A Parent's Worst Nightmare

I've never done this before, but I want to repost a blog that I read tonight. It really touched me and gave me a different perspective.

~Brandi

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Parent's Worst Nightmare: "

Recently, I had an experience that made my heart pound like it did at my first dance. I sweated icy-cold buckets and my stomach cold have earned the knot-tying merit badge.

My three-year old was lost.

It was Sunday after our stake conference. It had been a busy weekend full of meetings--inspirational but tiring. Our visiting authority from the Quorum of the Seventy had emphasized missionary work. An apostle visiting our stake the week before had emphasized the same thing. I listened and promised myself that I would do better at sharing the gospel.

But for the moment, we were having a relaxing lunch with friends at the stake center. While the adults talked, the children ran through the stake center and played hide-and-seek (reverently, of course).

After a pleasant afternoon, we decided it was time to leave. We called the kids and they came: one, two, three, four....wait. Where's the three-year old?

I began to feel uneasy. We started to look for him. A quick canvass of the irregular halls of our very large stake center yielded nothing. I began to worry. The doors of the building were all unlocked and we're not far away from a major thoroughfare. We've also been warned that there is a registered sex offender living in the neighborhood.

I started running from room to room, and the rest of the family joined me. We yelled and yelled but there was no answer.

I started to panic. I was terrified that my son was gone, that he would not return to me. The primal fear and anguish that gripped me is beyond words, but if you're a parent you understand.

We finally found him. He had hidden under the piano in the Relief Society Room and fallen asleep. I said grateful prayers on the way home.

This got me thinking about missionary work. I've never been very good at it. I served a mission and worked hard, but I haven't been valiant or even mediocre in sharing it with my friends and neighbors since then.

In those distressing moments I had an epiphany. I've known my child for only three years. but I love him to the full extent of my flawed mortal capacity. If, heaven forbid, anything should ever happen to him, our temple covenants promise an eternity together.

So, if the thought of him not returning distressed me, what kind of grief must that same thought cause our Father--a being who has loved us perfectly for longer than we can comprehend? How must he feel when he considers the thought of His children being lost and not returning--being separated forever?

I have a lot of work to do.

Braden Bell and his wife have five children. Braden's book, The Road Show was released in June. He blogs at bradenbell.com.

Copyright 2008-2009, MMBlogs, LLC. All Rights Reserved.

"

Random Musings

Today’s Random Musings

š  If you ever vow to have a more positive attitude, be prepared. Your resolve will soon be greatly tested.

š  My daughter (as with all little children) has an amazing gift. After being away from me for a few minutes or perhaps a few hours, when I enter the room, acts as though she has waited for that moment her entire little life. She is so excited to see me that I can’t keep from smiling, and the room seems suddenly lighter. It chases away the rain clouds and makes me feel truly special and loved. What happens to that gift? Can we get it back? What a wonderful gift to share with someone you love. I want to be able to make people feel as happy as she makes me feel in that moment—as though I have been reunited with a part of myself that was missing.

š  “When it rains, it pours.” “Bad things come in threes.” “It’s Murphy’s Law.” “Wish in one hand and . . . (nevermind).” These are all terrible clichés that passed through my mind today. But what makes them cliché? Do they indicate a lack of creativity, or are they just so true that they have become timeless? Are they overused, or could it be that life really DOES give you lemons THAT often?

š  I truly love technology—except when it doesn’t work. Am I too reliant on technology? Am I pointing and clicking my life away? I get teased about my gadgets and how I spend so much time playing with my phone. But to my credit, I saw a man today at a buffet with a Blackberry in one hand and his salad plate in the other. He would set the plate down on the buffet table and put food on it. Never letting go of his Crackberry. As he moved from item to item, he would read the Crackberry screen. I am completely capable of putting my phone down in order to focus on food, so I think I am still safe. . . On the other hand, maybe I need to focus on putting the food down…..Naaaaah. That’s a topic for a different blog!

š  I truly am grateful for my trials. They help me grow. And when I mess it all up and get it all wrong, it’s okay. I know there’s another trial right around the corner, and I’ll get another chance to do better.

Terrible Twos?

I went shopping the other day at Kohl's. I need back to work clothes because mine are all worn out, and I have gained more weight, depressingly enough.
So I took Grace on a rainy morning at 9:00am thinking she would do well because it was WAY before nap time. She did okay in the kiddie seat in the cart, and then I let her out of the seat in the big dressing room where she threw all of the clothes on the floor one by one. It's okay. I expected it, and at least she was happy.

When I put her BACK in the kiddie seat in the cart, however, everything changed. She was so angry. She started screaming and crying because she did NOT want to be in that seat. However, there is no way I can let her walk in that store. The clothing racks are way too crowded. I would lose her in a heartbeat.

So, I trudged back through the clothing section getting different sizes of the items that I liked and headed back to try them on one more time. All the while she is crying and arching her back.

When I got in the dressing room and took her out, she was fine again (of course).

When I put her back in the seat, same story as the last time.

I hurried to the shoe section because she needs some new shoes. Her one pair of tennis shoes is falling apart. She was screaming and crying the whole way. All along the way I got "those" looks from people. Most women looked at me with understanding and pity in their eyes with the "I've been there" look. However, there were some who looked at me like, "What are you doing to that kid? Can't you get her to shut up??" I just smiled apologetically at them and bit my tongue. One day though---one day--I'm not going to be able to bite my tongue. I'm going to look them straight in their accusing eyes and ask them, "What do you want? Would you rather me let her out of the cart and let her run around and tear everything off the shelves and disappear so you can shake your head and accuse me of not watching my kids? OR would you rather I keep her in the cart where she is safe and let her cry? What is your problem?"

Of course, I'll probably never have the guts to say that to someone out loud in real life, but the thought of it gives me great satisfaction. Who knows, maybe they'll catch me on a particularly sleep-deprived day, and then maybe things will get interesting.

The icing on the cake was upon exiting the store. (Or trying to at least.) Here I have a ginormous bag of clothes hanging on one arm and cutting off the circulation. In that hand I have a gold umbrella because it is raining pretty steadily now. With the other hand I'm trying to grab my 20 month old as she runs away from me to go on a "shopping" spree. I finally grab her hand, and then it happens. You know when all of their bones suddenly turn to jello and they have no muscle tone at all to hold their body up? She is a huddled mass on the floor screaming and crying big crocodile tears. Well, I couldn't figure out how to pick her up and hold everything else without dropping her, so I displayed my excellent parenting skills. I reached down and grabbed her arm right by her armpit and pulled her rubbery body up and began to drag her out the door with her kicking her feet for all she was worth.

Just then a lady walked up behind me to exit the building. "Aw. Poor thing. How old is she?" And she just stood there and looked at us. Me with a load too wide to make it through the door and no free hand to open it. Did she offer to open the door for me? No. Just stood there shaking her head piteously.

"Well, if you OPEN THE DOOR for me than I might tell you!!" I screamed.

Okay, I didn't really scream that. Out loud. I did scream it in my head though. Instead, I kicked the door open, dragged my bag, umbrella, and kicking-screaming-limp-noodle daughter through the opening, and said through clenched teeth, "20 months."

The lady followed me through the door I had opened for her.

We were now standing in the foyer between the two sets of doors, and she continued to talk to me. "Oh, I remember when my daughter was that age. She started behaving like that too. Poor baby. Or should I say, poor mommy!" She was chuckling.

I on the other hand was struggling to keep the huge bag of clothes on my arm, to not drop the umbrella, and to humanely drag my screaming daughter out the door. The closed door.

The lady stood there. Again. Not even hinting at opening the door for me. So, again. I kick the door open, and through the door we struggle--into the rain. Now I have to get the umbrella open one-handed and get all of us to the car without getting completely soaked.

Finally I reached down, put Grace under my arm and "carried" her all the way to the car kicking and screaming.

Once we were at the car I set her down, and guess what? The screaming and crying stopped. Just. Like. That. She stood there in the rain waiting patiently for me to open the door and put her in her seat.

I have to say that we went straight home for lunch and a NAP--for both of us! Ha!

And if I am ever out in public and see a parent struggling with a screaming kid, I think that I will at least open the door for them.

A spider's thread

Trust,

a spider’s thread

spun from petal’s edge.

Hope,

the dew that lingers there.

And with the heat of morning’s sun

leaves naught but

dissolution.

Photo source: http://goo.gl/H3Z7