Choked with Cares

Had an insight today. I've been struggling lately. It's obvious to everyone around me. I laugh and joke about it to keep myself sane. I'm struggling with my children. And with my spirituality. I feel so stressed and steeped in my day to day fight, that I don't make time for my spiritual well being. I feel like I can't. I can't fit one more thing in. Don't get me wrong, I go to church, read my scriptures, pray, do what I need to do in my calling. But I just go through the motions. My heart's not in it, and I can feel the repurcussions it's having in my life. In our lives. So I spent some time on my piano today. Music speaks to my soul in a way nothing else can. It's always been that way. A song I sang prompted a scriptural search that ended in a surprising way. I was searching the word "perfect" in the index. I think I was looking for "perfect love casteth out all fear", something along those lines. But instead, this entry caught my eye: Matt. 8:14 "choked with cares... and bring no fruit to p." Choked with cares. I am choked with cares. So I turned to the scripture and was surprised to find I was in the middle of the parable of the sower. "14 And that which fell among thorns are they, which, when they have heard, go forth, and ARE CHOKED WITH CARES and riches and pleasures of this life AND BRING FORTH NO FRUIT TO PERFECTION." (emphasis added) I know this is conceited, but I've never identified with the seeds sown on stony or thorny ground before. I always put myself into the "good ground" group. While I certainly don't worry about being choked with riches or pleasures, I am choked with cares. Specifically right now, my children. I'm letting those cares take me over. And because of that, I will "bring forth no fruit to perfection." What is my fruit? My children. My husband. My home. My friendships and service. It's all going bad. So what can I do? "15 But that on the good ground are they, which in an honest and good heart, having heard the word, KEEP IT, AND BRING FORTH FRUIT WITH PATIENCE." (emphasis added) Keep on the path, but have patience. It made me think of Elder Uchtdorf's conference message from October 2007, "Have We Not Reason to Rejoice?" In it he says, "Therefore, enduring to the end is not just a matter of passively tolerating life’s difficult circumstances or “hanging in there.” Ours is an active religion, helping God’s children along the strait and narrow path to develop their full potential during this life and return to Him one day. Viewed from this perspective, enduring to the end is exalting and glorious, not grim and gloomy. This is a joyful religion, one of hope, strength, and deliverance. “Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25)." The rest of the talk is magnificent. Please take the time to read it. What I brought away from it is that, I need to put my heart back in to my daily studying and prayer. I need to put God first, and I will be more able to shoulder my "cares". I knew that, but I guess I needed to hear it in a new way. I love this gospel. It really does hold all the answers.

Empress of The World

Bella Mae had a hard time getting to sleep tonight. It wasn't entirely her fault. It didn't help that a 30 minute lightning and thunder storm passed over our house RIGHT at bedtime. And she insists I lay down with her, desperately trying to keep my composure whilst she attempts to cuddle by wrapping her whole body around my face. I don't understand why my face is particularly comfy, but alas, to each his own. I'd had enough "cuddling" and tried to bid her goodnight, which always ends with numerous warnings and threats to PLEASE STAY IN BED, while she tirelessly argues the rights of three-year-old-dom. Finally, I got to turn the laptop on for some "me" time. I called Nate and was having a nice conversation when I heard hiccuping coming from the living room. I wished Nate a safe trip and, ending the call, went to investigate. Bella Mae was asleep in front of her door...hiccuping. I gently carried her back to bed and tucked her in with a kiss and a whispered "goodnight" for the hundredth time tonight. Some minutes later, the hiccuping had subsided and I heard a door softly open and close. Followed by muffled movement. A few moments of silence. More shuffling. Silence. Shuffling. Suspecting what I'd find, I peered around the corner and bellowed, "Bella MAE!" She shot up from the floor with a squeak and fled to her room, blankey flapping behind her. What did she expect? That she would somehow escape detection until just the right moment, when I would look down and find her curled in a ball at my feet? Then what? I would scoop her up in my arms, declaring she could stay up forever and eat all the treats she wanted, as long as she promised to grace me with her presence? Silly girl. I'm afraid it came as quite a shock to her when I bellowed her name and chased her back to her bed. Ah, well. It's not easy being the Empress of The World. Especially when you're three.

Not a Good Autism Day at the Jacobson's

It started out alright. The kids came and nestled into bed with me around 7:00 this morning. We cuddled for a few minutes, then unwrapped ourselves and headed to the kitchen for breakfast. Almost immediately they started fighting. I know it's a phase, but I hope it doesn't last much longer. Some days, It takes all I've got to prevent the day from ending with one or all of us being strangled, sold to the circus, or farmed out to family. Finally, after way too many warnings, I sent them to their rooms for ten minutes. That's the deal. You won't stop fighting, you go to your rooms. After the allotted time, I opened their doors and invited them to join the world again, as long as they could control themselves. Bella sprang from her prison and immediately began to play, read books, and boss around imaginary people. She would have bossed around Carter, but he was staying in his room for a bit, which is not uncommon, and totally understandable considering how his little sister treats him. After another 15 minutes or so, Carter rushed down the stairs and clung to me, saying he had an "owie". I asked him where, and when I finally held him in front of me, I saw this.

YIKES! Carter what happened? Did you fall? "No." Did you hurt yourself? "I was sad." What did you hit yourself with? Did you hit your bed? Your window sill? "I was sad." I held him and put some ice on the bruise for as long as he would let me, which in total, was about 30 seconds. I cried as I realized that he had been upset in his room, and had engaged in self harm. He's never done this before. He often bumps his head against his headboard as he falls asleep, or taps a book against his head in church, to calm himself, but he's never bloodied himself before. He saw me crying. "Mama, you sad?" Yes, Carter. It makes me sad that you hurt your head. "I'm sorry, Mama. I kiss you better." (He commenced to kiss the top of my head). Oh Carter, please don't hit your head anymore, I say, while knowing that he really has no control over that reaction. My head races with thoughts of protective helmets, A room wrapped in styrofoam, straps to tie him down when he's upset. I start to calm a bit and think that maybe we could just line all the hard edges in his bedroom with sliced pool noodles. He relaxed after a cuddle on the couch and wanted to go outside. "Be happy, Mama, I'm all better!" I smile and it hurts inside as I let him out of my arms. I want to hold him and make it all stop. Like somehow my embrace can fix his autism. Fix his urges to hit his head. But I know it doesn't. And I know I have to let him go. Have to let him live. And our day goes on. We went to the library not too long after that. We've had good days and bad days there, and I was hoping for a good one. We both needed some time out of the house. As you walk in the library, next to the return boxes, there is a door marked "staff only". Carter is an incredibly curious little boy, so of course, he tried the door. Twice. Three times. Only one of the double doors would open, and he was curious to see how the other one worked. He started to walk in, with the intent of checking out the other door. I was quietly calling to him, knowing that if he could just take a second to see how that darn door worked, we could move on peacefully. Then an employee came up to the door, and filled the frame, pushing him back into the hallway. "Staff only, kid." I stepped in. "I'm sorry, he's just curious as to how that door works." She was unmoved. "Yeah, well... Staff only." By now, they were physically struggling with each other in the doorway, so I grabbed Carter by the shoulders. "Come on bud, we can't go in there." Great way to start a library visit. Now he's fidgety and upset. Thanks for being so understanding, lady. We made our way over to the kids computers, which he can somewhat control on his own, and that gives him a deep sense of satisfaction. There's not a whole lot of things he can do "all by myself." We were in for another bad start as all the computers were taken. We had to wait for our turn, and Carter doesn't wait well. He will not be distracted or redirected. When he decides he wants something, his sole purpose in life becomes finding a way to get it. We finally got our turn. Instead of playing the learning games, that so intrigued him last time, and excited me as well, as I watched him match colors, letters, and etc. He insisted on just opening and closing applications over and over again. Of course, he would not accept help or direction from me. Also, due to his auditory defensiveness, he refuses to wear the headphones attached to the computers, so in order to hear the directions given, I turn the volume way up and place the headphones on the table next to him. Well, it happened to annoy the toddler sitting next to him, who was loudly complaining to his mother, who was glaring at me in response. I smiled back, and we continued on our strange little way. Finally it was time to check out. I stood in line while Carter ran about the lobby of the Library like a mad person, knocking kids down, making old people jump, putting finger marks on the display cases. Everyone was glad when we left. Including me. I love my son. I wouldn't change a thing about him. But some days, autism is hard. Really hard. It was a bad day for autism at the Jacobson house today. But tomorrow might be different. And he'll grow and learn as the years progress. In the meantime, send us a prayer and a hug. Enjoy the quiet of the library with your well behaved children. I'll be sitting at home tonight, with a BIG caffeinated drink and some ibuprofen, icing my neck and shoulders.

The Jacobson Clan

A Good Friend

I took a good friend for a ride today,

And I'm very glad that I did.

We gathered our treats,

Settled down in our seats

And were off! (and away from our kids!)

We soon headed south

Through the great canyon's mouth, 

Talking as girlfriends do.

About children and life

And trials and strife

Hero husbands and friends we both knew. 

At last we arrived, 

Took a short walk inside, 

And I sat with my dear little friend. 

Amazed at her grace, 

How a smile lit her face

Though her body had yet long to mend.

 

I waited outside

In a room bright and wide

While she went to a place quite bleak.

My thoughts stayed with her

All her world in a blur 

By the treatments that made her so weak. 

I remembered the spring we moved in next door,

Strange new people with no friends in sight.

It didn't last long.

The bell rang with a "bong".

A neighbor had learned of our plight. 

With a hug and a smile

Those treats took us for miles,

Bridging the gap we were in.

From then till today

We speak often each day

Our kids play and make quite a din.

They're the best of our friends

See us through to all ends, 

And we thank God He led us to them.

She emerges, depleted

But never defeated.

We take the road home once again.

We talk as she rests, 

Done for now with the tests,

Dark thoughts we expressly forbid.

I took a good friend for a ride today,

And I'm very glad that I did.