Oh give me patience when tiny hands
Tug at me with their small demands
And give me gently and smiling eyes;
Keep my lips from sharp replies.
And let no fatigue, confusion, or noise
Obscure my vision of life’s fleeting joys,
So when, years later, my house is still–
No bitter memories its room may fill.
---Author Unknown
LEST WE FORGET
She came tonight as I sat alone
The girl that I used to be...
And she gazed at me with her earnest eye
And questioned reproachfully.
Have you forgotten the many plans
And hopes that I had for you?
The great career, the splendid fame
All wonderful things to do.
Where is the mansion of stately height
With all of its gardens rare?
The silken robes that I dreamed for you
And the jewels for your hair?
And as she spoke, I was very sad,
For I wanted her pleased with me...
This slender girl from the shadowy past
The girl I used to be.
So gently arising, I took her hand,
And guided her up the stair
Where peacefully sleeping, my babies lay
Innocent, sweet and fair.
And I told her that these are my only gems,
And precious they are to me;
That silken robe is my motherhood
Of costly simplicity.
And my mansion of stately height is Love,
And the only career I know
Is serving each day in these sheltering walls
For the dear ones who come and go.
And as I spoke to my shadowy guest,
She smiled through her tears at me;
And I saw that the woman that I am now
Pleased the girl that I used to be.--Rowena K. Lewis
"Our homemaking skills haven’t really been lost–they are simply crafts which have become rusty through disuse. We can swiftly relearn the steps to creating a true home, to ensouling the home. All it takes is a little time and effort–and a large dose of imagination and wonder. What is needed is nothing less than the re-enchantment of our homes–to endow them with magic, warmth, and joy. We need to bring back the life and soul of the home, honor its power and healing, respect its spirit." By Jane Alexander in the book Moving On.
Have you ever watched kids
On a merry-go-round
Or listened to the rain
lapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down
Don’t dance so fast
Time is short
The music won’t last.
Do you run through each day on the fly?
When you ask, "How are you?"
Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done,
Do you lie in your bed
With the next hundred chores
Running through your head?
You’d better slow down
Don’t dance so fast
Time is short
The music won’t last.
Ever told your child,
We’ll do it tomorrow,
And in your haste, not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch,
Let a good friendship die
‘Cause you never had time
To call and say "hi"?
You’d better slow down
Don’t dance so fast
Time is short
The music won’t last.
When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day
It is like an unopened gift...
Thrown away...
Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song is over.
(And it ends all too soon, sometimes...)
Being a Mom
We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family." "We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?""It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral."I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations."But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her.
I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a soufflé or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.
I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.
I want my daughter to know that every day decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.
However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.
Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give herself up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs. I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor.
My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.
I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time.
I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.
My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings.
"You can have the utmost assurance that your power will be multiplied many times by the Lord. All he asks is that you give your best effort and your whole heart. Do it cheerfully and with the prayer of faith. You will feel at some time, perhaps at many times, that you cannot do all you feel you must..The forces arrayed against you will try not only to frustrate your work but to bring you down...Your obedience to the commandments, your desire to do His will, and your asking in faith will determine how clearly the Master can guide you by answers to your prayers...He chose you...The Lord knows you...He has prepared a way so that He could issue your call. (Elder Henry B. Eyring, Oct. 2002)
C.S. Lewis quotes:"The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one's 'own,'or 'real' life. The truth is of course that what onecalls the interruptions are precisely one's real life-- the life God is sending one day by day."
"When God wants a great work done in the world or a great wrong righted, he goes about it in a very unusual way. He doesn’t stir up his earthquakes or send forth his thunderbolts. Instead, he has a helpless baby born, perhaps in a simple home out of some obscure mother. And then God puts the idea into the mother’s heart, and she puts it into the baby’s mind. And then God waits. The greatest forces in the world are not the earthquakes and the thunderbolts. The greatest forces in the world are babies." – E. T. Sullivan
From my dear sister: "A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me withfull hands;How could I answer the child? I do not know what itis any more than he." Walt Whitman
"We do not draw people (let along children!) to Christ by loudly discrediting what they believe, by telling them howwrong they are and how right we are, but by showingthem a light that is so lovely that they want with alltheir hearts to know the source of it."Madeline L’Engle
Elaine L. Jack, a former LDS Relief Society general president, said: "Time is a critical issue for women today. There are sisters in the Church who spend half the day, every day, bringing water from wells to their homes. That's how they have to spend their time. They never have a day off. There are sisters who stand in line for hours to buy scant supplies of food. There are sisters who work in the fields all day to earn enough to feed their families. Time is a precious resource we have been given. I am so concerned about the pace we have set as women in this part of the Lord's vineyard. We have automatic sprinklers and taps with running water, hot and cold. We think the many labor-saving devices we have should remove all stress from our lives, but we fail to take into account that it's how we feel about what we do that is most important. It seems that the welfare of our own souls is being put at risk as we rush to live all seasons of our lives now. And on fast forward. "How can we put our time on the shelf of the Lord's storehouse? I think we can best do this by prayerfully considering how to use our time. We can't do everything. I know; I've tried. But we can do something fine with our time. I hope you'll make sure you have moments for prayer, study and pondering daily. There may not be hours for that, but surely there are minutes. Nothing will fill your daily storehouse in a more satisfying manner."
I'm invisible. It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please." I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going she's going . she's gone! One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees." In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees." I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right nowwhat it will become."
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree. When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there." As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
A builder builded a temple,
He wrought it with grace and skill.
Pillars and stones and arches
All fashioned to work his will.
Men said as they saw its beauty,
It shall never know decay.
Great is thy skill, O builder,
Thy fame shall endure for aye.
A mother builded a temple
With loving and infinite care,
Planning each arch with patience,
Laying each stone with prayer,
None praised her unceasing efforts,
None knew of her wondrous plan,
For the temple the mother builded
Was unseen by the eyes of man.
Gone is the builder’s temple,
Crumbled into dust,
Low lies each stately pillar,
Food for consuming rust.
But the temple the mother builded
Will last while the ages roll,
For that beautiful unseen temple
Was a child’s immortal soul. -- Author unknown
From the book "I Am a Mother" by Jane Clayson Johnson:pg 11: For years, many in the business world have taught–and been taught–that the definition of success is achievement, chiefly in career and financial terms. At the Harvard Business School, the model of success included one word: achievement. A few years ago, however, Harvard took another look at the model and added a few more words: happiness, significance, and legacy. Is there any other person who can bring more happiness to her young charges, has more significance in another’s life, or has the potential to leave a greater legacy for those who come after her than a mother?
Pg 49: I’m willing to bet...that most of us don’t remember what horse won the Kentucky Derby three years ago, or who owned the horse. On the other hand, I’m also willing to bet that your children can remember a trip to the park, a favorite family story, a late-night talk after a first date, and dozens of other things you have done each and every day as a mother.
Pg 92: And rather than losing my identity with the children, the irony is, I actually feel as though I have further identified my true self. I’ve worked my way through often difficult and complicated but very human emotions...and found love and peace and tremendous happiness.
Elder Jeffrey Holland: You are doing God’s work. You are doing it wonderfully well. He is blessing you, and He will bless you, even–no, especially–when your days and your nights may be most challenging. Like the woman who anonymously, meekly, perhaps even with hesitation and some embarrassment, fought her way through the crowd just to touch the hem of the Master’s garment, so Christ will say to the women who worry and wonder and weep over their responsibility as mothers, ‘Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole.’ And it will make your children whole as well."
Former New York Times reporter and Pulitzer Prize nominee Anne Crittenden writes: "Any woman who has devoted herself to raising children has experienced the hollow praise that only thinly conceals smug dismissal. In a culture that measures worth and achievement almost solely in terms of money, the intensive work of rearing responsible adults counts for little. One of the most intriguing question in economic history is how this came to be; how mothers came to be excluded from the ranks of productive citizens. How did the demanding job of rearing a modern child come to be trivialized as baby-sitting? When did caring for children become a ‘labor of love’, smothered under a blanket of sentimentality that hides its economic importance?"
Journalist Cokie Roberts in her book We are our Mother’s Daughters: "For most of human history, men and women worked together in the same place and each one’ work complemented the other’s. No one thought the farmer’s job was more important than the farmer’s wife’s. Neither could manage without the other...It was the industrial revolution that changed everything. Men went out to work for wages, and they were paid for the hours they put in, not the tasks they completed...Suddenly, what women did at home lost its value because there was no paycheck attached. Repetitive housework replaced home manufacture as women’s crafts moved into assembly-line production. And that’s what we’ve been struggling with ever since. Doing work that is economically rewarded and socially recognized means leaving home...Women aren’t paid for their job as nurturers."
Author Anna Quindlen says, "The great motherhood friendships are the ones in which two women can admit [how difficult mothering is] quietly to each other, over cups of [herbal] tea at a table sticky with spilled apple juice and littered with markers without tops."
Poet William Ross Wallace:
"The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world."
Story quoted by Pres. Gordon B. Hinckley: "I remember looking through tears toward the sky, and I said, ‘Dear Father, I just can’t do it tonight. I’m too tired. I can’t face it. I can’t go home and take care of all those children along. Could I just come to You and stay with You for just one night? I’ll come back in the morning.’ I didn’t really hear the words of reply, but I heard them in my mind. The answer was: ‘No, little one, you can’t come to me now. You would never wish to come back. But I can come to you."
Cleaning and scrubbing can wait for tomorrow,
For babies grow up, I’ve learned, to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust, got to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby, and babies don’t keep. --Author Unknown
Some houses try to hide the fact
that children shelter there;
Ours boasts it quite openly...
the signs are everywhere.
For smears are on the windows,
little smudges on the door;
I should apologize I guess
for the toys strewn on the floor,
But I sat down with the children
we played, laughed and read,
And if the door bell doesn't shine,
their eyes will shine instead.
For when I'm forced to choose
the one job or the other
It's good to be a housewife
but I'd rather be a mother!
"One thing I’ve learned is that relationships usually don’t get better accidentally; rather, they improve when we make that result a priority. Try to invest time in the relationship in obvious ways. Here are some things I’ve tried that may work for you; talk together; play together; spend one-on-one time together; send letters, cards, or notes sharing your affection; give compliments; do something fun and unexpected; say "I love you"; listen to the other person; ask him or her to help you on a project; share personal feelings. All of these require that you personally get engaged in things the other person is doing." (Ensign, Feb ‘09 pg 16.)
