Life as a mother of young children usually bounces back and forth between chaotic and monotonous, but there are occasionally profound moments that remind you of the power and importance behind what you’re doing, and without sounding overdramatic, your place in the universe. And so it was yesterday. We had a nice quiet Easter morning. The Easter Bunny came on Saturday, thus making it possible to have a nice, quiet Easter morning. The kids got dressed and we headed off to Church. By the time we got home, it was actually bordering warm outside, so they were anxious to play outside. Matt took them out to play while I stayed in and worked on getting Easter dinner ready.
I pulled my grandmother’s tablecloth out of the linen closet, and thought of her for a moment as I spread it across the table. I put the Easter lily in the center of the table, the one a checker lady at the grocery store gave us for free the other day because she said she “was just waiting for someone cute to come along.” (It had been partially broken earlier in the day, and the cute person she was waiting for was Natalie.) I couldn’t help but think it miraculous that it had held tight to its buds for several days and then chosen Easter morning to burst into bloom:
As I wandered into the kitchen, I stood at the window and watched my children at play. The ham was in the oven. The potatoes were in the crock pot. The song “Lead Kindly Light” was playing from my iPod, and there was sunshine coming in through the window. I watched Clark precariously balanced on the monkey bars at the top of the swing set. He was determined to get from one side to the other, but the distance between each rung was more than his arms and balance could reach. I saw him slowly and deliberately sit on one rung at a time, lean to balance on his arms, and pull up one knee until his foot could reach over the rung. He would transfer the foot to the next bar and then pull all his body weight across the gap, teetering while his trembling arms balanced his weight. I felt anxious, half wanting to run out and save him from a 6-foot fall and a trip to the E.R., and half cheering him on. He made it across, lowered himself down onto the slide, and grinned proudly as he propelled himself back to the ground.
The thought occurred to me that this was symbolic of our parent-child relationship. As he grows older and becomes more and more independent, I will watch him through the figurative window. I’ll worry when he seems close to danger, and I’ll celebrate as I see him triumph. And then, with the leftovers of Easter lessons and thoughts floating around in my mind, I realized it was a symbol of the relationship I have with Jesus Christ. I try to be so independent, and sometimes I am clumsy. He could come rescue me each time I struggle, but He lets me work through things. He helps me develop the skills and confidence I need to face the next round of challenges. If I do fall, He always catches me and heals me. And He cheers me on all along the way as I try and try again.
I snapped out of my thoughtful trance and as my eyes refocused, I noticed for the very first time that buds had begun to grow on the tree outside my kitchen window. After a long and dreadful winter, and the thoughts I just had about my Savior, it was a miracle. That tree was the first real sign of Spring that I had seen, and a reminder of the power of Easter and the promise of renewal.
And all that happened in about 12 seconds or so. It really felt like a magical, transcendent moment with a soundtrack and everything, and then it was over. Natalie needed a diaper change, the table had to be set, and I found a rotten sippy cup that needed to be cleaned. But it was nice while it lasted, and it was a poignant Easter moment.
(This post was entered in the April Write-away Contest at Scribbit.)
Diapers and Divinity 
Well, this is a great post, so my desire to have kids is high. Remember, I base that on your posts.
Those were some beautiful thoughts!
I love seeing the new buds on the trees. What a great Easter post! (And what a great 12 seconds.)
That sounds like a lovely snapshot of a moment.
I love those 12 second blips…it really does make all the other 23 hours 59 minutes and 48 seconds worth it. 🙂
Wait, Kristina wants kids thanks to you? Keep up the good work! (I liked this post, too. You have a gift for finding deeper meaning in everyday life.)
That is what makes motherhood worth every second!
Very poignant and well written. Thanks for this!
Love the moments of clarity, where the focus changes and the truly important things become razor sharp in our spiritual line of sight. They save us, I think.
Love that. Made me instantly think of a favorite quote. Pres. Hinckley liked it too and so it always gets attributed to him, but it’s actually by a man named Jenkin Lloyd Jones:
“There seems to be a superstition among many thousands of our young who hold hands and smooch in the drive-ins that marriage is a cottage surrounded by perpetual hollyhocks, to which a perpetually young and handsome husband comes home to a perpetually young and ravishing wife. When the hollyhocks wither and boredom and bills appear, the divorce courts are jammed.
Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he’s been robbed. The fact is that most putts don’t drop. Most beef is tough. Most children grow up to be just ordinary people. Most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration. Most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. . . .
Life is like an old-time rail journey–delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.”
Congratulations on your beautiful vista. . .even if it was only 12 seconds!
I totally thought of that quote, too. Thanks for posting it. 🙂
The fourth paragraph has me in tears. Your analogy hit so close to home. I have a child that just turned 18, one that is 16, 14 and last but not least 11. Oh, how your thoughts ring true to a mothers heart and then how you were able to turn it and liken it to us with the Savior–profound. Those moments we allow our children to grow, be independent and experience the heart aches of life are one of the most difficult things for a mother to do, but you allowed me to see in words and most of all feel what I have been pondering for many months. Thank you for your insight and following the Spirit to write this post.
Great post! I think moments like that have to happen for us to carry one with “normal” life. I thought of the quote Mary put up, too. It’s a good one!
OH Steph, your analogies were amazing. I love how you can take a small moment and turn it into a learning moment. Thank you so much for this inspiration today. And BTW, your descriptive writing was phenomenal. 🙂
These 12 seconds of perfect insight in an otherwise crazy motherhood world is what keeps us going!
What a great analogy–and I use my grandmother’s tablecloth too 🙂