MamaBlogga

One of the apostles of my church gave a wonderful talk on motherhood last month during the church’s semiannual General Conference. For the next few days, I’m going to take a look at his talk, which includes appreciation for mothers and our efforts, suggestions to help us enjoy motherhood more and suggestions to help our families show us appreciation. While many of his thoughts relate specifically to LDS doctrine, most of his sentiments can apply universally.

The original talk was given by Elder M. Russell Ballard and is entitled “Daughters of God.”

Brothers and sisters, recently my wife, Barbara, had back surgery and could not lift, twist, or bend. Consequently, I have done more lifting, twisting, and bending than ever before—and it has made me more appreciative of what women, and especially you mothers, do every day in our homes.

While women live in homes under many different circumstances—married, single, widowed, or divorced, some with children and some without—all are beloved of God, and He has a plan for His righteous daughters to receive the highest blessings of eternity.

This afternoon I want to focus my remarks primarily on mothers, particularly on young mothers.

As a young father, I learned the demanding role of motherhood. I served as a counselor and then as bishop for a period of 10 years. During that time we were blessed with six of our seven children. Barbara was often worn-out by the time I got home Sunday evening. She tried to explain what it was like to sit on the back row in sacrament meeting with our young family. Then the day came that I was released. After sitting on the stand for 10 years, I was now sitting with my family on the back row.

The ward’s singing mothers’ chorus was providing the music, and I found myself sitting alone with our six children. I have never been so busy in my whole life. I had the hand puppets going on both hands, and that wasn’t working too well. The Cheerios got away from me, and that was embarrassing. The coloring books didn’t seem to entertain as well as they should.

As I struggled with the children through the meeting, I looked up at Barbara, and she was watching me and smiling. I learned for myself to more fully appreciate what all of you dear mothers do so well and so faithfully!

I love this story and the ministory he tells in the first paragraph because this is always what I think of when I ask how we can help our husbands appreciate what we do: let them try it.

Let them spend two hours putting the two-year-old down for a nap. Let them get up with the baby all night long. Let them wait up for the teenager and deliver the lecture. Let them work on raising obedient, good, clean, productive, responsible human beings day in and day out and let us come home and wonder “What do you do all day? Do you just play with them all day long?” And let them smile and say “Yes.”

It ain’t easy, and sometimes the only way we can truly gain appreciation for that fact is a full-blown demonstration.

A generation later, as a grandfather, I have watched the sacrifices my daughters have made in rearing their children. And now, still another generation later, I am watching with awe the pressures on my granddaughters as they guide their children in this busy and demanding world.

After observing and empathizing with three generations of mothers and thinking of my own dear mother, I surely know that there is no role in life more essential and more eternal than that of motherhood.

Why is motherhood so essential? Following this week’s holiday, I hope the answer is obvious: where would most of us be without our mothers? And where would our children be without us?

Mothers guide and lead their children to become, as I said before, obedient, good, clean, productive, responsible human beings. It would be so easy to just let them do whatever—to not discipline and instill a sense of right and wrong, morality, ethics, etc. Because even today, even though many (most, even) of us work full- or part-time, in or outside of the home, mothers are still fundamentally responsible for the rearing of their children.

But I probably don’t need to convince most of you of the importance of motherhood. As easy as it is to lose sight of the importance of our efforts in the mundane minutiae, I think most mothers understand how vital and influential they can be. But I don’t want to speak for your when you’re here and can speak for yourselves—do you feel how important motherhood is, at least from time to time?

This was originally posted last year for Mother’s Day. I hope you all had a wonderful Mother’s day filled with relaxation and appreciation!

Happy Mother’s Day! I got beautiful flowers, delicious chocolates and breakfast, dinner and dessert made for me.

I hope all of your Mother’s days have been good; feel free to share how your family celebrated!

Here is the talk I’m giving today in church. (Guess how long it took me to say all this, plus a little extra I added as I spoke.)

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I’ve come to develop a deep testimony about motherhood since I’ve become a mother. I don’t want the nonmothers in the congregation to feel left out because they haven’t had this blessing in their lives—or because they’re men. I believe that anyone who nurtures another person is in some way a parent. Sheri Dew, a former member of the Relief Society General Presidency, gave a talk entitled “Are We Not All Mothers?” in General Relief Society Meeting in September 2001. In it, she stated that “we each have the responsibility to love and help lead the rising generation.” Although Sister Dew has not been blessed with children in this life, she has nurtured many people personally through her extended family and church service. To be a mother is to give of yourself.

And to be a mother is hard. I had no idea how hard it would be before I had Hayden. I don’t remember receiving that warning from anyone. On the other hand, I had some idea how difficult it would be to be a mother in today’s society.
Read the rest of this entry »

A number of people left insightful, moving comments in response to the reprint of “The Invisible Woman” I ran on Monday. However, a select few decided to make violent and abusive comments on the piece. These comments have been removed, and the comments on that post have been closed.

Here is part of my explanation:

Unfortunately, it appears that a number of people, most of whom are not brave enough to make themselves actually ‘visible’ with a real name, email address or URL, have chosen to make this blog a platform to their own unhappiness and failure to accept the fact that scrubbing floors, changing diapers and making and enforcing rules is thankless work which will almost definitely go unnoticed by anyone but God himself. I’m sorry that so many people missed the point of this poignant essay (which I did not write, thank you).

. . . I actually write on the topic of finding fulfillment in motherhood, finding value in our own lives with or without the validation of outside sources (and yes, your kids and husbands are “outside sources”).

Consider this post an open invitation to discuss that topic, “finding fulfillment in motherhood, finding value in our own lives with or without the validation of outside sources (and yes, your kids and husbands are “outside sources”). Because while we do focus a lot on getting appreciation from our husbands and children on the one day of the year that they are almost required to demonstrate it, the fact remains that we will never be happy with the work of motherhood until we see it as intrinsically valuable and worthwhile in and of itself.

I’m sorry that so many people seem to think that the message of the story was that we should be content to be ignored. It is not. The message is that we have to value what we do ourselves (and recognize the value that God has placed upon this divine calling), because times come when no one else will.

Frankly, the abusive and violent comments which I received on that post simply reinforce my point that motherhood isn’t truly appreciated. When one insightful mother makes an attempt to find value in motherhood for herself, people jump on her to pull her down and tell her that she doesn’t have worth because she’s ignored.

Mothers will be ignored. I look with great skepticism at any person who claims otherwise. My husband has no idea what I do all day long (actually, I don’t have any idea how he passes his days at work either, and I’m pretty well acquainted with what he does). My son is far too young to possess the empathy required to understand that whining for food grates on my nerves, wears on my patience and requires me to get up (reminder: I’m six months pregnant, so this is a bit of a big deal), walk in the kitchen and prepare something for him. And as he gets older, frankly, I don’t anticipate him suddenly becoming self-aware—I know lots of kids of all ages and the maturity required to recognize and minimize the impact of your life on the life of your caregiver is virtually never acquired until adulthood. And sometimes not even then.

But I AM A MOTHER. That is how I proudly define myself. I do things like clean up after my son—heck, I even pick up trash on the street—and nurture my family—and strangers. I take care of the people around me. No one will thank me for changing my son’s diaper (unless I had assigned my husband to do it and did it myself instead), but it’s still gotta be done.

Motherhood isn’t like a regular job. As difficult as it is to continue without recognition, you can’t just quit being a mother because you don’t get a raise or a gold star or a trophy—or even a pat on the back. You can’t quit on the days you don’t think you can get out of bed. You can’t quit when you have the flu. You can try to get the people around you to notice and appreciate everything you do for them, but that won’t give you a sense of self-worth.

We each have to foster our own sense of self-worth as individuals—and as mothers. Because, like I said, we ain’t gettin’ out of that one any time soon.

I wish I could say I wrote this; I didn’t, but I found it moving enough to remember it six months later.

It started to happen gradually.

One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, “Who is that with you, young fella?”

“Nobody,” he shrugged.

Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, “Oh my goodness, nobody?”

I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family like, “Turn the TV down, please,” and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, “Would someone turn the TV down?” Nothing.

Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We’d been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, “I’m ready to go when you are.” He just kept right on talking. 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 sum ma cum laud - 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 now what 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.

Author Unknown from The Invisible Woman by Nicole Johnson (thanks Jennifer!), though I first saw it at Kasie Sallee’s blog, The Art of Life

Yesterday, I asked:

Do you find it difficult to honor motherhood? I know I do! If so, why do you think that is? Is it the nature of the work? Pressures from others? Pressures and expectations from yourself?

For me, it’s a combination of the three, of course, but mostly expectations I have for myself, followed by the repetitive and even “drudgerous” nature of the “work” of motherhood.

But even as I pondered that, I realized that my underlying assumption here is misleading. Yes, motherhood is work. It’s hard work, even. But motherhood itself, motherhood as an institution, has very little to do with the maintenance- and housework that we commonly associate it.

As I’ve said before, motherhood isn’t about housework. It’s not about cleaning or cooking or organizing, though all those things are part-and-parcel of the tasks that come with having children. But “Motherhood is not, at its heart, about doing. Motherhood is about being. Because motherhood isn’t just something you do; it’s who you are.”

Granted, these tasks are important—and time consuming. But perhaps if we separate the day-to-day chores that accompany (or are simply magnified by) the arrival children, we’ll be able to slowly begin to see motherhood in a positive light.

What do you think? Can we mentally separate the maintenance of our children (and our own) from the meaning of motherhood?

I find it interesting that in the King James Version of the Bible, nine of the ten commandments are negative commandments: don’t do this, don’t do that. Even “Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy” goes on to say “thou shalt not do any work. . . .” To break these commandments, you have to actively do something: kill, cheat, worship a graven image, etc.

There one exception, one commandment that could be broken by simply a sin of omission: “Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land with the Lord thy God shall give thee.”

Traditionally, we understand this commandment to mean “obey your parents,” but that isn’t what it says. It says to honour. (Perhaps your wedding vows contained the promise to “love, honor and obey,” three different concepts.) This particular word choice can add a lot to our understanding of not only this commandment but also the kind of value that we should place on motherhood. (I’d love to hear any insights gained on this from the original Hebrew, too, if anyone has any!)

What does it mean to honor motherhood? We can pretty easily define motherhood, and we’ve even done so in one of our most popular group writing projects.

So what does it mean to ‘honor’ motherhood? In my scriptures, a helpful footnote gives a few synonyms for ‘honour’: “respect or value.” This goes far deeper than just obeying your parents’ rules until you get out of the house, and expecting the same from your children.

Truly honoring motherhood means to place value upon the efforts that we make as mothers every day, and not just because these efforts give us food to eat, clean clothes to wear and a clean house. Honoring motherhood means recognizing that raising our children is important, and quite probably the most important thing we’ll ever do. It’s a task that’s worth doing, worth doing well, and incredibly challenging.

Do you find it difficult to honor motherhood? I know I do! If so, why do you think that is? Is it the nature of the work? Pressures from others? Pressures and expectations from yourself?