A Still, Small Voice

     Sunday. A day of rest, a day to ponder on the beauty of life. A day to feel the Holy Spirit so strongly, nothing else seems to matter. A day to look forward to. Unless you're name is Zeke.
     It was another hard Sunday for our Clan. Isaac had a hard time with the baby, and I had a hard time with the big boy. Sacrament went well. He sat in the pew, whispered (mostly) when he needed something, took The Sacrament well, and followed directions.
    Then it was time for second hour. Sunday School. Little by little he was harder to keep calm. He "needed" the scissors. In reality, he didn't want anyone else touching them. He was upset that he didn't get to say the prayer first, he wanted to color on everyone else's paper. Pretty much, everything that did not go his way was a minor apocalypse and all hell broke loose. Then, it really did.
      Third hour, during Sharing Time, he was bratty to say the least. He did not want to sit in his chair, he was CONSTANTLY crying about something, and frankly, he was just being mean to the other kids. After trying desperately to bribe him with fruit gummies (which didn't work) I marched him out of that room, found and empty classroom and was about to unleash my fury when he looked at me.
      Those big, beautiful brown eyes were so sad. Tears were coming down his perfect face. His pretty mouth was turned into a frown, and suddenly, I wasn't angry. Suddenly I saw before me a sweet child of God, struggling to make sense of a world that was changing so quickly. "Why are you upset?" I asked him. In a small, quiet voice he replied "I don't know." That was it. The game changer and suddenly I had tears running down my face as well. Suddenly I saw myself, a young child, confused by what I was feeling and not knowing how to to express those feelings. Here was a child that I grew inside me. That I fed, and wiped, and rocked and loved and cared for for three years. No longer a baby, my son, was having a bad day, and I was angry with him for it. He had some changes to adjust to. He has a new baby, he no longer has Momma and Daddy all to himself. He misses nursery. He is growing and learning and sometimes, it's hard and confusing.
     Our homes are likened unto the temple. Never have I gone into the temple and seen or felt anything other than love from those sweet workers. Every time I go, I get confused. I learn a little more each time, but it's still taking practice. I still need help. My home, Zeke's temple, is not nearly has beautiful or clean. But it should be every bit inviting. I should be like a temple worker who speaks softly and kindly and gently guides him through this process. Thankfully, today, I was able to recognize the Spirit.
     In that empty classroom, I held my son. I cried with him. I helped him breathe through his frustration. I'm not trying to "toot my own horn" either. I learned something today and felt a need to share it. Not because I got this parenting thing down. Just the opposite, I still have no clue what I'm doing. It's getting easier everyday, but I still need practice. It took the small whisper from a beautiful child to open my eyes. "I don't know." Well, neither do I. I don't know if this will get easier, but just like going to the temple, it's worth it. Its worth every minute I spend with my children, whether they are happy and laughing, or upset and crying, my children are worth it. They're whispers are worth it. There is no other calling that will be more important than raising God's Children " ... the joy of motherhood comes in moments. There will be hard times and frustrating times. But amid the challenges, there are shining moments of joy and satisfaction." Heavenly Father is with me, rooting for me, and helping me.  Elder Holland said, “May I say to mothers collectively, in the name of the Lord, you are magnificent. You are doing terrifically well. The very fact that you have been given such a responsibility is everlasting evidence of the trust your Father in Heaven has in you.” This is slightly daunting, but knowing that my Heavenly Father trusts me enough to be responsible for not just one, but two of his precious spirits is encouraging. I am worth it. I am special. Just as my boys are, I am a child of God. I hope next time, in a moment of need, I can listen the whisper from a still, small voice.