Chapter Eleven: My work and my glory. My love. My Life. My Joy.

“O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and speak with the trump of God, with a voice to shake the earth, and cry repentance unto every people!

“Yea, I would declare unto every soul, as with the voice of thunder, repentance and the plan of redemption, that they should repent and come unto our God, that there might not be more sorrow upon all the face of the earth.

“But behold, I am a man, and do sin in my wish; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me.“

-Alma 29; 1-3

I confess that there have been times in my life when I would have chosen another path. There are days when I wonder if I wouldn’t have been happier taking over a small country, rather than creating one. And there are moments when the priorities I’ve had hammered into my head creep in and whisper that being just a mother is for those that aren’t as creative and intelligent as I am.

Because of that, there have been moments when I found myself ill-content with the life I’ve chosen. Surely, I was meant to do great things in this world. During those times, I consider my desire to give a greater service to our Heavenly Father. I tell myself that if I only had more power, money or influence, I could do vast works of good. Surely, I reason, these must be righteous desires. Although, I will always have to work hard to keep my pride in check, I honestly believe that my desire to do good is not for my own satisfaction. I truly want to help people. It’s one of the reasons it was so hard for me to accept the fact that I was never meant to serve a mission.

There have been days when I would kneel down and pray that the Lord would send me more opportunities to serve. I knew that if I felt more positive about my accomplishments for good, I would be a better mother. Feeling satisfied as an individual would give me much more patience and love. Building an eternal family is certainly a long-term goal. It’s very hard to see the greater good in the everyday struggle.

So, I have turned to the Lord to bless me with a chance to “speak with the trump of God.” I took great pleasure in opportunities to serve in the church and focused on my writing. I hoped that one day my efforts would be rewarded with the opportunity to truly make a difference. And I continued to be frustrated because it seemed like no one heard my prayers. Even when I felt like I was being led by the spirit in a particular direction, I would find my work to be fruitless and have to ask why the Lord would lead me toward a dead-end.

But I’ve learned that if you’re not content with what you have, you won’t be happy with what you get. Heavenly Father knows that. He knows that blessing you with all of your righteous desires negates the need for faith. It also takes away the opportunity to grow and learn. Instead of despairing at the sight of a dead-end down the path the Lord leads us, we need to search for the writing on the wall. Sometimes, there is something there that we need to learn. I discovered that we can only find happiness when we stop looking for what we don’t have and truly find joy in what we do. Then, and only then, does the Lord have license to bless us further.

Recently, I had the opportunity to again, fly home with my three children for another brother’s wedding. My sweet husband had to stay in Chicago for school. It required that I fly home with a three-year-old, a two-year-old, and a one-year-old. I’d like to fill this section with funny stories about the struggles I faced, but there aren’t any. My children obeyed and the trip happened with barely an incident. Well, nothing out of the ordinary, anyway.

But, the familiar attitudes of strangers toward me were still there. I heard more than my share of, “You’ve got your hands full.” I’ve learned to deal with that. What I want to share with you happened in the terminal of the O’Hare airport in Chicago, after we had returned from the wedding. After I exited the plane, I loaded Ryan and Chloe in the double stroller. Sean insisted that he could walk.

There is a particular corridor, leading to and from the terminals, with neon lights on the ceiling. The lights have a set pattern of movement and they are all varying in color and design. The whole thing seems kind of reminiscent of a disco. There are two moving walkways, going opposite directions, in the center of the corridor, and a walking area on either side for people who don’t want to use the moving walkways. Since the stroller is a little bulky, I stayed to the side.

This was a fairly busy evening in the airport and the walkways were filled with travelers. Nobody else seemed to want to take on the long corridor on their own power, however. I had the path to myself. Sean had been holding onto the back end of the stroller and balancing on the bottom bar while I pushed it along, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of the long, empty space in front of us. Neon lights will do that to a two-year-old.

He jumped down and began running, purposely almost colliding with the trash cans to the side and laughing uproariously each time he managed to dodge one. Ryan laughed and clapped. Chloe seemed to catch the mood of the moment. But she turned her attention to the people on the moving walkway. I was surprised to find that we weren’t getting stares of distain or amused glances. In fact, no one even seemed to notice the crazy lady with all the kids.

Chloe was undaunted. She stuck her little fist up in the air and methodically opened can closed it. She smiled her darling little smile and started shouting, “Hi, Hi, Hi,” over and over to the passing travelers. No one seemed to notice.

For my part, I started walking a little faster to keep up with Sean. It soon became a trot. Ryan laughed even louder and Chloe kept repeating her greetings to the unresponsive travelers. I laughed too. If I didn’t look crazy before, I surely did then.

We made a strange procession in the airport. We weren’t running to catch a flight. There were no oppressive deadlines or impending disasters. I was running because I had just realized something that I had known all along, but didn’t want to admit. I love being a mother. I don’t mind the strange looks or even the accusing stares. I don’t care who thinks I’m irresponsible or less than brilliant. I don’t even hate changing diapers, dealing with tantrums, cleaning up messes or eating macaroni and cheese more than I previously thought was humanly possible. If I cry more than I should, I know that the reasons are usually because of gratitude and joy, rather than dissatisfaction.

Why did I have such a hard time realizing that being a mother was exactly what I wanted to be, rather than a sacrifice I was making because I was long-suffering and righteous? I think it’s just hard to let go of the perceptions we have forced on us that motherhood is less than glamorous.

I once told my friends that I would never marry a man that didn’t serve a mission. My reasoning was a little off, though. I said that the Lord only required two years from a man, but he asked women to give their whole lives. I wouldn’t enter a relationship with someone who wasn’t strong enough to give a couple years when I knew that he would ask me to give everything.

I was wrong, as we all are, when we allow ourselves to consider the perception that motherhood is less. We have Heavenly Parents who are the most glorious of all. They have created worlds without number and accomplished tasks that the smartest, most creative, strongest, prettiest and most capable of us can not imagine. Yet, their work and glory is in parenthood. I think I finally know why.

I no longer smile apologetically when people stare in amazement at my young children. I no longer feel the need to give the prepared speech about my reasons for having so many so young. I honestly don’t care what they think. If I had the opportunity to go back and change my life, I wouldn’t change anything about my family, especially not my children. It’s something I cannot be embarrassed of or apologize for.

Tomorrow, my first baby turns four. I will no longer be able to say that I have three children and the oldest is three. It’s been a year since I have had three children under three. It’s not a huge milestone, surely. Our family life is only just beginning. But, if I were an angel and could speak with the trump of God, I would only have gratitude to preach.