Time Out for Tears

Copyright Darrell J. Wyatt - All Rights Reserved

I pulled into the parking stall at the grocery store, put the car in park and leaned my head against the headrest.  Without warning, my eyes welled with tears.  The people walking from their cars to the store and from the store to their cars became a blur.  I was so tired.  I had stopped to grab a few groceries after dropping my son at football practice and my daughter at volleyball, and before running another daughter to soccer and then starting the pick-up round.  I decided to sit until I got my emotions under control, and I sent a text to my husband.  "I just need a day of nothing," I said.  "Sunday can't get here soon enough."  He replied that he was sorry and asked what was wrong.  Through tears, I typed that it was just the normal running around and that I was just probably exhausted.  I knew that I was being silly and that it was just the four hours of sleep I got the night before that was taking its toll, but I couldn't seem to stop the waterworks.

"Heavenly Father," I silently prayed, "I don't think I can do this anymore.  I'm trying so hard, but I am SO tired.  I want to keep up our morning scripture study, but I really don't know if I can."  I opened my eyes and  was almost ready to venture in to grab a few things, but I still needed a moment to compose myself.  By habit, and for the hundredth time that day, I checked my email.  Normal junk - coupons, ads, newsletters - greeted me, but there was one from an unfamiliar sender.  I opened the file and began to read, and whatever composure I had regained disappeared in an instant.  The email was in response to a contest I had entered more than a month before.  I had sent in a blog post detailing our early-morning scripture reading adventure, and I had won!  My prize was two front row seats at an upcoming inspirational women's conference and lunch with the conference presenters.  A two-day break from my hectic life to be uplifted and inspired.

I realized that, had I given up on our morning routine, I would not have this amazing opportunity.  Even more than that, though, I realized that my Heavenly Father knows ME.  He knew what I needed at that exact moment.  He heard my cry.  He knows my name.  What a profound and instant realization.  What an incredible blessing.

Of Waffles and Willpower

I am not a morning person.  I know that.  My kids know that.  My husband knows that.  My neighbors even know it.  Maybe it's not even that I'm not a morning person - it's just that I'm so much a night person.  I need some time to decompress after the day.  I love the stillness of the house after everyone has gone to bed.  It finally feels like I can turn my brain off and just....be.  Sure, I have quiet during the day while the kids are at school, but I'm supposed to be doing stuff.  Even if I'm not doing anything, I know in my mind that I should be, so I have this constant battle going on in my head.  At night, though, when all is quiet and my family has drifted off, I feel like I can allow myself a few hours of nothingness.  After all, I can't really vacuum or do dishes or get the grocery shopping done late at night.  It can all wait until tomorrow.  And so I just sit.  I might play a word game.  I might catch up on an episode or two of my favorite show.  Or, I might just sit and do nothing.  To me, those few hours of silence are magical.

This habit of mine, however, has made it nearly impossible for me to wake up at any sort of respectable hour in the mornings.  Especially during the summer, there were many times that the kids would wake up before I did.  I told myself that it was fine.  It was summer after all!  But deep down, I knew I could do better - that I could be so much more productive if I could just drag myself out of bed.  Every other week or so, I would promise my husband that I'd do better.  That I would be better.  I would tell him that I just needed his help to get me out of bed.  That he wasn't really being kind by letting me sleep (as if it were all his fault), and that he needed to wake me up as he left for work.  And so he would.  And I would grumpily beg for a few more minutes.  I had a hard night.  The kids woke up.  The wind kept me awake.  I just needed a little more sleep and then I would get up.  I promised.  Of course, those few minutes turned into an hour or more, and my husband would stop trying to "help" me out of my snuggly cocoon.

So, when I decided to sit my family down on the eve of the first day of school to make a ginormous (that means REALLY big) promise, I wasn't sure what to expect.  Would they laugh me out of the room?  Would they roll their eyes in disbelief that their sleepy mom could pull off such a feat?  I was a little anxious about the whole thing.  Turns out, my kids have more faith in me than I have faith in myself.  I told them that I had a deal to make with them.  I promised that I would make breakfast - a hot, homemade breakfast - every morning for them.  Immediately, I was greeted - not with laughter, not with eye-rolling disbelief - but with little cheers and smiles.  Mission accomplished - almost.  I hadn't yet told them what their part of the bargain would be.  "All I want in return", I said, "is for you guys to read scriptures with me before school."  I cringed.  Would the excitement from moments before fade into mumbles and grumbles and murmuring?  To my pleasant surprise, all five of the school-age kids readily agreed.  I was ecstatic!

As the kids left our little family council and scattered to finish last-minute preparations for the next day, I glanced over at my husband.  He had a look on his face that said to me, "oh honey, here we go again."  I knew what he was thinking.  It had been a few weeks since my last attempt at perfection, and I was due for a little self-improvement sprint.  I gave him a hug and thanked him for not laughing at me in front of the kids.  He hugged me back and said in his most convincing voice, "Well, it should be interesting."

And so it began.  I set my alarm for 5:30 a.m., and when it rang, I rolled out of bed...even though I had only climbed into it a few short hours before.  I heated up the waffle-maker, mixed the batter and started waking the kids.  They got up and got dressed with very little nagging (which probably had more to do with the excitement of starting a new school year than the smell of my sub-par waffles) and we were sitting together on the sofa, scriptures open, by 6:15.  We took turns reading a few verses at a time until we finished the first chapter of 1 Nephi.  We had done it!

Not a grumpy face in sight!

We have had five scripture-reading mornings since that first day, and every one has been better than the last.  The kids wake up, curious to know what I'm fixing.  We've had french toast and breakfast burritos and sausage and eggs and hashbrowns.  We've had scrambled egg sandwiches and waffles.  I find myself scouring the internet for new and fun breakfast ideas.  Not once have the kids grumbled about having to be up earlier than usual.  In fact, during our post-reading prayer, each child has thanked Heavenly Father for the opportunity to read scriptures before school.  They thank me for making them breakfast, but it is them I am grateful for.  I am thankful that I have the kind of kids who will humor the wishes of a far from perfect mom. I am grateful for God's tender mercies, for I know that it is with His help that I am able to make this change.  I don't know how long this will last.  I try not to look too far ahead, because then feelings of doubt start to creep in to my thoughts.  Consistency and perseverance are not the strongest of my qualities.  But I do know one thing.  Tomorrow's breakfast is going to be marvelous.

I Have a Wonderful Calling!

Tonight is our annual Primary Worker Appreciation Dinner, where we get to say thanks to all of our leaders for making Primary such a WONDERFUL place to be.  These are the cute favors!

Hold On, Lean, JUMP!!

There are some moments in life that one doesn't forget - moments that have a hand in shaping ideas and principles and maybe even entire lives.  I think Sacrament Meeting today might have been one of those times.

I knew it would be a great one - Elder Paul V. Johnson of the Seventy was speaking, visiting because his nephew had just returned home from his mission to Albania.  I had been looking forward to hearing him all week. It's not often that we get the blessing of hearing from a General Authority in our own church building.  Though his talk was truly inspired and amazing, it was actually a different talk that hit me the hardest. 

Brother Davis, the High Councilman assigned to our ward this month, spoke first. I hadn't ever seen Brother Davis before today. He is an older man, with a warm, grandfatherly way about him.  I liked him the instant he started to speak.  I will probably not do his talk justice and may get a few of the details wrong, but I hope to effectively convey the spirit of his message.

He spoke of a high countertop in his home.  'It is my duty as a grandfather,' he said, 'to get my grandchildren to jump from that counter into my arms.'  I knew I liked him!  I remember my own dad and grandfather doing the same thing.  'One, two, three!' And I would jump from whatever perch they had placed me on, right into their waiting arms.  Brother Davis relayed to the congregation the familiar steps that lead up to such an act of trust.  First, his grandchildren would hang onto his neck tightly, little feet firmly on the countertop, afraid that they may fall if he moved away.  After some coaxing, he would move just a step away from the countertop.  Still, the little one would not let go.  Instead, still holding on, but now leaning forward, the child would take a little jump away from the counter and onto grandpa.  With encouragement and reassurance from other family members in the room, the grandchild would let go of his grandfather, allowing him to step back out of reach and standing on his own.  'One, two, three!', everyone would yell.  Finally, in one giant leap, a bond of trust was forged.  That child just knew that grandpa would always be there to catch him.

Brother Davis compared this process to the building of our testimonies.  When we are young, we hold on to the testimonies of our parents and teachers.  We haven't yet learned and grown enough to have a testimony of our own.  As we mature in the gospel and gain life experience, we start to only lean - rather than hold on - to the testimonies around us, all the while being encouraged and reassured by those for whom a testimony has been firmly planted in their hearts.  Finally, there comes a time when we know that we can finally allow ourselves to take that giant leap of faith.  When we know that our relationship with God is strong enough.  When we can finally jump, knowing beyond any doubt that He will be there to catch us.

I found this analogy to be incredibly powerful and accurate.  Perhaps it is because of my calling as Primary President, and surely because of my calling as a mother, that I was so touched by Brother Davis' message.  I know that there are many children with whom I interact on a regular basis that are still in the 'holding on' phase of their lives, looking to me for support.  There are also many in the 'leaning' phase.  In my humble opinion, this stage is the most precarious of them all.  It is at this point that true trust is being built.  One wrong step can cause a child who is teetering on the edge of that proverbial countertop to lose their balance and, as a result, their trust. 

This thought weighs heavily on my mind.  I have been given the task of helping these little 'hangers on' and 'leaners' become jumpers.  In order to complete this important calling, I must be sure that I have built a sufficiently strong testimony.   I bear witness that I do know, with every part of my being, that He is there to catch me.  He has always been there, even when I didn't feel brave enough to jump.  He waited for me, and He will wait for you, too.