What is My Errand?

Quarantine life has been good to us so far.

Mike has been working exclusively from home for over a month. It was a struggle at first, and he will still be grateful when he finally gets to be back in a real work environment, but we've fallen into a certain rhythm where it's perfectly normal to have him come up the stairs mid-morning, and I've taken advantage of his close proximity to ask him questions or have him help with potty training. 

The boys are doing well with their schoolwork. They know what is expected of them each day, and they do it. For the most part, I am pretty hands off, except for Clark. Their teachers have been involved and organized, and although we sincerely hope they will all (even Aaron) get to go back to school in the fall, we are making this work.

Our home is a safe, happy place. We are able to do almost all of our favorite activities. We love reading aloud in the mornings before school, rollerblading down the street in the evenings, watching movies, doing puzzles, singing songs around the piano, playing games, worshiping together, baking (and eating), and going on walks. Home has become the haven I always wanted it to be.

Our experience, although not unique, has not been the reality for many people. The immense suffering around the world is vast and agonizing. It is emotional, physical, financial, spiritual, and mental. Some of it is related to the current pandemic, but much of it was already there. The heartache created by this virus has not given the world a free pass on other suffering. It has simply added another layer--the straw that just might break the proverbial camel's back. 

During the first few days, as the virus spread across the nation with alarming speed, I inhaled the news at a feverish pace. I held my breath as things I had never even considered became a stark new reality. I watched the security of everyday life crumble around me. The pain and suffering of others was brought to the forefront of my mind. It was suffocating and unbearable. 

I did not know how I, in my very small sphere, could help with problems that seemed insurmountable.  I felt myself pulling inward because I couldn't handle all of this pain that I couldn't do anything about.

But one day I was reading the Book of Enos, and I was struck by the progression of Enos' prayer. First, he cried in "mighty prayer and supplication for [his] own soul." Following this, he "began to feel a desire for the welfare of [his] brethren." And finally after this, he prayed "with many long strugglings" for his enemies, the Lamanites. 

Applied to my own life, this model of concern for others might look like this: attention to myself and my family, followed by friends, neighbors, and extended family, and finally strangers around the world. The circle begins small but is able to expand outward organically as immediate needs are seen and met.

I had been frozen in indecision because I didn't know where to expend my energies or resources when there were limitless options; and what I could do seemed so small and inconsequential anyway that it seemed rather futile. Although this blueprint didn't do anything to change the collective and individual suffering all around me, it lifted my own paralyzation so I could once more move forward with purpose and genuine intent.

At this same time, a question came into my mind that has since become my daily mantra: What is my errand? It is based on something the prophet Jacob said when he began his ministry to his people: "Wherefore I, Jacob, gave unto them these words as I taught them in the temple, having first obtained mine errand from the Lord."

I decided that I would try to be like Jacob and obtain my errand from the Lord every day. Once again, this narrowed my focus to a single day, even a single hour, which made it so much more manageable for me.

When I wake up and begin my day, I ask, "What is my errand?" And then I listen. I pay attention to the thoughts that come into my head. Interestingly, they are most often about someone in my family or neighborhood, thus following the pattern set forth by Enos. Once I have one or two impressions, I work on accomplishing those before I ask the question again. It feels very much like I am reporting to my commanding officer for duty each day, asking for my orders, and then returning after they are completed.

These errands are small things, easily accomplished in a day. For example, one day I had the thought that I should do something for my sister, Angela. She is currently serving a mission in Pennsylvania. The work has ground to a halt because she and her companion have to stay inside all of the time. They have found creative ways to serve and teach and share their message, but for a very social person like my sister, the confinement is taking a serious toll on her morale. I wondered what I could do for her. I got the idea to cut up strips of paper, write inspirational quotes on them, and then mail them to her. Each day she could pull out one piece of paper, read the quote, and then loop it through the previous one, forming a paper chain.

Another day, I sat down to order some sheet music. I went to Amazon as usual, but then I had the impression, Why don't you order from Day Murray Music [my local music store] instead? It ended up costing me more, but the service was excellent, and it arrived at my house in two days.

When we participated in the worldwide fast on Good Friday last week, I felt like I should pay a fast offering, even though I had just done so a couple of weeks before. I realized that the Church can do things with its resources that I can't do alone with mine.

One morning I approached the Lord with my question, and my sweet elderly neighbor's name came into my mind. I knew I needed to call and check in with her that day.

This is just a sampling of some of the things Heavenly Father has asked me to do in the last few weeks. I feel almost silly writing them down because I know they sound small and insignificant. But I feel strongly that as we each do our small bit in our individual spheres, great things can happen.

I want to tell you about one other small thing I've added to my days. This one is also inspired by Enos. Like me, Enos realized that there were some things beyond his scope of influence. About the Lamanites, he said, "For at the present our strugglings were vain in restoring them to the true faith." In fact, at that point, the Lamanites were threatening to destroy the records and traditions of Enos and his people if they got the chance.

There was only one thing Enos could do for them, and so he did that one thing: he prayed. And the Lord said, "I will grant unto thee according to they desires." That simple prayer of faith made a difference.

Like Enos, there are many things right now outside of my control. I don't have the medical skills to answer the call for help in the NYC hospitals; I don't have the connections to organize big drives for supplies; I don't have the knowledge to study this virus and develop a vaccine against it.

Instead, I have to do exactly what Enos did: see a need and pray for it.

I have made it a habit to pay attention to the seemingly random thoughts I have throughout the day. If a person pops into my memory, even if I haven't had any contact with them for years, I say a prayer for them right then. This is one way I'm expanding my circle. I have found that as my thoughts turn outward to others, my generosity and love expands as well.

I hope this quarantine won't last forever. In fact, I hope it's over before too long. But I also hope to take this simpler, slower pace with me and continue this daily habit of asking the Lord how He can use me. As I narrow my focus on these small things, my love for others is actually widening in a most miraculous way.

The Gift of Giving Life by Felice Austin and other contributors

One of my reading goals for 2017 was to read two books about childbirth--a goal that was prompted by the forthcoming birth of our fifth boy (which hasn't happened yet but is literally down to the wire now). The first book I read was Baby Catcher by Peggy Vincent, and upon finishing it, I declared it, "the most interesting, entertaining, and . . . helpful book on childbirth" I'd ever read.

I'll stand by that exuberant praise, but I'm now going to add this book right alongside it. It's different-- so different, amazingly different--from Baby Catcher, but it touched my heart in the profoundest of ways. Where Baby Catcher was entertaining and down-to-earth and at times even bizarre, The Gift of Giving Life was spiritual and reverent and breathtakingly tender. I definitely read these two books in the correct order: Baby Catcher pumped me up, and this one calmed me back down, and I feel like with those two opposite types of adrenaline coursing through me, I'm now ready to journey down this childbirth path again . . . and maybe do things a little differently this time.

Before I go any further, I should mention that this book is a compilation of essays and birth stories written by women of my faith, which is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and because of that, doctrines, beliefs, and spiritual truths specifically related to my faith are interwoven throughout the whole book. As such, it will not be for everyone, but it was definitely for me. I've never read a birthing book that combined the physical, tangible act of birth with the sacred, spiritual side of it, and it felt good and right.

Maybe it was especially good for me because I've struggled so much during this pregnancy with deciding if I should change course with this birth and get my very first epidural or stick with what has worked in the past and decline pain medication. Although this book definitely leaned toward natural labors and deliveries, the ultimate message was to trust your own instincts and the guidance and direction you receive, and with every story, I felt more empowered to do just that.

As I already mentioned, the book is a collection of essays and birth stories written by various women, and at first I thought I was just going to endure reading the essays in order to get back to what I really wanted--the birth stories (give me all the birth stories). But soon I came to really appreciate the essays; it's true, they lacked the drama and emotional intensity of some of the birth stories but were full of philosophical questions and observations instead that really made me think. However, I will say that one of the first essays, about Heavenly Mother, walked a little too close to the speculation line for my tastes, which I think was part of the reason for my initial lack of enthusiasm, but most of the essays were well-grounded in doctrinal truths and provided new insights for my personal growth. There were two essays in particular, "Two Veils" and "Birth in Remembrance of Him,"  that I loved so much, I'm planning to copy them before I return the book to the library.

In my faith, we believe receiving an earthly, physical body is a beautiful, wonderful thing and an essential part of our spiritual progression. But even though I've always believed that, it wasn't until I read this book that I really grasped the magnitude of my role in this vital part of the plan of salvation: As a mother, I'm the one who creates these bodies for my children. I sacrifice my own comfort and health in order to provide something that is absolutely necessary for them if they want to return to Heavenly Father.

One of the mothers in this book took this selfless act to an even deeper level and used pregnancy and childbirth as a type and symbol of the Savior's Atonement. She said:

"I think the most profound parallel to the Atonement that impressed itself upon me was not just suffering, but suffering for the sake of another. When I finally said, 'I will drink this bitter cup. I recognize that it cannot pass from me, and I will drink it to the dregs,' embedded in that comment was the realization that the purpose of this suffering had nothing to do with me. I knew that there was no benefit (beyond insight) that I could possibly derive from this experience. It would not make me healthier, it would not give me any skills, it would not lastingly affect my body in any positive way. But there was one entirely other person that would derive lasting and eternal benefit from my suffering: my child, . . . who was anxiously waiting to receive a body and come into this world. Someone had to do this so that he could receive a body, and he could not do it for himself."

Perhaps it seems a little presumptuous to draw comparisons between pregnancy/childbirth and Jesus Christ's perfect and eternal sacrifice, but it actually made the opposite impression on me. The Old Testament is full of symbols of the Atonement. In fact, the law of Moses was anchored in rituals that helped the Israelites turn their hearts to Jehovah and gradually increased their comprehension of what He would do for them, and it makes sense that we have the same privilege of deepening our understanding through our own experiences today.

Each of my children's births have been amazing, and I honestly have never felt closer to heaven than in those moments immediately after being handed my sweet little ones for the first time. And those moments have definitely provided my own unique insights into the sacrifices of my Savior on my behalf. But this book deepened my appreciation for other aspects of pregnancy, birth, and motherhood that I've never before considered, and that's why I said at the beginning that it profoundly changed me.

Another mom said,

"I always felt like I was in the Lord's hands as I labored. I never felt so close to Him as when I was depending on him for every breath I drew to maintain my breathing and focus on my laboring. As the miraculous moment arrived when the baby was born, I always felt like the Lord had mercy on his handmaid, and I basked in the glow of that moment when eternity and mortality are one."

It's so easy to complain during pregnancy, childbirth, and motherhood (and believe me, I do more than my fair share of it), but the truths in this book allowed me to take a step back and look at my life through an eternal lens--one that made all of these sacrifices look small and easy to forgive compared to the life-changing blessings that are the eventual result. I'm not trying to downplay the sacrifices because I am seriously blown away by some of the things mothers endure for their children, but I think it's impossible to read this book and not come away feeling a little more grateful for the privilege of going through something (or, let's be honest, many things) for the sake of another. And then, if you let it, your thoughts will naturally turn to the One who made the most incomprehensible sacrifice of all and loves you and your child with the most perfect kind of love.

Who knew a book about childbirth would be the most beautiful and appropriate thing to read over Easter weekend?