My Christ Story- The Trial of my Faith

The Trial and Witness of my Faith

I would show unto the world that ^afaith is things which are ^bhoped for and ^cnot seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no ^dwitness until after the ^etrial of your faith.        -Ether 12:6

I have felt inspired to share my Christ story. I believe we can receive revelation for ourselves, but not for others (that are outside our authority). So although I have felt a need to share this, it is up to you what you take out of it.

The time period that I would call the “trial of my faith” started shortly after finishing dental school. Four years earlier I had come out of BYU full of understanding and love of the gospel and wanted to share that with others. I wanted to stand for truth. 

During dental school I at one point commented on a post about a moral issue and what I said wasn’t very politically correct. I was ostracized. Not so much by my dental classmates, but by the medical students that we shared classes with. It hurt bad. I also realized how my comments may have hurt others (indirectly because I was just addressing the topic in general and meant no offense). 

I felt crippling guilt and insecurity after experiencing a taste of cancel culture. I may have become ashamed of the doctrine of Christ. The next few years were very difficult. I also realized how I didn’t understand or have good answers to all questions.

I was still exhilarated by doing the work of the Lord and served as a ward missionary and later as the ward mission leader. But I wasn’t as Christlike as I should have been. Dental school was a stressful time with moving partway through school, getting diabetes, etc. I was doing good in some areas, but lacked in others. I wasn’t as patient or loving as I should have been. Our ward in Seattle was interesting. We had great people and also several people who would in Elder’s Quorum say why they didn’t believe in the church or God (sometimes even those teaching the lesson). 

My faith still burned bright and I often had discussions with a classmate of mine that was atheist, but was interested in debating the Bible. His parents pushed Christianity on him and he studied to push back by knowing more than them. I viewed this as a chance to share my belief, but it also fed my temptation to try to prove the gospel. I had learned on my mission that you can’t prove it and only the Spirit can convince people. But I started to forget that lesson because of the intellectual culture of the area and also the false belief that as a young professional I had to share intellectually instead of based on the Spirit.

I later realized that over time I had grown frustrated that you can’t prove the gospel. I didn’t see it as it was happening, but in hindsight I realized this helped lead to a weakening of my faith. But I started to wonder how science and religion fit together. I questioned why there wasn’t more evidence of the Book of Mormon and why we didn’t know where in the Americas it had taken place. I was confused about carbon dating and the history of the Bible.

I continued to serve in the church and was doing my best. But life was hard and stressful and Kamie struggled with bad postpartum after Lydia was born. After becoming Young Men’s President I realized how hard it was to have everyone looking to me. I loved serving, but I felt most excited by the self-help books I was reading that were helping me through the stressful time of starting my professional career. I didn’t feel nourished by the scriptures, even though I was reading them. I felt like I knew the scripture stories from my youth and wasn’t getting a ton of new info from them. It didn’t help that I didn’t know what was literal and what was figurative. I was serving to the best of my ability at the time, but if I had been born of the Spirit I could have done much better in my labors. I wish I could change that now. But I worried too much about making others think I was doing well in my calling and got run down by the managerial aspects and wasn’t thriving in the Spirit. 

After we moved back home closer to family we still struggled. I kept pressing on in faith because I wanted it to be true, despite not having all the answers. 

But the Covid shutdown was a good opportunity to slow down. Doing sacrament in our own home helped me turn to God and feel power from using my priesthood to bless my family. Having more time helped me connect with God and feel His hand again. I started getting more out of Come Follow Me. I had no calling and no responsibility (since we were new) and it was a long time before we attended our own ward again (due to Covid). Having this chance to escape from the mindset of pleasing man helped me start to worry more about pleasing God. 

At the beginning of 2021 my parents said they had a trip planned to Mexico and their friends were too worried about Covid to go. They asked if we wanted to go. We were excited. They said we would go to Chichen Itza. I had a friend that had went to the pyramids in Egypt and I remember thinking “I want to go to one of the wonders of the world.”  I was happy to see Chichen Itza was one of the “new” wonders of the world, but didn’t know much about it other than it was some ruins.

We got to Mexico and had a really good time. A few days into the trip we went to the ruins. As we got in I remember there being a unique feeling around the place. The way they had designed it to create echoes and aligned it with the nearby cenotes was cool. You could feel why it was a wonder of the world. Then our tour guide showed us the “white bearded god” with the twelve men around him. It was at this time I realized Chichen Itza was one of the places Christ visited after his resurrection. I knew more than ever that the Book of Mormon was true. It wasn’t the evidence, but the way the Holy Ghost spoke to me about one of the key elements that had been part of the trial of my faith. 

I had gone to other ruins in the past and always remember feeling a bit disappointed that I didn’t see more Book of Mormon history in them. But here I got plenty of evidence when I wasn’t looking for it and from a tour guide that wasn’t a member of the church.

I was able to see carved in stone an image of Jesus Christ with my very eyes. I remember having before looked up evidences on FairMormon, etc. and just feeling like there was less evidence in support of the Book of Mormon than I would have liked. But having an unexpected testament to the veracity of everything I had believed, with the Spirit communicating the truth of it to my heart was something that opened my eyes. I remember thinking, “It’s true. It’s all true.” I had already started to have a change of heart, but to receive the witness after a trial of my faith was so sweet and so perfect for me and my personal struggles. I remember thinking that no matter what evidence the world could conjure up, I knew that the gospel is true. Nothing would ever dissuade me again. The world lies. The world confuses us. But, the gospel is true and it is more literal than we realize. It is all true.

How Chasing the Wrong Dream Led Me Exactly Where I Needed to Be

I was going to be a writer. Period. 

I was convinced I could write something deep and beautiful that was going to change the world, at the same time impressing all the publishing big wigs in New York. Oh, and not to mention, I was going to do it WAY better than those other New York Times Bestselling authors (cause really, a lot of what they write is just garbage 😋).

If your eyes are rolling about now with how niave and prideful that sounds, I'm totally with you, trust me! But that is where my head was when I began my writing journey. The hilarious thing is, after spending nearly 10 years writing my perfect book, I was soooo close to accomplishing my goal. But it was right at that moment that God gave me something better. We'll get to that later. 

I loved writing. But was I HAPPY being a writer? No. It was isolating and time consuming. Worst of all, I was so busy being in an imaginary world that I never really saw the beauty of being in this one. 

So why did God allow me to keep writing for so long? I mean, couldn't He have bopped me on the head a lot sooner and let me know I was in need of a course correction? Well, yes, but then I would've missed out on the miracle. 

See, there's things you learn as a writer that, really, you don't learn any other way. Most people don't care to unravel human nature the way writers do. And if they do (e.i. a psychiatrist or counselor), they rarely get to take that person from beginning to end and decide what happens to them and whether they'll change. No, an author is a creator, and as such they hold a unique perspective. A perspective, dare I say, quite similar to Christ's, because their medium is people's hearts. After all, didn't He call Himself the AUTHOR and FINISHER of our faith? 

First, a few things about writing. The really good writer's know about something called a character arc. This is, in short, who your character is at the beginning of the story and how they will change as the story progresses. If it's a positive arc, your character is going to change for the better in some way by the end of the story. We crafty little artists have the job of figuring out exactly how to test and torment our character throughout the story to make that happen (all the while keeping you entertained). It's not an easy job, believe me, but it is insightful. If a character starts the book believing they'll never be accepted, you've got to bump that character up against all sorts of acceptance until, finally, they accept that they can be accepted! We call this beginning belief the LIE THE CHARACTER BELIEVES. Along the way, things happen that cause the character to first question, and then ultimately reject the lie in favor of the TRUTH. (Don't forget, truth is basically a synonym for Christ throughout scripture 😉). 

As I was learning all of this, I was also busy having babies, moving lots of times, and struggling depression and anxiety. Writing was, in some ways, a coping mechanism. But what I couldn't see then was that I was full of my OWN LIES, and Christ was doing His best to bump me up against all the right hard edges until finally I could see HIM, and by extension, the truths that would set me free. 

You see, we all have our lies that we believe. In the mental health world they have all sorts of fancy names for these lies, but I love the simplicity of looking at it from an author's perspective. We may be the character that has given up on love, or we may be the one whose forgotten how to trust. More likely, we're the character whose forgotten who we are and needs life to jostle us around till we wake up! The challenge is getting out of our own head long enough to be able to identify our lies rather than letting them have free reign.

For me, I was totally lost in the lie that my worth came from worldly achievements (which were few and far between in the world of motherhood), and the lie that what other people believed was more important than my own intuition (e.i. the spirit). The list goes on, but basically, these lies held me captive, and I wasn't free to live my life the way the Lord had intended me to live it as long as I kept clinging to them. And as long as I was captive, I would continue to spin into bouts of depression or anxiety.

There was a very clear "wake up" moment for me. Someone shared some information with me that helped me see that one of my lies was not true. There was a huge mental shift that happened for me at that time. But just as an author uses a whole string of plot devices to get their character from point A to point B, Christ lead me along step by step, carefully unraveling the beliefs that were keeping me so miserable. Because that's what lies do! Our spirit will always recognize them as untrue and will resist them. This leads to a battle within ourselves (it may sound like an "inner critic") and ultimately it make us unhappy. I learned that, though it is initially difficult and sometimes painful to see the truth, it is usually less painful than keeping the lie. 

I promised you a miracle, and here it is: when I finally gave my lies over to Christ, I CHANGED. I no longer get trapped in Satan's whisperings that would pull me down into depression and anxiety. Also, I recognize who I really am and am busily doing the work the Lord has given me to do. For the first time in my life, I am experiencing JOY. 

I give Christ full credit for this change, because I know that for years I did everything in my own power to overcome my challenges. I even sought help from professionals that proved insufficient. But it wasn't until I gave my whole heart to Christ (which, in my case, included giving up writing altogether) that the healing finally came. That healing came in the form of TRUTH. The truth about my real identity. The truth about my purpose. The truth about God's plan in these last days. The truth about Satan and his desire to destroy me. The truth about right and wrong. The truth about what really pleases God. And much much more! Life still has it's challenges, but now I can face those challenges armed with truth. 

I still have plenty to learn on this journey, but I am finding that I'm on the lookout for my lies and am more willing to allow Christ to teach me truth. It's a beautiful process that I highly recommend to you!

My prayers for others have also changed. I can now fully love and accept others without accepting their lies. And I can pray that Christ will help them to see the truth that they need at this time. Because He really is the author and finisher of their faith, and yours, and mine. 

I am thankful for a Savior who allowed me to wander for many years until I was ready to fully come into Him, He who possesses all TRUTH. I know He was by my side even when I was lost, and was guiding me and preparing me to be healed from my lies. My hope and prayer for all of us today is that we can have the same healing and blessing, to surrender our lies and see ourselves, each other, and Christ as we truly are. When this happens, broken hearts will heal, conflict will cease, and we can finally be ONE in Christ. 

All my love, 

Kamie

Lydia's Birth Story: Part Two

I wasn't quite the calm, collected and in control mom I'd imagined I'd be in the months leading up to the birth of my third child. Life had been an unforgiving ocean, and though each wave had taught me a priceless lesson, I was also in need of a giant breath. I had grown leaps and bounds, true, but I was exhausted. 

In spite of this, the whole family was thrilled at the prospect of another girl joining us. It was right, and thanks to my experience with James' birth, my relationship with childbirth had transformed. I was excited for our baby girl to be born, but I also knew it wasn't going to be easy. I needed to be ready.

I trained my body and my mind, but the thing keeping me from feeling ready was deeper than that. 

There was the pressure. I'd had an unmedicated birth before. I couldn't NOT do it this time.

And the dreaded, ever present reality of: What if something went wrong? 

Lastly, there was the fear that I was destined to fail. After all, victory comes from strength, right? And my strength was gone. 

36 weeks came, but I wasn't dilated. And the contractions I usually had nonstop by that point never started, leaving me unsure of what to expect.

My mom came into town, and we waited, though not very patiently. We distracted ourselves by installing the last of the baseboards in our home (can you say nesting?).

My first two children were born on a Sunday. My sister's birthday was on the upcoming Sunday. It was the perfect day. But when my labor didn't start, I bore my testimony in church, sharing that I trusted God. And I did trust Him, perhaps more than I ever had. It was myself I wasn't certain I could count on. Little me, so totally human, how could I trust that I'd have the answers when the tests of life came knocking?

Monday morning my water broke. Not a gush like with Emma. No. A trickle. But Nate and I headed to the hospital even though I wasn't having any contractions.

I figured they'd start by the time we got to the hospital.

I was 38 weeks pregnant, which was full term. They had to start.

But they didn't.

My doctor came in. My water had broken. The baby had to come today. Pitocin, she said. 

My heart nearly caved in. This wasn't the plan. No, I don't want it. 

Four hours. That's all the time they'd give me to get labor going on my own. 

My heart was set on having another unmedicated birth. I'd spent months preparing. So I trusted myself enough to be willing to try. I had four hours to remove whatever mental hurdle was blocking my labor, keeping me from my baby girl. 

The nurse came in. She was from the East Coast. She turned off the lights and whispered, They don't trust birth here. It's okay. You have each other. 

Nate smiled at me. Held me. Believed in me.

Oxytocin. The love hormone. The nurse had it tattooed on her arm. A labor and delivery nurse marked by the thing truly responsible for birthing babies. Snuggle each other, she said. The best way to get babies out is how you got them in. 

We laughed. Sheepish. But Nate turned on a song. Swayed with me around the hospital room. Wiped my tears as they fell.

Baby, I'm dancing in the dark

With you between my arms

Barefoot on the grass

Listening to our favorite song

When you said you looked a mess

I whispered underneath my breath

But you heard it,

Darling, you look perfect 

He loved me. I finally accepted that. It had always been hard for me, believing I could be loved. It was a weakness that had caused me much needless grief, but in spite of it, I was never alone. None of us are ever far from the Savior's care. He'd been my survival. And He was there with me in that hospital room.

I knew He loved me. I could feel it fueling me, forcing tears down my cheeks as everything in me tried to deny it. But it was too strong. Undeniable.

You are loved.

That love was the beginning of breaking down my barriers, but I also needed light. Truth. 

My baby girl. Why can't I reach you? 

The nurse mentioned working through my fears. It's a mental battle. So I prayed. Which fear was holding me back? There were so many.

I'm not enough.

I took a deep breath. I held the fear up to the light. Maybe. Maybe I'm not enough. But I don't have to be.

I breathed out, accepting that I might need help. Maybe I would need the pitocin. Maybe that's okay.

I felt a burden slide from my shoulders. 

It's okay. It doesn't have to go the way I planned. 

And then I was reminded of what I already knew. Surrender. That's where the true power lies.

So I gave it up to God.

I started to hope. It was small, but it was there, soothing the ache inside me and untangling the tension of my muscles.

I had a few contractions. I'd worked so hard for them, but they told me I wasn't in labor.

Trust yourself. 

A truth from God. But so hard. Seemingly impossible.

Trust yourself. You know.

It didn't matter if they believed. I needed to trust the truths my soul sought to reveal.

Nate continued to sway with me. He hummed the words to the song Perfect. It was ironic. For so long perfection had been my idol. Not anymore.

We are still kids but we're so in love

Fighting against all odds

I know we'll be alright this time

Darling, just hold my hand

Be my girl, I'll be your man

I see my future in your eyes

For a time the contractions were consistent. Four minutes apart. Strong. Real. I knew I was in labor. 

I wanted to use the bath. It'll only slow your progress, the nurse said. We have to wait for real labor to begin. 

I was crushed. Doubt crept back in. Time was closing in fast.

My mom dropped by with James. We chatted. Smiled. Laughed. Then my doctor came in. She didn't want to check if I'd progressed, said it wasn't good for the baby. We'll give you a little more time. 

I was standing up as I was talking with her. I had a contraction that took my breath away. It was real. She couldn't see it.

They left. Nate never lost faith. He kept smiling, kept cheering me on. Trusted me. 

The contractions picked up. I rocked on the birth ball. Nate rubbed my back. I listened to my hypnobirthing track. This was happening. I was focused. I knew.

Trust yourself.

The doctor had wanted the contractions to be consistent. She had needed proof. Now she was nowhere to be found as they came one after the other, their intensity multiplying in minutes. 

With James' birth there had been little pain. But my water hadn't broken. It had cushioned the contractions. It had eased the pain. Not this time. This time I felt it. It was so close, but not threatening. I knew that suffering came with resistance. So I held to the pain instead, let it take me on a journey. 

It was surreal, the stretching sensation, the way each contraction opened me up, making room for my baby girl to come into the world. I marveled at it, this beautiful experience God had given me. I wanted to be here, to not miss a moment of the miracle. 

I breathed, focused, seeing my baby girl in my mind's eye. Fear couldn't remain when I thought of my love for her. She still didn't have a name, but it didn't matter. I knew her already. Our souls had resided beside each other for nine months, and I knew she was cheering for me. 

I stopped caring that things hadn't begun the way I'd planned. My pride was gone, but I had gained so much more.

You are enough.

Another truth from God. One I devoured as I crept up to the forboding wall of what seemed impossible. I began to tremble as my body temperature dropped. Nate cranked up the heat of our still dark haven. We knew what this meant. This was transition. We we're nearing the end, but first I had to walk through the fire.

Nate held my hand, watching as I observed rather than resisted the fierce contractions that should've brought tears to my eyes. 

We were alone, just the three of us, but it was as it should be. The nurse had gone on lunch. The doctor was back at her office. The monitor beeped with the incessant storm of contractions that tumbled forth. The proof they had asked for, but they would be too late to witness it for themselves.

Someone came in. The resident doctor. I knew she was speaking, but I was somewhere else, braving the beauty of the end. This was what it was like to walk right up to the edge of the impossible, to stroke it with curious fingertips, knowing it was only ever impossible because the world had been whispering it for longer than you'd been able to hear. Yes, this was all-consuming, almost more than could be borne, but it was also essential - it had to be experienced. Needed to be known. Longed to illuminate my mind with the learning that could not be gotten any other way.

She's coming. 

The resident said something about wanting to check my progress. Nate urged her to listen to me, though my voice was barely audible.

She's here. Call the doctor. 

The calm smile remained plastered on her face. Your doctor asked me to check you.

My body was already begging to push, and I knew I wouldn't be able to hold it back once it began. James had been out in three persuasive pushes. I was out of time.

Nate knew. He lifted me onto the bed as an endless contraction roared. It was almost over, that much I was certain of, but the vulnerability raged. There was no trust there, no tethering between this resident and I to comfort me. She announced what I already knew. You're 10 cm plus one! 

And then my body took over, startling all in the room with it's efficiency. The resident begged me not to push. I would've laughed if I hadn't been consumed by the need of the moment. I wasn't pushing. My body was, and it could not be stopped.

Help me, I pleaded, knowing I was in confounded hands.

It had only been an hour. My doctor had left an hour ago. She hadn't believed I was in labor. But I had known. Now the baby was coming, and they were scrambling. Unready. Disbelieving.

The next seconds were overwhelm. There was pressure, pleading, and the power of the push. There was me and my body, and a blur of everyone else around me. And there was her, a precious little parcel about to be delivered.

She twisted inside me, then breezed through the birth canal, entering the world with hardly a sound. Prolapsed cord, I heard, though the words couldn't reach me over the momentous relief. The pressure was gone. She was here!

Is she okay? I wanted to ask, but my strength was spent. What comforted me was the collectedness of the staff, which had tripled in size in the last three minutes, and the soft sound of her tiny cry. 

You did it, Nate congratulated me, his smile wide. He bent to cut her umbilical cord, the last thing connecting her to me. I'm so proud of you, he said, his hands still bloodied. He'd helped deliver her. He'd untangled the umbilical cord from her neck. Neither he nor the resident had had on gloves.

Thank you, I exhaled, exhausted. Where is she?

Amidst the haze, I heard the beeping. What's wrong?

Her oxygen is low, a new nurse said. They patted her limbs, prodded her to cry. She screamed while the resident pressed on my stomach, forcing the placenta to flow from my body. The pain was nothing next to the need to be reunited with her.

My baby girl. 

The sensor stopped beeping. Her oxygen was normal. The nurse held her out to me, smiling and saying something about how thrilling the birth had been. Everyone in the room was amazed, marveling, but they were impressed for the wrong reasons. They did this every day, but they didn't see the sacredness of this moment.

As soon as she was in my arms, I felt the wholeness of all she was. There were so many falsities claiming to be perfection, but none of them could come close to this; an angel trailing glory, a soul that knew no bounds. She was perfect, and yet had chosen me.

I love you, I whispered down at her, feeling the overwhelm of the mantel of motherhood as it again settled on me. And wanting to share with her what I had learned, I breathed, Trust yourself. You are enough. 

Hours later her siblings came to meet her. Emma, my little mommy, loved her instantly and could not be kept away. James got his fill of her in thirty seconds and wanted to watch the helicopter outside. What's her name? we asked Emma. She beamed, ecstatic to be given such an honor.

Her name is Lydia. 

I've struggled to write this story because a part of me wanted the perspective of the witnesses of her birth to be true. It would be simpler to accept the truth as they'd seen it, to take pride in her birth only because it had been "fast and easy." But that strips the beauty from the story. The truth is, we are all on a journey, and vulnerability is the bridge we must walk over on the road to discovering, and accepting, who we truly are.

I now believe something I think I've always known: The greatest victories are those won in the face of great opposition.

In light of this, I've started asking others how did you do it? I want to learn their secrets, to be privy to the truth of their story. A hero may come from nothing, but he never comes from easy.

Never.

In the weeks since Lydia has been a part of our family, we have all felt the sincerity of her spirit. She is a gift, and true to the middle name we felt guided to give her, Esther, she's every bit the dauntless heroine, facing the oodles of snuggles she gets from her siblings with little complaint.

When I look down at her, I'm struck with awe at how amazing she is, and then I realize how small, how fragile, how vulnerable she is. Yet I adore her. And I wonder, is this how my Heavenly Father feels about me? Could He love me not in spite of my vulnerabilities, but because of them?

I would never demand of my sweet four month old little girl that she get up and walk. I know she simply isn't capable of that yet, but I don't blame her for it. I'm not standing above her, keeping tally of every moment where she needs me, depends on me, cries out for me, and yet I assume my Father in Heaven is doing that very thing to me. After all, I'm keeping track, I know exactly how much I owe Him. But Lydia, she owes me nothing. In fact, her very existence is a blessing to me, regardless of what she is capable of.

Could my Father feel that way about me? About you? About all of us?

I'm beginning to see now how skewed my perspective of life has been. For now, what I'm certain of is that one day I will be whole, but today, I am merely a vulnerable soul in His hands.

And that is enough.

All my love,

Kamie

Lydia's Birth Story: Part One

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 

Helps for Perfectionists: We're All Still Learning

Well, we've got another move under our belt (our fifth in six years of marriage), a home to call ours, an official kindergartner, a little man learning to use the potty, and a baby 38 out of 40 weeks baked. Needless to say, we've been a little busy! In all this busyness, though, I've been able to catch a glimpse of just how far I've come on this journey of overcoming perfectionism. I have my moments where those old instincts start to take over again (especially when I'm feeling afraid or vulnerable), but at the very least I'm able to recognize when this is happening now rather than becoming stuck in a rut I don't know how to get out of. 

For example, owning our first house has been an incredible blessing and adventure, but it's also been the perfect storm for a perfectionist. Let's face it, it takes time and money to get things situated how you want them in a new home, both of which are limited resources. We decided to paint the whole inside of the house, and of course there were several colors that didn't turn out like I wanted. Ugh! But this is a blessing in disguise, because now I have the chance to look at those imperfect walls everyday and gradually desensitize myself to the imperfection. In other words, I'm forcing myself to accept that things will not always be exactly the way I want, and that it's okay. I can live with it. I can even learn to appreciate it and see it as beautiful.

Not getting sucked up in making my home "perfect" has been a constant challenge, and unfortunately there have been times when I've failed (did I seriously lose sleep over which bar stools to order?), but again this was a valuable lesson. I've been able to see the difference in my life between the times when I'm focused too much on the house and the times when I'm more focused on my Savior. It's like night and day. I am so much happier and feel the Spirit so much more in my life when I can step away from obsessing over perfection and focus on what matters most.

Best pals visiting during the eclipse

Motto #11 is we're all still learning.

I'll never forget an experience I had when we first moved here. I knew no one, we we're living out of suitcases and traveling each week to California for Nate's training, and James was going through the typical "I'm two so I'm going to hit you" phase. I had a couple of hours to kill before Nate would be back so I took the kids to the park. Of course, James hit one of the others kids there, and I prepared myself for the typical scorn mothers of accosted children give. Instead, the mom simply turned to her child and calmly explained, "It's okay. He's still learning."

I wanted to cry. This mom, a total stranger, showed James and I an example of Christlike mercy, but she also taught me an important life lesson. 

We are all still learning. 

That's why we're here. Not to prove to ourselves, others, or God that we are worthy (or that our house is good enough), but to learn how to be like Him and our Savior through everyday experiences and trials. All judgement, including the scorn that mom could've given us, is misplaced and futile. Perhaps someone we know hasn't yet learned a lesson that we feel they should know, but that doesn't matter, because they are still in their probationary state, preparing for the day when they will meet God, and so are we. 

This is where an important new perspective I've gained comes in. In the past few months I've felt strongly that my purpose in this life needs to be to LEARN and UPLIFT. All worthy goals relating to my family and the gospel can be pursued while seeking learning and opportunities to serve rather than perfect results and the opportunity to prove my worth. When I keep this perspective, I'm governed more by faith and love than by pride and perfectionism, and I grant myself the same mercy that the mom in the park offered: the chance to keep learning without judgement.

Today was testimony meeting, and I was pretty frustrated about being in church rather than being in the hospital holding my newborn baby. Still, I wanted to share my testimony, but I'd gotten in the habit of ignoring that feeling, and frankly, I wasn't feeling very brave. After all, I knew I would waddle the whole way up to the podium, and what if the unfathomable happened and my water broke while I was up there in front of the whole congregation!? 

I'd almost talked myself out of it, but then I got a prompting, the same one I've received repetitively since moving here. 

Kamie, it's not about you.

Wow, was I humbled. All of my worries were focused around myself and how others would view me, but that wasn't the picture Heavenly Father wanted me to see. He wanted me to see that I had felt prompted to bear my testimony because there was someone who, if I spoke the words given me by the Spirit, would be blessed by what I had to say. It truly wasn't about me at all.

This is a classic problem for most people, but especially perfectionists. We don't even realize it, but we spend so much of our mental energy calculating how we are perceived by others and what we therefore must do or not do in order to be judged the way we want to be judged. But there's a huge flaw in this: We aren't on this earth to judge or be judged by others! We're here to LEARN and to UPLIFT. 

When I feel myself getting sucked back into the perfectionist mindset, I remind myself of my life purpose and strive to make decisions that are in line with it. This changes everything for me. It takes me from being shy and socially anxious to being able to make friends and, I hope, uplift them. It takes me from being hard on myself and others to practicing compassion and forgiveness. It takes me from being terrified of doing something new to having the courage to try, etc.

Emma turned 5!

I know that when our focus is on Christ and on the lessons He's trying to teach us through the imperfections of life, we will be blessed with wisdom and knowledge that will not only bless our lives, but will allow us to inspire and strengthen others as well. And I know as we focus on the joy of learning and then uplifting, we will experience a new sense of freedom, leaving the shackles of needing things to be perfect laying broken at our feet.

All my love,

Kamie

Helps for Perfectionists: Whatever's Real is Enough

Hello again! It's been awhile, but I'm ignoring the perfectionist voice in my mind telling me that I should quit writing just because I haven't been able to post in awhile. Wohoo!

 

So we're on tip #10: Whatever's Real Is Enough

First, I need to paint a clear picture of the difference between perfectionism and healthy striving. For some reason our culture has used these ideas interchangeably, but now that I've been through the turmoil of perfectionism, I can state equivocally that it is anything but healthy striving and goal setting. Why? The answer lies in this question: Where do I believe my worth comes from? 

If your answer is that your worth as a human being (and whether or not you should be loved or accepted by others) comes from your accomplishments or some other external measurable element (looks, number of friends, talents and abilities, money, etc) then you are at least in part a perfectionist (trust me on this). 

What's the alternative? you may ask. It is the belief that  your worth is both fixed (it cannot be altered by anything you or others do) and infinite (it cannot be measured by man nor is it greater or less than anyone else's worth). 

I now have a deep testimony that this second point of view is not only more healthy, but is also the truth! Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God (D&C 18:10). Just like any eternal truth, we really have to believe this if we want to see the blessings of it in our lives. 

When we slip into the perfectionist state of mind, our worth becomes tied to our actions (you can see why this would lead to spikes in anxiety or hopelessness), and before we know it one little accomplishment is not enough to prove our worth. There is always more that can be expected of us (we see someone doing something desireable that we don't do and suddenly we feel as though we have to do it) and as a perfectionist it is difficult to set boundaries and say "enough is enough" or simply "that's great for them but I don't HAVE to have that in my life." 

Unfortunately, perfectionism is not satisfied with what is, and always needs something MORE in order to be "happy," but once we achieve that something more (nevermind the cost), it doesn't satisfy. We find that we are starving ourselves, chasing after things that will never really make us whole. 

Contrast that with this scripture found in 2 Nephi 9:51:

Wherefore, do not spend money for that which is of no worth, nor your labor for that which cannot satisfy. Hearken diligently unto me, and remember the words which I have spoken; and come unto the Holy One of Israel, and feast upon that which perisheth not, neither can be corrupted, and let your soul delight in fatness. 

Are the things you're seeking after really going to satisfy you? I mean your soul, not your pride. Pride is easy to satisfy for a moment, but then it grows, and it gets hungrier, and before you know it you're sacrificing more and more of what you hold dear in order to feed your pride. 

I came across a definition of humility in Meg Meeker's The Ten Habits of Happy Mothers that has expanded my understanding greatly. I'll paraphrase it like this: Humility is having a correct understanding of your worth - not overvaluing OR undervaluing yourself. To me this means truly accepting that we are loved by God, and that we don't have to DO anything in order to earn this love. Being in a state of humility robs competition with others of it's seductive power. It will not ask for more and more, but will instead give you the strength you need in order to be who you really want to be - a true disciple of Christ - and your soul will be satisfied. 

 

Healthy striving starts with humility because when we are humble we are willing to ask God what He wants us to do and be, and then we can set goals and strive for those things, rather than for what we think will impress others (or what we think we HAVE to do in order to be "good enough"). Plus, we have His help along the way! Perfectionists will find that the road to perfection is lonely and fraught with frustration. Humble healthy strivers will have the spirit with them and Christ's enabling power to turn their weaknesses into strengths. Perfectionism is motivated by desperation and pride (because your very worth is on the line), where humble healthy striving is motivated by faith, hope, and a deep abiding joy that comes from knowing we are worthy of love and acceptance regardless of whether we succeed or fail. 

Okay, now that you see the difference between perfectionism and healthy striving, we can talk about one of the best antidotes of perfectionism - being REAL. 

Hitler is an extreme example of perfectionism, to be sure, but he is useful to use as an example here because the "ideal Nazi State" he campaigned for and murdered millions in order to achieve was nothing but smoke and mirrors. He was a master deceiver, controlling the newspapers and radios so that nothing negative could ever be leaked about what he was doing. Sadly, many were convinced that Hitler was good until it was far too late. This is the only way we can achieve "perfection" in this life - through trying to control others' perception of us. True perfection only comes through the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ, and is a gift given after this life. 

Think about this smoke and mirrors issue. We wear clothing and make up. We cut our hair and style it. We live inside a house and drive inside cars. We hide behind our title at work, more often identifying by what it is that we "do" rather than by what we actually are. Even our body is only a shell, covering up the precious eternal part of us inside. All of this, though I understand it's purpose, is smoke and mirrors. It covers up what is most essentially US. We are not our clothes, hair, possessions, homes, careers, accomplishments, body, etc. We know this! Yet we allow ourselves to keep living the lie, to believe that our worth comes from these things when in fact, it does not. 

Why do we do this? Why do we get so tied down to things that will pass away and vanish and no longer mean a dang thing in eternity? Please do not be fooled! Mortality has very very few things that will be taken with us, and they are these: who we become (our knowledge and character traits), and our eternal family bonds. That's it! 

 

We need to understand what is real. We've all felt real moments. They are the times when we are fully present, not worrying about the past or the future, and are simply content to just BE. Nothing has to change. We watch our children play, and even though they are not perfect, we are grateful and content. We sit around the dinner table and laugh, and nothing else matters - not the fact that the meal was simple and the dishes need done - because we are together in that moment. It can happen when we work on a project as a family, letting the little ones help even though they don't do as good a job. It can happen when we're at work, when we finally finish a task because we let go of perfect and allowed our creative juices to start flowing again. 

I began to understand being REAL as I studied mindfulness, which can be simplified as the act of being present in the current moment without feeling the need to change anything - something a perfectionist almost never experiences. I like how Dr. Kristin Neff, author of Self-Compassion: Stop Beating Yourself Up and Leave Insecurity Behind, defines mindfulness. She says it's "taking a balanced approach to negative emotions so that feelings are neither suppressed nor exaggerated. We cannot ignore our pain and feel compassion for it at the same time. Mindfulness requires that we not 'over-identify' with thoughts and feelings, so that we are caught up and swept away by negativity." So, we feel compassion toward ourselves in moments of sadness or insecurity rather than pulling out our to-do list and declaring "I've just got to pull it together." 

Mindfulness is also recognizing that we need not take every thought at face value. Many of our thoughts are lies. For example, as a perfectionist, I would have thoughts telling me that I wasn't good enough if I did not do this or that. I learned that these thoughts were incorrect, and I learned truths that I could use to defend myself against them, like what we discussed today about knowing where our worth truly comes from. And in a moment of stress or some other emotional discomfort, I learned not fight it, but rather allowed myself to experience it, being compassionate toward myself, until it left on its own.

I know this may sound a little strange. Who wants to stay in a moment of sadness rather than trying to make it stop? Our brains are hard wired to be in problem solving mode all the time, but the "doing mode" does not always benefit us, especially since it forces us to compare where we are now to where we would like to be, keeping us in a perpetual state of "Im not there yet" or "this isn't good enough." But that's what's so great about having a mind and having agency - we can change the way we think if we choose to. Having chosen to, and spending more time in "being mode" now, I can testify that I have experienced more joy and peace than I have during any time that I was in the throws of perfectionism. I've taken back what perfectionism stole from me, and I may not be as white a sepulcher, but I am more real than I have ever been. As a result, I respect sadness, as well as all other human emotions. They are all beautiful and worth experiencing. When we can love each moment, we are living real because we understand that life is only here for a short time, to be lived now, and then it will pass away. No accomplishment will change that, no perfect persona or body or reputation. We live real when we are okay with the fact that real life is messy and unpredictable and will undoubtedly teach us a few hard lessons, but we love living it real anyway. 

 

This quote from Nathaniel Hawthorne is especially fitting. “Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.” I'm also reminded of the scripture "Be still and know that I am God."

I would add that happiness is understanding where we stand before God - that we are nothing and that He is everything - and being supremely content with that truth. What could be grander than being a tiny sliver of potential in an all-capable all-loving God's hands? When we know Him and trust Him, we are happy being imperfect mortals because we know that He will do the saving. He will end the poverty and the suffering. He will dry the tears and comfort the aching hearts. He will make the world beautiful, industrious, and full of life. Him. Not us. And we, in some small way, will be allowed to participate in that great work, and we are honored just to be His. We don't need to be anything but real and His.

Thank you,

Kamie