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

A New Heart

Last week I found myself wandering across a talus hillside in Colorado. Crumbling sandstone,  wind-twisted junipers, and gatherings of sage brush repeated across the slope.  My eyes were once again trained to the ground, searching for fossils, bones, any evidence of ancient life.  Together Jordan and I crested each monotonous hill, turning rocks and scanning for anything important or unusual.  I took pictures and scribbled notes about the unchanging landscape, while a frigid wind whipped my neck.  I looked hopefully for unexpected signs of spring; perhaps a small desert flower amid the dust and barbed wire.  I discovered that spring comes late to the high desert.

In the solitude and quiet of the desert my mind began to wander.  I thought about the weather, Jordan, lunch, money, the Grateful Dead, insurance, Jonah, babies...   Then my ambling mind fixated on questions, not in anger, but with sincerity.  "Why am I here again?" "Why am I still doing this?"

Last year after losing Jonah I began working with Jordan in the oil fields looking for fossils.  It was a blessing.  It felt good to wander, to slow down, and to spend my days and nights with Jordan. I needed to be in a new place without expectations and memories.  I needed time to think.  "This is just temporary," I thought.  "Just until my life is restored to what it once was...Just until I'm a mom again."

Roaming the Colorado desert only punctuated the knowledge that my return to motherhood still seems distant.  Nineteen months after Jonah's death we are still just two instead of three.  And like my thoughts we are still wandering.

As I pondered my purpose and place in the desert I picked up a wide flat stone.  One reddish-brown stone among millions.  I was drawn to the bumps and ridges dotting its beveled surface.  I brushed my hand across its ripples, then turned it to discover the opposing side.  I was surprised to see a perfect heart shape worn by time on its face. I wondered how it was formed.  What forces of wind and water could have caused such symmetry? Why did the rock around it remain unchanged?  Was I the first to find and see this graven heart?

I thought of the scripture in Ezekiel,

A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you a heart of flesh.

I understood more deeply in that moment that a new heart and a new spirit do not come through a simple transaction.  Our hearts are not simply traded and replaced.  God's work on our hearts is more like the eroding and shaping power of the elements.  Each mineral or grain of sand is removed by a drop of water or a gust of wind.  Each miniscule erosion is replaced and renewed with purpose.  Our hearts are changed one thought, one tear, and one trial at a time.  We rarely understand what we are becoming, but God is shaping us.  I could feel in that moment that He was shaping me.

I wrapped my stony heart in a blue bandana, and carried it with me as I wandered. I felt its weight in my hand throughout the day.  With each step my own stony heart felt more submissive, more willing to accept the momentary chill of the desert wind.  As I meandered through the junipers my thoughts wandered again.  This time to a simple reflection.   I pondered the new heart being carefully shaped by my creator and felt at peace as I began to climb yet another hill. 

Purpose

My journal and this blog often feel monopolized by struggle.  My writing has always been this way.  I am an excellent journal writer when life is boring, when I'm disappointed, when I feel lonely or forgotten.  For me, writing is therapy, not record keeping.  I'm quick to abandon recording the history of my life when times are good.  I would rather be living my life, laughing with friends, and seeing the world,  than writing it all down. But this tendency leaves my written life in a lurch, lacking the balance of joy that accompanies the life I live each day.  There is joy...I promise.

About a year ago I was struggling to find purpose in my days.  I had nothing but free time.  Time to think, and sleep, and garden, and write.  I had more free time than any modern person has the right to claim and it was hard for me.  I felt like I was going through some sort of motherhood withdrawal.  The regression from full-time mom to self-centered 30-something was dramatic and surprisingly difficult.  I spent many nights praying that God would help me find some purpose.

It has taken time - time I'm sure I needed - but purpose has come in the most amazing ways.

Work
After months of applying for jobs, having great interviews, and being rejected...I stopped looking.  Then one day the perfect job flashed across my Facebook news feed.  I applied, and they hired me.  My job combines my love of art, education, and museums.  It is about 7 minutes from my home, and allows me the flexibility to travel with Jordan when he goes to work.  The best part: I love the people I work with. They are kind, and thoughtful, and amazing.

Love
Not romantic love... I mean the selfless kind of love you give to your child.  In the months that followed Jonah's death I really missed feeling that kind of love.  Its the kind of love that needs to be given.  The kind of love that grows through time and energy spent, and sacrifice.  I needed an outlet for the stockpile of love I had for Jonah.  I needed to give it to someone else.

In September, my inspired neighbor asked me if I would consider serving on a development board for Primary Children's Medical Center.  I was nervous at first, but said "yes" and have been healed and strengthened by the experience.  I get to work and serve with 30 incredible women who care deeply about children. Each time I visit the hospital I interact with families who are struggling and worried, and I get to help ease some of their burden. I meet ordinary people - waitresses, cashiers, and store managers - who tell me they are donating their tips, their time, and sometimes their paychecks to help families in need.  It is humbling and healing.

Spring

On the anniversary of Jonah's death I decided to break some rules.  I was tired of going to Jonah's grave and seeing dead flowers and faded toys.  I wanted a symbol of life and a reason to return to his resting place.  So I planned a covert op.  At least it felt covert.  I ignored the sign at the cemetery gate that says "no planting" and I planted crocus bulbs around Jonah's headstone.  I worried all winter  that the bulbs would not come up.  I worried that the cemetery would mow them down, or spray them before I could see their life and beauty.  But my plan worked, the crocuses are in bloom, and they make me so happy.

Life is good.  There is pain, but there is also joy.  I have been hurt, but I have also been blessed.  I know that God loves me because he has opened doors for me that seemed locked, maybe even dead-bolted.  My problems and worries are still present, but they are beautifully balanced by a renewed feeling of purpose.


Wednesday, March 27 is Cookies for Kids day at all Utah Chick-fil-A stores.  

When you buy a cookie 100% of your purchase goes directly to charity care for sick children at Primary Children's Medical Center.  

So tomorrow treat yourself for a good cause!