It's all consuming these days.
But isn't it supposed to be?
I have been thinking a lot since General Conference two weeks ago. My favorite talk so far was given by Elder Perry. He counsels us to take the time to become goodly parents. He encourages us to focus on a healthy, strong family culture. Since he by far more direct, elegant, and clearer than I will ever be, I'll just quote him.
"Lessons taught in the home by goodly parents are becoming increasingly important in today’s world, where the influence of the adversary is so widespread. As we know, he is attempting to erode and destroy the very foundation of our society—the family. In clever and carefully camouflaged ways, he is attacking commitment to family life throughout the world and undermining the culture and covenants of faithful Latter-day Saints. Parents must resolve that teaching in the home is a most sacred and important responsibility. While other institutions such as church and school can assist parents to “train up a child in the way he [or she] should go” (Proverbs 22:6), this responsibility ultimately rests on the parents. According to the great plan of happiness, it is goodly parents who are entrusted with the care and development of Heavenly Father’s children."
It's reasurring and validating to have someone so important echo the thoughts running through my head. He gives specific directions including prayer, family time and worship (scripture study, Family home evening, family meals), using your resources such as teachers and leaders to influence your children, sharing our testimonies and creating deep, meaningful family cultures. This last one made me smile a bit- I've been reading loads of books by the Eyres. They must have been studying principles of the church when they came up with their concepts and books about creating family cultures, economic systems etc. I could go on and on ... I won't.
So I've been searching. Inwardly and outwardly. I want to do better. I want to reaffirm my commitment to my family and improve my behaviors and how my home is run so I CAN have this kind of family life. I've set some goals after reading a few different sites. I've also started looking good and hard at my list of goals. Scriptures seem to be leaping off the page when they address my weaknesses. Shall I elaborate? Take James 1:18-19. I'm not quite that far in the New Testament, but ran across this anyhow.
Wherefore, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath: For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.
Ouch. That may or may not have been written directly for me.
I found the best poem today. It perfectly defined many of my current feelings about motherhood.
And since I can't think of a better way to summarize my ramblings- I'll let her do it.
Warp and Weft
Somewhere along the line,
your friends dispersed
like seeds scooped from a sack,
a few slipping through fingers
and back in the bag with you —
the rest flying out, pitched to far cities,
to root down in places
other than here. Here, you inch forward
in a line of cars, wondering if
the other mothers dropping off kids
are like you, or if they would like you —
and pondering the irony
that you are alike at least in this:
each of you has narrowed
the scope of your focus
to encompass only
the most pressing needs
of your family.
your friends dispersed
like seeds scooped from a sack,
a few slipping through fingers
and back in the bag with you —
the rest flying out, pitched to far cities,
to root down in places
other than here. Here, you inch forward
in a line of cars, wondering if
the other mothers dropping off kids
are like you, or if they would like you —
and pondering the irony
that you are alike at least in this:
each of you has narrowed
the scope of your focus
to encompass only
the most pressing needs
of your family.
But you remember
when you’d woven your living
in with the weft of your friends’ —
not planning social events
in the cracks of packed schedules,
but pooling your leftovers
to share improvised meals.
Most days, now, you improvise alone —
if you don’t mind defining alone
as shadowed by a chattering child —
and later you commune with friends
through a cold screen.
You spend your time observing
your child’s likes and dislikes
and which scraps of thought
she chooses to voice;
you try to see these
as seeds of her adult self —
like fiddlehead ferns
with their Fibonacci spirals,
slowly unfurling.
You can picture, down the line,
the fully opened fronds
and how they’ll form a crown of green —
this is how you remind yourself
that in time, and with luck,
she’ll become your dear friend.
But it’s not enough, or it’s too much
that you’ve concentrated on one spot,
like a magnifying glass
clutched in patient suspension,
intensifying the rays of the sun
to the point of combustion.
You must widen your gaze.
Recall the critical importance
of dropping your shoulders
and allowing your chest to rise,
to draw open your lungs,
to permit the intake
of a full breath. And then —
remember your need
for friends to stand beside you
and breathe too.
© Sarah Dunning Park, 2012. All rights reserved.
