The Reverence Miracle

A few weeks ago our Bishop asked each family to hold a family night lesson on "Reverence in the Chapel and Keeping it Clean". I hung my head in shame when I first heard it and even felt a tinge of offense. I quickly brushed those feelings under the rug, knowing very well that that was not at all what the Bishop's aim was. And in fact, as I thought on it, was grateful for this inspired suggestion, as it was the perfect solution (or beginning to one) to the weekly struggle, fight, battle that is church for our family right now. (Including grabbing Cam off of the stand at least once every week.)

As I began my preparations for family night I realized that I wasn't preparing myself for the battle very well. The "church bag" was a sorry excuse for one. So I went to Hobby Lobby and stocked up on a few things, and got to work preparing a battle-station in a bag. (Side note: one trick I did already have up my sleeve, and has been working well for us: snacks. I hate snacks at church, but they do keep little mouths happy. So here is what I do: Only a parent controls the snacks. A child is allowed one piece of snack at a time, and the child does not reach into the container. The child signs "more please" silently and the parent gives them one piece, they eat it, and then ask for more by signing. This helps maintain a great deal of control over the mess and chaos of snacktime. And the kids kind of like that they have to ask in sign language, which, of course, keeps them quieter.)

The family home evening lesson was well received, with practices of reverent feet, hands, mouths, etc, role-playing, and stories. And then the rest of the week was craft time...or was supposed to be. I did buy a brand new bag--a back pack so that when I'm slinging my RS Secretary bag and two babies while wearing heels, I won't be head-cursing about the diaper bag swinging around and whacking babies in the head.

Saturday night of that same week, I was frantically trying to finish preparations. After all, the next day was Stake Conference, and that means 2 hours of the typically 1 hour and 15 battle. Spencer went to bed at 10:30 and reminded me not to get too attached to the idea that this was going to work for more than 10 minutes.

I continued working on my projects: 3 I Spy bean bags of felt and rice; felt book with felt doll and hair, clothes, and accessories; folder with gospel coloring pages and blank sheets for "notes". I packed the whole bag: parmesan goldfish (leave a little less mess since they're white), a few quiet baby toys, hand puppets, three books, and the new church toys I had just made.

I laid down at 3 in the morning and thought about what Spencer had said. I thought about how miserable Stake Conference tends to be with these little ones. And then I thought about something that I heard in the adult session of Stake Conference that very night. The message that came to mind was about the Brother of Jared and that he did all the preparations for their journey across the waters that he could, and then turned to the Lord and had the faith to say, "I've done what I can, now if you'll just touch these stones so that we may have light...." And then I said a little prayer. "Lord, I've done the best I could do. I've done all I can. But it will take a miracle to get these kids to be reverent in Stake Conference tomorrow. Please, give us a miracle."

And folks, a miracle is what it was. Literally. We weren't even sitting on a pew. It was in a highschool auditorium (a big one), with theatre seats, the kind that flip up. And Campbell actually fell asleep for most of the time. Can you believe it? And Cadence was happily, quietly engaged in coloring and exploring the new toys. And Layla was tired and cranky but the couple next to us was patient and understanding and when I went to take Layla to the back, they said, "She's not too loud. Stay here." And when she was too loud, they took her and calmed her right down! I knew that the Lord had heard my prayer. And I knew he was trying to teach me a lesson.

Rewind a few weeks. It's just a week and a half before Cadence is going to be starting preschool. I have been looking everywhere, including trying to contact past doctors and even the State of Illinois, looking for Cadence's immunization record. I could't even remember if I ever had a copy of it in the first place. We have moved so much in the last four years, where to even start!?! Is there even a complete record of her immunizations anywhere in the world? I had to have it to give to her school or she couldn't start. I was panicky. I didn't know what to do. I had literally checked every place I knew of to look. Day after day I would revisit the file cabinet and other stacks of documents, looking for it.

One day I accepted defeat. I dropped to my knees and, completely humbled, told the Lord that I needed a miracle. If they had to appear out of nowhere, the Lord could do it. But I couldn't. A miracle. Please.

It's weird because I'm not really in the habit of asking for my own miracles. But I did it that day. I stood up. I calmly walked back to the file cabinet. I could see a folder I hadn't seen in years. A folder I thought had been recycled. I could just see it right there in the cabinet where it wasn't supposed to be. Like, if it were a movie, it would have been glowing or something. It wasn't, but it somehow caught my eye immediately. And there, inside the folder, were her immunization records. Complete. Multiple copies of them. I didn't even know I had them. Gratitude and Relief washed over me. Thank you.

The lesson is this: The work I'm doing is endless and tireless and overwhelmingly important. And I can't do it all. There is no way I can keep up with every thing I'm trying to do. To do my calling perfectly, keep my house acceptable (not even going for perfection here), to read my scriptures and my Ensign and the book group book, to keep up with those friends that I care about and keep in touch with family, and give my kids all the attention and affection and learning and nurturing that they need...it just can't all happen at once. And the Lord knows. So I do my best. And I work harder than I think I can, and then if I have faith to ask for a miracle, the Lord will help me. After all, aren't we partners in parenting with the Lord? If I believe that the Lord is a "God of Miracles", why wouldn't He happily bless me with miracles as I try to raise these children He has lent me? It's like I suppose that the Lord has a limit to how many miracles He can do in a day, and I don't qualify. I'm pretty sure that's not quite how it works.

If I have "faith sufficient", and I'm truly putting forth the effort to do those things that are asked of me, the Lord can make the "stones" that I bring before him into bright and shiny heavenly lights. Oh, and he can for you, too.

See my stones, glowing with the Light of the Lord (Layla's getting there :) ? Man, what is better than motherhood?