Sacrifice for Sundays: Part Two

It was both amusing and sad to read the part one of this blog post--funny because I had actually forgotten about that Sunday and sad because I am still dealing with the same challenges six months later, now made more challenging by Henry's older--and louder--self.

I snagged this pic a few months ago when the boys wanted to go see Michael before the meeting began.

However, despite many difficult Sundays (like this past one, when Robbie hit me several times in the middle of the Sacrament because I took his car away--that had somehow come into church via Henry--and the previous Sunday, when Clara refused to get ready for church and it got ugly), there have also been some great Sundays. I have felt uplifted, edified, and encouraged. I have felt the Lord's smiling approval on Sunday afternoons when we're just sitting and coloring pages from the Friend or playing Go Fish, or when we're watching Bible videos from the Savior's life. I have let go of trying to make Sunday afternoons about my own spiritual time and rather more about being with the kids and having spiritual time with them. Going visiting teaching, making cookies and delivering them, etc., and especially listening to Sabbath music throughout the day really help me feel like I'm on the Lord's errand.

Sunday couch selfie and photobomb

Someone expressed to Michael one time that he/she didn't feel rejuvenated on the Sabbath but rather felt exhausted. I can definitely relate, but I also have faith that the effort it takes to put off the world and give a day to the Lord does strengthen and help me. I am thankful for the gift of not having to think about my to-do list, permission to have a simple meal (or to prepare it on Saturday, which feels so good) and not feel the need to do housework. I am thankful for a built-in opportunity to teach my children the gospel more intentionally (although I still would like to improve in this regard). And while I do feel like I have literally been through a wrestling match--especially last Sunday when I had to take a boy under each arm as I left the chapel--I also recognize that this period of difficulty will, eventually, end. Some day I will be able to sit through the entire meeting and really listen to the talks. In the mean time, I will keep practicing. Like I said in my part one entry, Sacrament meeting is an opportunity for me to pray and receive the Savior's grace.

I'm so glad when Daddy comes home, glad as I can be.

Last Sunday when Robbie was mad at me during the Sacrament, he informed me angrily, "I hate you! I hate Jesus! I hate Heavenly Father!" I was so sad and frustrated and mad, and I whispered back sadly, "A lot of people hated Jesus. But He loved them anyway." I thought about that as I sat there (before I had to take them out) and pondered on that a bit. I am so glad that Jesus loves me and loves all those who are difficult to love. Then later that afternoon, he informed me, "You're the best mom ever." You're the best mom in the world, right, Clara?"

Despite the difficulties, I will continue to work on making it a delightful day for me--a day that sanctifies, stretches, and soothes me. I hope and pray that as I work on "not doing [my] own ways, nor finding [my] own pleasure," I will truly be able to "ride upon the high places of the earth" and "delight [myself] in the Lord" (Isaiah 58). And hopefully that will carry over to my children, too.

Henry's birthday and a camping trip

We had a grand adventure going camping last weekend and celebrated Henry's birthday, too!

 Wow, are these kids thrilled or what?! Clara gets really stressed out when we go somewhere, especially when we pick her up from school early (like we did that day) and are going to a place she isn't familiar with. She came around eventually. They're packed in the back of Michael's truck--thank goodness it wasn't too long of a drive to Switzer Lake (a little less than an hour away).

 We should have done a little more preparation beforehand determining where we were going to hike (nothing like a camping trip to see where your marriage can improve, ahem!), but fortunately we still had enough daylight to take the pedal boat out that Michael bought. We could all fit, and boy, it was a leg workout. The water was really cold but felt good on the feet, and the boys all got in (at least partly).

 We enjoyed some yummy Dutch oven goulash and then celebrated Henry's birthday with some cupcakes I'd made with the boys earlier that morning. They'd gotten a bit smooshed, but they still tasted good.

We also opened presents--Henry got a ball and two books (his main gift being the new scooter I'd purchased him a month previous). His favorite gift, however, was the musical card our neighbors gave him that we brought with us. And a ball at a rocky, slope campsite by a lake? Not the best combo.

 Of course, we needed some marshmallows to take the edge off the cupcakes.

 It was a beautiful spot.

 And we couldn't have asked for a better view or weather.

 Trying to get the kids to look out into the distance "naturally." Ha!

 Michael took Robbie out on the lake again a little bit before bed.

After letting the boys giggle hysterically--especially overtired Henry--as they ran around the inside of the tent and hung on the tent walls until 9pm, we finally got everyone settled. The kids did pretty well, and I slept like a baby (woke up every two hours). Henry was so cute in the morning--first to wake up, but still snuggly and enjoying the camping experience.

 Snuggling with Daddy in the early chilly morning air.

 For breakfast we had Dutch oven biscuits (they don't look too awesome, but they tasted pretty durn good, especially with the homemade honey butter I brought) and scrambled eggs.

 Just had to document the inspired idea I had to bring the little potty--worked for all ages :-).

As we prepared to pack up, a couple walked over to Michael and asked for some help jumping their truck, as their battery was dead. Michael took the boys and spent nearly an hour trying to help them while Clara and I waited at the campsite. Eventually we decided to take the boat out one more time while the couple fished. Then we stuck seven people in a five-seater truck (hoping a cop would see us, pull us over, and then help the sweet couple, haha!) and drove them back to Harrisonburg--ironically they work at a gas station quite close to us. We took the missionary opportunity and had a nice time talking with them (Blake and Chynna were their names). 

Ironically, the truck's electrical/computer circuits started acting weird as we drove them home, the horn honking randomly, lights turning on and off, etc. Michael took the truck into Firestone after we arrived home, and they said that the computer (Body Control Module) could be fried and might need to be replaced. Mercifully, a super knowledgeable brother from our ward, Brother Liskey, ran into Michael at Lowes afterwards and mentioned he'd seen his truck lights on. Michael told him the situation, and he recommended that Michael disconnect the battery so as to not drain it. When he reconnected it on Sunday morning before his meetings, everything worked again. Phew! 

The trip went well, overall, but man, it took a couple of days to get things back together and I still haven't reorganized the camping box. I started a "camping checklist" of things we'll want to remember next time, like metal tongs instead of plastic since that's all I'd packed and therefore all Michael had to turn the coals. Hello, melted tong stumps.

I really do enjoy these experiences and hope that as time goes on, we can streamline things more and more. And when the kids get old enough to carry their own everything, hot dog! 

Sacrifice for Sundays: Part One

I have dozens of blog entries that I begin to write but then don't have the nerve to publish for one reason or another. I decided to come back to this one that I wrote back in December 2016 and decided to post it without much editing as a part one and then share my current thoughts on the Sabbath in a part two blog post.


12/?/2016

Today was quite a day.

I really wanted to attend the joint-ward Christmas choir rehearsal, but since Michael goes in early for meetings, I would need to arrange someone to watch the kids. A kind Beehive agreed to come with me, so I picked her up and we began driving to church.

A mile down the road, I heard sounds from Henry and "ewwws" from Clara, who sits next to him. I pull over, and sure enough, he'd thrown up. Not a ton, and since he still had vestiges and the cough from his two-week cold, I thought maybe it was just an accidental throw-up. However, I turned right around, drove my thirteen-year-old babysitter home to her house, drove back to our house and changed Henry. He was happy without a fever, and since I do have a Sunday School class to teach and had been asked to help out in nursery during the third hour, I resolved to go to church anyway but would just keep Henry with me and find a sub for nursery (although I was the sub).

I arrived at church and Michael graciously watched the kids (despite his own responsibilities as bishop right before Sacrament meeting) for fifteen minutes while I snuck into the rehearsal briefly.

During Sacrament meeting, I dealt with the usual embarrassments and difficulties: Henry being loud and incredibly wiggly despite everything I can possibly think of (food, toys, books, you name it), Clara and Robbie both being noisy during the Sacrament (I know "reverence is more than just quietly sitting," but frankly I would be thrilled if they'd just sit there for a few minutes on their bottoms), and my ears burning as I think about my inadequacies as a mother and the distraction my kids are causing others. With the kids fighting over the lacing cards I had brought (hoping and praying they would keep them occupied) and with Henry being handed books over the pew from the family of four reverent, well-behaved children in front of me, I lost the Spirit as I quietly scolded them and was in tears as I told Clara that I needed her to be mature (and not take the toys I had brought for Henry). Then when my kind husband stood up to bear his testimony about how much he loves Sundays and that it is a distillization of the Spirit, I just wanted to burst into tears and run out to the car and drive home, never to return.

But that's not the best part. The best part was when Henry started throwing up. I'm not talking a little throw up. First I caught it in my hands. Eww. Then it kept going. And going. I tried using my scarf to catch it. Anything. After seriously a quart of liquid had noisily spewed forth (with Clara loudly laughing next to me; I had sent Robbie up to sit with Michael a few minutes previous), I had no choice but to extricate myself from the chapel as gracefully as a mother with vomit on her tights and squelching in her left shoe carrying a throw-up-covered baby could.

Awesome.

What was there to do but laugh? I cried on the way home, of course.

(Oh, and did I mention that it's Fast Sunday? And that time of the month? Double awesome.)

So here I sit on my couch while Henry takes a nap (a kind friend volunteered to take the kids home from church) and I ponder why I do this to myself every Sunday.

This year one of my goals was to make the Sabbath a delight. Isaiah says the following in chapter 58:

If thou turn away thy foot from the sabbath, from doing thy pleasure on my holy day; and call the sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, honourable; and shalt honour him, not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleasure, nor speaking thine own words:

 Then shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord; and I will cause thee to ride upon the high places of the earth, and feed thee with the heritage of Jacob thy father: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.

 We have been asked to keep the Sabbath holy for thousands of years: starting from the creation of the Earth, from the Ten Commandments, from the Savior Himself, and now from modern-day prophets and apostles. How can I make this day a delight? I have always been good about not shopping on Sunday, not going out to eat, not watching movies, not doing yard work. But this year I've really tried to make a concerted effort to spend time doing Sunday things with the kids: reading Church magazines, listening to hymns at home, setting the table the night before and being thoughtful about what food I prepare on Sunday so I don't feel like I'm ignoring the most important things for a fancy Sunday dinner.

And I have felt better about our Sundays. I have felt more prepared for the Sacrament, and I have truly tried to view going to church as preparing to meet the Savior each week. But dang it, I still dread Sundays! It's the hardest day of the week for me. Not only is Michael gone much of the day, he is feeling the joy and fulfillment of serving and ministering to the flock while I am stuck wrestling an eighteen-month-old and trying to keep Clara and Robbie from fighting and desperately wanting them to feel the Spirit and find the joy of the gospel.

I realized today on the way home from church how inadequate I feel. And then I had the sobering realization that I AM inadequate! Wait, what? Who, me?

I've always thrived on being capable and responsible. I was voted Most Dependable and Most Respected my senior year of high school, dagnab it! And now, with three children, one with autism and ADHD, I feel like a sham. Now, where the rubber really hits the road, my true inadequacies show. High school? College? Psshh. It was easy to be adequate when everything was within my control (to an extent). Mothering little humans whom you quickly discover you can't really control is the time when I realize how much I need a Savior. A SAVER.

It's experiences like today's that makes me realize how desperately I need Christ's grace. I am insufficient on my own. And that's good! If I were adequate, if I were sufficient, why would I need Him?

So, I've decided I am now going to be grateful for Sundays. I am thankful for the wrestling match I have each week during Sacrament meeting because it gives me learning opportunities. I have fifty (two Sundays out for General Conference) opportunities each year to practice not worrying about what other people think, to try to get creative about how to entertain my children quietly and try to teach them what it means to think about something (or Someone) and express gratitude through silent prayer. I can relish the challenge of trying not to compare myself to all of the other families whose children sit reverently. (I'm serious. They do.) How many other weekly guaranteed practice times do I have to work on being more like the Savior as I teach my children while being surrounded by other people? It has been said that the ordinance of the Sacrament should be the most sacred time of the week. The Savior did not send the little children away. He didn't say, "only bring the well-behaved ones to me."