Among Women

"Blessed Art Thou..."

I became pregnant in March 2012, almost a year after having a second trimester miscarriage. I had thought I would not have any more children, though my children often assured me and prayed that I would. Sitting alone in my bathroom, looking at the positive test strip, I was terrified,and overwhelmed.  My heart raced, and I paced around as my mind ran in circles.  Could I really be blessed miraculously, so many times?? Could God be THIS merciful?  Could I, Me,an undeserving, unsure nobody be SO LOVED?  I was afraid to be happy.  I called my midwife immediately.  I needed someone to confide in.  She praised God, and told me to give thanks.  My midwife helped me during pregnancy to process this pregnancy in light of the previous one.  She was my counselor and friend.  We found that my mind had great power over my body. I began to study Hypnobirthing, the practice of using hypnosis to invite labor and contractions and relieve pain naturally.

A Blessing:

I exercised, and enjoyed myself during pregnancy.  I loved being pregnant!  I was very aware that there was a small person inside me, paying attention to all of my words and feelings.  I tried to be a good person, and I spent a lot of time in prayer. I felt close to God, and hoped for a spiritual birth and rebirth.  I worked hard, and did anything I would have done were I not pregnant.  Maybe that was a mistake.  At 33 weeks gestation I went into preterm labor. I was put on three weeks of bed rest. I found myself trying to use hypnotherapy to halt progress and stop labor, not at all what I had practiced.  I moved in with my mother during the last two weeks of bed rest, and she mercifully took care of the children and me.  I was still hopeful that I would make it to 40 weeks. My husband had told me all along that I was going to have a Thanksgiving baby, in spite of my guess date of December 9th or 10th. He could see my belly growing, and was certain I was farther along than I thought. I told my midwife that I intended to go into labor on Saturday evening, and give birth in the wee hours of Sunday morning.  Everyone else laughed, but Wanda took it seriously.  She knew all too well the power of intention in a pregnant woman.

Two weeks after I was able to come off of bed rest, my Mother's family had a large family dinner party that lasted well into the evening. It was November 24th, the Saturday after Thanksgiving. The party was about 40 minutes from my home. The drive home was difficult. I was by myself with the three children, and I was having a hard time staying awake. The constant Braxton Hicks that had been coming during dinner didn't help my concentration.  I kept wanting to close my eyes, and had to slap my cheeks to stop myself.  Miraculously, I reached home safely, and after the kids were in bed, I collapsed...so very, very exhausted! My daughter climbed into bed between my husband and me, and I didn't have the energy to protest. I fell asleep at 11pm. 

The Intercessory Prayer: 

At 1am, I awoke to "rushes" involuntarily causing me to groan and rock. I was TIRED. I did not want to be awake, and tried to go back to sleep. But at 1:30 I decided I had better wake my husband. With some difficulty I roused him and asked him to carry our daughter to her room.  He spent a few seconds complaining that I ALWAYS do this in the middle of the night.  I lay still for a long time, not wanting to get up. I was still exhausted, and I knew it would be a LONG time before I slept again.  I was lying down resisting Labor, and it hurt!

 My husband insisted I call the midwife, so I dragged myself out of bed. I didn't really think I could be in labor because I hadn't lost my mucus plug or had loose bowels, something that had always happened with the other births.  But my midwife could hear my breathing, and knew it was time.  She was on her way.  I got into the shower to relax, but the opposite happened! I felt a surge of energy! 

With each rush I became more and more awake and alert!  I began to smile and laugh!  "YES, COME, You are welcome here! We love you." I got out of the shower and dressed. My rushes were about 1-2 minutes apart.  Each time I felt a rush coming on I would call out in my heart and mind, "Thank you Heavenly Father, Thank you for sending me a miracle!" I relaxed and released, and the pain dissipated into nothing.

I felt better moving around, and busied myself tidying and doing things around the house. My husband set up the room and birth pool, I set out scented candles and we got mood music going. My midwife, Wanda Smith arrived about 45 minutes after I called her. I was washing dishes and chatting with my husband at the time. I was happy and delighted to be having a baby, but was certain we were in for a long, slow labor because I felt so calm and wasn't in any real pain. Wanda laughed, "You are smiling through your contractions!" I felt wonderful and joyful. 

Wanda checked my progress and I was then at 5 almost 6 cm dilated. I was amazed! I thought for sure she was going to tell me I was at a 2 or 3! My doula Ann arrived shortly after that. I asked Ann to finish washing my dishes. Soon, she and Wanda began setting up the room for delivery.  Kevin and I held hands and went off for some alone time. We laughed, cuddled, and kissed. I felt so loved and in love, giddy and excited. I tried not to think about having to push the baby out, and instead enjoyed each moment as it came, savoring each sensation as a gift.

Kevin and I went to a quiet place and privately he gave me a blessing, and we prayed, inviting the Spirit in.  I felt warmth enter our home, and felt my Father's support.  I felt safe and ready for what lay ahead.

The Table Is Prepared:

When Wanda and Ann were ready, we were invited into the room. Birth supplies were neatly laid out, all prepared for us.  I had a glow in my heart. I couldn't stop smiling. I wanted to save the room for when I was ready to lie down, so I opted to keep walking around a bit. My mother arrived soon after that, followed by my other midwife Crystal. All was going as planned, except for a mishap with the pool. [Kevin and I were enjoying being together so much, we forgot about it completely, and it filled up with cold water.] I felt my body beginning to tire. I knelt down and lay over my husband's lap, and told him, "I can feel my body slipping into transition!" Which meant I felt I was about 7 cm along. I was happy about this, and focused on opening, relaxing, and inviting. I asked my husband to remind me of heaven, and we talked about what heaven looks like, feels like, etc. We rocked, and with his strong arms around me, I felt like I could do anything! I was in heaven at that moment.

When I felt it was time, I entered the bedroom. Wanda suggested I spend some contractions on the toilet. As I did, Kevin sat next to me and held my hand. I focused on giving thanks and letting my cervix open unrestrained.  Pain would come, then release and disappear as I focused on relaxing and opening.

Into the Beautiful Garden:

As we sat there, my 6 yr old son Peter peeked in. We told him with smiles that we were going to have the baby very soon! He was excited, and wanted to know what to do. I sent him to find "Ooma" and get a snack, and promised we would call him in when it got close. I was surprised that I could still talk and smile between contractions! My mother came in and relieved Kevin briefly, and through a couple rushes she held my hand as I breathed, swayed, and invited my cervix to keep opening. She and I were both excited that this birth was going so well and smoothly, and the hypno-birthing literature I had been reading during pregnancy was helping me to take the majority of the pain away. This was a very special moment for me to share with her, and I will remember it forever.  At that point, I sensed that I was at about 8cm.

The soft music and candle light invited a spirit of peace and tranquility. I felt beautiful, empowered, and loved. Some people talk about getting irritable in labor. I was the opposite. I was in love with everyone, and no one could do any wrong. Every person I saw was my sweetheart. I couldn't imagine anything getting me down. 

"Take this cup from me":

Quite suddenly, fatigue began to overcome me, and I knew it was time to get to the bed. I would have liked to get to the pool, but it was too cold, and it would not be warm in time for the baby to come. I could feel that I was ready to go through the 9th cm, and knew I would need some extra support, so I asked for Ann, the doula to come in and talk me through some rushes as I lay on my side  in the bed. She walked me through relaxing every muscle in my body, and while we lay there, I began to feel 'pushy' and antsy.  My heart began racing, and I looked around for something to change.  My midwife asked if I wanted Kevin, and I DID!  Then Wanda read scriptures I had prepared to be read. I felt a warm presence enter the room, as grief began to creep up on me. 

Some time during this, Peter decided he didn't want to see this after all, and ran away. He spent the rest of the birth talking to himself, running circles around the living room.  Back in the bedroom, we spent some time moving my position around, which was difficult because my pelvis was so badly out of alignment (something a chiropractor appointment or three could have fixed.)  I began to feel fatigue, great sorrow and emotional and physical heaviness.  I didn't want to do this anymore.  I began to feel sorry for myself.

I knew when I was fully dilated and ready to push.  I was involuntarily pushing, and grunting loudly through surges. I fought it, I begged in my heart not to have to go through this.  My mind was saying "No! No! I can't do this!"  I didn't think, I KNEW I couldn't do this.  I didn't know how i had done it before, I couldn't remember anymore.  I just remembered that it was going to hurt, and I knew that I wasn't up to this task.  I started thinking, "Don't make me do this, God, please!"  I expressed my fear, and needed the support of those around me. My midwives spoke words of comfort that helped me tremendously.  I had to go through some grief for awhile, getting my tears and fears out so I could get back to giving birth. I thought about all the time I had spent wanting this baby, and I cried because I didn't feel ready to do this.  I cried because in so many ways I felt that I was still a child, and I was too weak and tired and small to continue. I grieved for myself, I grieved for my child, and with every tear, I let go of more tension holding me back. 

"Not my will, but Thine be done":

I was flooded with words of empowering and comfort from Crystal and Wanda, some practical position support, and my God supporting me, lifting me up.  Something changed completely inside of me. I felt my grief dissipate, and the sun began to shine again. I felt my joy returning and bubbling over. I felt strength enter my soul, and I suddenly wanted to laugh.  It was time to meet my miracle!  I smiled, raised my face to heaven, and found peace.  Wanda was asking if I wanted to change positions again, but I stopped moving.  I wasn't comfortable, but I knew this was it. Hanging off the bed was allowing my lower body to move freely, making up for the poor alignment of my pelvis.   I knew the baby was extremely close, and I silently gave thanks again, and waited for the end.  

"Into Thy Hands"

I felt the baby crown.  I whispered, "Get Peter!" Because I knew he had wanted to see this part, but they all said Peter had run off, and opted not to be there. I panted, trying not to push, as instructed.  The baby came out quickly, with no pause between the head and body. I caught  him, and with some help from Wanda, I pulled my baby to my chest and embraced this SCREAMING little angel. As I was moved onto the bed, the memory of the pain was already fading as the love hormones overpowered all other senses. I was on my back. The Joy was overwhelming, and I could do nothing but glow and smile.  I was in love again, with everyone.  After about 5 minutes, I lifted the blanket, lifted up the baby's leg, and asked Kevin what he saw. (I was flat on my back and couldn't see.)

A BOY!!

We laughed and celebrated!  I had another beautiful, perfect baby boy! He was born on November 25th at 5:22am. After it finished pulsing, I asked my mother if she wanted to cut the cord (Kevin didn't care to, he had done it before.) She said she would be honored. The cord was very thick, and took some sawing to get through. The baby was weighed and measured, Apgars done: 8 and 9.  7lbs 8oz, and 19.5in long. His head was 13in around. My largest baby by far! He was completely healthy except for some difficulty breathing around the amniotic fluid in his lungs.  

Bonding:

I was given a baby-moon.  Everyone left and allowed baby and I to bond and nurse for the first time, unhampered by voices or commotion. My baby and I rested and looked at one another.  He began to look for a breast to suckle. Once nursing was starting, and my uterus contracting, (OUCH!) we got to work on afterbirth. My placenta was pushed out.  It had broken, and a small piece was still in me.  Wanda pressed on my tummy and massaged my uterus, and I kept the baby skin to skin, which helps the placenta to continue to separate from the uterus.

After an hour, 6 yr old Peter came in to meet his baby brother. Peter was glowing and grinning from ear to ear! Kaylee, my 8 yr old daughter woke up a few minutes later, and came in. She had really hoped for a sister, but had to admit the baby was awfully cute! She was immediately in love. I said, "You still get to be the family princess!" She decided she liked it this way, and accepted her role as big sister to three brothers immediately. Then Kendon, age 4, came in to meet his baby! Kendon was thrilled! He was so sweet and gentle. He said he was so glad to have a new baby brother, and he asked if I was going to nurse him. 

A couple hours later my mother took my kids to church to get them out of the way for awhile, and Kevin, the baby and I slept and nursed, and changed LOTS of diapers. 

Breathing:

The baby's breathing was labored, but his color was good and he wasn't in respiratory distress, so we let it be. But some hours later, Wanda came back and listened to his lungs again. There were some whistling sounds she wasn't comfortable with, and she sent us to the ER. We were disappointed to have to go to the hospital, but we wanted him to breathe properly, so we spent the next 4 hours in the ER with lots of specialists, students, and doctors fussing over him. Amniotic fluid was sucked from his lungs, and he began to breathe better. After some time of observation, my husband poked his head out and demanded we see a doctor because his wife needed to get back into bed! They got moving and released us with the understanding that our midwife would be seeing the baby the next day. The day had been so long, and I knew the night would be even longer. I didn't catch up on my sleep for many days. But all the time I remembered what a difference it made to give thanks and invite and not resist, and applied this concept to the sleepless nights. 

My labor through delivery had lasted 4 hours, 22 minutes, and had gone exactly as I had planned, except for the birth pool. The children who were not wanting to be at the birth slept through it, and only the one who wanted to be a part of it woke. I was blessed with exactly the timing I had desired, having the baby in the wee hours of the morning on a Sunday; only the date was two weeks sooner than I had expected, though my husband was not surprised at all. 

A Name Of His Own:

When the baby was three days old, we named him. The children picked out the name Seth, after my older brother that died as a teenager. We had wanted to name the baby Luke or Lukas after the baby that died, but that became confusing very quickly, and in the end, we gave this baby a new identity all his own. So we named him Evin, which means "God is Good." And He really is.

The Bomb in the Brain Part 5 - A Postscript and Prescription

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Family Home Evening

Our church has a tradition of putting family as a high priority in our daily lives.  A practice that has been stressed to us is a once per week family night, when we take time to discuss our religious and family beliefs, and re-establish a connection with one another.  We have been told that this will keep our families from falling apart, and protect our children from being pulled away from us.  We are promised that if we will uphold this tradition, we will find our values being transferred to our children much more deeply, and our feeling of family love and unity will be given greater strength, and bring us greater joy.  Family night is generally set aside as Monday evening, when the church schedules no events, and asks that the local congregations (wards) and members do the same.  The actual practice of this is left up to us.  Some families are better than others about observing this tradition.

I find that TV can kill a family night faster than anything.  Even if it's our great plan to watch something together, at least someone will find the show choice dull and go off alone.  It's not very interactive, and we don't feel any closer after doing it.  So last night, when my husband came home and turned on a movie, my first instinct was to whine, complain, stomp off, etc.  But I didn't, because something in his manner had been so gentle, so loving, I had no fight in me.  Kaylee and I put some cookies in the oven for our treat, and we all ate cold cereal and milk and fresh peaches for dinner so I wouldn't be wasting family time cleaning up the kitchen.

After the movie was over, the kids started to scatter, my husband started to channel surf, and yet again, I had an opportunity to whine, stomp, complain, feel sorry for myself, say that no one cared but me, etc. etc.  But I didn't.

I asked my husband if he minded if we had a quick lesson.  He called the kids back in, we sang a song, had a 3 minute discussion about a subject of Faith, read a scripture, and we sang a song again.  Then we prayed, played a game (The Hokie-Pokie,) followed by a family hug.  I felt a warmth begin to grow inside.  The children settled down, and were so happy and excited to have our attention, they seemed in those minutes, more confident and secure.  Then we all enjoyed some cookies together, served by my daughter and me.  I could feel us connecting as we smiled and enjoyed one another.  Our home felt peaceful, loving, and warm.  We felt a stronger loyalty and love, and get this, it only took 8 minutes!  When we went to bed, I felt powerful, confident, and calm, and the children settled down nicely, even though they'd just had cookies.

Taking Back Our Power


Instead of being yanked around from one mile marker to the next, Family Night teaches first ourselves and then our children that WE are in control of our lives.  A feeling of strength enters us and our home, and a sense of security begins to evolve.  There are many things that can ruin this feeling, but this is a tool for connection and most importantly, re-connection.

Babies Don't Keep

The other night Peter slept next to me. It had been a hard day.  We had gotten lots of work done, but I had pushed him a lot, and I was anxious that he still wasn't catching on to reading yet. I felt tense, and worried, unsure and a little frustrated. I knew I needed to see my son with fresh eyes.

I gazed at my 6 year-old-boy and expected to see what I always see when I look at my little ones sleeping.  You know how they look just like babies when they sleep...but instead, this time, I suddenly saw him mature, and he looked about ten years older!!  I inwardly exclaimed, "NO! I'm not ready!!" And I frantically held him fast with my eyes thinking maybe if I can freeze him in time he won't grow up so fast!  Then I really looked closely, and realized...Hey! He's going to be a wonderful 16yr-old!  I have nothing to worry about. Still,  I must enjoy him now, laugh and cuddle, memorize him and love on him, as much as I can, because he will grow up and move away from me, and I will never have this time with him again.  I thought of my 3 children, each such miracles in their own way, each so unique, and yet so similar. I thought, "Am I enjoying them? Am I enjoying this journey? Am I giving thanks?"  I feel as though my Heavenly Father was sending me this message:

Dear Daughter, 


I see you and know what you're doing. Stop rushing and fretting. Let Go. Bask in grateful love right now!!  I am with you.


Love, Father

Then a few days later I came across this on www.drmomma.org :

Babies Don't Keep

Mother, O' Mother, come shake out your cloth,

Empty the dustpan, poison the moth.

Hang out the washing, make up the bed,

Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,

Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due,

Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek - peekaboo.

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew,

And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo.

But I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue?

Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow,

But children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

~ Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

Goodbye Floyd

I have recently said goodbye to my home in Floyd, moved to an apartment in Roanoke, and will soon  be moving to a home near Troutville, VA.   Do not mistake 'home' for ''house.'  The house was only a shell, a means to reach my TRUE home.  The loving people I met in Floyd - the feeling of warm, family-love and goodness - the kindness of strangers - the common-mind mentality and most of all, the soul-shaking humility and everyday honesty.

I resisted, I struggled, I cried for hours, days on end. I came to Roanoke, lost, and without direction, feeling as though I were waiting for my life to begin, holding on to the life I had left.  I felt empty and unholy.  I felt alone, and nearly crossed the line to regret.

Yesterday, for Father's Day, we went home to visit Kevin's folks.  I felt, as we drove, a part of my heart re-opening. The closer we got, the more shackles fell away, and tears came again and again, as I received a cleansing feeling of relaxation and relief, so happy to be home again, and also the twinge of pain and guilt, feeling like I haven't made them proud.  After only a few weeks away, my empty cup filled to overflowing as I sat through church and enjoyed the love, spirit, honesty, and openness I didn't know I was starving for.

I felt that old feeling telling me to stop and reach deep down to the source.  I felt a window inched open in my soul, and the Holy Ghost Himself calling to me plainly a truth I knew, but forgot:  That my happiness is in my own hands, and no one and nothing can take it away from me, but ME.  I felt the call to FORGIVE.  I knew that the PEACE I long for is only a moment away, when I can release my resentment and anger, and I cried again, knowing that with my Floyd Family in my heart, I can do it.

 I am an emissary, a missionary, a soldier called away.  I squeeze their memory close to me for warm consoling hugs as I step into the unknown. My distance from them only strengthens my love, it only solidifies my resolve to make them proud.  To be the kind of person who could say, "I'm from Floyd," and have my fellow 'Floydians' be glad I said so.

Their faces, their lives and their examples flash before me constantly, and today I rise to make them proud, to live as a monument to them.  To be ever-changed, to become more like them--more like my true self, reflected by honest eyes and unassuming natures.  My spirit reaches out to them, constantly enlarged by them, and the feeling is indescribable.  I swell with gratitude.  I weep with joy at God's mercy, and such great, great love for me, to allow me to rest in their bosom, and love them so fully, and then to leave them, so that they will be with me, inside of me forever.

Personal Revelation

Relief Society: Episode 12 - Personal Revelation

Please, please, moms listen to this broadcast! I was in church Sunday, and a mom got up to speak, and I began to cry as she spoke, because it was as if I were speaking to myself, her words were so familiar.

"I am a mom of several young children, and I have struggled with something I think many moms struggle with. I had a lot of anxiety, depression, and unhappiness, and there was one day I was sitting in front of a mountain of laundry to fold, and I had this thought. 'This is the plan of happiness...So why am I not happy??" She said, "I was raised by good parents, who were members of the church, and taught me all about the plan of happiness. I understood it intellectually, but I was missing something. Some part of the gospel, I was not quite getting." She said that from that time, she began to seek, and over the next few years, she learned, not just intellectually, but experientially, that we can use the Atonement of Jesus Christ in our every day lives, and every need can be filled by Him, and the happiness comes into us."

Since the miscarriage, I've felt a darkness set in, and depression begin to overtake me, and I haven't known how to write anything uplifting, hence the long silence. Many times the Lord has comforted me, and especially at first, He carried me. But I understand that He has to let me learn and grow, and so He has to let me experience pain, and learn to walk with Him. And so in order to walk, I had to be let down. I have felt like I'm sitting on the ground, with no desire to try to get up.

Then I heard that mom speak Sunday, and remembered that I once took that journey, prompted by the same exact question, and wouldn't rest until I found the answer. I cannot express how much I appreciated that journey. How it changed my life, and my family. I realized Sunday that it's crucial for my happiness and my family's to start asking questions, and seeking for answers. It's time to re-establish trust in God, and a two-way communication that I can count on. I'm such a weak and sorry excuse for a disciple. I wonder sometimes how many times He is willing to teach me the same lesson. I have learned that His mercy is never-ending, and with hope in that, I'm not going to sit down and give up. I'm going to get up, force myself to ask for and seek for the meaning and the purpose and drive in life, and mostly to seek for the companionship of the Holy Ghost.

Above is a link to an interview of Sister Julie Beck, the leader of all the women of our church at present. She answers honest questions from women, like "How do I feel the spirit when I'm physically and mentally exhausted?" "What does it feel like to receive revelation from God?" "I have tried and tried to hear from the Lord. It has never worked for me, and I have given up." Sister Beck gives such inspired advice, it solidified my resolve into action, and I have begun my journey anew.

What are your questions? Are you asking any? What are your emotional needs? Are they being met by the Lord, or some other source? What are you focusing on? Where do you spend the majority of your time? Do you long, as I do, for a secure attachment to your God?

Miscarriage at the hospital, WARNING contains details

Roanoke Memorial Hospital, inspired by a nurse a few years back, does something special for parents who are grieving for a lost baby.  They allow you to bond with the baby, treat the baby as important and precious, because it is to you.

After many calls, my uncle Dr. Mike Jones and family friend, Dr. Ross Hanchett, OBGYN, paved the way for me to enter the hospital emergency room expected, and the doctors who would attend me were notified ahead of time of what was going on, so the way was prepared for me to go gently in.  My uncle performed an ultrasound, and then left me in the hands of a doctor who was a great listener, and very respectful of patients' rights, Dr. Heileck.  I was induced to allowed to labor naturally.  I was allowed to be unhooked from the IV, because I was claustrophobic and it really bothered me.  I was treated with kindness, not pity, with respect, not impatience.

Here are the details, for those who want them:

I labored for 10 hours, with my loving mom for support, feeling as though I were going through a form of pains of childbirth.   I was told I could have an epidural, but if you know me, you know I would be very unlikely to take that option.  The pain was hard enough.  It wasn't as hard as having a full term baby, but it was no "cake walk."  We rocked, we sang, we cried, we prayed, we slept, we mourned, we talked and talked and talked.  Mom rubbed my back for what must have seemed like hours.  I went through a kind of transition, and just lay there, too exhausted to move or protest as I was stuck with needles, and bruised because of my weak veins.  The nurses were wonderful, my veins we just tiny and weak.  After 6 attempts and three nurses, a vein catheter was finally secured in one of my hands.  I tried to sleep between cramping pains.

After six hours, I was told I could try to push, because they could not see the cervix as the bag of waters was descending.  I pushed on my hands and knees, and was able to push most of the bag of waters out, but I was unable to finish pushing the part with the baby out, though I tried my hardest.  The doc and nurses encouraged me in squatting with my mom holding me up on one side and a nurse on the other.  I asked for a mirror, and it did help me focus my efforts.  I pushed till I was blue in the face.  But once the bag was out enough, the doc was able to move it out of the way and check my cervix.  It turned out my cervix had only dilated ONE cm.  I was completely disheartened, and felt suddenly so sorry for all those mothers out there who are routinely induced, and don't know that true labor pains are SO much easier to bear than drug induced pains.  I felt like I should be at a 6 or 7 at least, when comparing to the pains of my natural labors.

Only 2 hours later, I lay exhausted and feeling pains ranging from 9-10, but tried focusing on the empty space above me that was not hurting.  As I lay back, unable to fight anymore, I completely surrendered to all of it.  The miscarriage, the pain, the fact that this baby was not going to live... all of it.  The baby finished descending without my knowledge, born inside the bag of waters which remained intact, my total dilation unknown.  I continued to have pain, however, because the placenta was still holding on.

Dr. Heileck was wonderful, patient, and not at all pushy.  He began the work of getting the placenta, which was full of white calcium deposits, gnarled and in pieces, out as quickly as possible, because I would not stop bleeding.  Finally, in agony, I pleaded for him to stop, and asked for pain meds, which had been available all along, but I had wanted to tough it out as long as I could, and he respected that.  But extracting the placenta piece by piece felt like digging into a deep cut with a knife.  He said it may be necessary to sedate me and take me to surgery, but when the pain meds kicked in, he said, "let's just try this for a little while, and see how it goes."  The meds killed the worst of the pain, and I squeezed my mom's hand and a nurse's hand, (who was telling me everything going on every step of the way,) and breathed deeply to manage the rest.  Finally, the ordeal was finished.  I was able to lie back, and rest-- saved from the operating room, and thankful.  I thanked the doctor over and over as I closed my eyes and enjoyed being free of pain.  the Doctor seemed amused that I was thanking him after he'd been digging inside me with pinchers.  I felt emotional completeness, having completed labor, but I did miss my husband who was unable to take off work, due to a death of an employee's father.  

The doc and nurses carefully examined the baby, wrapped his 4.5 inch body in a receiving blanket, handed him to me, and promised he would not be out of my sight unless I gave permission.  I say "he," because between the tiny legs was the first thing I looked at, and was overjoyed that I could see it!  It was a boy, and they encouraged me to name him.  I named him" Luke," the name Kevin and I had agreed on long before, if it were a boy, and they made a "Certificate of Memory" for me.

They left me alone for over an hour to bond, and I drunk him in.  I tried to memorize every teeny tiny finger, every teeny tiny toe, his little perfect ears that were still pinned back to his head, his almond shaped blue eyes, that had not yet finished forming, his little mouth that was also unfinished, opened, and sported teensie little lips.  His round little tummy, and the tiny, gnarled cord, the tiny collar bones and ribs, so perfectly formed, the legs so adorably tucked up in the fetal position, the primitive muscles so easily outlined.  His hands pressed together, with his head resting on them, like he was just a little baby going to sleep.  

I fell in love with this little miracle of life, yet as I looked on, I could see him slipping away.  Each minute he was exposed to air, his body darkened, and lost fluids.  He began to decompose almost immediately, because his skin was not thick enough to prevent it.  Mom and I tried to hold on to each passing moment with him, as he quickly slipped away from us.  The nurse came and asked if we'd like her to take pictures, and I eventually agreed, though I knew the pictures would not capture his true form at the first moments I met him.  They brought me a couple of tiny gowns and asked which I would like to have for him, and I got to choose a crocheted blanket, as a keepsake.  They asked me what I wanted to do with the body, and I said I wanted to take him home.  They gave me a tiny casket, and they gave me literature both religious and non, to help aid the grieving process.  The nurses and aids all called him "Luke" and said he was beautiful, even when his form had changed, and he was not anymore.  Our last nurse gave us a sympathy card, just from her, and they gathered a beautiful white cloth envelope of keepsakes for us, and encouraged us to honor this baby's memory.  Kevin arrived before checkout time, and was only able to see the bare remains of what used to be our baby, but it meant so much to me to have him with me, even for just a little while.  

That night I slept soundly, and cradled all my kids in the bed with me.  The next day, I got up, showered, and set about the plans of what to do with the baby's body.  Through tears and disagreements, saying things we didn't mean, then having to compromise and reconcile, we finally decided on a plan.  

My parents-in-law and we took the tiny casket, a blanket, and some literature and keepsakes, and met my mother at the family cemetery.  My husband and his father dug a little hole directly over my brother Seth's grave, just big enough for the tiny casket.  We sat on a blanket provided by my mother-in-law, and put the casket in the middle, decorated by tiny flowers the children had picked, and the crocheted blanket and some pretty things the hospital had given us provided a lovely centerpiece.  We prayed and sang a song, and thanks to smart phones, we even had the music to go with it.  We sang, "I Know That My Savior Loves Me."  Or at least we listened, and the children sang, and we teared up between the words.  We read the following poem provided by the hospital: (Passed around because we could hardly read it without breaking down.)

IN THE GARDEN

In the most beautiful of gardens

Most carefully tended,

There is an occasional rosebud that never opens.

In all respects that rose is like all the others,

But some unseen cause keeps it from blooming.

It wilts and fades away without coming to its radiant unfolding.

What happens in nature's garden occasionally also happens in God's family.

A baby is born,

Beautiful and precious,

But with some unseen, mysterious band sealing

That life so it never comes to its rightful unfolding.

This child, too,

Gradually fades and is gathered back into the God's heavenly garden of souls--

Where all imperfections are made perfect,

Where all injustices are made right,

Where all mysteries will finally be explained,

And where all sorrow will finally be turned to joy.

Haylee Christine Shepherd

May 9, 1997

The feeling was one of comfort and warmth, not hurt or grief.  We all smiled and felt love for one another, and felt the loss, but also the sweetest peace.  Then all of the children took the casket, and together walked it to the grave.  Kaylee and Peter laid it in the ground, and they all threw flowers on it, then each child got to shovel a mound of dirt into the hole, then Kevin and Grandpa finished the rest.  One little perk, was that the baby's casket rested directly on my brother's vault.  

I felt good about it, and did not wail or cry, only shed a few quiet tears every now and then.  

Next we went to the location we're building our house, and planted two apple trees, one to pollinate the other, and will eventually be dedicated to our little Luke, a tiny rosebud in God's garden of souls.  The children got to play with their cousin, and I got to talk to my sister in law, and try to find some kind of normal.  

I felt a much needed closure, and ready to begin a healthy grieving process, and that is what is now going on.  Little by little, I can start to feel the full impact of my loss.  I waffle between apathy and unimaginable hurt.  Of course Kevin is going through his own grief.  He reminded me yesterday that this baby was a part of him too.  I saw him tear up many times, I saw him push through emotions, and I know he is grieving, only quietly, the way a man often does.  

It is not the same as if I had lost a living child, the pain is not constant and shocking, but it is acute, and sometimes shoots through me with such effort that I break down secretly every night, and every morning.  I have not had the courage to go to the basement where all the baby stuff is still sitting.  

Literature I got from the hospital reads, "Don't take my grief away from me."  In order to let others know that grieving is healthy and necessary, and not to always try to comfort or avoid  emotional subjects that could make the grieving person upset.  There are times I want to FEEL something!  Anything!  I want so much to get these feelings OUT!  So many people don't want to listen, because they don't want to see me cry, or cause me pain, or don't want to risk something coming up that they won't know how to handle.  I know, because I've been that person.  But being on this end makes me feel differently.  Now I understand that it's okay to face the issue head on.  It's actually a relief.  

Today I got to talk to another mom who's been through this.  It was reassuring that she could get through it and be okay.  Still, we both teared up as she remembered her experience, and I was honest about mine.  It felt good to tell someone what I'm really going through.  I am finding so much love all around me, I'm so blessed, I hope I can BE that love for others in return.

Miscarriage

Today, at 19 weeks gestation, my unborn child was found to be without a heartbeat.  I am praying for understanding, praying for answers, praying to know God's plan for my family.  I keep thinking of the large pack of newborn diapers we had been given, and the newborn clothes.  All the boxes and bags of supplies we'd saved for this little one...I suppose I will pass them on.

I feel such a variety of feelings, numbness, pain, regret, guilt, and I know more is yet to come.  I will fret about whether or not I will ever have another child.  I will mourn, and I will question why... I will pray, and I will hold my other children tighter, appreciating even more, that the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.  Today I opened a book that came in the mail, and chapter one read, "Remember who your children are."  ...And who they really belong to.

The children didn't cry, but they were sad in their own way.  I could see more hurt on Peter's face than I expected, sometimes he'd crawl up and rock himself in the rocking chair, looking so quietly sad.  Other times he smiled and reminded me of funny things just to see me laugh, his face glowing so brightly.  He told me, "I have good news Mommy!  You don't have to worry, we'll have a new baby, but It's going to take a long time."  Then he drew a couple pictures of me with a baby in my tummy, with a smile on my face.  One of the pictures showed a smiling unborn baby, and one showed just a ball.  He gave them to me, hoping I would take heart, and have hope.

Kaylee wanted to be held a lot, and wanted to be happy and reassured that everything, especially me, would be okay.  But sometimes she hid her face in my arms, and when I told her it was okay to be sad, she wanted to know why everyone wasn't crying.  I felt the strength of prayers.  I told her I did cry, and will cry some more, but I feel Jesus giving me comfort, and I feel God's love so strongly, it's like I'm in His arms.  He is blessing me right now.

Kendon knows nothing, and wouldn't understand if he were told.  But I am comforted each time I nurse him, and I don't think that's terrible to admit.

Right now the dormant baby is in my belly, waiting to be removed.   I can't sleep, I can hardly eat, just waiting for what will inevitably come.  I want to meet my baby with all my heart, to hold him or her in my hands.  I want to have some closure.  I want to know all the details of what the baby went through.  I want to know if it was a boy or a girl.  I want to know what God was thinking by, giving us such an unexpected and joyous gift, then taking it away before we could enjoy it.  I know, I know, we can't understand the mind of God.  We don't know His plan.  But somehow, I still want to.  Some of these questions and desires may be answered and fulfilled, some may not.  I am going to have to be okay with that.

Kevin is taking it like a man, feeling the way men do.  He is doing this his own way, worrying for me, and not allowing any sympathy for himself.  Yet he too has lost his baby.  And of that I am keenly aware.

It may seem brash and uncooth to speak of miscarriage in such detail.  In our society it is not discussed much--it is awkward for our friends and family to deal with.  So many women go through it, and yet we still don't know how to handle it.  We want to make sense of it, and we want to help one another feel better about it, but in the end, we just have to get through it and let time do its work of healing the pain.

I don't feel so different, I don't feel anything much, but the reality still hasn't hit me.  I know it will soon, and I'm bracing myself.

Moved

We have moved to a new address, and do not have internet for another week.  I'm having withdrawals.  I hope to be able to post soon, but for now, just know that you have a friend who wants you to be successful in finding your own, Peaceful Way.

Something Parents All Over the World Are Struggling to Learn Right Now: Including Me

Attachment Parenting:  Developing and utilizing a close parent-to-child bond in order to discipline and teach our children.

One of my favorite phrases on the Attachment parenting website is, "It's not called PERMISSIVE parenting!"  
So many think that in order to "be nice" to our kids, we have to be permissive.  Many see parents who are patient and non-confrontational with their children, and assume that those parents are permissive.  It is difficult for our society to understand that there is a sweet-spot between Authoritative and Intimidating, and Permissive and Uninvolved.  That middle ground is Attachment Parenting/Positive Discipline.

Attachment Parenting isn't a new skill to learn or a new philosophy of parenting.  It's the true spirit of humanity.  It is the embodiment of the second greatest commandment given by Jesus Christ.  It's loving others as we love ourselves.  In other words, it is loving others while we love ourselves.  


One of the hardest tests of being a parent, is seeing our true selves reflected back through our children.

Do you see yourself in your children?
Do you consciously or unconsciously despise what you see?
Does the thought of them becoming like you, scare you?
Does this thought make you want to hide or lash out at [yourself in the body of] your child?

If you searched your heart and found the answer to any of the above is yes, you are not alone.

Attachment Parenting is seeing ourselves in our children, and having unconditional love, compassion, empathy and understanding for that self we see.  

Isn't that how God sees us?  Doesn't He tell us that He is in each of us, and He loves us as Himself?  Recently I read an article on theattachedfamily.com about how one mother taught her son to do a chore.  He was a teenager, perfectly capable of doing the actual chore, but she understood that he was not necessarily capable of developing the habit and remembering to do it on his own.  So she met him with a smile, and they did the chore (bringing the trash cans in) together.  They did this for several weeks, and then, he started doing it on his own.  "Just as it took Kelly several weeks of teaching her son to bring in the garbage cans, it will most likely take kids several teaching sessions before they get the hang of a job and are able to think it through on their own.  Kelly says she even expects her son to forget again, as his priorities are simply different than hers.  But she is ready and willing to step in and do it together with him again...teach many, many times!"  I thought about that, and cringed at how I have gotten exasperated when I had to teach my child something more than once, and I asked myself a tough question: which way is God's way?

I can picture Him knowingly and patiently taking our arm in his, and walking us through His way again and again.  Then we take over and start to do it on our own, but He knows "My ways are not your ways, neither are my thoughts your thoughts."  So He expects us to forget again, doesn't He?  He knows we will need Him to walk us through it again, because we are immature.  We are children, and that is our nature.  His promise is that He will be there every time we forget, smiling and ready to teach us again.  His patience is infinite.  His love--unconditional.  What can we learn about parenting from Him?

When you look through the eyes of your child, what do you see?


What will be the story of his childhood?  What will she remember most?  Are you creating a childhood she'll speak openly of 20 years from now, with an honest, genuine smile?

One of the best and most straight-forward helps I've found is at AttachmentParenting.org.  Specifically, the section on Effective Discipline.  I have recently forgotten, and relearned much of this, and am grateful for a patient Heavenly Father who is ready and willing to take my hand...again.

"But I Already Raised My Children!  It's Too Late to Change the Past."

Even if your children have left the nest, even if they are having babies of their own, it's never too late.  We all need this attachment at any age, and we all need to reconcile our pasts.  An amazing change can come over you and your relationships when you have reattached to your parents, no matter how old, to your children and grandchildren, no matter the age.  Even if your parents have deceased, you can attach or re-attach to a reconciliation of their memory.  You can say within yourself, "this is what my parents knew, this is what they did not know that I now know."  As the first Nephi in the Book of Mormon, you can say, (paraphrased) 'I am thankful for their examples, good and bad, and thank The Lord that I can see the difference.'  You can find compassion in your heart for them, and for yourself.  You can learn to parent yourself, through positive self-discipline.  Again, it is NEVER ever, too late.

"I Don't Have Any Children of My Own"

If you have no children of your own, you can connect with a niece or nephew, a close friend's child, a student...many many kids long and need for a kind, empathetic adult to reach out to them.  You can change someone's life by simply creating a few wonderful, loving memories.  For more information on ways to do this without anxiety, (which destroys all our best attempts) there are several resources I recommend:

http://theattachedfamily.com
http://www.naomialdort.com
http://attachmentparenting.org/blog/
http://attachmentparenting.org
http://celebratecalm.com
Book: Attached at the Heart: 8 Proven Parenting Principles for Raising Connected and Compassionate Children  by Barbara Nicholson and Lysa Parker  [I have not read this book yet, but it is recommended by the attachment parenting website, and I look forward to checking it out from my local library as soon as I am finished moving.]


I am so happy to report that my relationship to my children is better than it was several weeks ago, and the more I study this way of being, the easier it becomes to lead and guide them.  They are better behaved, they are happier, and they are healthier.  Everything from their grooming and eating habits to their public conduct has improved. Not to perfection, but progress, definitely.


My challenge for you all is to find a child to connect (or reconnect) with in a healthy way, whether it is your own child or someone else's, and then write me and tell me about it.  I want to hear from you!!  You may find your story posted, unless you specify not to.

Correction

In my last post I said something I need to clarify.  When talking about my daughter, I said, "She is not responsible for her actions..."  Taken out of context, I do not believe that.  Even a 2-yr-old is responsible for choosing their own actions and re-actions.  But a young child is not ACCOUNTABLE for his actions.  Accountable is defined as: Required or expected to justify actions or decisions.  Before age 8 is a learning and absorbing time of life.  A young child cannot repent, therefore, it would be a great injustice to believe that they can sin.  However, the lessons they learn early in life can stay with them forever, so teaching them is a great responsibility.  


What I meant by saying [she is not responsible] was, she doesn't have to carry the burden of change and growth.  She was not the more responsible party.  The responsibility to be a good example and teacher lies solely with ME.  To put the pressure on her to be an example of love and goodness while being treated with frustration and irritation, is erroneous, and unfair.  By saying that, I really actually mean that I am responsible TO her and TO God for MY actions and re-actions, and that she IS responsible ONLY to herself at this point.  I am not responsible for HER actions, I am responsible for MINE.  I am responsible for the family environment, because I have the power to create it by controlling, or not controlling MYSELF.  


She, according to her age, will generally act the way she perceives she is treated in general.  Either by me, or someone else.  She is learning little by little to have control over her feelings and choices, but she is still too young to master these skills.  This is a time when it is crucial that I am a rock of stability in her life, not what I have been, a wavering example of inconsistency.  


Let me demonstrate by an example:  Just a few minutes ago, my kids were playing a game of piling up pillows and jumping on them.  Peter was jumping on them over and over, without order, and Kaylee wanted them to take turns.  She, in trying to control his actions, became very upset that she could not control him, and eventually, started shouting, and then pushed him.  He remained calm, because he has spent a long time practicing this skill.  But he looked to me to intervene.  She whined about him not taking turns.  I remained calm, and said, as any parent would, "Apologize.  You pushed him.  You cannot force him to take turns.  But DO you have control over your body.  What did you do with that choice?"  That was kind of a controlling reply, but at least I stayed calm, right?  (Evidently my daughter gets her control issues honestly.)  Naturally, she was upset and defensive, and began to cry, and said, "I will never, NEVER apologize!"  She lashed out at her littlest brother, and I told her it was inappropriate, and Peter did as well.  She was defensive again, as anyone would be.  But then I calmed my inner anxiety and said to her, "When you're ready to talk without shouting, I am happy to listen."  That was all.  She buried her head in her pillow, and when her brothers remained calm and ran to play in another room, she lifted her head with a smile.  "Mom, I have something to say to my brothers.  I think you know what it is."  And then she ran to play with them, happily and apologetically.  


When I was controlling, she was controlling.  When I controlled only myself, she reacted by seeking that self-control as well.  Our kids must have self discipline and self-control in order to be happy and successful in life.  Yet how many of us are modeling these attributes?  How many of us never learned these things as children because our parents thought they had to bear the entire responsibility for controlling US (instead of themselves)-through fear and intimidation, never allowing us to trust them with our mistakes and challenges, never learning the power of self-control?  Do we want that for our kids?--Our Grandkids?  Here's some questions for all of us, including myself, to ponder.


Am I ready to be my child's Hero?
Am I ready to be the rock of stability in his/her life?  Unmoving--uncompromising--in control?
Am I ready to BE the model of Christ's love and forgiveness, patience and persistence?
Am I ready to take back control of my emotions from the hands of my child, and BE the Grown-up?
Am I ready to break the patterns of the past, and perhaps the patterns of my friends and associates?
Am I ready to be accountable for my own choices, regardless of the choices of others?


In my family, I have an example of this.  It is my father.  He broke the patterns of his past and found a new way to relate to his kids.  But he also had an example to turn to when he was ready.  That example was the memory of his grandfather.  Sometimes extended family members wield more power over a child's rearing than they realize.  This grandfather was instrumental in my father's upbringing, and though his grandfather didn't raise him, he gave him an example that he could look back on and mimic when he needed to.  Now I have my own memories to look back on--I use a variety of sources.  I'm thankful for each one of them.


See, we are adults.  We can choose our Heroes.  We can choose what memories we dwell on.  We can choose whose example to mimic.  We can choose to wallow, or choose to learn.  We always have a choice.


I guess the thing I want to stress most right now is this:  Self-mastery and positive discipline does not happen accidentally or automatically.  It does not happen while we're avoiding conflict or pushing problems under the rug.  It does not happen while we're ranting, lecturing, raging, fretting and worrying.  It is a muscle.  It is developed by constant effort and hard, hard work.  It quickly atrophies when we do not use it.  It is developed most easily and quickly through faith and following principles of Christianity, though many non-Christians have mastered it as well.  [I believe that Christ is the source of all goodness and truth, so even those who do not believe in Him, who ascribe to His teachings, still receive the blessings that many who profess to believe, yet do not live His teachings, are held back from.]  I look at the faces of those who live with integrity, and faith in Christ, and they glow with radiance.  I want that.  I need that.  I want that for my children.  It's time to get there!  We're getting closer, we really are!  I can feel it!  Each time we read the scriptures and think and talk together about our faith, each time we forgive and show love, each time we hold back from re-acting, and instead pro-act, we get a little closer.

The most Christ-like person I know

The most Christ-like person I know is my 5 year old son.  I know that may sound very much like a mother, but it happens to be a genuine observation.  I see him in action more than anyone else in the world, and I see his heart as well as hear his words, and experience his treatment daily.

To give just one example, I will recount what happened last night.  Kaylee had a rough day.  She had many emotional struggles, and her facade of not caring was crumbling slowly, and that evening, close to bed time, she bit her cheek.  That was the last straw for her, and she began to cry, real tears, and needed her mother's arms.  She doesn't get to cuddle with mom much, because that spot seems always filled with the littlest one.  Kendon was nursing at that moment.  I was torn.  I asked Kendon to let go, and we would nurse later, but he was determined not to be unseated by his sister, who tried to climb on my lap, and was pushed off.  I don't believe in pushing a young child away, so I didn't want to push Kendon away from me, but I unlatched him, and told him firmly and kindly, "I'm sorry, but you will have to nurse later.  I have three kids, and right now, Kaylee needs a mommy too."  Well, that worked like you'd imagine it would on a 2-yr-old.  (Not at all.)  And so I sat there, with two crying kids, each wanting to get on my lap, and each pushing the other away, and me, caught in the impossible position in the middle.  

That's what my peacemaker intervened.  Peter comes over, calmly and cheerfully and says, "Don't worry Mom. I'll take care of Kendon."  He is not put off by Kendon ignoring him, continuing to fuss, and trying to get back on my lap.  He just sweetly puts his arm around his brother's shoulders and says to him with a warm smile, "It's okay Kendon, It's okay little bro, I'll take care of you.  What do you want to play together?"  Kendon stops, looks at his big brother he has learned to trust, and puts his little head on his brother's chest.  Peter slowly walks away with him. Kendon says quietly, "I want to play dinosaur."  Peter says, "Do you want to  be Tyrannosaurus Rex?  The king dinosaur?  You go like this..."  And off they went, saying "Raaaarrr," and playing happily together.  Meanwhile, my daughter climbed on my lap, and received some much needed comfort. 

Kaylee and I were able to enjoy about 10 minutes of agenda-free time, reading scriptures together, and just enjoying the feel of one another's touch.  I realized that I don't hold her anymore, and I have missed her.  It felt good to hold my big girl, even though she is almost 7, and it felt good to listen to her, and enjoy her, instead of correcting her.  All that was made possible, because my middle child had prepared himself to be okay, so he could reach out to others.  It was not an accident, he works at it every day.  He is striving harder than anyone I know, to be exactly like his idol, Jesus Christ.  One way, is by strengthening himself, so he can be a strength to others.

I am humbled deeply today, and I have been on my knees all morning, asking my Father to help me to be more like my own son, who is more like His son, than I am.  Can I, by turning to the Lord, become emotionally secure enough to be a strength to others, and not constantly be needing strength from others? 

Family News:

I don't like to be constantly giving updates on all the family news, because this blog is not supposed to be all about me.  But there are some things that will be affecting my posts in the future, and need to be said.  

First:  I am currently pregnant with our fourth child.  Due in late September.

Second:  We have recently sold our house and are moving, we have no idea where yet, except for a little while we'll be moving to my husband's parents' home during the transition time.  I have three weeks to pack our house and house-hunt, so I will not have much time to post for the next little while.

To Be Honest:

I have recently started listening again to Kirk Martin's, Celebrate Calm.  That is because since I've been pregnant, I've been less calm, and less in control of my feelings.  I find myself crying more, shouting more, and overall, giving up more on being the kind of mom I want to be.  Then a few weeks ago, I lost it with my daughter.  She is going through a transition age right now, and all sorts of problems with relationships and schooling are bubbling to the surface, issues I have feared, and all of us are on edge and faced with new issues we haven't dealt with before.  I guess I started reverting back to what I know best, fear and intimidation, distracted, anxiety-ridden parenting, and that just made everything so much worse.  Then one day, I snapped.  I said things I'm so ashamed of, I can't believe left my lips.  I hurt her so deeply, and I saw it happening, and didn't care.  I didn't care until about 5 minutes later when I had a minute to process, and I thought I would throw up.  I was so heartbroken at what I'd just done, I didn't even know how to apologize.  I didn't say anything, I just cried, and cried, and cried.  I felt intense, enormous grief and pain, I can't even describe.  That was anguish!  Truly, deep, heart-wrenching sorrow.  How could I make it better?  How could I come back from that low, low place?  How could she heal from that?  How could I?

We went to my mother's house who unwittingly said some things that helped both of us.  My daughter looked at me, and I looked at her, and the words were unspoken, but she smiled and nodded, and I smiled back and nodded.  We both resolved to try harder to be peacemakers.  Later, she asked me why I hadn't apologized, and I said that I was so ashamed, I didn't know how to say it.  But then I apologized, and I asked her if we could start over. I told her how precious she was to me, and how lucky I was to be given such a special girl to be my daughter.  It was a new beginning, not a new arrival, meaning it was still a painful time, still we needed help.

The next few weeks I spent more time on my knees, crying, seeking, and asking for Christ's help, healing, and instruction.  Wisely, He let me struggle awhile, and let me feel the full brunt of my shame, and see clearly the pain I have the power to cause before offering me solace.  Eventually, when the time was right, that comfort came.  It wasn't all at once, it was a little bit each day.  As I showed willingness to change and grow myself, He offered a boost up each time.  It is only through consistent effort and obedience that peace can be availed to us.  If I were to repeat the offenses, I would negate the blessings.  I would be unable to receive any comfort, only added anguish.  So through obedience to God, I opened myself to receiving the blessings of my Father, and the love and healing of Christ.

Now I feel that healing love, and walk in it daily.  I give thanks and do not take it for granted.  Now that I am on firmer ground, it's time for me to reach out to my little girl, and show her once again where true growth,  peace and healing can be found.  In the arms of her loving Savior.  She has the right and privilege to enjoy those blessings right now. 

Our relationship is beginning to heal, and I can feel her longing for love and healing.  I can see her reaching for any help, any hope she can find.  She did nothing wrong--nothing she has to answer for, but she did get hurt.  She is not responsible for her actions, she is still too young to be expected to be able to control herself completely.  Before age 8, kids are still expected to be the result of their environment.  While they begin to learn the principles of choice and accountability, it's not right to demand it of them until they are completely mentally and emotionally ready to be independent of their surroundings.  (Which is yet another reason it's incredible to witness emotional and spiritual integrity in my 5-yr-old.)  Before age 8, the responsibility for repentance (i.e. struggling to change and grow, praying for forgiveness and help to improve,) lies solely with the adult.  This is a doctrine of my church, but also a universal truth I believe.  Universal truths can be forgotten, or put on the back burner of our minds.  It's time I remember this one, and realize that the fault is mine when there is a conflict with her.  I have seen my own power to affect our relationship for the good in the past.  Her actions do not hold merit against mine.  That is the bad news, and that is the good news.  As long as we have faith, there is still hope for us.