Of Subway and dresses

Easter weekend, the kids were out of school Friday.  Our daughter needed to be at her French Club activity from 12-1:30 and then had a house to clean, so the two littles and I stayed in town to run our errands.  We all left in a rush around 11 because she reminded me she needed a hair cut before her activity, but—so unlike me—I failed to pack water bottles and sliced apples and granola bars for the journey.  At one point they asked what we were going to do about lunch.  In my mind we’d just hold out till we got home, but I was thinking that was kind of a long time from now… good grief.  And then I realized my 14 year-old would be cleaning that house from 2-4 without any lunch.  I sighed.  The nice side of me wanted to treat everyone to a fun lunch on our day off together; the cheap side of me was frustrated that it had come to this.  Where were my grapes anyway?

So I formulated a plan.  We would buy sandwiches at Subway, I’d eat at home later.  I was impressed that for just over $12, we had fed and and watered everyone.  The kids know how I am (water, we have chips at home), and they know how differently their dad does things (chips and sodas for sure, heck—throw in a cookie for everyone while we’re at it); in my mind, it was a lucky day that we even stopped (I’m the kind who packs lunches if I’m the driver on our 10 hour trips, one guess what kind Todd is).  They were excited as we went to sit down, appreciative that “at least we got sandwiches.”

I remembered our Subway stop as we were recapping our day with their dad later.  I admitted how cheap I’d been, but he already knew.  Not the least bit surprised, he admonished me to be better next time, to do the whole thing: chips and even soda.  (I know, most of you are shaking your heads that this is even a conversation we had to have.)

But I was remembering this lesson—the same one he’s always trying to teach me—Saturday afternoon.  I sat in a parking lot on my way home from an assignment, going back and forth in my mind as I always do, should I buy everyone spring dresses and ties for Easter?  I couldn’t decide, I played the game back and forth in my head: spoil them now and then, don’t always worry about the money; do they need new church clothes, is that really what we should be spending money on? I went home.  And then I remembered another lesson I always try to keep in mind: it doesn’t always have to be equal.  So I thought about each of my kids and what they needed, not just physically but emotionally.  I knew the boys wouldn’t care about new ties.  One was at work and one was working with his dad, they were busy and happy, and clothes just don’t matter to them.  Our 14 year-old was with a friend and I knew she would want to pick out something on her own anyway, plus I already buy her fabric to make dresses, she has lots of church clothes.  So only our little 10 year-old daughter was home.  Alone with me.  That’s when I knew just what to do, as if a flash of inspiration suddenly donned on me.  We would take a mini shopping expedition to town, just the two of us.  It was so fun to be in the bustle of Easter shoppers, to be amid the pastel dresses and shrugs and flowy skirts.  We tried on all sorts of skirts and tops and dresses in the little dressing rooms.  I sat there as my mom had done with me on so many occasions, and I basked in our own little time together.   A couple of stores later, we finally found the perfect spring dress.  We unexpectedly came across two perfect tops for church, but they were almost $20 each.  So much to spend compared to what I knew I could get them for at a garage sale. But I held on to them to see what kind of sale prices we could get.  I was thrilled with the magic of the register and how it ended up being cheaper to get all three than just two!  I was so happy we could get them all, they were so her, so perfect, I was charmed.

It wasn’t until later on that she mentioned she’d never had a new dress from a store.  I had to think back to see if she was mistaken, I was shocked!  But she was right.  We live on leftovers and hand-me-downs.  Not because we’re that hard-up, but because we’re thrifty and lucky to have them.  Whenever she’s wanted to go shopping, she knows that means to look in the boxes in the garage.  Whenever I’ve asked if she needs any new church clothes, she always tells me she’s fine and tells me about the three skirts she has. But I know how fun this outing was for her, to get a new dress that is just her size, just her style, just for her.  It was such a great time for us together, I loved it, and I recorded in my mind to do this more often.  Such a simple outing, didn’t take long, didn’t even take that much money, didn’t stress me out.  It was just what she needed to feel loved and pampered and special, the tail end of a family that crowds her out sometimes.  An everyday afternoon turned into a memory we’ve both logged away as something special.

It was just a couple hours later at our General Women’s meeting during one of the talks that this afternoon excursion became even more meaningful to me.

Without warning and out of nowhere, a speaker was looking directly at me and tears sprung to life and started rolling down my cheeks.  This lesson was specifically for me, because I’m positive I am the only mom who needed it.  I can’t think of anyone as cheap and calculated as I am.  So lacking in fun and spontaneity.  Needing such a direct visit from the Spirit.  But how grateful I am that Elder Eyring had the foresight to include it in his talk.

The conference focused on service and the many individual ways we can use our resources to bless lives.  He referred to the scripture in Mark to illustrate how we all give in our own way, And Jesus said, Let her alone; why trouble ye her? she hath wrought a good work on me. For ye have the poor with you always, and whensoever ye will ye may do them good: but me ye have not always.  I immediately started crying!  My heart and mind were immediately touched and understood so plainly what the Spirit was trying to tell me.  It wasn’t what Christ was intending to teach, He was talking about Himself obviously.  But, given my recent experiences of the weekend, I couldn’t help but apply it to myself.

It broke my heart to think of His disciples and followers having to go on without Him, I thought about how sad I’d be if I’d be there with Him.  But then I couldn’t help but think of my own little family, and His words struck me to my core, I’m not always going to have my kids with me.  I’m down to two who are even around to take on errands anymore, and my 12 year-old begs me to stay at home (I almost always insist he come with us just for this reason).  I used to have five littles who I’d cart all over town with me; life was crazy.  But now I’m alone most of the time, now and then I’ll have one or two, but nothing like the olden days.  I know you younger moms are counting the days until you can live such a luxurious, carefree life.  But it is sad.  And all of this rushed through my head as I listened to him talk about this scripture.

The moment I heard it, I realized I was like the people chastising the woman who used expensive oil, which could’ve been sold to help the poor.  I admit, I could’ve been one of the crowd; I’m constantly reallocating funds in my mind, If we just ate at home, we would have that much more to give away… So many are worse off than us, we already have so much…

But to hear His words, I immediately thought of my kids.  I know what He was saying He was saying to help me too.  I’m not always going to have my kids with me.  There will plenty of years to help the poor.  A little treat here and there, frozen yogurt while the others are gone, chips with our sandwiches, a dress now and then, a candy bar on my son’s computer, new fabric for my 14 year-old, a little Easter candy for our missionary son, none of it will break the bank.  But it will help make memories and a daughter feel loved.  A 12 year-old son feel special.  I love to do it, love it.  I just always worry that I’m misappropriating sacred funds, that instead of pampering ourselves, we could (should?) share it with others.  There are so many others.

Which is exactly why I cried.  It was as if Christ Himself was giving me permission to use the expensive oil, to buy the dress, to enjoy a lunch out with my kids.  He was telling me personally that He knows my heart, how much I want to help others.  And yet, there will always be the poor.  He knows I will still continue to do what I can to help them.  But in a quiet, tender way, He was reminding me that your children…”ye have not always.”

At least not like this.  To run errands with on a day off of school.  A little daughter who still wants me to go shopping with her and pick out a new top.  Elementary school kids who thrill at the chance to eat at Subway on a random spring day.  A 12 year-old son who’s not embarrassed to spend some time eating frozen yogurt with his mom.  These days certainly can’t last forever and so I’m grateful, so eternally grateful, for the instruction of the weekend.  For my mistakes and for these lessons.  For Christ’s life and His atonement that can help me learn a better way and move on when I’ve stumbled.  I’m grateful for a fresh perspective and another beginning, for another day, another week, with my precious kids who I know I will “have not always.”  At least not like this.

The power of our words

Stake Conference

12 March 2016

Theme: Alma 7:23-24 "And now I would that ye should be humble, and be submissive and gentle; easy to be entreated; full of patience and long-suffering; being temperate in all things; being diligent in keeping the commandments of God at at all times; asking for whatsoever things ye stand in need, both spiritual and temporal; always returning thanks unto God for whatsoever things ye do receive.  And see that ye have faith, hope, and charity, and then ye will always abound in good works.  And may the Lord bless you, and keep your garments spotless, that ye may at last be brought to sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the holy prophets, who have been ever since the world began, having your garments spotless even as their garments are spotless, in the kingdom of heaven to go no more out."

Elder Gene R. Cook shared an experience years ago,

Solemnly, people began to gather outside the mission president’s office. Exchanging astonished glances, many could still not believe that they had been summoned to a church court. The officers of the court were full of love and understanding, but very serious in their investigation of the charges; those present could lose their membership in [the Church]. The charge was not immorality or apostasy; they were accused of speaking evil of a neighbor.

A fine brother had been slandered by those gathered together that evening, accused of the serious charge of immorality. He was completely innocent, but the great damage that had been done by “those whom he counted as his friends” would not be easily repaired. Who could measure the near destruction of this good soul? Who could measure the impact on the branch, as its fellowship was eroded? And what about the effect on those nonmembers who also became involved? Who could ever undo the evil that had affected hundreds of lives?

It had happened so easily. It began with simple words like… 

“Did you hear?” 

(Gene R. Cook, “Gossip:  Satan’s Snare,” Ensign, Jan 1981)

With our theme in mind, I’ve been asked to share some thoughts on gossip and unkind words.  I know.  There’s nothing more humbling than a week of introspection and with nearly every conversation I’ve had, I’ve noticed how easy it is to slip.

But Elder Holland asks all of us, “Is this something we could all work on just a a little?”

We’re taught “That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment” (Matt 12:36) and that “…our words will condemn us” (Alma 12:14).  Those reminders always make me a little uncomfortable because, like feathers from a down pillow flying through the wind, I don’t know how to capture all the thoughtless things I’ve said in my life.  But I’m grateful for the atonement that can help us change and help us forgive.

So tonight I want to illustrate how words can affect us both negatively and positively.  And then we’ll talk about ways Christ has shown us how to be a good friend.

To understand the impact of negative words, can you think of a remark from years and years ago that still kind of hurts? Most people can think of something pretty quickly.

In jr high pe class, basketball teams were randomly assigned, and I got put with an athletic girl who huffed when she saw that I was put on her team, “Why do you have to be on our team?”  I already knew I was uncoordinated and not the least bit athletic, but I dreaded p.e. from that day on and have shied away from most sports ever since.  Thanks to this girl from over 30 years ago, one of my biggest fears is that my ward will force me to join the volleyball game at one of our summer picnics. 

At a home BYU football game freshman year, my friend and I were walking up the bleachers together and I overheard a couple of guys say, “Those are two of the ugliest girls I’ve ever seen.”  Their words have haunted me for years, making it hard for me to accept compliments even from people I trust like my mom and my husband.  But thankfully, the atonement has helped take the sting away and has taught me that we are beautiful to Christ when we have His image in our countenances.

I was a 26 yr old first time yw president in a tough ward.  Even with all a president has to do, the hardest part of my calling was the distress I felt within our presidency when I discovered they’d been talking about me behind my back and were critical of how I was doing things.  It compromised my confidence, our unity, and our effectiveness.  But the one who was the most vocal and critical has become a great friend.  It still scares me to death to think of being a president, and I think this experience has a lot to do with that.

You can see how lingering words can affect a person even years later.  So let’s talk about how words can be positive instead.

Now try to remember some compliments from your childhood.  A lot harder.

Social scientists explain, “there’s a problem: the brain barely responds to our positive words and thoughts. They’re not a threat to our survival, so the brain doesn’t need to respond as rapidly as it does to negative thoughts and words.” (psychologytoday.com, “The Most Dangerous Word in the World”)  They say it takes anywhere from 3-20 positive interactions to combat the effects of one negative comment.

Which reminds me that I need to be really careful with what I say.

Mark Twain used to say he could “live for two months on a good compliment.” 

Maybe it’s because my love language is words, but I can live for decades on a compliment.  I remember my 8th grade teacher talking about one of my essays in front of the class.  Her kind words encouraged me to continue writing, a hobby I’ve enjoyed ever since.  I would love to tell her how much her words have influenced me, and I would love to be that kind of person for someone else.  

We’ve heard that “one kind word can change someone’s entire day.” It’s one thing to notice the good in people, but think of the potential words have to build confidence and connections when we tell them.  Think of how a tiny Post-it note in a lunch box or on a door can help a daughter feel loved. Think how an unexpected note in the mail can buoy up an overwhelmed young mom.  Or just a quick, “loved your lesson” could help sooth a new teacher’s insecurities. Reading letters or notes from your spouse or a good friend or parent, maybe when you were first dating or on your mission, brings back all the same loving feelings.  A good cry with a close friend connects you the way superficial talk can’t.  Think of how comforting and encouraging the words of our patriarchal blessings and the scriptures and the Spirit have been in our lives, bridging the gap between us and Heavenly Father.  Words can motivate us to live up to the good people see in us, and they have the potential to weld hearts together.

Before we talk about examples from Christ’s life, let’s remember that we’re here tonight because we agreed to take His name upon us.   Each one of us has made a covenant to “bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light.”  We’ve promised that we will “mourn with those that mourn…and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.”  Most importantly, we’ve pledged to “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9)  What do those covenants have to do with the words we use?  Words have the potential to strengthen or weaken relationships, so we need to constantly remember our promise that we will do all we can to strengthen and help the people around us.  Sister Holland reminded us, “We simply cannot call ourselves Christian and continue to judge one another…so harshly” (“One Needful Thing”).

5 ways we can use Christ’s example in our relationships:

1.  He always sees the good in people.

Most of us already know and feel the heaviness of our own shortcomings, and most of us are dealing with something most people know nothing about.   The Lord expects us to give each other the benefit of the doubt and to leave the judging to Him.  We are usually safe when we assume that everyone we meet is doing the best she can, we just need to be kind. 

Sometimes we hardly realize what we’re doing, we’re just being thoughtless or careless.  I remember a teacher in our married student ward who confessed she and her husband would visit their friends and then talk about them on the ride home, analyzing their parenting methods and how they would do things differently.  It finally donned on her that even though these were her dear friends, and they loved them; and even though they never meant to be malicious, they were picking them apart.  And that’s just it.  We have to be so careful, even when we’re talking with our spouses.  In most instances, we would be wise to simply hold our tongues when we have nothing good to say.  And move away from talking about other people altogether.

One of the most destructive things I’ve seen is when youth talk about other youth or when we talk about the youth ourselves.  They are already trying to navigate some of the toughest years of their lives.  The last thing they (or their parents) need is neighbors or ward members talking about them, dissecting their lives, whispering about what they’re wearing or who they like or whether or not they’re coming to church.  Instead, we can focus on the good and show love with kind and supportive words. 

As Elder Ashton famously put it, “Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other,…when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt or remain quiet. Charity is…resisting the impulse to become offended… Charity is…being willing to forgive someone who has hurt us. Charity is expecting the best of each other.”

2.  The second way Christ taught us to be better friends is to be trustworthy.

For me, trust is a top priority in any relationship.  One couple we love lives by the mantra, “Your name is safe in our home.”  I know anything we talk about will stay put, they refuse any semblance of gossip, and they’ve set a high standard for their friends to adopt.

Christ needs women who can listen to troubles and heartaches and keep them to themselves.  He needs priesthood holders He can trust when there are judgments to be made, when ward members have private issues to discuss, and with financial information.  He needs us to be discreet when we home and visit teach when our families share their concerns.  To be effective servants in His church, He needs to know He can trust us.

I’ve heard some wise counsel over the years that can help us become more trustworthy:

Don’t say anything you wouldn’t want the person you’re discussing to hear or that you would be embarrassed about if they found out.  (They almost always do.)  Even if you aren’t saying anything, your presence in a conversation can be construed as participation. 

We can ask ourselves, “What is my motive in sharing this?”  The teachers at our school use this all the time, “Is it helping or hurting?” when the kids are tattling on someone.  If a kid trips and gouges his knee, it’s helpful to walk him to the office and tell the secretary, but it’s not necessary to embarrass him in front of the whole class.  Likewise, if someone you home teach looses his job, it’s helpful to mention that to the bishop in confidence, but it’s not your place to tell the whole Elders Quorum.

Eleanor Roosevelt: “Great minds discuss ideas.  Average minds discuss events.  Small minds discuss people.”

Unless we are in a leadership position or truly in a relationship that would necessitate it, we should tread very carefully when people become the topic of our conversations.  But, even then, we should be very, very judicious and careful that visits and presidency meetings, for example, don’t become gossip sessions.  I appreciated the way one president I worked with guarded private information.  She would simply mention there was a sister in the ward who was struggling and that we needed to pray for her.  She wouldn’t give us details about confidential issues, but she knew these sisters needed prayers. It feels good to know what’s going on in a ward, but I’ve realized that sometimes we use the umbrella of a presidency to share information that we don’t really need to discuss, that’s none of our business. 

I've found myself asking friends, "How's so-and-so?" or "What can we do to help?" when I've heard about an issue or problem within my circle of friends or the ward.  And maybe my intentions have occasionally been altruistic, but I'm afraid sometimes it's little more than a dig for more information to satisfy our curiosity.  What I'm learning is that if we are really interested in someone's well-being, we can simply go to the source. If we are truly concerned about a friend, it seems more discreet to pray and about what we specifically need to know and do.

Ask, “Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?”    Most of the time we get so hung up on the fact that it’s true without bothering to consider if it were us, would we want it shared?  And really, is it necessary to share everything we know about other people?

A sister wrote an Ensign article about gossip years ago, “When I chided an acquaintance for not telling me that a couple we both knew had gotten divorced—something I thought would probably be common knowledge—her simple explanation put her on my people-you-can-trust list, and I immediately perceived her as a woman of honor and character.

“I just wasn’t completely sure if it was something they wanted discussed yet,” she said. I now knew that anything I told her would be kept confidential. Had she filled me in quickly on any details or, worse, conjecture, she unwittingly would have revealed that she was not careful with information” (Name Withheld, Ensign, April 1998).

I think we can all relate with that.  When something serious comes up in our lives, maybe a delicate health or family issue, just something we don’t want everyone to know but that we need support with, we all of a sudden long for someone we can trust.  We all have friends we love being with, but I cling to the words of my patriarchal blessing, “Choose your close friends wisely.”  The best way I know to determine who I can trust is to pay attention to how they keep others’ confidences.

She continues, “Years ago I struggled for a time with some personal difficulties. I longed for someone I could really trust and talk to. I quickly eliminated those people I had heard talking about others, revealing confidences, and speaking carelessly. Finally I remembered a loving relative I could trust implicitly.

As we talked and I bared my heart, I knew deep in my soul that my words would never be repeated. How fortunate that during a difficult, challenging time I could find a warm, safe shelter, a caring individual who would treasure my confidence and guard my personal information.” (Ibid)

3.  The third way Christ has shown us how to be a good friend is in how He uplifts us.  He made everyone he encountered feel better about themselves.

“Therefore, strengthen your brethren in all your conversation…and in all your doings” (DC 108:7) “Cease to contend one with another; cease to speak evil one of another… and let your words tend to edifying one another” (DC 136:23-24).

A friend was telling me about a girl she knew in high school.  She was the kind of friend you never wanted to gossip in front of and would always change the subject or find something good to say about the person instead.  I imagine her example made others feel both safe and good about themselves.

I think we’ve all known people who, like Christ, make us feel better just by being around them.  President Getz was the first person my husband thought of.  He knows us personally and always calls us by name. He asks about our family and our lives and smiles and seems genuinely happy to be spending a few moments with us.  We always leave his company feeling rejuvenated and inspired by his kind words.

4.  The fourth lesson we can learn from Christ is to not be easily offended.

Can you imagine what Christ would have to contend with if he succumbed to all the ridicule and mockery and betrayal he faced?  What if he sat at home and cried every time someone said something offensive or thoughtless or cruel?  I’m not downplaying how hard it is when we’ve been hurt, but we don’t have to let the thoughtless words of others paralyze us or take us away from our covenants.  We can assume it wasn’t intentional and they obviously don’t know the whole story and then leave the rest up to Him.  We can forgive just as we hope others will overlook our lack of judgment.  Thankfully, the atonement can give us strength to do this.

Elder Bednar affirmed, “To be offended is a choice we make; it is not a condition inflicted or imposed upon us by someone or something else.  The Savior is the greatest example of how we should respond to potentially offensive events or situations. Through the strengthening power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, you and I can be blessed to avoid and triumph over offense” (“And Nothing Shall Offend Them,” Ensign, Nov 2006).

5.  Finally, Christ taught us to fast and pray for help in overcoming temptation.

We can start fresh every day, asking Heavenly Father to help us avoid the temptation to gossip, for the wisdom to know when to leave or switch gears in a conversation, to know what words to use to strengthen those around us and to know who needs a friend.  Fasting can give us extra strength when we’re trying to make new habits and to forgive those who have hurt us.

In conclusion, I’ve got just two final thoughts.

“During an informal fireside address held with a group of adult Latter-day Saints, the leader directing the discussion invited participation by asking the question: “How can you tell if someone is converted to Jesus Christ?” For forty-five minutes those in attendance made numerous suggestions in response to this question, and the leader carefully wrote down each answer on a large blackboard. All of the comments were thoughtful and appropriate. But after a time, this great teacher erased everything he had written. Then, acknowledging that all of the comments had been worthwhile and appreciated, he taught a vital principle: “The best and most clear indicator that we are progressing spiritually and coming unto Christ is the way we treat other people.” (Elder Ashton, “The Tongue Can Be a Sharp Sword,” Ensign, May 1992).

Our missionary son loves his ward in Oxnard, California, because of its enthusiasm for missionary work, obviously.  In the last two years Sacrament attendance has gone from 80 to 180.  I was curious what had made the difference, and He said they focused on visiting and home teaching and missionary work of course, but then he wrote me something that surprised me and has stuck with me.  The bishop basically told everyone that they need to quit gossiping and getting offended and realize this isn’t a social church but literally God’s church.

When I read that his bishop had been so bold, I was a little surprised.  But then what I heard was an urgency, a call to put aside the pettiness and unChristlike behavior so that they could become what Heavenly Father needs them to be.  We truly are members of Christ’s church.  We have made covenants that we will take His name on us, that we will lift and help the people around us, not make life harder for them.  We don’t have time to waste on gossip or unkind words.  We are sons and daughters of God who should be so busy preparing for Christ to come again that the last thing we have time for is idle chit chat that does nothing but hurt people we love.  “…For the devil laugheth, and his angels rejoice” when we’re distracted from our divine purpose.

As members of Christ’s church, He is depending on us to be the disciples we’ve covenanted to be, in deed and in word.  I know He will help us use our words to strengthen each other if we ask for His help and follow His perfect example.

The second time around

I remember listening to a talk years ago from a man whose father had abandoned his family when this man was still a young boy.  This man had always resented his dad for not being around for him and his brother and had a hard time forgiving him.  It wasn’t till years down the road when he had two sons of his own that he felt Heavenly Father was finally able to show him an important lesson.  This man realized his father had missed out on far more than he had.  Now that he had sons of his own to love and teach and support and care for and share experiences with, he realized all the joy his father had surrendered, and he felt sad for him.  The unyielding feelings in his heart dissipated, and he felt overwhelming gratitude for the opportunity of being a dad and compassion for his own dad who had missed out on such a choice experience in life.  But it took time to realize this.  It took becoming a dad.* That idea has stayed with me, and I’ve often wondered since if it’s better to be the kid or the parent.

Funny that kids are so anxious to grow up, to try on adult hats and roles.  I love the knowing glances between adults, willing the kids to just enjoy where they are, to soak up everything childhood has to offer without the added pressures of adulthood.  But, when prodded, I have to be honest with them; as great as it was to be a kid, I’ve found that life just keeps getting better.  As simple and carefree as it was, I’m more content and fulfilled as an adult than I ever was as a kid.  While there are so many parts that I long to go back to (naps, bubble baths, not having to think about money, dinners that appeared almost out of nowhere, field trips on the school bus, lazy Saturday mornings just reading in bed or watching cartoons, enjoying the entire month of December with no stress), there’s nothing better than watching it all over again from a grown-up perspective.

I remember a conversation a few months back with my 12 year-old son.  He casually mentioned having kids and being a dad.  Which completely melted my heart.  I love imagining him as a dad, I think he’ll be such a good one if, for no other reason, than he’s paying attention to what that means at such a young age.  He’s asked me what my favorite part about being a parent is.

What I tell him and the others is being a parent is like getting to live life over as a kid, but it’s even better because you get to see it through three sets of eyes:  the little you, the older you, and your kids.  There’s a new part of you, now that you’ve lived a little, that makes it even better than the first time around.  You can combine all your great memories from your own childhood and juxtapose them with ideas you’ve always wanted to try out, creating future memories for someone else.  There is nothing more satisfying than watching someone else’s joy.  His first time petting a goat or riding a train at the zoo or going on a roller coaster or tasting ice cream or learning to make waffles. The exhilaration of losing a first tooth, of learning to drive, of going shopping alone, of getting that first job.  The memories come washing over me, and I’m right there all over again, recalling exactly what they’re feeling, nervous but excited, anxious but ready.  I get it.  I know how to prepare them, to encourage them.  I know how this all works now, I’m elated that they’re on the starting blocks of life.  And that I get to be their coach.  A truly sublime honor.

No where is youth celebrated more than at holiday time.  It sometimes feels as if the magic of the holidays fades with the years, and I tend to agree that nothing compares with the enchantment of young belief.  Until you invest yourself in making it special for someone else.  This is one of the best parts of parenting—playing it all out behind the scenes, watching your children’s eyes light up, creating happy memories for the children in your life.  There is not much better than adding to another’s delight, not even being the recipient can compare with the joy the giver and provider feels.  Which is why so many of us encourage our older kids to do this for the younger set.  Letting them hide the Easter eggs for the littler ones, wrapping the birthday gifts with us, finding just the right candy for a brother’s package, making a card for the treat we’re going to deliver.  Getting a plate of cookies at the door is fun, but it’s more exciting to be the one to drop off the treat and run.  I know how much I love buying new jeans and socks for my kids, how fun it is to think of exactly the right game for Christmas, how much I love making their favorite cookies, how fun it is to hide their Easter baskets and give them clues to their hunt.  We look for ways to teach them to do these kinds of things for others because we know how much joy these simple experiences bring us.  The underlying truth is, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” There is nothing more satisfying than being an instrument in creating happiness for someone else, which is what parents get to do every day of their grown-up lives.

On the flip side, I completely acknowledge there is nothing worse than seeing your child with a heartache.  Most of us would gladly trade places with a son or daughter who’s feeling sick and pained, deflated and hopeless.  As distressing as some of those younger days were, it’s even more agonizing to view it all from this angle.  And yet, I’m so grateful to be the mom instead of the kid.  Not so I don’t have to suffer (heaven knows moms ache more watching their children hurt than their children ever do), but because I love being the helper, the one who tucks them in clean sheets when they’re sick and sings soft songs when they’re afraid. I love knowing how to advise a daughter in tricky friend situations and how to explain to them what love feels like.  I love being able to tell them a 58% on a test is hardly the end of the world and that you don’t have to play football to be a successful person.  As grown ups, we have the confidence and wisdom that comes with age; we can assure our kids that they have the power to get through this.  I can listen without going to pieces.  I have the perspective that comes from a longer life and I’ve seen how the downs turn into ups.  I love being the one to hold my kids when they cry, I love knowing that it will get better.  As a young person, I simply didn’t have the assurance that it would.  As a mom I know it will all work out.  That even the worst we can imagine—even if we’re talking death—is really not the end.   As hard as it is to watch them struggle, I’m so grateful to be able to support them through the rough patches.  Because my life has taught me the hard parts will make them a stronger, better version of themselves.  Their hardships will end up benefitting them, teaching them compassion and empathy, grace and tenacity.  I’m grateful for this perspective that I didn’t have when I was their age, and I love the opportunities I have to teach them.  Maybe it sounds backwards, but I cherish my role as caregiver more than I ever appreciated the care I was given as a kid.

I guess what prompted me even writing this was my own experience as a kid.  My mom—like a lot of moms—worked outside our home.  I went to a friend’s house as a baby and then day care from when I was three until I was twelve.  That was life, all we knew.  When day care was closed for Christmas or some other holiday, we’d go to various friends’ houses or to ladies in the church.  Occasionally we’d go to my grandma’s.  But mostly, day after day and year after year, we’d go to day care before and after school and during the summer and winter breaks.  It wasn’t a bad place, and we have loads of good memories.  It’s just that I always longed to be home with my mom.  I always wished she could pick us up early like some of the other moms.  I wished we had the kind of life like some of my friends whose moms were around.  Even at night she was mostly unavailable, bleaching the counters one night, coloring her hair another, visiting teaching and attending her accounting classes at the college one night, a church activity another.  We were happy, it was fine.  I just knew, if I had a choice, I wanted a different life for my kids.  I barely had the courage to hope for such a life though; it seemed so unreasonable and so unreachable, given the life I knew; and so I accepted that while other kids had their moms at home, it simply wasn’t in my deck of cards.

But it was just the other day when, after talking with a grandma friend about her life with her family, the thought came to me on the way home, “I’d rather be the mom who gets to stay home than be the kid whose mom stays home.”  It was so random, such an answer to prayer, that I started to cry.  I immediately felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the way my life had played out.  I realized right then that I feel exquisitely more blessed to be the one to care for my children than I think I would’ve appreciated having my mom home.  I think I would’ve taken that luxury for granted as a kid, whereas now I thank God every single day for the privilege I have.

I was looking at my son’s mission pictures on the computer earlier this week; it’s been six months since he left, and it feels like it’s finally coming together for him.  He looks and sounds so happy and at peace.  I’ll admit, tears sprang to my eyes when I read that he’s loving his mission (all in caps) and as I clicked through the pictures of him with his companions, so full of smiles and unabashed contentment.

Not being able to go on a mission is one of my top five life regrets.  I planned to go my whole teen life, I bought luggage and clothes, even submitted my application.  It wasn’t meant to be.  I’ve lived with that little heartache for over twenty years, and even though I know and understand we all have different paths, I still have always wondered why it wasn’t for me.  And I’ve always felt a little sad about it.

But as I gazed into my son’s familiar eyes and saw his cheerful countenance, the thought came to me, just as it did the other day,  “I would rather have my son on a mission than to have gone on one myself.”  It surprised me because I never thought anything could fill in that empty space in my heart, the space reserved with a label, Where my mission would’ve gone.  But I should’ve seen it coming.

In so many ways, all my unfulfilled dreams are coming true.  Not that we’re forcing the kids to become the athletes or pianists we never were, not that kind of dream.  More that the sleepy days of my own childhood have sprung to life all over again; it’s a thrill to relive some of the best parts of life over and over with our own kids and to see how God has filled in the perceived gaps of my own childhood in His customary wise manner.

Carving pumpkins and cooking the seeds, dyeing eggs (but being able to share some cool tricks I’ve learned over the years), carrying on the tradition of Christmas cookies (but now making the mocha ones like my mom always made as well as the round sugar ones with sprinkles that we never had time for when I was a kid), proms (listening in on the creative ways to ask each other, my sons making dinner plans—it’s even more fun than when I would go dress shopping for myself), camping on the same Jack’s Fork River with our kids that Todd camped beside with his family when he was little, walking on the same pier with my kids as I walked on with my grandma in Point Loma, re-reading familiar classics like Mike Mulligan and Make Way for Ducklings and all the Amelia Bedelia stories I used to love as a kid, squealing (inside) with delight when they love Beverly Cleary as much as I did, cuddling up with Little House on the Prairie and Where the Red Fern Grows but knowing now how the moms—as well as the kids—in the stories all feel.  A resurrection of my youth after a long slumber, similar to what I imagine I’ll feel again as a grandma.

What seems to be happening is that all the empty squares from my younger years are filling in, not that my mom is all of a sudden a stay at home mom or that she finally adopted the big brother I always wanted, not exactly.  As a mom now, I see how some of those longings are being realized, but in ways I never expected.  Who knew I’d have sons of my own someday and that they’d bring more joy than even a brother could?  Who knew someday I’d be able to stay home and make cinnamon rolls and Valentine’s Day cards with my kids?  Who knew I’d be able to read all the same kids books and play the same board games with my own kids that entertained me in day care all those years ago?  Who knew I’d eventually have a piano in my home and that I’d have the kind of family who would sing along?  Who knew anything could be better than being a kid?

I’m just saying that, as trying as it is to be the adult, it’s not all over once we grow up.  Unexpectedly, it’s surpassed the joy I felt as kid. In a way, we get to do it all over (remember Clue and Mastermind, hula hoops and Four Square??), but we are also in the driver’s seat now, we get to play a huge part in making memories our kids will file away for the rest of their lives.  We finally get to pass on all the wisdom we’ve amassed (through our own blunders or learning from others) to help our kids navigate the obstacles of life.  We see how unanswered petitions and prayers were not necessarily no’s, but more of a, “Hang on, I’ve got something better in mind.”  It wasn’t until I became a parent myself that I started to understand that along with all the responsibilities and expectations that come with growing up, we are compensated a hundred-fold.  Despite the exhaustion and uncertainty about how I’m doing, my joy as a parent knows no bounds and I unequivocally have to say I’d rather be the mom than the kid.  It has been so much better the second time around.

* S. Michael Wilcox, 2005 Education Week, When My Prayers Feel Unanswered