LIFE GOES ON

Sometimes when I crawl in bed at night I can’t go to sleep because I mentally rehash every trouble or concern in my life until each muscle in my body it so rigid I can’t relax. Then I worry that I’m worrying too much. Before long, I’m checking the clock again noticing another hour has passed. Eventually I have to tell my mind, “Stop thinking! You can not solve one single solitary problem in your pajamas while you’re in bed in the middle of the night. Let the day go. Face tomorrow when you wake up.”
Sometimes this personal reprimand works and sometimes it doesn’t. If it doesn’t I close my eyes and imagine I’m sitting alone at the beach on the Oregon coast watching the waves roll toward my bare toes wiggling in the sun warmed sand. Then I begin a relaxation game. First I become aware of each muscle in my body beginning at the top of my head and working down. I tighten each muscle then release. Next I imagine my arms and legs dissolving like sand into the sea. If I have another worry thought and tense up again, I have to start all over.
Once I’m relaxed I listen for my inner rhythms, the steady beating of my heart - the constant rise and fall of breathing. If I turn off my worry thoughts long enough and allow myself to simply experience the moment, my tension dissolves and I feel as though I’m floating. This gentle cadence of pre-sleep relaxation takes me back to when I was a child and had the simple faith to drift comfortably into slumber knowing God was watching over me.
Like the waves on the beach, like the beating of our heart, life is continual motion. We can not hold on to yesterday any better than we grasp a wave in the palm of our hand. Nothing is still; nothing is unchanging. There is no way to stop the constant pulse of the cosmos. Yet the Master of the Universe mercifully allows each day to end so we can regroup and refresh before the next wave.
There are times when unexpected challenges come at us like sudden storms at sea. When we feel most adrift or afraid, it helps to take a deep breath and go deep. Somewhere anchored inside each of us is stillness. Like the eye of the storm, this private quiet center allows us to be at peace even during the height of the tempest or against the stiffest wind. Hope and gratitude allow us to ride out the storm until the dark clouds part and sun shines through again.
So, when we’re lying in bed at night worried about the storms in our life, we have to tell ourselves, “Stop thinking and start listening. We can not solve one single solitary problem while we’re looking outside ourselves for the answer. Take a deep breath, go deep and feel the stillness.”
Storms come and storms go. The tide comes in and the tide goes out. If we are searching we’ll find hidden treasures in the quiet tide pools among the rocks when the tide is out and we never know what new gift the next tide will wash up on the shore. No matter what happens to us – life goes on. Sometimes we are on the beach watching the waves roll in and sometimes we have to get up and dance in the rain.

That Fat White Cat in the Windowsill

The other day my daughter boarded the school bus that stops in front of our house and sat down. The boy in the seat behind her tapped her on the shoulder.
“Hey, what’s with that big fat white cat in your windowsill every morning?”
At first my daughter was confused. She looked back at our house as the bus pulled away trying to see what the boy was talking about. Then she realized what the boy was looking at.
“That’s not a fat white cat,” Alisa answered. “That’s my mother.”
The couch in our living room is level with the windowsill and I usually slouch down so the kids on the bus can’t see my white bathrobe. I guess I didn’t slouch down quite enough.
John, Alisa and I do a lot of waving back and forth before they board the bus each morning. As a matter of fact - while they stand on the street in front of our home waiting for the bus to arrive - we wave, blow kisses and send hands signals back and forth about how much we love each other for minutes on end.
It won’t be long until John and Alisa are too self-conscious to show me so much affection in front of their peers. Junior high school has the well earned reputation for gobbling up free spirited affectionate elementary school children and turning them into don’t-embarrass-me-in-front-of-my-friends tweens (youngsters stuck self-consciously between childhood and adolescence).
I have learned that you have to savor children while you still have them. You can’t take anything for granted because childhood doesn’t last. Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into years. One morning you wake up, look outside your living room window and nobody is there blowing you kisses any more. You have to appreciate unbridled affection while you still can.
One of the reasons I write is so I can savor life times three. Once just isn’t enough. I write so that I can savor my life first while I’m living it, second while I’m thinking and writing about it and third while I’m re-reading and remembering. I have learned that life goes by so much faster than I thought it would and if you don’t notice how blessed each day is and really relish the moment – your life becomes a blur. You have to throw open up your heart, wrap your arms around your loved ones and embrace each other with gusto every single day. There will be a last time my son and daughter blow me kisses at the bus stop.
John and Alisa are my last two elementary school age children. I am not in a hurry to see them grow up and leave. I have a feeling that fat white cat in the windowsill will still be waving when they leave for high school and college. And she will still be in the windowsill with her nose pressed against the glass when they come back home with their own little ones for me to hold.

Parent School

A few months ago I watched my daughter march into the stadium with hundreds of graduates. The wind was blowing, flags brilliant, music rousing and faces radiant. My daughter had spent many long years earning her degree. After all the pomp and circumstance of that commencement ceremony what touched my daughter most occurred before she entered the stadium. Faculty and alumni lined the streets leading to the stadium clapping and shouting their congratulations with comments like:
“You’re the hope of our future!”
“Way to hang in there, work hard and never give up!”
“We’re so proud of you!”
As I sat in the bleachers that chilly day in Philadelphia, I realized society doesn’t recognize or reward parents. We neglect to give the most necessary members of our society any kind of diploma after they’ve spent many long years taking care of the human race. Yet I also realized that even if we held graduation ceremonies I don’t think many parents would attend.
Parents don’t do what we do so someone will give us a diploma to hang on our wall or so we can earn more money. We don’t do what we do because others will admire or praise us. We do what we do because we love our children and eventually everybody’s children. Parents may be largely invisible to society - but not to God. Each scraped knee we tend and each night of sleep we sacrifice is a personal purification process. For parenthood is God’s school. The graduation ceremonies are unique for each man or woman.
Parents pass through educational ranks something like this: When we quit feeling sorry for ourselves we graduate with the Associate of Amateurism degree. When we stop being so hard on our self we graduate with the Bachelor of Blunders degree. When we finally learn to rely on God to clean up our messes we are awarded the Master of Muddling degree. When we understand we need to keep learning for the rest of our life we graduate with our Doctorate of Humility degree.
Graduates at universities add to their cap and gown costume as they get advanced degrees. They start out wearing simple black caps and gowns then progress to colored hoods placed over their shoulders and finally velvet stripes down their arms. Graduates from parent school start out wearing fashionable clothing, progress to maternity or work clothes then wear anything that allows them to get down on the floor and play.
After all we’ve learned, lived and loved we seasoned parents need to line the streets applauding new parents marching toward selflessness shouting things like:
“Way to hang in there, work hard and never give up!”
“You’re the hope of the future!”
“We’re so proud of you!”
Then we can all throw our tasseled caps into the air together, take pictures and keep on doing what we love forever. The most prestigious letters we can have printed after our name are M.O.T.H.E.R or F.A.T.H.E.R.

What Matters More?

Lots of people ask me how I find time to write when I have ten children.
I tell them, “I don’t find time to write. I make time to write. I’m afraid if I stop, I’ll forget all the good parts of my life.”
Writing about being a parent is also my personal attempt to give honor to vital work that is often unappreciated and unheralded. Ordinary activities like fixing a meal, sweeping the kitchen floor or changing a diaper are often overlooked when it comes time for recognition. In our society we give adulation and millions of dollars to individuals who can dunk a basketball, walk down a runway in a bikini or pretend they are someone else for a movie camera. Taking care of children seems to be too common, boring and ordinary to garner societal attention or remuneration. Yet it is in those vital relationships we form at home where all the qualities of human greatness are neglected or nourished - like love, compassion, forgiveness, patience, kindness and charity.
So, I write and write and I can’t stop writing because the events and relationships that are happening in my family and your family will only happen once in the history of the universe. If we don’t observe, contemplate and gain insight from the profound uniqueness of our own life and relationships we form, they will be lost forever.
I remember a day when my daughter Ashley called me to the west window to see a sunset. I was busy and told her I’d be there in a minute. By the time I walked into the dining room and looked west, the sunset was gone - the day ended. I was too late. I don’t want to feel that way at the end of my life – too busy doing anything less important at the price of what was truly significant.
Somewhere deep inside of me I have been given an absolute personal conviction that being a person who loves and cares for others is incredibly important. I also know that we become role models much more quickly than we think. Little eyes look to us to see how human beings behave in this world.
History teaches us that battlefield victories fade, leadership changes and the flames of fame are quickly snuffed out. At the end of the day there has to be someone to go home to. A man or woman who feels peace and joy at home has accomplished the greatest feat in life. Yes, family life has ups and downs, twists and turns, triumphs and failures. Yet learning to forgive, love and cherish those in your own home is the truest measure of a life well lived.
The most exciting journey we take in this life is the one that invites us to discover the capacity of our heart. That is a journey we best take at home. When we truly love someone, it changes the way we see ourselves, the world and each other. There is a deep sustaining sustenance that feeds those who serve. How we take care of those who can not care for themselves is the test of a nation, state, community and an individual.
What matters more - How many people know our name or how many people know we love them? How many possessions we have, or how many possessions we have given away? How much talent we have or how much we’re used our talents to bless the lives of others?

Woman-Oh-Pause

It has always bothered me that menopause isn’t called womanopause. I mean who’s doing the pausing here? I’ve heard about all the hot flashes, night sweats and mood changes that accompany the loss of fertility. Why doesn’t anybody talk about the pause part? I think pause should mean – pause - stop and ponder.
Growing older is not what I expected. I mean I used to think old people were old people. We’re not. Older people are just regular people in old bodies. We stay pretty much the same inside as the years go by but the body goes south. Life is so much shorter than I thought it would be. I think we’re more likely to learn something along the way if we take the time to contemplate what our experiences have taught us.
Once I was sitting next to Emily Watts at a Deseret Book Time Out for Women. We were both on the program and waiting to speak to a large gathering of women.
“They’ve got me billed as the one who’s giving the mother talk,” I said turning to her. "I’m not comfortable appearing to be some kind of expert. I mean, what to I know? I don’t feel like I really know anything about being a mom.”
“Yes you do,” she answered. “Think about it.”
And so I did.
Thinking about it is the part I’m interested in. By the time we hit our fifties, most of us are inching up on the tail end of the crowded years. For the first half of our life we hurried around like Martha taking care of all the needs in our family and the universe. Now it is time to be more like Mary and choose more carefully the better part. Raising a family is a lot of hard work interspersed with moments of indescribable joy. If we don’t take the time to share our dear and not so dear motherhood experiences, the younger moms coming up through the ranks will think they are alone. When new moms lock arms with old moms we are a formidable force for good and much cheaper than therapy.
We spend the first half of our lives acquiring and accumulating. We spend the last half unloading and thinning out. We come to understand less is more. We spend the first half of our lives wishing everybody would leave us alone so we can get something important done. We spend the last half of our lives trying to get those same people to come back because we realize they are the important part.
Menopause ushers us from a fertile time for our bodies into a fertile time for our minds. We are given our bodies back, though a little wider and sporting a C-section scar or two. Now we’re asked to see what we will do with a seasoned heart. That’s why we’re called grand mothers. We don’t have to give birth any more or be the disciplinarians – just the lovers. That’s what makes grand parenting so grand.
Motherhood follows the same cycle of life as in nature with spring time, summer, autumn and winter – each following the other in an eternal round. Whether we’re starting out or ending up, we all have something valuable to offer each other. We start out feeling like we’re giving up something more important to raise children and end up realizing raising children is the important part. We start out thinking we’re sacrificing our personal development and end up realizing the process of learning to love someone is the ultimate road to personal development. We quite literally find our self when we lose our self. In the end we come to know that everything that matters most is sitting around our kitchen table. And that’s something to pause and think about.

The Echo Of Their Laughter

I remember the years when I was basically home bound with many young children. Sometimes I wondered if I should be doing something more important “out there.” On my hard days I had moments when I wondered if I was throwing myself away for children who didn’t seem to appreciate anything I was doing for them. When we are mothers of young children we are generally young ourselves or at least new to being a parent. It is not easy to painstakingly extract our selfishness. So we hang on as long as possible, hoping someone will eventually appreciate all we do. One day it dawns on us – the eyes God see everything and that’s enough.
Most of our behavior with our young children is a private experience even they won’t remember – consciously. Yet there is another memory of the heart – a deep personal feeling we carry inside that tells us if we are loveable or unlovable, safe or unsafe and whether or not we can trust others. We learn these things from our parents and we take those feelings with us when we leave home.
On those hard days when the baby is screaming, the toddler paints his entire bedroom in petroleum jelly, and the preschooler gouges the new sofa with a butcher knife it’s hard not to feel like you’re going to go crazy. Feeling overwhelmed is a chronic parenting condition. It’s not easy to work very hard every day without pay, recognition or reward for little people who throw up all over us, scream in our face and throw things at our head. It’s not easy to fix nutritious meals that mostly wind up on the floor. It’s not easy to clean a house that is being destroyed even as we work. It’s not easy to be romantic with our spouse when we haven’t even had a chance to take a shower all day. It’s not easy to be a parent of young children. It takes years to grow into our role.
We know we’re making progress when we finally stop feeling sorry for our self. We’re ready for the next school in parenthood when our life becomes less about us and more about them. Our perspective shifts. We realize being a child isn’t easy either. Hey, it’s not easy being three. Try climbing up on a commode that is twice as big as you are. When we begin to look at our children the way an educated art patron in a museum looks at Michelangelo’s David or the Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, we will see them as the masterpieces they really are.
Taking care of those who can’t take care of themselves is a mission – a calling and worthy our best effort. If we work very hard and give our all to our parenting career, our children might turn out well and they might not. We are an important part of our child’s life, but we can’t realistically take all the credit or blame for the adult our child becomes. We only have to take the blame and credit for how we turn out.
No matter how many battles we fight on the home front, our name will not appear on a monument. We will work our whole life for something we never see finished. But if we make the necessary sacrifices, parenthood will be a personal cure for self-centeredness and an anecdote for false pride. The primary relationship we have in this life is with our self. There is nothing like parenthood to make us face our self and seek divine help. Then when we lay our head on our pillow at night, we may not see the dream of CEO printed on our office door or visions of mansions and luxury cars. We will see the radiant faces of our children and hear the echo of their laughter.

Making Today the Best Day of our Life

One day my mother-in-law turned to me and said, “I used to think my life would get so much easier after I got my children raised. It doesn’t. It just gets worrier and worrier until you die.”
At the time I thought she was throwing a wet towel over all my dreams for an easier tomorrow. Like her, I was living white knuckled hoping my life would get easier some day. From my perspective, her life seemed a lot easier than mine. Her comment got me thinking – maybe life’s challenges don’t go away; they just change to new ones. From that moment on I decided I had no more time to waste hoping for an easier tomorrow. I was going to make every day, the best day of my life.
I think my mother-in-law was trying to tell me that as we age we have more and more people to worry about because we have more and more people we know and love. We start out being concerned about a small nuclear family group and friends. Soon we grow up and that group expands to include our spouse and children. Soon those children grow up and our worries include their spouses and children. Then the grandchildren grow up and our heart grows to include their spouses and children.
Even though we can’t stop being concerned about all the people we love, we can learn the important difference between everything we’re concerned about and what we can actually do something about. Then we do what we can and leave the rest in God’s hands. Understanding that God alone is in control of the universe is the greatest stress reliever in the world. When we develop an attitude of gratitude for everything life throws at us, things have a way of working out.
On the day my mother-in-law left this life she was dying in one room of the Payson hospital while her great grand daughter was being born in another. While I watched my sister-in-law dashing between floors trying to say goodbye to her mother for the last time and hello to her grand child for the first time I didn’t know if I should be happy or sad. Then I wondered if birth and death are not so different. Our perspective makes us sad or happy. If we’re in heaven when someone we love is born, we feel sad because we’re going to miss them and we wonder what’s in store for them. The people on earth are rejoicing and welcoming a new family member. If we’re on earth when someone we love dies, we feel sad because we’re going to miss them and we don’t know for sure what’s in store for them. The people in heaven are rejoicing and welcoming an old family member back home again.
Perhaps if we had a broader perspective, all our hellos and goodbyes, our struggles and challenges would be seen as gifts to help us grow in knowledge, wisdom, patience and compassion. It is our perception that causes us worry or rejoicing. The truth is – there is no easy time of life. In essence, each day is a series of problems to solve, overcome or endure. The secret of a fulfilling life journey lies in our ability to be grateful for everything even when we’re knee deep in challenges. Making the personal decision to be grateful releases us from the quick-sand of self pity and opens our hearts to the personal growth we experience from good days and bad days. Then every day can be the best day of our life.

Here They Go

When my daughter April was small she put her hands on her hips and informed me she was old enough to walk to school by herself.
I’d always walked beside her on the way to school with her younger siblings in tow. I was careful to teach her to look both ways before she crossed the street. I also taught her not to talk to strangers. So when she asked me if I would let her walk to school alone, I was scared.
I knew I could watch her from the street corner and make sure she arrived safely but I really didn’t want to let her go it alone. Yet, when I looked into her eyes I knew I would hurt her confidence if I told her all the reasons to be scared.
So I agreed.
When the big morning arrived, I reviewed all our rules then walked her to the street corner. We hugged extra tight and said goodbye. Then she walked away without me. My heart fell out on the sidewalk
I wanted to scream, “No, you can’t do that. Someone might hurt you!”
Instead I said, “Way to go April. You’re so big. I’m so proud of you.”
I secretly followed my daughter that day, hiding behind every bush and tree so she wouldn’t know I was right there making sure she was safe. I noticed she really did look both ways on street crossing without being reminded and not a single scary stranger approached her.
After I watched April open the school door and step inside, I turned and plodded back home. I’d spent years making sure she was safe and well cared for. Now she was ready to take on part of that responsibility herself and I felt happy, proud, sad and scared all mixed up together.
Then it occurred to me that God watches over us like that. He doesn’t want to hurt our progress and growth, so He lets us walk through life thinking we are alone when He’s always there hiding behind every bush or tree, watching over us.
We parents face our child’s first sleep-over, first choir tour, first date or first college dorm with anticipation and regret. We want our children to be independent but we never feel like we’ve had enough time together. Our busy lives never seem to include enough one-on-one bonding with each child. All too soon we realize we’ll never get our son and daughter’s childhood back even for a moment.
We parents walk a fine line wondering: How do we protect our children without being over-protective? So we try – but often feel like a drunk man – weaving on and off the protective versus smothering straight line, unsure how to put one foot in front of the other and walk away. When are our children really ready to play alone in the back yard, walk to school, drive a car, leave for college or get married? Probably never. Yet life is constantly nudging – pushing us and them forward. Always sooner than we’re ready, it is - ready or not, here they go.

The Greatest Seat of Power

My daughter called me the other day and said, “I feel like all I do all day is clean up poop.”
She was the mother of a four week old newborn who had just exploded with so much gusto it shot up his back, through his arm holes and out through his pants. Her toddler had just made a deposit on the floor next to the potty chair then stepped in it and tracked it around the house. Her preschooler was still resisting toilet training yet refused to wear training pants or diapers.
Before the children came, this same daughter had penned a literary quality novel about deep philosophical issues. Recently she sent an e-mail to me that read, “Once there was a mother with three children in diapers. She went crazy. The end.” Though it appeared her individual identity and purpose had been lost – in reality her individual identity and purpose had been found.
I recently walked through Washington D C and noticed almost every honorary statue depicted a man who led an army or held high political office. Some of their names were familiar but surprisingly most were not. The vast majority of battlefield victories had faded from our nation’s collective memory and most the famous leaders of the past are largely unknown today.
I longed to see a statue for all the invisible women who had conceived the great ideas that gave birth to this nation. I believe the greatest seat of power is in a mother’s lap. Great ideas and philosophies begin as desires in a noble woman’s heart. Those desires grow into thoughts and those thoughts grow into ideas. Eventually those ideas grow into words. Words are powerful – they give structure, form and permanence to dreams. The words that most affect us are those we learned at our mother’s knee.
While in Washington, I gazed up at the Lincoln and Jefferson monuments and walked past the White house. I viewed the courtroom in the Supreme Court building with nine empty chairs. I thought about power – the kind that lasts. I have come to believe that all great strides in knowledge, wisdom and positive social reform were once whispers of hope in a woman’s heart. Mothers have the opportunity to plant tiny seeds of ideas and possibilities in their children’s minds. If the seeds are good, when their children grow up, they became the givers not the takers of the world. The hand that rocks the cradle really does rule the world.
We now have women who lead the highest institutions of government and commerce in the land. Does that make them great or simply more visible? It is not our position in society that makes us great – but our goodness, the strength of our character and our willingness to sacrifice for the well-being of others. We need good men and women to lead our nation and corporations but we need more who lead our children. What happens in our house matters more than what happens in the House of Representatives. For a nation conceived in liberty cannot remain powerful if it does not remain good. A nation will not remain good unless the children are nurtured in love. So I thought for a moment before I answered my daughter.
“Some days it feels like that,” I said, “but you are doing so much more. Try to imagine your little ones as the great men and women they will be some day. The way you treat your children today will be the way they treat the world tomorrow.”

Two Report Cards

According to my children, lots of parents pay their children if they get good grades and I am missing the good parent boat. I’ve never been a subscriber to that philosophy. When you pay a child for something that is outside their control, you set them up for a lifetime of misery. Getting good grades, making the team, being picked for the solo, winning the election and all the other anxiety that comes with growing up is stressful and competitive. I like to reward my children for the courage to try and the determination to work hard, not an outcome that is determined by some one else. An arbitrary test grader, peer voting choices or a teacher’s grading process shouldn’t determine our inner sense of achievement.
This is what I tell my children when it comes to school grades, “I want you to work hard and do your best with the gifts, resources and time God gave you. The grade you receive from the teacher is interesting but it shouldn’t matter most. The grade you give yourself matters infinitely more.” We all know we’ve received an A for sub par effort and a lesser grade when we worked very hard and gave it our best. That’s why I tell my children they should rely more on what they think about their effort. Too often we teach our children to look outside themselves for validation.
Too many of us think we are motivating our children when we are really teaching them that we should be rewarded for every good thing we do. If you get an A I’ll pay you fifty dollars. If you clean your room I’ll give you a trip to the candy store. If you get into the right college or choose a career where you can make lots of money, then I’ll be happy and you’ll be happy. So you end up with children of intellectually gifted parents stressing about every test and grade - children of athletically gifted parents scared to death they won’t make the team - children of stylish parents worried about their clothing labels. The reward we ultimately receive for good deeds and personal effort should be intrinsic or a good feeling about our usefulness to others.
My adult daughter called the other day. She was going to be graduating with her Ph. D in anthropology that week and we were making final travel plans.
“You know Mom you always told me I could do anything I wanted if I worked hard and didn’t give up. Yet it wasn’t what you said but what you did that influenced me most. I watched you work hard and achieve your dreams. I told myself, if she can - then I can. You didn’t pick my dream for me; you just showed me how to have a dream and then go for it.”
We are all one-of-a-kind human beings with unique gifts. Each of us has our own way to shine. It’s not our job as parents to pick out what our child will be good at – but to expose them to various opportunities then support them when they choose what to do and who to be. And we have to keep becoming and doing ourselves to show them how. There will always be two report cards – the one the world gives us and the one we give ourselves. The one we give ourselves always matters more.

Can I Hold You?

The other day my little girl reached up to me with her soft gentle arms and asked, “Can I hold you Mommy?”
She did not ask, “Can you hold me?” She asked, “Can I hold you?”
As I picked her up and snuggled her close, I knew she was asking the one question that will always bring us peace and joy.
My husband is also a wise soul. Whenever we go on a family hike and he notices the youngest child looks tired he says, “You know I’m getting so tired. Think you could hold me for a while?”
Then he picks up the exhausted child and carries them until they’re rested. They never figure out that Daddy is really holding them. They believe they are helping their father by holding him. That is the essence of real love.
Too often we waste too much time waiting for the other person to appreciate us, notice us or honor us. We forget that someone has to do the appreciating, noticing and honoring first or we’ll all be waiting forever and gravely disappointed. We can’t force others to love us. We can only choose to love them. When we feel lonely, we need to go out there and help someone else feel less lonely. When we feel unappreciated, we need to go out there and help someone else feel appreciated. When no one honors us for our hard work, we need to go out there and honor someone else for their hard work.
My tiny daughter was wise beyond her years when she asked to hold me. For while she was holding me I was holding her and it didn’t matter any more who started the whole thing. That’s what happens when we want to do the kind, thoughtful or loving action first. We ultimately receive what we give.
The other day I heard two of my young children arguing.
One child said, “I’m me and you’re you.”
To which the other child replied, “No! I’m me and you’re you.”
They kept up this argument for a long time. This is the universal battle that never ends between individuals or nations. We are so sure that we’re right and the other guy is wrong that we forget to see that we’re both right and we’re both wrong.
We all see the world less the way it is and more the way we are. We have tunnel vision and forget nobody will be important to each other until someone sees the world through the other person’s eyes.
Money might make the world go round, but holding and hugging, caring and compassion is what makes us want to stay on for the whole ride.
Now when my husband and children come home at the end of the day, I try to remember my young daughter’s wise question and ask, “Can I hold you?”
Then when skin touches skin you can’t remember who started this moment of joy because you are both being hugged. You’re just mighty sure you don’t want to be the one who ends it . . . and all is right with the world.

It Matters

While resting in a hospital bed after giving birth to my tenth child, I answered a phone call from my oldest daughter.
“Mom,” April gulped, “my back hurts and I can’t walk.”
“Some people feel labor pains that way, “I answered. “Better get over here and get checked.”
“But what if it isn’t labor after all?” my daughter answered. “I don’t want to go to the hospital and have those guys send me home.”
Now I know most mothers and daughters don’t go into labor that close together but that is exactly what happened to April and me. A few minutes and pain pills later, I was in the labor room again, only this time coaching instead of pushing.
I became a new mother for the last time and a new grandmother for the first time so close together it left me panting. My husband and I used to watch our young children growing up and sentimentally lament, “Boy I hope it won’t be too long between the time we have our last child and when our first grandchild is born.” Little did we know.
Experiencing pregnancy, childbirth and new motherhood along with my daughter felt like a mystical linking of generations one moment and a medical experiment gone mad the next. My daughter and I raced each other for the bathroom, craved the same frozen yogurt and kept each other company in the waiting room at the obstetrician’s office. Everybody we met asked us if we’d seen the movie “Father of the Bride Part Two.” Talk about a crazy way to bond.
Yet the moment I saw my grandson enter the word, I was awe struck and euphoric. It was like singing, dancing and flying without leaving the ground. The circle of life, love and family didn’t end! My baby was having her baby.
There in that labor room as I stroked my daughter’s moist forehead, I realized in the most tender sort of way that everything I’d done as her mother for the past twenty-four years was worth it . . . absolutely everything. Every single moment I’d chosen to spend caring for my child was far more important than anything else I’d determined to do with my life. As I watched my first grandchild enter this world, I knew my part in the creation and development of his mother was my life’s most important work. I understood the whole purpose of this life was bringing down children from God and helping them find their way back to Him.
Before that moment, I simply could not begin to comprehend the importance of loving someone. It occurred to me that a thousand years from now, my babies would still be rocking their babies and the miracle of life of love and love would go on forever. I also understood that taking part in the creation and development of another human being was the greatest way to give birth to my own best life. I’d never even imagined I could feel so much joy.
Now when I see an exhausted and discouraged mother, I pat them on the back and whisper, “It matters. Everything you are doing for your family matters – so much more than you know.”

The True Meaning of Success

I was driving home the other day when a billboard caught my eye. It was a large picture of an older woman with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She had a broad smile on her face. The caption read, “Put poor kids though college . . . pass it on.”
Hey, I’m doing that too, I remember thinking.
Only the poor kids are all mine. Ross and I have always lived on a modest single salary. People told us you can’t raise a big family without two incomes these days. You can – if you want to bad enough. We had a dream when we married. We wanted to raise a large family and make investments in our children. So we made plans and went to work so we could offer all our ten children a university scholarship when they graduated from high school. We knew investing in human beings brings meaningful dividends.
As the years went by we both had opportunities come to us that would have required we limit our family size or the amount of time we had to spend with our children. We passed. We had a vision. We knew what felt right for us, a personal formula for success that felt good to us in our own soul.
We all need a vision – an inner flight plan that takes us where we want to land. If our vision only includes acquiring more material possessions and not blessing the lives of others . . . that is what we will end up with in the end. Through the years we have observed people with stuff visions. When they achieved the big house, new car or notoriety they sought, it did not make them happy. Lives spent on self and acquiring more possessions never satisfies. The thrill of ownership fades as quickly as the red paint on a new sports car.
I starting writing newspaper columns so I could afford to give all my children piano lessons. Writing about being a mom was something I could do at home. One thing led to another and pretty soon the columns became books.
One Saturday morning I was signing books at Barns and Noble when someone walked up and said, “Wow, you’re an author. That’s so glamorous. I’ll bet you lead a pretty exciting life.”
I chuckled as I recalled the morning’s events before I got to the store. I’d snuggled with my husband and a half dozen kids in bed, done three loads of laundry, cleaned up after soggy waffles then nursed and changed the baby. Before I hopped in the van to drive to the bookstore I spied a pile of do–do on our driveway covered with flies. I noticed my toddler near the mess minus his pants and underwear.
“Do you know anything about this?” I asked
“Sorry Mom,” my little boy answered. “I had to go real bad and I couldn’t wait.”
So I quickly dragged out the garden hose and ran some bath water. We splashed until my little boy laughed so loud it made my heart sing. I was late for the book signing, but I really didn’t care. All the people I cared most about weren’t at the store.
“Actually,” I said turning to the stranger talking to me at the author signing table, “writing is pretty boring compared to being a mom. Now that’s exciting.”
When it looks good to the world but doesn’t feel good in our soul, it isn’t success.

The Ultimate Career

When I was in college contemplating marriage and motherhood, I was told over and over again from numerous sources not to waste my life on a husband and children. I was told that if I really wanted to make a difference in the world I should seek success in a professional career. I was told I would be fulfilled only if I “found” myself and made a great deal of money. I was told it didn’t matter who raised babies, any competent adult would do. What I was told and what I felt was true was very different. Now, many decades later, I’m so grateful I listened to my heart.
The decision I made to marry and have my first child was a choice made with faith-filled naiveté, hope and youth. Twenty-four years later, the decision I made to have my last child was made with faith-filled reality, wisdom and age. I certainly knew about all the work, risks and problems involved with my choice, but I also possessed a deeper awareness and understanding of the potential joys and rewards. Even then, all those considerations dimmed in the new light that this decision was not just about me any more. My inner spotlight was now focused outside myself. Interestingly, I discovered that my life had become more important as my own needs became less important.
Life eventually teaches us what is most meaningful and what is most meaningful is the love of family. That’s it. A career is a means to sustain life, but it isn’t a meaningful life. The love and service we offer our spouse and child is the most important work we will ever do and the best way to find our self by losing our self. We might get detracted and focus on commitments that matter less along the way, but ultimately life will teach all of us that our greatest joys and sorrows, regrets and rewards will always come from home.
This doesn’t mean family life is easy. On the contrary - real families are full of victories and failures, triumphs and tragedies. Spouses who are loved and adored sometimes return that devotion and sometimes they don’t. Children who are nurtured and protected sometimes grow up to be strong, well-adjusted adults and sometimes they don’t. There is not always a direct correlation between the quality of our love and the outcome of our marriage or parenting. There is a direct correlation between the quality of our love and the individual growth of the man or woman who does that loving.
So for all you working hard at the sacred craft of soul care - don’t give up. There is no clear easy path through the overwhelming and conflicting commitments we have to our spouse, children, friends, church and community. Yet, we must never forget that our heart-felt acts of service and small daily efforts do matter. The eyes of God see everything.
There is nothing more important to do with our lives than offer something beautiful to our spouse or child . . . whether it is a back yard rope swing, forgiveness, a finger paint masterpiece hung on the refrigerator door or most important . . . our unconditional love.

Worryitus

Most parents are professional worriers. I mean if we don’t – who will? Our children race around like there is no tomorrow so somebody has to step up and worry about those crazy rascals – right? Wrong. Half of all the hospital beds in this country are filled with constant worriers. Mental stress can lead to migraine headaches, arthritis, heart trouble, cystitis, colitis, backaches, ulcers and depression. Worry robs us of the moment because we are too busy living in the past or the future.
I’ve been picking the brains of older wiser parents ever since I brought home my first new baby. I wanted to know what they knew . . . quick . . . like I preparing for war before the battle. I was always surprised by the #1 answer I received when I asked, “What do you wish you’d done differently while raising your children?”
“I would enjoy them more.”
Joy and worry are like oil and vinegar; they don’t mix well. In the past I believed parents who told me to enjoy my children had a loose screw upstairs or were simply so old they forgot the hard parts. I knew being the mom was exhausting. I certainly didn’t appreciate all those sentimental grandmas and grandpas telling me to enjoy my sleepless nights, potty training, barfing marathons, science fair projects, Cub Scout pine wood derbies, proms and driver’s license practice sessions. What I really wanted was for someone to validate how hard it is to be a mother or at least feel sorry for me and tell me I could go back to bed. I think I was also searching for some one to guarantee that all my hard work would be worth it and all my children were going to turn out all right.
Now I realize that all I’m really in control of around here is - me. Now I know for certain that I will love each of my children forever no matter how they turn out. So most of the worry and self pity is gone - leaving room for a lot more joy.
Worry is and always will be a fatal disease of the heart for it signals the end of gratitude and faith. Fear takes up so much room, that there is little space for anything else. Because I’m a grandma now, I know that the years when you have your children at home are few and precious. Before you turn around, you have to share them with a spouse, grandchildren, the in-law family and the world.
Abdicating my self-appointed role as the family worrier has set me free to enjoy my life one day at a time. I used to have preconceived ideas about how events and people were supposed to turn out. Now I just show up, smile and see what’s going to happen next. We don’t even know if we’re going to be alive tomorrow, so getting hives over anything in the future is rather pointless.
When we let go of worry we are finally able to savor the peace and joy that is ours for the taking. If we are paying attention, each day has at least one blazing moment of splendor. Like a sunset, if we don’t look west and relish the gold, the moment passes and the day is done.