanket and rock her to sleep?
I came to your house after your little sister was born. We snuggled on the couch and read books together. We also danced to your favorite songs and went for walks in the leaves. When you fell asleep on my shoulder I thought I’d slipped into heaven and I never wanted to leave.
One of my favorite things is when you call me on the telephone. When I hear you say, “I love you Grandma,” I feel like a soft bunny inside. Then I want to reach through the telephone wires and hug you so tight your eyes will pop.
Sammy, you are such a handsome, wonderful, energetic, sensitive little boy. I am so proud of you for learning and growing even when things are hard for you. I think about you every day and my heart gets so lonely for you sometimes because you live far away. Sometimes I go look at the French doors in the dining room at my house where you left your hand and nose prints. I touch them and think about you. I don’t wash them off.
Sammy, I am so glad that you are my grandson. Every day I thank Heavenly Father for you. I love you as big as the universe and beyond.

Hugs and kisses,
Grandma Baadsgaard

P.S. My real name is Janene because I was born in January. If you were named after the month you were born your name would be Marchy instead of Sammy.

March Miracles

Spring tip-toed into my world while I was sleeping. Crocuses bloomed in my flower garden. There was no blaring trumpet to announce this glorious event, just a simple flower. After a cold dark winter, there is no sweeter sight than a delicate flower. Yet there is another sure sign of spring – mud. Now that the temperatures have mellowed and the frozen ground is soft, my children and grandchildren have tracked mud in the foyer, up the stairs, all over the car seats, across the tile and even clogged the sinks and smeared the counter tops.
There was a time I lamented March mud. There was a time when I was annoyed about anything that kept my life a constant challenge. I am not annoyed any more. For I have learned we can’t have spring without some mud. Flowers need earth, water and sunshine to grow. We can’t put earth and water together without making mud. In a similar way, all of us need trouble in order to mature.
This past weekend I flew to California to speak to a large gathering of women. On the airplane, I sat next to a beautiful young African woman from Kenya and Sudan. She was currently living in Utah. She told me about her childhood growing up in a country with constant violence and poverty, her years as a refugee and finally seeking asylum in the United States. She had learned to speak English and was now going to school to become a nurse hoping to be of service to those with various cultural and religious backgrounds. Her wisdom, desire to bring light and her hope in the future gave me the feeling I was in the presence of royalty. She had taken the mud she was given as a child and created a beautiful garden.
Once I arrived in California I was privileged to meet so many amazing women. As we honestly shared our challenges with each other, I felt a bond that will stay with me forever. Even if I never see these women again, I will always remember and love them.
On the flight home I thought about my daughter who had experienced a ruptured appendix on her wedding day. I thought about another daughter who daily faces the fragile medical condition of her little boy who was born without a brain and still another daughter dealing with the unexpected lay-off of her husband. They have all chosen to embrace their experiences and learn and grow from them.
We all have days, weeks, months or even years of rain. There are times when we all wonder about the mud we have to deal with. Eventually we discover challenges don’t go away; they simply become new ones. So we have a choice - we can wait for the storm to pass or we can learn to dance in the rain.
Each person has a heavy load to carry. When we show more kindness for each other’s struggles we will ultimately discover more courage for our own. Eventually winter fades away. Then the first crocus seems even more the miracle. Yet even in the midst of our personal winters there is purpose and meaning. Patience, wisdom and peace are coming. Like dormant bulbs in the cold earth our hearts are about to open because of our winter wait.