Our sweet little Lydia Esther Bushman was born November 6. She has already been a tremendous blessing to our family. The story of her birth is a beautiful one, unique to her and our circumstances right now, but before I share it, I need to share the spiritual journey that lead me to be ready for Lydia to join our family.
Lately I've been thinking about how surreal time is, how eager it is to run away with you, and then you blink, and there's three precious souls counting on you to fill them with all the goodness they were born with the potential to contain. I know I'm a little late on the curve, but it's just now hitting me, the magnitude of all the responsibilities wrapped up in the single word mother. No longer is my obsession merely over proper feeding, sleeping, and safety. Instead, I'm filled with the understanding that what my children become is in large part a result of what I am seeking to be.
I think I've always been a seeker. I've always wanted to know everything, to find answers and wrap my head around anything that just didn't sit right.
It was this habit of seeking that helped me know there was a spirit waiting to join our family, and it was what gave me the courage to take the leap of faith to bring her here despite the fact that life was messy and we had no idea how it was all going to work out (more on this in another post). So, ready or not, Lydia was on her way.
I've gotten to the point where I love childbirth. However, like most of you, I didn't start out knowing that was possible. When Emma was born, something about the experience didn't sit right, though, and I knew there had to be more. As a result, I set about seeking for a more complete answer for me on how to make the whole pregnancy and childbirth thing become what I felt it should be, which is, in a word, sacred.
Now I know this is the part where I lose people. It's so culturally ingrained in us to believe in the other side of the coin - childbirth is discomfort, even agony, and terror. We've been taught this our whole lives. Ultimately, bearing children is supposed to be a burden, we're told. However, I can't help feeling that we've been cheated by our culture (it wouldn't be the first time, would it?).
I think of Eve, and the choice that she made to partake of the fruit, knowing full well that the road ahead wouldn't be easy but that it would certainly allow for far more joy than living in the garden had. Her choice wasn't met with punishment and scorn, but rather the promise of a Savior and the bestowal of a most precious title:
Mother.
In God's eyes, Eve, the first mother, is to be honored. So why was this feeling of honor so lacking in my own experience? Why did I feel like an incubator and then a food source rather than a daughter of Eve, carrying on the torch of her sacred calling?
I discovered a lot about childbirth that was very helpful in bringing me closer to the answer when I was pregnant with James. I learned about the importance of focusing on faith and joy rather than fear and pain. As a result, I had a really good experience with his birth and felt much more able to bond with him afterwards. For his birth story, click here.
However, all of that was just a part of the answer. Only recently did I discover an important piece that was missing, and I believe it's going to forever change how I mother.
Lydia's pregnancy was a modern day example of what happened with the people of Alma when they were in bondage to the Lamanites. It was difficult in the way pregnancies typically are for me, with the added stress of a big move on our plates, but at the same time I truly felt the burden being made light so that I was able to bear it. There were days when I felt really close to God, and I could hardly feel the burden on my back. However, when I drew away from Him, things got harder.
Recently, I reread the story of the people of Alma, and something stuck out to me that hadn't before. It was this sentence: And it came to pass that so great were their afflictions that they began to cry mightily to God. Wow! I realized that my prayers had been more like immature whining rather than a mighty prayer given in faith. No wonder my prayers weren't having the desired results.
Finally, after months of waffling back and forth between having faith and then doubting, I became willing to ask the questions that were standing in the way of my growth. I needed to face my fears, and the things I was unsure of, and find faith, peace, and answers.
It was during this process that I got my big aha. I believe I was on my knees, trying to imagine myself actually kneeling before God and speaking to Him. This makes my prayers a lot more effective, and during this prayer I felt a soft reproval. I suddenly saw myself from another perspective - His perspective - and I knew that I was carrying way more than my fair share of the burden of motherhood. I was attempting to fulfill the divine calling without any divine aid. No wonder it had begun to seem so difficult! In addition to that, I hadn't fully accepted the sacred nature of what I was doing - I'd allowed the words of those in the great and spacious building to sap some of the joy out of the calling for me.
It was there, on my knees and with tears in my eyes, that I saw myself for the first time as being like Eve, a woman worth honoring. And it wasn't because of anything special about me, but rather because all women are treasured for their inherent gift of being mothers, whether or not they have any children of their own.
I knew then that if I wanted to do this mothering thing right, I needed to start allowing God to work with me, strengthening me and providing me with knowledge of my children's unique needs. Only with His help could I truly find the joy that I had been missing out on.
Another answer that came during my seeking was this scripture in Hebrews 12.
"Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God."
This scripture is amazing and full of so much more than what I'll go into here. I'll just focus on two of it's essential principles. The first is that when we are armed with a strong faith in our Savior, and when we focus on joy, we are able to endure hard things, just as Christ was able to endure the cross. I used this principle to help me face childbirth with excitement rather than dread.
The second principle is that, if we want to be able to accomplish hard things, we have to stop caring what other people think. This is what it means when it says that Christ despised "the shame there of." He wasn't looking at the great and spacious building when he began walking toward Gethsemane. No, he was focused on Heaven and on His love for us.
For me, this means setting aside the temptation to spend all my efforts fighting for a Pinterest perfect life (and children) and instead focus on the eternal. These crazy kids might not yet seem like the priceless, eternal kings and queens they are destined to become, but if I don't hold the image of their potential in my mind, who will? Who will remind them on their off days or even off years that there's so much more to them than what they are currently capable of right now? Who will shine the light of hope on their path forward if all I see is the back-talking and the giant mess they made again? Who will give them the courage to make positive changes if all I do is remind them of what they've done wrong?
Man this is hard. SO SO HARD. But it's the truth. Motherhood isn't going to be one long day at the spa no matter what we do, but the joy we've been promised IS there. It is already there, just waiting for us to reach for it, to acknowledge it and let it in. But we have to change our perspective for that to happen. We have to open the door and welcome it in before we can have the privilege of basking in it. And it comes not in waves but in small moments, quietly passing by if we don't take the time to recognize it and soak it in.
I am so so bad at this, but I am extremely grateful to have been given the guidance to know what I need to change.
Another great lesson from the story of the people of Alma. Christ says: And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs, even while you are in bondage; and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter, and that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions.
So this is my witness. Christ does visit His people in their afflictions, but we have to seek Him, and not just timidly, but mightily. I also know that this calling of motherhood is sacred and beautiful, but we have to believe that, truly, not only deep in our hearts but also at the forefront of our minds on a daily basis, if we want to claim the joy that is already ours, just waiting for us.
Now when I feel myself slipping back into my old ways of dredging up just enough strength to get through another exhausting day of motherhood, I can remind myself of what I've learned. I have dozens of mantras, snippets of truth I use to right myself when I'm starting to stray, and this one might be my favorite: I am mother. Because out of the many ways I could label myself, this is the title that not only means the most, but also carries with it power and wisdom from heaven. I picture the woman with an issue of blood reaching for Christ's robe, believing that just that tiny bit of contact could heal her, only I'm not required only to reach for Christ once, but constantly, relying on His power to make me the mother He intended me to be.
So, with this new perspective, I waited as patiently as possible for Lydia to be born. Look for the rest of the story in Part 2.
All my love,
Kamie
