Negotiations

Today it has been two years.  Two years since Jonah's sweet spirit left his beautiful little body.  Two years since I last sang him a lullaby and held him in my arms.  Two years since we had a busy little toddler creating chaos in our home.  Oh, how we miss our Jonah.

The last two years have been filled with sorrow and disappointment; work and struggle; peace and hope.  We have cried a lot, prayed a lot, and loved more deeply because of our loss.  We have hoped for more children and endured difficult setbacks.  We have served in new ways, met new people, and found a new kind of happiness to hold onto.

Today I have been reflecting on how my heart has been changed by the experience of losing my son.  My thoughts keep returning to the way I pray to my Heavenly Father.  My approach, my practice, and my purpose have shifted. 

I used to be a negotiator.  When life became challenging, or I wanted something deeply I would begin the process of bargaining with God.  My prayers went something like this.

 Dear Heavenly Father, I really want (to ace this test, to buy this house, to get this job, etc.)  

If you give me this I will (read my scriptures, say my prayers, serve others, etc.)

Or, I would promise to give something up (swearing, skipping church, lying, drinking coke, etc.)  It was a naive exchange of efforts and blessings.  The amazing thing is, that although I often fell short on the promises I made, my prayers were answered, and I felt like God knew me and loved me.   Looking back, I feel like even though my prayers were imperfect, and sometimes selfish, they came from a place of sincerity and represented my simple yet imperfect understanding of God and his ways.  This is a testament to me that life is not about perfection, but about learning.

When Jonah died, my prayers changed.  

I began asking God to give me understanding, to bless me with patience, to help me feel strong again. The thing is I felt like I had nothing to offer in return.  I was weak, broken, and struggling.  I had to abandon my previous technique, because I couldn't even get out of bed.  How could I promise to do my visiting teaching?  So I just asked God to bless me, not because of my works or my promises, but because He loved me.  And He did.  In the past two years He has blessed me with all of the things I have asked for; with love and patience and strength and incredible peace -- a peace that surpasses understanding.  

Now after two years of learning how to pray, I find myself wanting something so badly.  I want to be a mother again.  I want to see Jordan be a father again; He is such a good father.  I want another chance.  I find myself praying earnestly and fervently for God to grant us the opportunity to be parents again.  But something has changed in me. 

I no longer negotiate with God; I trust Him.  I no longer use the covenants and promises I have made as a bargaining chip.  As I pray to my Heavenly Father, I ask for the things I desire most, and then I promise Him that no matter what the outcome I will do my best to keep my covenants.  And I mean it.  I will mourn with those that mourn.  I will comfort those that stand in need of comfort.  I will be faithful and loyal to my husband.  I will care for my parents and siblings.  I will clothe the naked, feed the hungry, visit the sick.  I will give everything I have to Him, not because He is a genie that grants wishes.  Although, I believe all good gifts come from Him.  Not because I'm afraid of everlasting punishment or damnation for falling short.  But because I love Him, and because I am His daughter. 

On this two year anniversary I am astounded that my heart feels whole again. My life has not been restored to what it once was.  It has been transformed.  I don't have everything I hope for, but I find myself genuinely laughing, and smiling.  The day Jonah died I feared that Jordan would stop loving me and that our relationship would crumble.  And yet we are stronger and more in love than we have ever been.  

As we left the hospital on September 29, 2011 I was sure I would never feel true happiness again.  Life would only be an exercise in endurance and pain.  And yet happiness is here.  It is in my home and in my heart. 

Now when I review my negotiations with God they seem so petty.  The exchange has always been so lopsided.  I hoped for small temporary blessings in exchange for a temporary change of heart.  Now, I hope for something more, something eternal.  I promise to give Him my whole heart, and I know that he will fill it until it overflows with love, and hope, and peace, and laughter, and joy. 


My dear sisters, the Lord allows us to be tried and tested, sometimes to our maximum capacity. We have seen the lives of loved ones, and maybe our own, figuratively burned to the ground and have wondered why a loving and caring Heavenly Father would allow such things to happen. But he doesn't leave us in the ashes; he stands with open arms, eagerly inviting us to come to him. He is building our lives into magnificent temples where his spirit can dwell eternally.  Linda S. Reeves

P.S. This was all on my mind before watching the General Relief Society broadcast last night.  I was so inspired by their messages about making a keeping covenants, and so grateful for the incredible spirit I felt as they shared their messages.   If you missed it, watch it here.

...Sorrow That the Eye Can't See

You need to meet these people.  They have incredible hearts, incredible testimonies, and incredible challenges.  They are all featured in a new video called "Special Challenges" that was created by my dear friend Katie Steed.  Katie was my roommate at Brigham Young University, and is now a professor of special education at BYU.  She is an inspiration to me.  From the time she was in high school she has felt a special calling to be an advocate for individuals with special needs and their families.  She has been a voice for those who are often unheard or ignored in our neighborhoods, schools, and congregations.  She has taught me over and over again that love and faith can move mountains and heal hearts. 

This video features three families that have children with special needs. It highlights their unique joys, but also paints a very realistic and heartbreaking picture of their pains and struggles.

As Katie shared this video with me a few weeks ago I wept. I wept because I felt inspired by the deep love these parents have for their children.  I wept because I recognize in them some of the pain I have felt as I struggle through my own life.  But mostly I wept as one mother shared her connection to the song "Lord, I Would Follow Thee."  The title of this blog comes from the second verse of that very song. This sweet mother talked about her new understanding of the lyrics in the quiet heart is hidden, sorrow that the eye can't see.  As I listened to her share her connection to those words my heart connected to hers and I knew I needed to share her message, because it is my message too.

Love is the answer. We each carry our own personal heartache and yet we each have the capacity to choose love. We can each learn the healer's art and reach out to those around us who carry sometimes deep and often unseen sorrow.

Katie has taught me about love.  She has mourned with me, listened to me, and comforted me in my darkest hours.  She is an incredible example of Christlike love, and the love she feels for these families is evident in the powerful message this video shares.

Please take a few minutes to listen to these families and their experiences, share this message with others, and let it guide your actions.

Special Challenges


A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another. John 13:34-35

Jonah's Gift

This week I've been thinking a lot about Jonah.  Three years ago this week I was very overdue and anxiously awaiting his arrival.  I spent my days wondering if Jordan and I would ever agree on a name for him.  I spent my nights walking around our neighborhood, eating spicy curry, and turning like an alligator in a death roll instead of sleeping.  I imagined that Jonah's birth would change me.  But I could not possibly comprehend how his life would shape mine.   

I am so grateful to Jonah for helping me understand what it means to be a child of God.  His life helped me learn to love with my whole heart.  His challenges helped me grasp the beauty of an imperfect life.  His laugh made me laugh.  His smile made me smile.  Serving him helped me redefine exhaustion. Losing him taught me that pain is inevitably linked with love. 

Tonight as I sit in a dimly lit motel room in Rangely, Colorado I feel disoriented by the divergent paths our lives have taken.  I feel like I should be in the midst of potty-training and preschool preparation.  My heart still aches, and my arms long to hold him.  And yet, I have come to accept his absence as time has passed.  I accept it, but I still want to honor his life and celebrate my sweet Jonah on his third birthday. 

This year, like last year, I hope to honor Jonah's life through simple acts of service.  I invite you  to celebrate his life with me by mirroring his generous spirit.  Do something good on Jonah's birthday, July 14.  Be unusually kind.  Pay attention to the people around you.  Hug someone you love.  Call an old friend.  When you see someone in need help them. 

Keep it simple.  Jonah taught me that love is the simplest gift we give.  


P.S. I would love to hear what gifts you give in Jonah's memory this year. 

Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.  Maya Angelou

Mormon Women Project Interview

I was recently interviewed by my friend Kathryn for the Mormon Women Project.  I was so grateful for the invitation, and for the opportunity to share my experience and my testimony with a new audience.  But most of all I was grateful to talk about Jonah.  It felt so good to say his name.  I'm so grateful for the simple conversations in life.  There is so much healing in sharing our stories, and so much love in a listening ear.

Thanks to Kathryn Peterson for taking the time to listen, and to each of you for reading my words and sharing your own stories with me.

If a story is in you, it has got to come out.
William Faulkner 

Scars

A month ago I sat in the peaceful silence of the Draper Temple, waiting. I stared at the two stark white tube socks that shrouded my feet and contemplated their strange presence in a place of such beauty and refinement.  They seemed to me the perfect representation of Mormon practicality - a simple and unpretentious solution born to protect the purity of a sacred space.

My eyes drifted up to take in the elegant vaulted ceiling, the understated stained glass, and the expansive mirror that hung directly across the room.  I took in the beauty and light that surrounded me, but could not seem to look at the people around me - my family.  My mom and dad sat beside me; my aunt and uncle and cousins throughout the room; my grandmother nearby.  I could not look into their eyes because I knew I would fall apart. I did not want to distract or draw attention to myself so my gaze returned to the safety of my cotton clad feet, and my thoughts turned inward.

As my eyes scanned the cream-colored carpet I thought about my lovely cousin Lisa.  After all it was her joy that brought me and my family to the temple.  I thought about the drawn-out heartache she faced on her road to motherhood and the miracle we witnessed as she and her husband adopted two sweet boys from Ethiopia. This day was their day; a day to be sealed together as an eternal family.  My brimming emotion was the result of joy, love, grace, and heartache colliding.  I prayed that I could contain the overflow, but my control seemed tenuous at best.

All at once, I felt the intense physical yearning of my heart to be with Jonah again; to be a whole family again. If only I could hold him for a moment, and feel him in my arms.  I felt like singing and praising God for the miracle of my cousin's joy.  At the same time, I couldn't help but imagine how and when our miracle would come.  I wondered if my return to motherhood would find finality in this life or the next.

My thoughts drifted to the reality of a doctor's office.  Months ago, I found myself looking intently at a small white blip floating across the grey undulating ocean of an ultrasound.   

Scar tissue, my doctor explained.
How?, I wondered.
Probably from Jonah's birth, he said.

His explanation continued. Abnormal. Surgery. Insurance.  Throughout this dialogue my thoughts drifted to the symbolism or maybe the irony of an unseen scar; a life-altering change born of joy and pain. How is it that my new heartache is the product of previous joys?

My eyes were drawn from their downward gaze and my thoughts returned to the present, as Lisa and her family arrived in the sealing room. I looked at her and felt so much gratitude for her journey, and her own unseen scars.  Those scars brought such beauty and meaning to the moment.  I looked at her mother, my endlessly-compassionate aunt, and quietly acknowledged the scars that grace her heart.  I felt very aware that my sweet parents and my wise grandmother share the scars of their children and grandchildren.  I contemplated the scars that are added with each passing generation.  Then I thanked my Heavenly Father for the beauty of my own scarred life

In that moment of gratitude the tears finally escaped.  I felt such joy in my wounded family.  I felt a wholeness that I can only describe as Jonah's sweet spirit, and I felt a perfect peace that is still lingering in the corners of my heart and mind.

It's a shallow life that doesn't give a person a few scars.  
Garrison Keillor