Over the past several days, I have experienced several separate “aha” moments, which have come together into a rather majestic understanding that I’d like to share with you.
The first is an analogy about a farmer in Ireland, who goes out to his freshly plowed fields on a brilliant sunny day and enthusiastically scatters seed upon the ground; he stands there, watchful and eager. Then his eagerness shifts when he realizes that the crops are not coming up immediately. It will take some time.
The second is my observing each of you sets of parents in your busy homes, with anywhere from 1 to 5 little people. No matter the number, babies and wee folks consume 100% and more of your time. I have watched as you feed the kidlets, play with the kidlets, and carry the kidlets everywhere. I have watched as you repeatedly do that most menial of tasks, changing messy diapers and blowouts, with equanimity. I’ve watched you talk to the babies, bathe the babies, and try to entertain the babies, all the while probably thinking how much you would like to carry on a meaningful conversation. I’ve watched you stretch to be patient—stretch way beyond all the educational insights you learned in college—to do things that seem trivial and unpleasant.
The third was my own personal experience, raising eight children. One morning was particularly difficult. Nathaniel was a toddler, about 18 months old. Caitlin was about 3 ½, and Emilie was 5.
I had the three preschoolers and five very busy sons who were all involved in scouts, sports, and school (and girls). The house was a mess, as usual—I didn’t get on top of that for any extended period of time, ever, it seemed—but on this particular day it was especially so. Nathaniel had wakened early. He had been hungry and had gotten out the Rice Krispies, spilling them in the process. He had also opened the fridge and somehow gotten out the pickles (he loved pickles), spilling pickle juice on the floor. He walked through the pickle juice and Rice Krispies, picking up the sticky and crunchy wherever he went, through the kitchen and down the carpeted hallway.. Then he decided to come into our bedroom with his sticky, crunchy bare feet and jump on our bed, where I was lying down, too tired to move.
After a few minutes of tolerating that (hopefully I was good natured about it), I got up and went into the bathroom, where ants were carrying away the remainder of Nathaniel’s sandwich he had dumped on the floor the night before. I sat on the toilet, too overwhelmed to get up, when Caitlin appeared in the doorway with serious bedhead. She had decided to dress herself, in hot pink and orange long sleeved fleece top and shorts with contrasting patterns. I had no idea where Emilie was, but I figured I hadn’t heard anything—which could be good or bad, I wasn’t sure which. It was in that moment that I had an epiphany.
Ignoring my children, I sat down and wrote a long entry in my journal about how discouraged and inadequate I felt. I spared no details—didn’t gloss over my woeful housekeeping or the fact that the kids were getting their own breakfast. I described the scene exactly as it felt to me then, knowing through my epiphany that there would come a time when I would share that journal entry with my children, and it would lighten their burdens slightly to realize that this too, would pass for them.
The fourth happened a few nights ago, and since then my “majestic” understanding has gelled and taken on significance for me.
Stan and I went to see the latest “Chronicles of Narnia.” In the midst of a regular school day, on their way home in the station, the four children—Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy—are transported to Narnia, where they once again take on their true role as kings and queens.
As I watched the children in this excellent movie, an awareness occurred inside me that left me almost breathless; it was so profound that I was almost unable to fully take in the rest of the film.
It was that we—each of us—are kings and queens in disguise. So are our children. It is through the tending, nurturing, and diaper changing that we become our most noble of selves. That process does not occur with the education we receive in universities. Nor does it come in the moments where the house is spotless, meals are perfectly prepared and balanced, and everyone is blissfully, magically perfect.
It comes when we are on our knees, changing diapers or kissing a tiny scratch on a finger. It comes when we see our little one tracking in mud, covered head to toe—and the fleeting thought crosses our mind that it would be easier to have another baby than to clean this one up! The majesty, like the farmer’s scattered seeds, grows inside us as we drag our exhausted, discouraged selves around, doing what needs to be done with equanimity, and coming to love—in ways we never before could comprehend—these little ones whom we serve.
In a way that is difficult to describe, thoughts unfolded in my mind during the movie. They were thoughts that began to comprehend the amazing glory of a Plan that brings us higher as we go to the depths to serve one another, that teaches us godlike character and awareness and compassion, even as we kneel to change yet another dirty diaper.
When Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy once again take on their rightful role as kings and queens, their countenances change. Their shoulders straighten; their clothing and demeanor reflect their true nature.
On that day so many years ago, with Nathaniel’s sticky pickle juice feet and Caitlin’s ragamuffin appearance, I had a tiny inkling of what it was all about, despite my discouragement. But never then did I realize the magnitude of my role as a mother, until now (and maybe now is only the beginning).
Two weeks ago yesterday, we took Nathaniel into the MTC, in preparation for his service as a missionary in the Korean Daejeon Mission. Just prior to that, at our family reunion, I almost felt as though time had ceased to exist. As we all laughed and played and sang and joked and were rather crazy together, I sensed this magnificent chain of generations behind us and generations yet to come, all linked through the service we give one another. I looked around at each of you, mature and confident and quietly efficient, loving each other and loving each others’ children, and I felt a sense of supreme gratitude. You have all turned out beautifully. And despite the fact that I know you would be quick to tell me all is not perfect in your lives, I can point with gratitude at the crops now flourishing in our field.
We plant, we nurture, we tend, we wait, we serve, we kneel, we grow, we understand. As time passes and the fruits are more evident, we sometimes do not recognize the personal growth we have experienced in the refining process. We only see what we view as woefully inadequate, time-pressed selves, too tired to get past our frailties.
But perceptions change when we become more fully aware of who we really are. You have each blossomed into kind, caring, gifted royal individuals. Nathaniel’s sticky pickle juice feet became the feet of a missionary prepared to serve.
Stan wrote down a quote and stuck it on our bulletin board. I guess this epitomizes my little message of hope, gratitude and confidence in each of you:
“Be realistic. Expect a miracle. But remember, the Impossible takes a little longer than the Difficult.”
If I were to be gifted with a wish to bestow upon each of you, it would be that you somehow obtain a vision of the true majesty of what you are doing; the incredible seeds you have planted, the fertile ground you have plowed, the intense labor in which you're engaged--it's all worth it! It's all so very worth it. "Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her...Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates." (Proverbs 31:28, 31)
Each of you, fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, is becoming more and more the royalty you are as you continue onward. I promise you this--The day will come when your children will rise up and call you blessed, as mine have so beautifully done with me.
Here's the wonderful family of Matthew, Brittany, and Della Lucinda Gardner!
