Breaking My Own Rules

When I was a little girl, I had a perfect plan for how my life would be. Everything lined up in perfect little rows in my head, and I was certain that even though there might be bumps in the road, all my dreams would evolve as planned. For example, I would have six children--three boys and three girls. At the latest, I would be finished having babies by the time I was 35. There would be two-year gaps between each child. A bit idealistic, I'll admit, but if you're going to dream, you might as well make it good. Today, my plan has changed a little bit. It goes something like this:

Don't plan. Simply enjoy today and follow the promptings of the spirit because the Lord's plan, although more difficult, is far more enriching and eternally rewarding.

My husband and I have been blessed with four great kids (even have two girls and two boys--sounds almost perfect). We love them to death. They are so amazing, and we feel so darn grateful for them. But here's the thing. About a year and a half ago we started to wonder if our family was complete. Prayer led us to deciding it wasn't. My health then led us to think it had to be. More prayer led us to considering something amazing but seemingly impossible. Adoption. Even more prayer led us to filling out papers and embarking on a journey that would forever change us. Already this path has been incredibly difficult. The thing about adoption is that the highs are really high and the lows are really low. Until you get to a point that when a high is offered, you hardly dare hope it will really happen. When it doesn't, you find out what low really is.

Two weeks ago we received a much-anticipated phone call. It was like nothing we ever expected. The adoption agency called and asked us if we would consider a sibling group--two girls, one 3 months old, the other 17 months old. We hardly knew what to think. TWO was not in our plans, and yet as we seriously considered it, we soon became thrilled. How could we be so blessed? We had only one night to make a decision, and the next morning we called the agency and said, "Yes." That's when we reviewed our week and realized we had one of the busiest weeks ever. It didn't matter. We would make it work. This was Tuesday morning. The mother was supposed to bring her babies to Utah Friday morning. We would meet with her that evening, and then as soon as she signed papers, the babies would be ours.

All week long, I pushed myself to the point of exhaustion, trying to get through all my responsibilities so we could be ready by the weekend. My mother came to offer help, thankfully, but it seemed there was really little she could do. All I kept thinking was, "I hope the birth mom gets on that plane." We signed papers late Thursday night and were comforted by the agency's reassurance that they had just spoken to the mother and she was planning to come the next morning.

She didn't come.

It may be unbelievable to think a person can love children she's never even seen, but I loved those little girls already. We were devastated. That's when we prayed even harder--for this birth mother, for the little girls, and for ourselves, that we could move on. Peace came, and with it an even stronger desire to welcome a child into our home.

We are now planning to adopt a baby girl the end of May. Am I terrified? Yes. Does it seem like two months is an eternity to wonder if this too will fall through? Yes. Am I scared to allow myself to even get excited and plan for this little girl? Yes. But, even stronger than my fears is my faith. And the truth is, it simply isn't in our hands. I can't make anything happen in and of myself. But thankfully, I don't have to trust in myself.

And so, I'm going to get excited for this baby. And I'm going to prepare for her to come, just like I have all my other babies. And I'm going to trust that everything will work out, because it sure beats thinking it won't.

I'm breaking all my previous rules. I will be 36 years old when this baby is born. This little girl will ruin my even-gendered family, making three girls and two boys. There will be a four-and-a-half year gap between this baby and my youngest child now. And one other thing I never saw in my "life plan" but am so excited about: this baby is half African American, half Hispanic. What a wonderful way to add diversity to our family!

I've thrown my perfect little plan out the window. And honestly, although this journey is tougher, I've never been happier. God has been so good to me personally and to our family. His plan for me has always had surprises and unexpected turns, but it has always led me right to where I want to be in the end.

Besides, I've always heard rules are made to be broken!:)

L-O-V-E

I've been thinking quite a bit about the concept of love lately, and I've decided love encompasses a whole lot more than I usually give it credit for. When I was a little girl and my mom told me she loved me, I knew that meant she was glad to be my mom, that she would clean up my scraped knee and bandage it, and that she would hold me and comfort me if I had a nightmare. 

Pretty simplistic. But important just the same.

Then I grew up and fell in love. Although the romance and excitement was just as wonderful as I expected it to be, I couldn't imagine what real love would do to my life, how it would sanctify me and fulfill me and strengthen me until I married my husband.

Now I am a mother with children I deeply love. And yes, that means I'm glad to be their mom. And yes, it means I wipe away their tears and bandage their owies. And yes, it means I'm always there in the night if they have a bad dream. But more than all that, it means I'm willing to give up fame, fortune (not that I'd have either of those things anyway), comfort, ease, and so much more to simply be their mom. It means putting up with tantrums, fighting, whining, teasing, name calling, mess making, and so on. It involves potty training, carpooling, teacher conferencing, soccer coaching, chore training; the list goes on and on. 

It's taxing, exhausting, overwhelming, frustrating, irritating, mind boggling, nerve racking, etc., etc.

But more important than all of that is this: it is love. 

It fills me with the most fulfilling, deep-in-the-core kind of love that changes my life forever because it changes me forever. I go to bed at night wondering how I'll ever get up in the morning and start the whole routine over again, but then my mind starts to review every exhausting aspect of my day, and I can't help but smile clear to my toes. That's when I realize that although I've never been so tired, I've also never been so happy.

A couple of days ago I left the house in a rush. I hollered goodbyes as I hurried out the door and got into the van. Just as I was shutting the door, I heard some little voices tell me to stop. I looked up to see my two youngest children waving at me from the porch in the garage. It was obvious they wanted me to come back. With an exasperated sigh, I exited the van and trudged back up the stairs in the garage so they could each give me a hug and kiss. My little four-year-old wrapped his arms around my neck and attempted to smother my cheek with a raspberry jam kiss. I immediately jerked back. After all, I had made great efforts to look good, and I was pretty sure a sticky, red face wouldn't help my appearance. But then I saw his excited grin as it lit up his whole face and I felt how much that little piece of wonderful loved me, and I couldn't help myself. I wrapped my arms just as tightly around him and allowed the sticky smooch. As I got back into the car I realized I hadn't been that happy all day long. I realized it was worth being a few minutes late. I realized how much I love raspberry jam kisses.

Two days later while subbing at the elementary school, I opened my lunch bag to find a note stuck there from my 11-year-old daughter, telling me she loved me and to have a great day. It meant so much, I found myself wiping away tears. And I realized how much her love means to me. I smiled as I thought of what a wonderful concept love notes are, and I decided to leave more of them.

On the phone later that day, my nine-year-old son called home to update me on his plans with his friends. As the conversation came to an end, he said, "Thanks, Mom. I sure love you." Words I've heard many times before, but what struck me this time was that I could hear his friends standing near in the background and knew they could hear his conversation. I forced my mind and heart to remember the moment, realizing (and hoping against it at the same time) that he's getting to the age where I may not hear those sincere words of gratitude and love from my son in that situation for very much longer. I wanted to be sure I appreciated them to the fullest at that moment in time.

My biggest fear as a mother is that I will go through all the motions of being a mom, my kids will grow up and move out, and I will realize I never appreciated each moment enough. The hard, frustrating, nitty-gritty moments and especially the sweet, delicious, fill my soul with inexpressible joy moments. 

What a waste that would be. What a waste to not appreciate the love in my life enough.

And so, I just want to say how grateful I am for love--every kind and every aspect of it. Especially the love that can only be found within the family unit. That is the love that really matters, that makes life meaningful, that endures forever. That is the love that gets me through every day and that makes me want to be so much better. That is the love that can never be replaced.

Oh, how blessed I am to know such love!

Read-A-Thon Turned Fight-A-Thon

There are few days in my life as a mother that I can really say I'm pretty much "The Bomb," but when such a day occurs, it's definitely something to write about. At least that's what I was thinking while I was busy patting myself on the back after sitting my children down on the couch and explaining to them my brilliant idea of holding a Read-A-Thon one dismal day during Christmas Break.

Yes, my children were losing their holiday jovialness (is that jovialness a word? I don't think so. But since it so perfectly describes what I'm trying to portray, I'm hoping you'll forgive it this time), the anticipation of Christmas having long faded, the joy of new treasures having lost their novelty already. And yes, I was losing my Holiday Smile as well, the incessant whining, tattling, begging and overall negativity affecting my usual upbeat, infectious aura (okay, so I might be exaggerating slightly, but since I'm the writer I deserve taking such liberties:). And yes, it seemed World War III was just around the corner unless a brilliant plan was put into effect--immediately.

That's when I got an idea from a neighbor to encourage my children to do some reading. I came up with an absolutely fabulous idea that would not only make up for all the days my children hadn't read during the holiday break BUT it would also keep them from fighting, too--two birds killed with one stone! I was amazing! I was clever! I was . . . naive.

It's not that my battle plan wasn't good; and it's not that I didn't allow for enough time to accomplish the said plan; it's not even that my children weren't more than mildly excited about the day's prospects; it's just that even good plans lose their effectiveness after a while, and I found that after two and a half hours of reading, my children had definitely forgotten we had a plan at all!

Here's how it went down.

1-Mother excitedly calls her children together to lay out amazingly brilliant plan and enraptures each child with her bright smile and infectious positivism (again, may not be a word. Work with me here).

2- Mother loads up children in van and off they go to the local library to explore the wonderful world of books and choose an unlimited number to spend the day reading.

3- Mother already runs into unexpected barrier when oldest child can't find the one book she is determined to read for the day and leaves library pouting and protesting the plan before it's even really began.

4- Mother thinks quickly, and determined to not be affected by this negative turn of events, happily explains that she is willing to drive to yet another library to pick up said item.

5- Mother drives to two different places to buy rewards for whomever decided to follow said plan. She leaves each store as if walking on air, sure she is bound to be up for Mother of the Year after she pulls off this amazing day.

6- Mother walks into living room to find children have set up "camp" in the one place in the house Mother wishes to remain clean. Each child has laboriously claimed every pillow, blanket, unused mattress and stuffed pet to accompany them during their reading times. Mother wants to shake her head and demand an immediate clean-up of the area. Her face turns red. She takes a deep breath. Then, unwilling yet to give into the urge to abandon her brilliant plan, simply smiles and verbally praises each child for their ingenious and dedicated effort to make themselves comfortable while reading. Mother sets the timer for 20 minutes.

7- Mother praises herself inwardly for how well The Plan is being executed. Even her four-year-old is reading a chapter book, skimming and turning each page right on cue with his older siblings who actually know how to read. Mother rewards all four children with a new coloring/activity book she purchased for only 25 cents each on an after-Christmas clearance. Mother is smiling clear to her toes. Not only are her children reading but she was able to bribe all four of them for only $1.

8- After an hour break, Mother calls children into their "places" once again for the second round of the Read-A-Thon. She sets the timer for 30 minutes this time and relaxes on the couch for some much-needed reading time herself. Mother has to remind children off and on to actually read their books. Mother again rewards all four children with a piece of candy--again bought for 25 cents each on an after-Christmas sale (never mind the candy was so hard the children wouldn't eat it). Mother's smile still reaches from ear to ear.

9- After another break, Mother and children settle in for Round Three--45 minutes of reading. After the tenth time of answering the question, "How much longer do we have to do this?" Mother's smile is fading a bit. The fun is slipping away as the whining begins to take over. Still, there's one more round to go, and Mother is determined to conquer. Four children get a reward that only two children deserve since Mother is not feeling up to a tantrum and is losing her confidence that she is a brilliant, strong, amazing mother.

10- After one final break that wasn't nearly long enough, Mother gathers children for the final round--60 straight minutes of reading (or at least pretending to). The four-year-old has abandoned his chapter book for play time at the neighbors, so there are only three children left to accomplish the daunting task.

That's when the nit-picking, teasing, taunting, pestering, fighting begins . . . and never stops. Never mind the best reward of the day is hanging over their heads (is it possible they think Mother will give it to them anyway since she faltered after Round III?)--a bottle of blue, liquid sugar that makes their eyes pop just thinking of it. Never mind that Mother never buys such drinks due to the fact that, well, they're about the worst thing you can buy your kids to drink. And never mind that Mother is quickly losing her perma-grim and is beginning to come unglued one piece at a time.

The Read-A-Thon officially turned into a Fight-A-Thon, and when the buzzer beeped signalling the end of Round IV, not only was Mother sure she was the stupidest, most ridiculous mother around, but she was also could care less about how many minutes her children read over the holidays.

So, the next time said Mother comes up with a brilliant plan that she's sure will win her accolades on every level . . .

She's handing it over to Father to carry it out!!




(The kids BEFORE the fights broke out. The four-year-old has jumped ship by this time. Yes, this is my living room/entrance way. Don't you think the plant adds a nice, homey effect to their cozy, individually designed reading coves?)

A Christmas Miracle

It's been a while since I've written. I guess I haven't felt very inspired, so instead of sitting at my computer plucking out a jumbled mess of words in an effort to express my thoughts and feelings, I've avoided it instead. But sometimes, life drives me here, and I can't resist the urge to write. Maybe because it's good therapy, or maybe because it helps me realize how blessed I am; I think the main reason, though, is that I fear life will keep forging ahead, refusing to break at significant moments, and I will forget all the experiences--small and great--that make up my life and insist I look outside of myself to see the miracles happening all around me. I think that's what drives me here today.

It seems that every year at Christmas time, I feel deeply sober as I examine my life and the passing year and wonder if I've become any closer to the woman I hope to one day become. Always, I am drawn to my knees, pleading both for forgiveness for the many ways I still fall short, and also for a nearness to the only One who can help me in my plight. This year was no different. Except that my heart has refused to remain comfortless and hopeless. The year was difficult in many ways--unrealized desires, discouragements and even the death of a loved one plagued me and those I love and forced deep introspection and mourning. But, amidst it all, I am closing 2010 with tears of deep gratitude for all I do have and a desire to have more faith in the miracles that are possible in every life and every situation.

My family did something a bit uncharacteristic of us this Christmas season--we got together for a few days and followed a scheduled itinerary of events to celebrate the holiday season. It's not that we don't usually try to get together, but we're never very organized, nor are we ever usually able to all be together at once due to crazy work schedules. This year, however, my sister Traci planned, invited and carried out a well-executed family event that lasted a couple of days and proved to be an absolutely wonderful experience. We decorated sugar cookies (the kids in newly made aprons, each personally embroidered with their names), went sledding, enjoyed a wonderful feast, visited, laughed, shared favorite memories and experiences, and even went caroling together on a horse-drawn sleigh.

It was while we were bundled together, nestled on bales of hay situated on the wooden sleigh, listening to the jingling of the bells as the team of horses trotted over the snow-covered ground, the sweet scent of sweat lifting off the team and drifting into the air like steam, that I took a moment to realize I was experiencing something most people probably only dream about. It was a picture you read about in story books--a large family snuggled together on the back of a horse-drawn sleigh, singing, laughing together, enjoying the moment in a way most of us never do any more these days. And I was determined to soak up every part of it--the feeling, the smells, the sight, the sounds--all of it. And just at the moment I thought I couldn't be happier, I looked around at every family member, and the closeness we shared--the pure joy and contentment of the moment--overwhelmed me and I thought of how lucky I am to be a simple ranch girl from Wyoming who grew up in a family that's certainly had its share of problems over the years but who loves each other so deeply it hurts sometimes.

Only two days later, on Christmas day, did it come full circle once again. After enjoying a joyous Christmas morning with my husband and children, grandparents visiting to join in the excitement of new toys and games, the doorbell rang. We opened the door and were surprised to find an older couple from our neighborhood, he in a Santa hat, both holding gifts. It was then that the gentleman leaned down and offered my five-year-old a small wrapped package, explaining that he had made the gift himself just for her and wanted to present it to her as a way of thanking her for her prayers on his behalf over the past few years.

I was deeply touched as my little girl opened the package and found a gold chain ornamenting a glass heart pendant hand-carved with a pink rose inside. It was beautiful and meaningful beyond words. He told my sweet little girl how thankful he personally was for her unending faith in his behalf as he had been told she prayed for him every day. His wife expressed her appreciation as well and expressed her belief in the answered prayers of little children.

I asked them how long it had now been since her husband had been diagnosed with cancer, and when they told me three years, I could hardly believe it. Had it really been three full years that my child had faithfully offered prayers in his behalf each time she prayed? That would mean she was only nearly three years old when she began to supplicate the Lord on behalf of this man she hardly knew. I had simply mentioned one evening that he was having health problems and we should remember him in our prayers, but she had done much more than that. I was humbled as I knelt beside her and looked in her eyes in an effort to help her somehow understand what a wonderful thing she had done and what a meaningful gift he had given her.

It was then that I realized I was preaching to the choir. I was hoping to teach her a lesson she had already taught me. My own prayers for this gentleman had ceased after only a few months, while my little girl had steadfastly continued to ask the Lord to bless him, even amidst disgusted remarks from her siblings that she could probably stop praying for him now.

For me, it was a Christmas miracle. Another example of what my children are teaching me and why I am so grateful to be a mother. From seeing my own mother rejoice at the sight of her children fully enjoying time spent together, to feeling deep appreciation and gratitude at the faith and love of my own child, I realized once again what a miracle motherhood is, and that it is truly meant to bring the greatest joy and satisfaction possible.

And so, as another year draws to a close, although I still feel inadequate and dissatisfied at my performance as wife and mother, I realize that my children are filled to the top with goodness, and I believe it will show itself at the times it is most needed. I read a Chinese fortune at the beginning of 2010 that read, "This year, your highest priority will be your family." It was a profound reminder to me of how to spend my time and energy. And as I've simplified life and worked to truly live that proverb, my life has been so blessed and I have found once again that my greatest joy comes from my family. Motherhood truly is memorable and I am so grateful for that.

Unlucky? Maybe. Maybe not.

I recently read a story about a wise man who had a series of fortunate and unfortunate events happen in his life. When good things happened, his neighbors would tell him what a lucky man he was. When bad things happened, they would tell him how unlucky he was. With each comment from his neighbors, he would only reply, "Maybe. Maybe not." The man seemed to understand that good fortune would not last forever, and that challenges often brought blessings. Oh, to be so wise.

Over the past six weeks our family has experienced what many would call a series of unfortunate events. It all began with my sister-in-law's unexpected passing. Definitely an unlucky, difficult experience, one I would never wish on anyone, one I would never choose. Yet, with her passing has come a lesson on empathy, a strengthened testimony in the Plan of Salvation--including the resurrection, a renewed reliance and trust on the Lord, more fervent prayers, more love for my family. I could go on and on. Truly, I have learned lessons I could have learned in no other way. So unlucky? Maybe. Maybe not.

Last week we called an ambulance once again. This time it was for my three-year-old son, Boston. I was visiting my family in Wyoming when he started having signs of croup. He seemed fine one minute, not fine the next. My sister and I gave him a breathing treatment, put a humidifier in his bedroom, and put him to bed. My brothers arrived to give him a priesthood blessing. His breathing was labored and I felt certain it would be a long night. I had no idea. Thirty minutes later I was holding my little son on the front porch in a frantic effort to get him to breathe. He was severely retracting, working tirelessly to get air into his lungs. We got in the car to take him 30 miles away to the closest medical care when it became obvious he needed medical attention immediately. My sister called 911 while I prayed silently for help. The same ambulance crew (except one person) that carried my sister-in-law away only five weeks earlier arrived and off we went to the hospital.

It was a long night of breathing treatments, steroid shots and no sleep as my little son struggled to recover in the same emergency room my brother had just lost his wife in. The reality of it all was overwhelming. Thankfully, this time the outcome would be much better. We made it through the night and Boston has recovered. Of course now we are faced with medical bills we hoped to never have. Unlucky? Maybe. Maybe not.

As I held my little boy that night, I realized once again how grateful I was to be his mother. I wrapped my arms around his small frame and thanked God over and over for this miracle in my life. I knew he would be okay, and my heart was so grateful. Another precious reminder of the value of life itself and of family.

Today, another unfortunate event. My dad rolled a 4-wheeler down a mountain and sustained numerous cuts, scrapes and bruises. Truthfully, he looks like a train wreck. And the 4-wheeler doesn't look much better. He was alone, rounding up some cows. No one knew where he was. Unlucky? Maybe. Maybe not.

My dad has multiple sclerosis. One side of his body doesn't work all that well, and he has to literally drag his left leg around. Ranch work doesn't really suit someone in the kind of shape my dad is in. But ranching is what he's always done. There have been so many close calls. Ones like today, when he so easily could have been killed, or at least broken a limb and sustained more serious injuries. But somehow he keeps coming out of things in tact.

So, tonight, even though I am tired and a little beaten up inside from the battle scars we've received recently, I feel so lucky. Actually, it isn't luck at all. I feel so blessed. Through every challenge, every heartache, every scare, every bad day, there are blessings to be found and reasons to be grateful. And so, even though I miss my sister-in-law terribly and the reality of life for my brother and his children is difficult to bear, my heart is full of gratitude for so many blessings that have come these past couple of months. And even though our medical bills are depressing to say the least, I am so grateful for my sweet little boy who is worth far more than the bills require. And even though my dad is a little beaten up, he's still here, and he's going to be okay.

How can I be so lucky?

Nine Minutes

Another rough day. It seems like I've had quite a few lately. Days when I'm constantly running and yet never accomplishing anything. Days when my children seem especially needy. Days when the reality of certain circumstances in life is all too vivid and painful. Days when all I really want to do is close the curtains, lock the door and sob--without interruption--for as long as needed.

Since my sister-in-law's passing (see former blog post), I've experienced quite a few days like this. It's not that I don't feel peace about it, and it's not that I haven't accepted the fact that she's gone. I guess it's just that I miss her so much, and the pain of it all just blindsides me constantly. Life is good. It's really, really good, and I have so much to be grateful for. But there is still heartache and pain, and somewhere inside of me, I am deeply mourning. And so, if I have any quiet, still moments at all, I find myself in tears--tears of sorrow, tears of gratitude, tears of a thousand different emotions all at once.

Such has been today. A hectic morning, running a little behind schedule, exhausted. Wanting and hoping to be the woman I need to be, all the while trying to hold it together when I know at a moment's notice I may break into uncontrollable sobs.

My five-year-old throws her usual tantrum about having to ride the bus to school. She's begging me to give her a ride instead. I'm holding her hand, walking her to the bus stop, thinking I have allowed her enough time to get over this whole bus problem she's developed and that surely it's time to encourage her to do something she doesn't want to do. But inside, I wonder if I'm being a good mother. I'm thinking to myself, Just drive her to school. She can ride the bus tomorrow. But then comes the opposing voice, But if you drive her today, she'll want you to drive her tomorrow, and this has got to stop sometime. I look into her beautiful blue eyes and I want to tell her just how much I understand how hard it is to keep putting one foot in front of the other when you don't feel like it. I hug her goodbye, blow her a kiss and help her get on the bus. Thankfully, she's smiling as she waves goodbye through the small windows.

Then my three-year-old doesn't want to eat his lunch. He just wants snacks instead. I don't blame him. I don't feel like making lunch, and I could really care less about nutrition right now. But then I realize this has been my attitude for the past month, and it's probably time I become a more responsible parent and be sure my little one is eating something with nutritional value every day. I decide to ignore his crying. I clean up the kitchen while he sits on a stool and sobs as if his heart is broken. Finally, I put my rag down, wrap my arms around him, snuggle him in his favorite blanket and plop down on the couch, holding him as closely as I can without impairing his breathing.

Neither of us say a word. It's like we both know all the other person needs is a little breather, a moment to sit and be held. Finally, I ask him if he would like to watch a movie or read books. He shakes his head no. "Well, what would you like to do then?" I ask.

"Just sit on the couch."

Me, too. I just want to sit on the couch and hold my precious child and cry about everything in life right now that hurts. I allow myself nine minutes to do so. Then, I gingerly prop my now-sleeping son up on the couch and get back to work.

That's all life allows sometimes--nine minutes. And then we as moms have to get off the couch and get back to work. I have to admit there are days when I just don't want to. But truthfully, I'm grateful that motherhood demands more of me because I am becoming someone far better than the person I would be otherwise. And I'm finding that it's often the hard days I end up appreciating the most because they force me to turn to God for help and to take a deep breath and exhibit patience (with myself and my children--and sometimes even my husband) and to simply show love. And through this sanctifying process, I am becoming more like the woman, the mother, the wife I really want to be.

I guess it's just one more reason to appreciate motherhood.

How Do You Replace a Mother?

When I signed off from blogging a few months ago, I never expected my next entry would be about something so tragic and so personal. But, as I'm sure most everyone knows, life happens, trials come, tragedies occur, and we are left to pick up the pieces, to try to keep breathing in and out--even when it takes a conscious effort to do so, to try to find understanding in whatever event that occurred that rocked our very world.


Three weeks ago my brother lost his wife. She was 31. She was perfect. She was beautiful and healthy and full of life. She was the mother of two children.


In the days following her death we tried so hard to make sense of it all. She was not feeling well, had gotten up in the night and thrown up, thought she had a little flu bug that was going around. The next day she felt better. She was tired and lay down to take a nap. She never woke up.


I have thought of this dear sister of mine continuously over the past few weeks. And I've thought of my brother, only 31 himself and now a widower. And I've thought of their children. Michael is only five, just beginning his first year of kindergarten. Olivia celebrated her first birthday (without her mother) yesterday. And I've wept for these dear children. Not because they will not know love now; not because they are alone; not because their futures are not bright. But, how do you replace a mother?


It's not that I mean to diminish in any way a father's role in the lives of his children. His influence is so important, his role in a home so vital. But, he's not a mother. He may be able to cook, to clean, to taxi, to teach, to guide. But he's not a mother. He may be a great multi-tasker, a patient listener, a careful organizer. But he's not a mother. How do you replace a mother?


When little Michael can't find his backpack, it's Mom who always can. When he asks for a particular shirt to wear, it's Mom who knows just which one he's talking about. When he sits down for breakfast before school, it's Mom who knows what his favorite thing to eat is--oatmeal--and she makes it just the way he likes it. When Olivia is crying inconsolably, it's Mom who can soothe her. When she smiles that beautiful smile, it's Mom who lights up right along with her. When she's taking a bath, it's Mom who knows she doesn't like to lean back, but would rather have water poured on her head. You see, Moms just know stuff no one else does. So, how do you replace a mother?


Grandmas step in and offer love and stability. Aunts and uncles wrap loving arms around as often as they can and whisper love. Grandpas show more patience and listen more attentively to stories about school and friends and ideas. Cousins are especially kind and spend more time playing. Friends are understanding, offering sympathy and concern. Teachers take special note to attend to tender feelings. Dad does all he can to mend the hurt and fill the void. But, regardless of everyone's selfless efforts, how do you replace a mother?


Leaders of nations are replaced by their successors. Soldiers that fall in battle are replaced with new recruits. Retirees are replaced by fresh graduates. Sports heroes are replaced by younger replicas. But, how do you replace a mother?


The answer is straightforward. You don't because you can't. You see, a mother is the one person in all the world who simply cannot be replaced. No matter how many people love Michael and Olivia, no matter how hard everyone tries to make up for their loss, the truth is, it can't be done. No one is Zoe. No one is their mother.


And so, I just want to say to every mother out there: Remember--you are not replaceable. No one can step in and do your job in just the way you do it. No one can love, nurture, guide and bless her children like you can. No one. And for all of you who have lost your mothers, my heart goes out to you, for you have lost a precious jewel.


When I think of my dear sister-in-law, I think of a woman who gave everything to being a mother. She only had a few short years with her children, and she soaked them all up. She was bright, she was funny, she was dedicated, she was irreplaceable.




And so are you.