Thunder and Lightning, a Prayer and a Song

Last night we had a severe thunderstorm with lightning in our neighborhood. It was sudden, loud, and scary. The lightning lit up the windows and the thunder felt oppressively on top of us. 

Scott was at school so it was just me and the kids. I don't remember ever being scared of a storm before, but I was scared of this one. Watching the lighting through our front window was probably not the best choice of keeping myself calm, but I couldn't look away. I tried my hardest not to let Kevin know I was terrified, because she has recently developed a fear of thunder. Sly was unphased and happily went about playing with the air vents.

After a particularly scary and beautiful blast of lighting, I started to say a simple prayer out loud. When I finished, I felt a tug on my shirt.

"Mom, why you say a prayer?" asked Kevin. 

I knelt down to her level and told her it was because I was a little bit scared.

She smiled, put her arms around me, and in a matter of fact way said, "When you was a girl, Grandma sing you songs to help you feel better." 

Although I am sure I have told her that I like to sing songs to keep from being scared, I don't remember telling her that it was Grandma (whom she is just starting to realize is my Mommy) who first sang them to me. 

"Would you like to sing a song to help you feel better?" I asked, putting my arms around her. She nodded, and we started singing I am a Child of God (the only song she wants these days). After every line, thunder roared or lightning terrorized the grayish purple sky. 

She was right. The song did help me feel better. Enough to take both kids downstairs (where we couldn't see the storm, only hear it) and let them play until the storm blew over or Daddy came home, whichever happened first. 

I sat there, watching the Disney channel for probably the fourth hour that day (don't judge, school days are LONG), and smiled as I thought about the Primary songs my mom would sing to me when I was a scared little girl, and how, in my teenage years, after watching many a horror movie with my crush (totally not worth it, btw), I would go to bed with both the lights on and primary songs playing softly on my stereo.

I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel so bad.

Love Changes

A few nights ago, I was on my knees and closing my day and asking for Heavenly Father's forgiveness for not loving my children enough.

I was feeling guilty because there were multiple times that day when one or both children had caused me to think, "I really don't love you right now. I would like to give you away."

And then I would think, that's just so WRONG! Why and how could I possibly think that? Did I not take my anti-depressant last night? I did, I'm sure I did. So why do I feel this way?

And so I decided to talk all this over with Heavenly Father. And to repent. Because clearly I was doing something wrong.

The response I got from the spirit was not the one I expected. I expected to feel chastened and then get up and be better. I did not expect to be told that I was repenting for something I didn't truly do. The feeling was quiet, and subtle, but strong: You do love your children. You just don't love them in the same way that you used to, and that's okay.

That's okay.

Perhaps this conversation happened because I was jealous of a friend's testimony of the all-encompassing love of motherhood during Sacrament Meeting the day before. It was so obvious to me that she loved her baby. And I thought, I was that way once too, wasn't I? How come my daughter drives me bonkers now? Why can't I love her as much as I used to? And why do I suddenly run out of patience with my baby boy?

I finally figured it out, as I was pondering the Spirit's response to my prayer. It's true, I don't love my children the way that I used to, I still love them just as much, if not more. I just love them differently.

This didn't make a whole lot of sense to me until I realized that, once again, Heavenly Father has a plan, and when we figure little pieces of The Plan out, all of the sudden this life makes much more sense. As I finished my prayer, I looked at my husband, kneeling and running his hands through his hair like he does when he is concentrating on his personal prayers.

And I realized, I don't love him the same way that I once did. We started out as friends, a gentle kind of caring that gradually developed into an infatuation and obsession. I thought about him every minute of every day, checked my email obsessively until I saw that bolded "Scott Fowler" in my inbox, spent hours saying good-bye to him on the phone. We couldn't get enough of each other.

And then we got married.

And that all-consuming fascination changed. I won't say it went away, because it still pops up every once in a while (and I still constantly check my email hoping to see a message from him come through). I will say, however, that it developed into something both more and less. More comfortable, less consuming. More intricate, less intense. More dependence, less addiction.

In other words, sometimes I get fed up with him. Sometimes I need some space. Sometimes life isn't peachy-keen. Sometimes I have a hard time saying "I forgive you" and "I love you" on demand.

And sometimes, I get lost just looking at him because I could never have imagined loving and needing someone this much.

And then it clicks--this! this is why Heavenly Father intends for children to be born into a marriage between a man and a woman. Marriage is a training ground for parenthood. True, the relationship between husband and wife is very different than the one between a parent and child, but the love in these bonds grows in similar patterns.

First, there was a comfortable connection (morning sickness aside), a sense of potential between us. As my pregnancies developed, this grew into, yes, an infatuation with all things my baby. Once my babies were born, everything centered around their existence (this was the obsession phase). Everything about them was perfect, and their flaws went largely unseen (with only an occasional complaint about sleeping patterns. I had issues with Scott's snoring at first too). And then, without me even noticing it, I became so accustomed to their presence in my life, that my relationships with my children became comfortable. I now know who they are, although they change every day. I anticipate their reactions to every little and big situation, and they know what makes me tick. They put this knowledge to good use.

And sometimes, it is hard to say, "I love you" at all times.

And sometimes, I stare at them--usually while they are sleeping--and wonder at loving and caring for another person more than I love myself.

My love for my husband changes every day. And it doesn't just change, it grows. In all directions.

And so I am starting to understand that, perhaps, Heavenly Father is teaching us how to love each other first, so that we can love our children second.

In all directions.

Perspective

So, Kevin has developed a severe dislike of having dirty hands. I'm not sure if this is a sensory thing, or a phase, or something she is doing just to drive me batty, but after ten days of her begging for napkins, wipes, magic soap (germx), or to have her hands washed every five minutes, I'd just about had it.

Then I found out that my nephew has Giardia.

Poor kid.

And, in the process of texting back and forth with my sister-in-law to see how their family is doing, she shared with me that this particular child is OCD about hand-washing, and in this case, it paid off, because his four brothers are perfectly healthy and he has been carrying the extremely contagious parasite around for more than two weeks.

So, there's that.

Have another baby wipe, Kevin.

FHE: A Blesson

The Anecdote

Kevin coined a new term tonight: "Blesson." She was downstairs playing and I called down to her, telling her it was her turn to teach the lesson tonight and I asked her what she wanted to teach. I didn't get much of a response, but I did overhear her tell her baby doll that we were going to have "a blesson and a test-a-mode-ee for famoween."

A couple of hours later, after Sly had gone to bed and Daddy had finished working on the still-not-finished sprinkler system (don't worry, neighbors, we are getting there! It's just a matter of moving dirt!), we sat down on the floor for a short FHE. Kevin had told me a couple of times that she wanted to share her testimony for FHE, so I figured we would just run with that and have a brief discussion about a what a testimony includes. I tried to let Kevin take the lead in the discussion (because, after all, she was in charge of the blesson), but after five minutes of hearing about her baby's screaming problem, we took back the reins.

I asked her what a testimony is (three times). She finally quit obsessing over her doll's behavior long enough to look to Daddy for help. He told her that a testimony is something we believe in and share with others.

"Kevin, do you love Jesus?"
"Yes, I love him!"
"Then that is part of your testimony."
"I love him and I want to go to him's house."
"Where is Jesus' house?"
"You want to come to him's house too, Mommy?"
"Yes. Did you know that Jesus' house is the Temple? Do you love the temple?"
"Yes."
"Then that is part of your testimony!"

We went on to talk about the prophet, and our family, and how we want our family to be forever, and how all of those things are part of her testimony. I ended the lesson by telling her, "even though you are small, you still have a testimony. And as you get bigger, if you work hard, your testimony will grow too."

"Yes," she said, "Because you will teach me."

The Epilogue:

Daddy tells her someday she could go on a mission and share her testimony every day, and she says, "On my mission?" and he says, "Yes. When you get bigger." Then she said, "I'm going to need a wedding dress, a small one."  And then Daddy tries to change the subject from her getting married someday (because, for some reason, a daughter's mission is easier for a Dad to handle than the thought of her getting married--even though Mommy was in tears when she heard the phrase "my mission" come out of her preschooler's mouth), and tells her about how when he decided he wanted to marry Mommy, he asked her to marry him and she said yes. Kevin then responds, "I would have said no." Then, because she knows she has somehow wounded her father, she quickly adds, "But when I am bigger I will say yes! Can we have a treat?" She didn't say no to the cookies.

The Moral of the Story

Blessons don't have to be long. They don't have to be planned in advance. They don't have to be full of object lessons, activities, pictures, puppets, or youtube videos. They don't even have to be about gospel topics.

They just have to happen. 

And when lessons happen, miracles happen. 

Lessons full of blessings=blessons.

Kevin was on to something after all.