Spring Planting

                              

I often joke with my two youngest sons by asking if they will stay little forever. "Will you be the one who doesn't grow up on me?" They laughingly protest, "No! I'm already big!" It is our little game and I hope they understand just how much I love them being little.

As I see all five of my children growing, I am sometimes a little bit serious about not wanting them to rush to grow up. Each day is a little more precious, because of the reality of its temporary nature.
But lately, I have been coming to terms with the fact that my children are not so little anymore. I am no longer in the season of life that includes diapers (yay!) and constantly having a little person in my arms. And some days my arms feel so empty, but I look at our very full calendar and am not sad for long.

I have traded nap time for homework and music lessons, and do you know what? I am okay with it, or I am at least becoming okay with it. This is not because I am rushing for the days of young motherhood to end, but because this next season of life is pretty wonderful too.  My children are busy discovering their individual talents and abilities, and I am so blessed to be on this journey with them.

I have been impressed several times lately that what is happening in the lives of my older children, good things like National Honor Society, being able to play the organ at church, and being worthy and ready to serve others at the temple, is a fruit of seeds that were planted long ago. I do not regret a single hour we spent reading aloud or playing outside together. Not a single imperfect Family Home Evening was wasted. No moment of eye contact and sincere teaching was done in vain. Not a moment wasted, but instead those intentional interactions were seeds.

My years of young motherhood were spent planting those seeds and nurturing our sprouting children. While not perfect, I tried my best to seek out the best plants and pull out the weeds. For us, some of the best things we chose to cultivate were family prayer each night, a daily devotional each morning, and letting our new readers stumble through verses of scripture. We also encouraged our children to pursue the study of music and to read as much as possible,  those have been blessings to our family.

Of course there have been and still are weeds that pop up in the form of distractions. While not every weed can be pulled, we have tried to avoid letting those distractions take over our time and strangle our good pursuits.  We set limits on distractions like television and social media, because we do not want them to become stronger influences in our family than the things that matter most.  For each family, these distraction might be different. But it is valuable to identify them and not let them take over.

This realization has only fueled my desire to truly invest myself into being connected to the things that matter most: my individual family members, my own spirituality, and my ability to serve those around me. These are the things I am focusing on this year and that I know I will not regret. My daily actions are the seeds I am currently planting.  I think I need to constantly evaluate what is a weed and what is desirable.

These days...

One- My phone recently died and the consequences have been far reaching. Since moving to this farm, we do not have access to high-speed internet. As a result I rely on my phone for most things I do online; email, grocery orders, and Christmas shopping. I also read scriptures through an app, read for fun on a few other apps, take a lot of photos on my phone, and am frequently texting to coordinate the schedules of seven people. Boo for the dead phone!! It has been rough.
Most of all I'm mourning my lost photos. No high speed internet means I seldom back my phone up via iCloud. Lots of memories from this fall are gone. So I'm going to learn and improve because of this. I hesitate to post on social media frequently. It sometimes feels like bragging, more than sharing, so I avoid it. Right now, this blog seems a little more comfortable to me, and for the moment I am going to try to utilize it more as a family history tool.

Two- We live in a beautiful place. This season of life, in which I am daily surrounded by family and nature, is a huge personal blessing for me. I am able to discuss the changing natural seasons with my children everyday. The geese that have taken up residence in our front yard, let us know its definitely the end of autumn. Right now, my youngest boys are hoping the pond will freeze over enough for iceskating (what we do is really more like boot-sliding) again this year. Last week it was cold enough for a layer of ice to stretch almost across the entire surface of water, and Gabe and I had such a special time on our afternoon walk. He excitedly tested the icy film with sticks, rocks, sand, leaves and the toe of his shoe, before we decided it was not ready for us to slide across it.

Three- This time of year dictates that I spend more time indoors, so I am looking around at our home a little bit more critically. That has been good and bad. Good because as I take inventory of our ongoing remodeling efforts, I have recognized all of our progress. When we moved, I hoped to knock out the needed projects during our first summer here. As we investigated, we decided to put our initial efforts into a few unseen things. We added more floor support in the basement, more insulation in the crawl spaces, and a new generator and propane tank. Those were really important to us, but did nothing to update the interior appearance of the house. Then last fall we had a lightning strike and very small fire in our living room. So that meant replacing the gas insert fireplace and the wall surrounding it went from the very bottom of my to-do list to the tip top. That project took some time, but I do love the resulting built-in cabinets and seats. Finally we were on to tackling the much needed bathroom and carpet updates for the upstairs. with budget in mind, we try to be very involved in these projects. Jason and I share project manager status, and do some of the work ourselves. We also feel its beneficial to involve our children. If nothing else, they'll understand the building process so well someday. We have lived without carpet on our stairs for more than half a year, and while its funny when company visits, we have actually gotten used to it. We have also lived with carpenters and plumbers in our home a fair bit. That is not in my comfort zone and has definitely been a stretch for me. The upstairs has been repainted, has new solid doors, updated bathrooms, and will soon have new carpet. Whew! It will be so nice to have that completed!
It may be a little bit bad to take inventory of our remodel as well. The list is not complete. There are still a few major boxes to be ticked off. I am just imagining that if I disliked having a carpenter in the front hall for two weeks, I will really dislike hosting a work crew in the master bathroom. Having the interior projects completed is my only motivation for moving forward with that particular project.

Four- I have a few new callings at church. I am now teaching the 9 and 10 year olds each Sunday, which includes Margaret, and also leading Activity Days every other week, which also includes Margaret. This has been such a fun change of pace, as I was the secretary for our primary group for several years. I will miss seeing all of the children each week and leading sharing time each month, but I am loving my new assignments and the chance they provide to get to know these children one-on-one. They are smart and eager learners and we have sure been having some good discussions each Sunday as we are finishing their study of the Old Testament this year. We made a "Testimony List" to post in our classroom of all the people they've learned about this year in the Old Testament that have had strong testimonies, those with beliefs that were strong enough for them to do some amazing things that we are still learning from thousands of years later. Yay for the examples of Adam, Joshua, Ruth, Esther, Job, Isaiah, Daniel, and so many others. Our list in class in pretty long. And as I teach these bright children, I realize that they have shining and growing testimonies too. One boy is the only person in his immediate family that comes to church and he chose to be baptized this past year. How amazing is he?  These children each face challenges at home and school each week and they are so great to come on Sunday to learn and grow together. It is wonderful when we are able to make a connection between the challenges faced by believers in the Old Testament and the very real challenges these youth are working to overcome each day. I am so looking forward to our new curriculum for studying the New Testament next year.

What I am doing these days to stay connected with my...

11 year old.
-Letting her decorate our home for the different seasons and holidays. To be honest, I think its difficult  to transfer our decorations, many of which were purchased specifically for particular spots in our last home, from one place to another.  Miss M is able to see a box full of decorations that I am pretty much done with, and find a new way of displaying them. I think that's a great skill to have and am grateful she's developing it and sharing the results with all of us.  Even more impressive is the fact that she can also enlist the participation of her little brothers, and get them to actually help with her projects. She is great at that and I know that patience and energy is part of who she is. It is why she is always a key part of our family projects and dynamics.

14 year old.
-Yes. We have a 14-year-old again.  This is a great age for A.  We continue to connect over music.  He is constantly challenging himself to learn a new piece and I am continually amazed at his dedication and genuine interest level.  Sometimes during the crazy evening hour that includes homework, dinner prep, and a tired preschooler he plays loudly and we all groan- but A needs to feel his music. Loudly and quickly! It does something for him. He and I listen to recordings of his newly selected pieces together and pick out our favorite parts and discuss why they are interesting: dynamics, grace notes, parts that are played with hands crossing over. He has surpassed my playing ability by a giant leap this past year and my favorite Clementi's Sonatinas are no longer that impressive to him. I am applauding him for going for it. He really is. Perhaps my musical interest was developed just enough to help him find this drive. It is a blessing for us both!

17 year old.
-The junior year of high school is no joke.  T has really dedicated himself anew to performing to his ability level this year.  He has so much potential and it is gratifying when he puts forth the effort to realize it. I am trying to spend more time with him discussing his day-to-day high school life. That was easy to do right up until the whirlwind of high school set in. These days I must make a much bigger effort to find time to talk- really talk- to him. He is taking some challenging classes and has at least one teacher who has put forth the effort to be impactful in his life. T recently told me he couldn't stop smiling all day after this insightful instructor took the time to personally compliment him and told him how impressed he was.  Thank You!!! When other adults go out of their way to sincerely compliment a developing teen, it makes a HUGE difference.  That is one way youth recognize their own talents. Sometimes they need others to point out their growth, abilities, and skill-sets in order to realize them. So I am truly grateful for teachers that challenge, expect growth, and then recognize it.

Pause

Seventeen years later, I wake up knowing that today will be a day of reflection. It is a time to remember. A time to be grateful. A time for pause.

The September of 2001 was probably the most anticipated month of my life.

Jason and I had been married for 18 months. We had already shared several milestones together. I had graduated from college and began post-graduate work. Our brothers closest to us in age, had each been married the past winter. Jason and I had been happily shocked to discover we were expecting our first child.

Having both been raised in large families, this pregnancy was the beginning of what we hoped would be our own happy, loud, fun-loving brood.  It turns out, seventeen years later, I can look back and say that it was. So many of our hopes and dreams have come true.

In hindsight, I realize that my first month of parenthood, September 2001, also held a lesson for me.  It opened at the height of anticipation, the events it shared gave me so much cause for doubt and concern, and we pressed forward, with a large measure of faith, because that was all we were left with, to be rewarded with hope for our future.

The birth of our first son, and really the birth of our family, held a pattern in its occurrence.  Despite the dreams, hopes, classes attended, books read- nothing had prepared me for the leap of faith that mothering was.  It wasn't a leap based on years of knowledge or experience- it was faithful. Faith was what remained- maybe all that remained- after September 11, 2001.

Like many expectant women, I held to the due date I was assigned.  Actually, we were given three due dates: Sept. 2, Sept. 7, Sept. 11. September 11 stuck. It was the last date, and so I unknowingly assumed it was the safest to plan around. I spent months longing for this day to arrive. In excited innocence, I once sent the date to my husband at work.  He saw the numbers 9-11 on the screen on his pager and hurriedly called me to make sure I was alright.  That page taught me that the numbers 9-11 were not the safest numbers to place together and toss around.  I cautiously referred to our due date as September 11 after that, never 9-11.

I spent the end of summer assembling furniture, practicing breathing, and piecing together a sweet layette. We were as ready as we could be at the start of the month. The 2nd came and went. The 7th passed without any change.  Surely the 11th would  be the day.  It really was a beautiful Tuesday morning.  The MidWest was just as bright and sunny as New York City was said to be.  I was up early and ready to face whatever the long awaited day could possibly bring my way.  Only no one had any idea what the day had in store, least of all me.

I turned on a network morning show. I had vague ideas of recording the day's headlines in the fresh and waiting baby book.  Someday my child would want to know about those sunny skies. However the weather, current movies, nor price of a gallon of milk were to be what we remembered about that day.

Instead of being a participant that day, I was a spectator. I watched as confused reports were shared and the unthinkable became reality.  I sat still as live video was broadcast of a second unbelievable event. I became frozen to my seat as I realized I was the audience to the unbelievable that morning.  No- that would not be my day. It would be a day of observing, but not doing, for me.

I paused on September 11, 2001. My unborn son paused. It was not his day yet. My plans paused. Not by choice, but our entire world took a pause on that day.

In the following days, we had a new perspective. Our security and future were reconsidered and became more precious.  Gone were the assumptions. Gone were the entitlements. Left in those places was hope and faith, maybe because that was all that remained.

That day brought to the surface so many spiritual questions. If there is a place that spirits return to after this life, what was it like that day? Does it cross roads with a place were spirits are departing to come to this earth? Was the spirit of my not-yet-born son caught up in the busyness that day? Was he able to help those who were shocked to have left the Earth behind so quickly? Did he chose to stay there a bit longer? Did he pause as well?

I imagined him witnessing all that was occurring on Earth. All the evil of that day. All the pain of those whose lives were suddenly changed. Maybe he paused just a bit. Maybe he too needed to reconsider all that he would be a part of when he began his journey on earth.

As as expectant mother, I spent tearful hours pondering my unreadiness. If anything became certain to me on that day, it was that life was uncertain. I suddenly felt glad that my son was still sheltered and safe.  How long could I keep him there?

My answer came from my doctor.  One week. If I hadn't delivered by the 18th, my labor would be induced.  This week of waiting was not spent with me wishing each moment away.  I was thoughtfully grateful for the time.  It was a pensive pause. I considered many things and was left to realize that the faith I had was enough. The world was unsure, but I was still bringing a spirit into it.  His challenges were yet unknown, but we would face them together.

Hindsight has taught me that the unwanted pause, caused by the horrors of September 11, 2001, and the resulting shift in my mindset was an appropriate preparation for parenthood.

There is no way to know what each day will bring. Even the days we thoughtfully prepare for. Those most anticipated days, have the greatest potential of being disrupted. The pause that follows, as we reconsider all things, can be the preparation we truly need.

My son was born, without major incident, one full week after that horrible day. On September 11, the world changed. On September 18, 2001, my world changed for the better. Despite the unknown, he joined us. Despite the unknown, I decided to mother with faith.

Connections

Well, hello!

I am Sarah Burke. I’m a wife and mother. I like to keep journals, read English literature, spend time in nature, and can almost kayak as fast as my thirteen-year-old son. My husband, Jason, keeps me grounded and is an incredible example to me of someone who is always looking for opportunities to serve. Our five children: Tanner (16 years old), Andrew (13), Margaret (10), Nathan (6), and Gabe (3), keep both Jason and I from ever growing complacent.

Building connections.

As I have pondered writing this blog post, with the theme of my experiences with motherhood at it’s core, I have kept coming back to the idea of connections. To me, family and the gospel is all about connections to others: my husband, my individual children, and most importantly with my Heavenly Father and with my Savior, Jesus Christ.

I am excited for this blog, and what I hope will become a venue for all of us to become a little more connected. Please respond and comment! There are few things I enjoy more than learning about what works for others. I think we could have some wonderful exchanges of ideas on here.

Trading routines for meaningful moments.

In this season of my life, it is actually hard for me to imagine not being connected to my family- as in physically connected! Most hours of the day, and sometimes night, I have at least one of my children with me. I help dress, feed, and clean my little guys. I help my middle children read, study, and practice. I attempt to stay up late enough to talk through my oldest child’s schedule. From sun up, until sun down, I am rarely alone. All of those things are good and important, but they can easily become just routines. 

I know from experience that I can fall into the pattern of making sure immediate needs are meet, but not really taking the time for eye-to-eye moments. These moments usually require just a little more time and effort. It may mean that I get on eye level with my toddler and make sure to give him a sincere “Good Morning!” That small act alone can make him feel inside, that I am glad to be with him. It may mean that I take the time to sit next to my kindergartener while he is reading, and tell him how much he has improved this year. A heartfelt phrase can give him some pride in his growing ability. Maybe it means slowing down enough to braid my daughter’s hair and discuss her day, so that she knows that I truly care about how she feels and what she thinks. Perhaps I can make a difference in my teenage son’s evening, by listening to the music he is researching, downloading and trying to learn. It doesn’t matter that our tastes are different, I just want to have a discussion with him about what he likes. That can be a hard thing to do with a teenager, but when I show interest in his preferences, he almost always opens up and shares. It might mean inviting a houseful of high school boys over, so that my teenager realizes, that I care who his friends are. 

None of these acts are huge, but I believe that they can make a big difference in my family and how understood and loved we feel. When I consciously try to connect, my goal changes from checking things off of my daily to-do list, to showing an individual that I care. 

Finding common ground.

Almost exactly a year ago, Jason and I moved our family to a small farm.  The word farm may be an aggrandizement, though. We basically have some land, which we love. We don’t produce much yet, unless children and messes count!?  But we choose to live here to provide our family with the opportunity to be closely in tune with nature.  And so far, it is working. We have tripled the time our children spend outside, and we consider the move to be a success.

Instead of more television or devices, we have encouraged fresh air and dirt.  My goal as a mother here is to allow this land and environment to make a mark on each of us.  It can change a person to star gaze on warm evenings, to have races with siblings around the pond, to create names for all of our special family landmarks here. (Our tree swings are on a little hilltop named Epiphany Point. If you ask me why, I’ll gladly tell you.) We are intentionally using this experience to help us transform our family. It is our common ground. 

Why? Besides the beauty, which makes me happy every day, Jason and I want to have these shared experiences of life on this small farm to tie us together. Someday in the future, we will all look back and hopefully remember our experiences here fondly. We will laugh about all the things we had to quickly learn when we moved here, like what to do when the lawnmower slides into the mud around the pond (Don’t try to reverse out, it will only get worse and slide into the water!). We will never forget what happens when someone finds an abandoned goose egg and puts it on top of a hot rock, so that everyone can see it. It heats up and explodes!! We won't forget that smell either! 

These experiences and our retelling of them are creating our family stories and legends. I hope we laugh about and retell them for years and years. It doesn't really matter where we live or what our common ground is, what matters is that we try to identify it and make it special. 

Let’s talk about it!

~What is a shared activity that is special to your family? Is it a vacation spot, spending time together at sporting events, baking cookies with grandparents?

~How do you find time for meaningful moments with your family members?

Musings from the rocking chair.

This morning I rocked Gabriel prior to his first nap of the day. As we sat in the low light of the morning and swayed back and forth, we each sighed and let our bodies soften into one another. He slowly relaxed his grip on his board book and let his body go to a place of comfort. That can be a hard thing for a 17 month old toddler to do. I leaned back into the rocking chair and let my mind wonder.

In my fourteen years of mothering, I have spent countless hours holding and rocking my children. Some have been hours of tears and worry. Many of have been hours of fatigue and half-sleep. Some painful, others restful. A blessed many have been full of contentment. The brand of contentment that comes from doing what is meaningful, even when it is not easy. So many hours that I wouldn't trade for anything.

These moments with each of my five children have left their mark on my memory. Tanner loved a simple Winnie-the-Pooh book and would chortle out loud when I buzzed a make-believe bee to life, straight from Pooh's honey pot, and tried to sting him each night. Then we settled down with a few familiar lullabies and finally a prayer. Thus a routine of comfort and love was born.

Its a simple routine. A pattern that has shifted with each of my children's differing needs, but that has remained the same in it essence. We read. We sing. We pray.

Andrew could have been rocked all night and been happy. I read less to him and sang and hummed much more. His chubby fingers twirled my long hair as we both drifted off to light sleep. I would rouse with a tangled braid of hair and gently unknot his fingers from the plait. Then I tip-toed to his crib with the prayer that this might be the night when he would finally sleep.

My sweet singular girl was a joy to rock. Margaret was content with her story, her silky blanket and her song each time. We would read in the pink glow that only a long-awaited-daughter's nursery has. She cuddled her silky and learned to lull herself to sleep by running her hands along its ruffled edges. Her song was always Teach Me to Walk in the Light. 

Nathan was our baby. He seemed to belong to the whole family. He was born a decade after our first and we were certain he would be our last. So everybody read to him, held him, prayed for him. We gathered our whole family into his nursery and talked about our day in hushed tones as he settled down each evening. We all watched as the energy of the day drifted away.  Then all would pray together those sweet prayers of childhood and quietly leave as he calmed, and then swayed in the rocker and then went to sleep.

And then sweet Gabriel surprised us all. Amongst the rushing to and from basketball, ballet and violin lessons he decided to join our family. Gabe has reminded me to slow down. We still read (Goodnight Moon)  and sing (Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing)  and pray, but this pattern that was once a routine I clung to for sanity has transformed into a tranquil escape. It is precious to me as only a fleeting thing can be.

I see the end of my hours in the rocking chair coming. This summer will be the end of morning naps. Then in a matter of months, my last baby won't need to be rocked before he drifts off. So while it lasts, I am going to love these moments. I am going to choose to be present as his breaths slow and his weight settles in my arms and his eye lashes close against his round cheeks.

And of course, I am going to pray. Pray for me. That I will not ever forget these sweet hours I have have consecrated to my children.

Intentions

I remember that shortly after Tanner was born and when I was a young mother, in every sense of the word, a well-meaning relative remarked to me, "Well Sarah, you just haven't found your niche yet." Thank goodness I had the presence of mind to reply, "Actually, I have!"
You see, being a mother is something I have always strived to do with intention. A full-time mom. A stay-at-home-mom. A purposeful mom. Its more than a season of life.
Even when I was new to this, I knew. I knew that motherhood was not something I could casually attempt. I knew that it was going to require all of me, in order to do it well. And it has.
This life choice has required my mind, my heart, my attention. In its path it has left behind bits of well-earned wisdom, a deeper heart with a much increased capacity to love, and the knowledge that I made the right choice when I decided to devote my life to serving these people that are my family.