How does a
person speak about Mother’s Day? I have been asking myself that question all
week.
Mother’s Day
is a tricky kind of day. It is tricky because not everyone feels all the time the
joy of motherhood that is usually taught over the pulpit. Some women absolutely
love it! They adore waking up before church and getting breakfast spilled on
them in bed, and they love receiving home-made cards from tiny hands covered in
glitter, and they feel peace, fulfillment and purpose as they consider their magnificent
role as a mother in Zion. That is truly commendable, and I do not want to
diminish at all their experience.
But I also
know that this is not the experience of every woman here. Some wonderful women
in my life have told me that too often the talks, the platitudes, the rhapsody
about the glory of motherhood makes them feel small and inadequate, sometimes
overwhelmed. I believe that every one of us here is a mix of sinner and saint,
and the classic platitudes don’t always explain what it means to be a mother
well enough.
There are
women who don’t have children or are not married, for many different reasons,
and some have told me that sometimes this day, Mother’s Day, is more than they
can bear. And for some, Mother’s Day may remind people of a mother that maybe was
a little more sinner than saint, and it doesn’t match the ideal that is being
talked about over the pulpit.
In the end,
all of this talk about the ideals of motherhood can be a hard thing, because not
a single one of us here quite measures up to the perfect ideal on our own.
However, I do have a testimony of motherhood, that
it is a key part of God’s plan. I want to celebrate with you the wonderful
women here that are building up God’s work through their unique and personal
talents and special gifts that God has given them.
*********
I have been
surrounded and outnumbered by women my whole life, beginning with my five
sisters. I am currently studying to be a registered nurse, so I know that being
outnumbered won’t change anytime soon. When I graduated in English with a minor
in Women’s Studies at BYU, I was the only male at the time in the Women’s
Studies program! I know, I am slightly weird, as anyone who knows me well
enough soon finds out. In school I learned quickly that few women like to be
put on a pedestal. Talking about women as if they are some kind of ethereal
angel objects works well in Tennyson and Shakespeare, but actually works out
terrible in real life. I learned that women generally want to be treated like
the complex and diverse people they are, not angels in the house.
For example,
no mother I have ever met doesn’t occasionally hide in the bathroom from her
children, sometimes with a jar of Nutella and a spoon. I have not met a mother
who has not felt her blood pressure rise as her children yell and hit each
other in the back of a car. No grandmother I know doesn’t fret and worry
sometimes about how to help a struggling or wayward adult child or grandchild,
or worry about how to say the right thing in a difficult situation. No woman I
know, whether she is a mother or not, has not had a moment where they wonder
how they are going to do it—how they can rise up to the impossible demands
placed on them as a daughter of God.
Elder
Ballard said the following at a Women’s Conference 2 years ago:
“When you join with other women of covenant in unity and
harmony, there is no limit to your influence for good. Your contributions…are
immeasurable. I am particularly impressed by your ability to nurture…This is a
gift from God and is an important part of your divine endowment from a loving
Heavenly Father. [Nurturing] is a Christlike attribute—a blessing to a world
that desperately is in need of nurturing.”
Do we have
the vision of what women, all women,
can do in this church?
As a
missionary, I served for a time as a branch president in a small village in
Honduras. The branch was almost all women, with only one active priesthood
holder besides the missionaries: one
teenage boy who blessed and passed the sacrament each week. The church was less
than a few years old, and these tough, valiant women of grit and perseverance
dragged their children, single and alone, to raise up Zion in that little
rented house. I will never forget their power as I, a ridiculous sunburnt
Gringo teenager, tried to let them do their thing without getting in their way.
Now ten years later, that branch is large and thriving and full of good men and
families. They all owe it all to
those incredible women that basically ran that branch and built it to what it
is. Elder Ballard is right when he says that the world is in need of more women
like these.
I am living
proof of the influence of good women. The most obvious, of course, being my own
mother, who created for me this body, and then went on to put up with me for
over 30 years. She has nurtured me through tantrums about matching jogging
pants, and been there for me during personal struggles as a young adult, and
she has really made me who I am today. And I am also here because of the
nurturing influence of countless other women: aunts, primary teachers,
grandmothers, sisters, friends, music leaders, and of course my wife, all of
whom invest their energy and patience into putting up with me and loving me in
spite of me.
We learn a
lot about womanhood in the scriptures. Eve was our first mother, and the
restoration gives us marvelous insights about her and her foresight in the plan
of salvation.
Eve was
given a difficult choice in the garden of Eden. She could have remained in the
garden, never experiencing the inconvenience, pain and sorrow of mortality and
childbirth. Or she could partake of the fruit and put in motion the great plan
of salvation. Our religion is the only one I know of that teaches so clearly
the wisdom of Eve, that she was valiant and thoughtful, she caught the vision
of the plan certainly before Adam did, and that she made the right choice.
“Adam [and Eve] fell that man might be, and men are that they might have joy.”
So the purpose
of mortality is to have joy, yes. But why then did God say to Eve in Genesis,
“I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception. In sorrow thou shalt
bring forth children…”?
Why would
God multiply sorrow for her valiant choice? As a husband and father, I share to
a lesser extent in that sorrow that is parenting, and at times have to ask, “Is
all this sorrow really necessary?” Right now I am in the stage of life where
that sorrow includes nailpolish in the carpet, sudden dirty diapers when we are
already running late, bullying at school, and where on earth did you leave your
shoes! I am sure that sorrow will continue to multiply as my 4 children grow into
rebellious and moody teenagers, leading to late nights waiting up for them to
come home, or addressing difficult questions I don’t know how to answer. As I
grow as a father, I am sure that “sorrow” will continue to multiply into
worries over grandchildren.
For those here
who are not parents, that “sorrow” given to mother Eve and her posterity may be
particularly difficult, because it includes the heartache of not having children. It may mean a
failed marriage, a wayward child, or trying to fit in as a single person in a
family-centered church. Again, if the purpose of mortality is to have joy, why is
there all this sorrow?
Eve explains
it better than anyone. “It is better for us to pass through sorrow, that we may
know the good from the evil.”
No woman or
man can experience the joy of motherhood or fatherhood without passing through
sorrow in some way or another.
Each of us
chose to come down to earth to have a mortal experience, to be tried and
tested, and to know for ourselves what opposition and suffering are like. I
would even go so far that Heavenly Father designed this life to be hard on
purpose—imagine, on purpose!—so that we could learn and grow by having
difficult experiences. That same divine being who created beautiful fields and
mountains, wildflowers and sunsets to give us joy, also went on to create
mosquitoes, sunburns, hail, wind, and ferocious bears that may just eat you while
you try and enjoy the scenery.
Lehi talked
to his son Jacob, saying,
“And now,
Jacob, I speak unto you: Thou art my firstborn in the days of my
tribulation in the wilderness. And behold, in thy childhood thou hast suffered
afflictions and much sorrow, because of the rudeness of thy brethren…
For it must
needs be, that there is an opposition in all things. If not so, my
firstborn in the wilderness, righteousness could not be brought to pass,
neither wickedness, neither holiness nor misery, neither good nor bad.
Wherefore, all things must needs be a compound in one.”
Here Lehi is
explaining why Jacob has had to suffer so much in the wilderness. Well, I also
can’t help but think of Jacob’s mother, Sariah, the formerly posh housewife of
a well-to-do man in the Jerusalem suburbs. Picture her, living on raw meat, riding
pregnant, stricken with morning-sickness on a camel in a desert, giving birth
in a tent, all while trying to sort out some sons that keep trying to kill each
other. Why all this sorrow in her journey to the promised land?
Well even
Sariah, valiant as she was, had to pass through the wilderness, to journey
through the lone and dreary world to get to the promised land. She and each of
us have to learn, to grow, and to experience sorrow in order to appreciate the
good, and to learn to choose good over evil.
So is that
all motherhood is? A “vail of tears”? I could end the talk here and all of us
could feel pretty rotten about it.
“Men are
that we might have joy.” I have a testimony that there is a Savior, Jesus
Christ, who is central to this plan, As Paul taught “if in this life alone we
have hope, we are of all men most miserable.” But our hope is not in this
world, but in Christ, who is the source of all lasting joy and peace. Our
vision of what we are doing in our families is eternal, and we have been given
a Savior to redeem us from our sins, to bear us up in our weakness, and as Alma
taught us in the Book of Mormon, “he will succor us in our infirmities.”
Elder
Holland spoke recently about mothers in his talk “Behold Thy Mother.” He said,
“Today I declare from this pulpit what
has been said here before: that no love in mortality comes closer to
approximating the pure love of Jesus Christ than the selfless love a devoted
mother has for her child.”
As Elder
Holland said, Motherhood is not just an act of sorrow, but it is also an act of
love, and that love is what gives purpose and lasting joy to the sorrow of our
lives.
“Faith,
hope, and charity” said Paul, “but the greatest of these is charity…for charity
never faileth.”
Christ
taught us how to love. None of us loves as perfectly as he did, and all of us
struggle to love each other, and that may include a mother trying to love a
fidgety toddler who doesn’t listen. Because parenting is truly an impossible
task on our own, we need help.
Seven years
ago this month exactly, my wife was expecting a baby. I also had a 2 year old. I
had just graduated from university and I was back at my parent’s house with no
real prospects at a job. It dawned on me, “What have I done!” I remember
driving to Lethbridge for a long-shot job interview as a health care aide.
Certainly not the glamorous job I imagined after my degree, and I couldn’t help
but wonder, “Why would they hire an English degree to take care of Seniors.
What on earth am I doing?” But I was a little desperate, and I knew I had to
put Becky through nursing school somehow, so there I was. I was overwhelmed by
my responsibility as a father and provider, and I felt inadequate. Two children
and no job.
As I was
driving, crying a little, there suddenly came over me an overwhelming feeling
from the Holy Ghost that I was not alone as a father. The scripture that came
searing into my mind that rainy day was from Doctrine and Covenants, “That
the fulness of my gospel might be proclaimed by
the weak and the simple unto the ends of the world.”
The weak and
the simple! That’s it! I already knew that I was weak and simple, but I felt in
my mind the realization that it was okay, that those were precisely the Lord’s
qualifications to do his work. I knew I was not alone, and that if I relied on
my Savior, he would help me grow into the Father my children need.
As parents,
each of are expected to feel insufficient, weak and simple. Motherhood is
daunting, as is fatherhood. However, if we each turn to Christ for help, taking
his yoke upon us and becoming his disciples, he will “succor us in our
infirmities, according to the flesh.” I think of succor as a nurturing word, the
way a mother succors her child, feeds it, encourages it, holds it, pats its
back when it cries, and gives it comfort when it is afraid or tired or
overwhelmed. Like infants, that’s what Christ does for us.
As parents
and as disciples, Christ bears with us our infirmities and weaknesses, just like
our own mothers bore us for nine long and uncomfortable months. Both our
mothers and Christ continue to bear with us as they raise us, teach us, nurture
us, and support us. And finally, just as our mothers gave birth to us into
mortal life, our Savior will lead us through and bear us into eternal life.
What is the
price for this work?
When Christ
appeared to his disciples, and also to the Nephites, he invited them to come
and feel the wounds in his hands and feet and side. I have often pondered why.
Obviously, the people could see it was Jesus. The Nephites had just seen him
come down from heaven in light. They had heard and felt the voice saying, “This
is my beloved son, in whom I am well-pleased.” There could not be any doubt
about who he was.
And yet he
invited all—the whole multitude—and it must have taken quite some time, to come
and feel the wounds for themselves. And when they did, they, all of the
multitude, did fall at his feet and worshiped him.
Christ
connects with us through his wounds. Though he has all power, he did not show
off and create for the multitude a planet, not even a single flower. He showed
his disciples the things that made him vulnerable and relatable, the wounds of
his suffering for our sins and weaknesses.
Each of us,
including I am sure, the mothers here, carry wounds, sometimes we sing it as
“sorrow that the eye can’t see.” Is it any wonder that if we try to connect with
each other over Instagram through photoshopped pictures of perfect kids, perfect
meals, perfect lives, broadcasting our successes broadcasted over social media,
that at the end of the day we may all feel a little hollow? This is something I
struggle with personally—I don’t want to be weak and vulnerable! And yet if we
are to “mourn with those that mourn, comfort those in need of comfort” and have
“hearts knit together in unity and love” we have to share our burdens—our struggles
as mothers, as fathers, single members, childless members, and as disciples of
Christ.
Christ’s
saving act of love for us came with wounds. If motherhood comes closest to that
love, maybe it should follow that motherhood (or the lack thereof) comes with
its own set of wounds.
Child-birth
is a very physical and visceral experience, and there are very real physical
wounds left: scars and stretch marks and
varicose veins and all the rest. I have been around women enough to know that
they love to talk about their birth stories. “My first pregnancy was terrible,
I was sick every day!” or “I pushed for four hours!” and so forth. It is a
great way mothers connect—through the physical wounds of childbirth. However, I
believe there are emotional wounds as well, ones that continue well after that
child has arrived. That kind of love—when a woman creates a human being, a
soul, a child of God, and commits herself to that child, bearing the sorrows of
raising it to adulthood and beyond—that kind of love leaves marks. I also
believe there are wounds of women who yearn for that blessing but do not
receive it in mortality. As disciples of Christ, it is okay—even necessary—to
share those burdens and wounds in appropriate ways. To speak up and say, “I
feel alone. I need your help.” As we bear one another’s burdens, we are better
able to point ourselves to the Savior and follow his call to come unto him, so
that he may bear us together.
Christ on
the cross said unto John, like he says to each of us, “Behold thy mother.” I
believe that means beholding and recognizing the wounds, the sacrifices, and
their endless work in bearing and nurturing a new generation.
In Matthew
25, Christ says,
Then shall
the King say… Come, ye blessed of my
Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the
foundation of the world: For I was
an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me
drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and
ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison,
and ye came unto me.
Then shall
the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and
fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we
thee naked, and clothed thee? or in prison, and came unto thee?
And the King
shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye
have done it unto one of the least of these
my brethren, ye have done it unto me.
I can think
of no more obvious way that a disciple can clothe the naked and feed the hungry
than what a mother does, and they do it day after day. Sometimes clothing the
naked means wrestling a 3 year old into his clothes as he squirms out of your
arms and tries to run away. Sometimes feeding the hungry means sighing heavily
as you get down that bowl of cereal for your picky six year old because he
won’t touch that healthy casserole you worked hard to make. Sometimes visiting
those in prison means supporting and loving unconditionally a wayward child
that may have left the church, or finds themselves in a prison of sin or
addiction.
Whatever
your calling as a woman in Zion, I testify that if you do these things to “one
of the least of these”—which certainly snot-nosed kids fit the bill—whether you
are a mother in this life or not, you will hear those words, “Come, inherit the
kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”
In closing,
I want to share a story about my own great great grandmother, Eva Leota
Hochstrasser Hansen. She was a pioneer woman and midwife in Aetna outside of
Cardston. She was pregnant with her eleventh child when her husband died. Back
then there was no social assistance, no welfare, or subsidized income. They
were in the boonies and alone. She struggled with minimal income for some time
to provide for her numerous children. One day, the family sat down for dinner,
except there was none. There was no food left in the house. Eva said the
blessing on the food, saying, “Lord, we have no more food in the house. I have
done everything I can.” Suddenly the prayer was interrupted by a knock on the
door. Brother Joseph Ellison was at the door with bag of flour and some pork.
He said simply that he had been impressed that there was a need in the Hansen
home, and then he left.
I am so
grateful for mothers and women of faith that mete out their sometimes meagre
substance to their children. Sometimes a mother’s flour runs low, sometimes
it’s their patience, or their faith; and at some time, I imagine all of us may
find ourselves like my Great great grandmother, sitting at an empty table, our
resources and energy spent, and surrounded by hungry mouths, or hungry souls.
I know that
because of the atonement, Christ will provide a way to sustain all of us,
especially mothers, in our calling to nurture and provide for the children of
God.