My Weapons of War

It's Sunday Evening, the kids are in bed, JC's in front of the tv and I - - in my sweatpants, t-shirt and ponytail - - am in the office. The door across the hallway is open to the balcony, letting in the crisp night air and letting out the cat (he always comes back...).  My mind wanders to the brownies left over from dinner at JC's mom's house that are sitting in our kitchen and, considering the week I've had, I would normally love to turn to them for a little bit of stress relief. The kind that doesn't really work but feels good in the moment. You know the kind.

But not tonight.

It's blog time.

I have pictures to share, cute stories to tell, and family moments to document from the past week, but I'm going to take a quick hiatus from mommy-blogger and settle myself in for spilling my soul a bit. 

This week was a stark contrast to how most have been going lately. I guess we need to get knocked down a little bit every once in a while to keep us humble and in constant learning, don't we? That chest-constricting, I-can't-breathe feeling I talked about having last Sunday? It lasted all week...Yesterday, I did a little dance around the kitchen because I was able to take what felt like my first full breath in about five days. When I get overwhelmed, apparently my mind and body decide oxygen is not necessary and make me fight for it. It didn't help that I did two things I just said I was not going to do anymore...

I did a decorating project when there were more basic things that needed attention and...

I banged my head against my "I need to be understood" wall.

I fought. Just when I said I was done fighting.

But, rewind a bit...

Monday morning, my visiting teacher came over. I usually see her in the hallways of church where she says hi, asks how I am and then proceeds to apologize for how horrible she is. Friendly, interested and fun would not qualify for horrible in my book but you know how we all have our own definitions...anyway, she feels horrible because she doesn't come to see me as much as she feels she should. I tell her all the time how fine it is.  I tell her how, honestly, sometimes I just can't handle the idea of having someone over anyway because on any given day, who knows at what point any of us will be dressed, fed, happy, functional, etc...not to mention what state my house could or could not be in. I really can't predict that kind of thing from day to day so setting up appointments really sometimes puts me in a bad place. So, I assure her that her calls, her chats in the hallway, her sincere concern for me and my family is absolutely what I need...nothing more. 

But this week, we talked and decided to let the kids have a little playtime in the backyard. Her little girl is a couple months younger than Ben and just darling.  So, they came over...everyone was dressed except for me and all were remotely happy.  We played in the backyard, chatted about family and life stories and tried to keep James from beating up on sweet Halle. (Seriously, I don't know what on earth has gotten into him lately...poor kid has all kinds of nervous energy...time to re-examine the diet! Gotta love that...back to zero dairy, zero sugar, zero white flour...also means zero free time for mom! But I suppose sweet James is worth it. :) ) Anyway, as is customary, at the end of our visit, she shared a message with me and in that, touched on her favorite scripture story. Here it is, as told in the Book of Mormon Reader that the kids use:

     The sons of Mosiah taught the gospel to the Lamanite. Thousands of Lamanites repented and joined the Church.  Those Lamanites who joined the Church called themselves Anti-Nephi-Lehis, or the people of Ammon. They were good, hardworking people. 

The Lamanites who did not repent were angry with the people of Ammon and prepared to fight them. The people of Ammon knew that the wicked Lamanites would come to kill them but decided not to fight back. They had repented of killing. They buried their weapons deep in the ground and promised God they would never kill again. When the wicked Lamanites came and began killing them, they bowed to the ground and prayed. Seeing that the people of Ammon would not fight back, many of the wicked Lamanites stopped killing them. The Lamanites were sorry that they had killed. They threw down their weapons and joined the people of Ammon. They would not fight anymore. 

More Lamanites came to kill the people of Ammon. They still would not fight back, and many were killed. Not wanting the people he loved to be destroyed, Ammon prayed for help. They Lord told him to take his people and leave the land. The Nephites in Zarahemla gave Ammon and his people the land of Jershon and protected them. They became friends.

She just mentioned this story and how she loves it. She loves how the people showed great faith by physically laying down their weapons of war and trusting that Heavenly Father would provide protection. That everything would be fine. They acted in a sort of blind faith. It probably didn't make a lot of sense to lay down their weapons, but they did it because they knew it was right. And then they just trusted. We talked about that a little bit and how we can do the same in trusting that Heavenly Father will guide us and take care of us, even when things seem treacherous.  (I'm not sure that, in the middle of a Monday morning, either of us could muster up a word like treacherous, but you get the general idea.) I even told her how I had recently decided to "give up the fight" and try to go with the flow a little more and trust that things will always turn out in the best way, as they're meant to, without me throwing a fit. 

It was a nice visit.

The end.

Later in the day, I was trying to explain to someone why there are certain things that take a backseat at this time of our lives. How, because this is the beginning stage of our children's lives, it is very high-demand so we focus on that, focus on each other and put other interests, other relationships, other things that would pull us from our primary focus on hold for a while. We don't make it to everything we're invited to, we can't emotionally invest in a lot of other places and we are pretty strict about our priorities because, at this point, if it's not do-or-die-high-priority stuff, it can - - and sometimes will - - fall by the wayside. 

"You're not the first people to have three kids, you know."

Hmm.

Breathe.

Calm down.

Close your eyes, the room will stop spinning.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Why can't I breathe???!!...

Just let it go, just forget about it, just live and let--

I don't think so.

Out came the fight.

I thought about this a lot this week. I thought about why I care so much that someone else questions my methods of parenting, my approach to family, my priorities and my willingness to be honest about all of the above.

I don't care how anyone else does it. I just want people to leave me alone about the way I do it. Because I know it's right for my family. If it wasn't, I would change. I can be stubborn in some ways I suppose but when it comes to my kids, my marriage, my family...there's no room for pride when you're dealing with those things. They deserve my best. So that's what I give and when I feel something needs to be changed, I change it. Simple as that.

But who cares if anyone else gets that? Apparently I do. I thought and thought and thought and wrestled and wrestled and wrestled. I cried and prayed and I tried to breathe. I wanted to fight some more. I wanted to hash it out until I felt understood and supported. Then, suddenly it came to me...

My visiting teacher's words - - Lay down your weapons of war.

But...if I could just...

No. Stop now. Just lay them down.

...but what if...

No. You'll be fine. Lay them down.

So, in that moment, I prayed that I could do so. And I tried to redirect my thoughts, tried to stop caring, tried to stop rehearsing what I could say if it was ever brought up again. It wasn't easy and I still couldn't breathe but I felt the peace. The kind that may not fix everything but it gives hope and comfort and warmth. You know the kind.

I felt faith exercising itself within me. I felt that, even though I didn't know how, I would be just fine without being understood. Those fears I have about not being understood...I just needed to hand them over. Why it is that I literally feel more safe when I'm understood by those around me - - I could stop trying to figure it out and just hand it over with my weapons.

I let go of the weapons and held on to faith. 

At some point later in the week, I was working on getting through another day of a lot of the same things, meeting needs, trying to be in the moment but always one step ahead...and working hard at keeping my mind quiet and my feet moving. And it came to me.

This is hard.

This is really hard. Caring so much. Knowing how much every small choice I make, every thought I have in my head, every intention I have in my heart, every place I put my time, energy, money and emotion, every person I spend time with, every show I watch, every thing I eat, every word I say, affects who my children are and what kind of experience they are having.  It's not enough for me to care that they eat. I care what, how much, when, why they eat and where the food came from. 

It's not enough to care that they go to school. I care which school, when, with which teacher and how they feel about their experience there. 

It's not enough to care that they are busy and not bothering me. I care what they are doing, how long they're doing it and how it works into the rest of their day. 

It's not enough for me to just take them to church. I care that they are happy when they're there and if not, why not? I care that they are understanding what they're learning and if not, how to make them feel okay about that and perhaps try to teach them another way. 

It's not enough for me to take them to a doctor when they're sick and take some generic response when it comes to their health. I care that I am as educated as possible about all that affects their well-being, that I make the absolute best decisions I know how for their growing bodies and take nobody's word to be more important than what I know to be best for my child. I care that these bodies that are their vehicles through this life are given the best start possible and I will not make excuses and ignore common sense in teaching them to respect that, even when it means going against mainstream ideas.

I care that the everyday experiences they're having are positive, that they know they come first to JC and I, that they feel wanted and loved.

I don't want to just have kids. I want to raise them.

And I don't want them to just survive. To be "fine."  I want them to thrive. More importantly, to feel like they are thriving.

With all of these thoughts rolling through my mind, I realized that this is exactly where my need for being understood comes from...this phase of life I'm in right now is hard. Really hard. So worth it, but hard.  And I need as much support as I can get. If someone, especially someone close to me, doesn't "get" it and support me in caring as much as I do, working as hard as I do, if they question me digging my feet in for a few years and prioritizing...I feel that I've lost a piece of my support system. If someone gets it and supports me in how hard I work at it, I gain a little more support. Which, on some days, I need that support. My kids need me to have it. Sometimes I feel that the well-being of my family could teeter if I didn't have support. 

It's as simple as that.

Understood = support. Support = my family is safe. Even if I can't handle it one day, I know I have people to turn to who believe as strongly as I do that the work I'm doing is important and worth a hearty effort. Nothing is more important to me than my family being safe and happy. When I lose understanding, I lose support, I start to worry about if I'm strong enough to do it without the support of others. Then I fight to keep it just in case I'm not.

But you know what? I am.

Because, just like the People of Ammon, if I lay down my weapons of war/give up the fight to be understood, just do what I gotta do and pray with everything in me, we can't be touched.

That's where hope comes in.

And yes, I can live and let live. That's where the charity seed is planted.

So...this week...

faith.

hope.

charity.

A really fantastic visiting teacher.

And a song from my EFY days that came to my mind this week...I sang it in the kitchen while I cooked dinner with sick, crying children at my feet...

Stop the world from turning long enough for me to catch my breath.

I'm caught up in a whirlwind, wondering if the storms will ever rest.

The road is rough but it's worth too much to let it slip away.

Give me strength to make it one more day.

This path that I have chosen is harder than I thought that it would be.

But all along the journey, I feel the hands of heaven guiding me.

And when the light I'm living by leads me to the edge,

Give me faith to take another step.

Keep me in motion

when I'm frozen by the fear of these emotions

and I can't see my way clear.

When I'm up against a wall,

When I stumble and I fall 

down on my knees.

Oh please,

Keep me in motion

Like the rivers to the sea; Give me devotion

to live more faithfully...

Until I find myself again,

like the river of the wind on the ocean.

Keep me in motion.

That's all for now...told you I was going to spill my soul.

More to come in the next few days but at the present moment, JC needs my support as the Cardinals did not win the Super Bowl and he could use a wife (even a sweat pants/pony tail one) to sit next to him and watch something funny to lift us both out of the funk that was this week and get a good start on this new one.

To all a good night.