"As a Child Doth Submit ..."

My family likes to do things in batches. For instance, the summer Eliot was born, my three younger sisters all got married between the dates of May 18 and August 1, and for good measure, we threw in two babies being born -- Eliot and his cousin Michael, who, though due two weeks apart, were born on the same day. I guess if we're going to do something, why not do it big, and do it all at once? Though much less celebratory, over the past few weeks, we've all decided to jump on a medical illness and injury bandwagon. A few weeks ago, my mom slipped on a small flight of stairs and landed badly on her shoulder, which she broke and even shattered in a few places; she is now in the painful process of recovery from the surgery necessary to repair it. In the meantime, one of my sisters also slipped on some stairs and sprained her ankle, another sister broke a toe, Grant sprained his ankle playing basketball, and this week, we ended up in the hospital with Eliot, who was suffering from respiratory distress brought on by a bad reaction to a cold. Yep, do it big, and do it all together. Maybe that can be our new family motto.

The very day that we took Eliot to the hospital, I had been venting all my frustrations in a post entitled "Tired." Mostly to get my feelings out, I was jotting down all of the things that currently have me frustrated, discouraged, and yes, very tired. This "piece of cake" third year of law school that we had heard about has not been so piece of cake for us. And this last semester has started out extra difficult. Between waiting for a litter of dogs above us to move out, our apartment flooding, fighting a disgusting, ongoing battle with ant and mold infestations, the above-mentioned family medical troubles, and a little boy I can't seem to keep well, I have grown a little weary. I almost want to retract my promise to not wish away this last year of law school because, truth be told, we are counting the days. Counting the days until we can leave this dank and moldy apartment, where the motto of the management seems to be "we can paint over it." Counting down the days until we can move that much closer to owning a home where we can actually fix problems instead of, well, in their words, paint over them, and at least not share walls and ceilings with inconsiderate neighbors. Counting the days until we can get Eliot to Utah where his health seems to do better with the drier (though admittedly not as clean) air. Counting the days until we can be by family and able to assist when someone is ill and injured instead of helplessly waiting for word a thousand miles away.

It was in that lovely, optimistic spirit, that I took my son to the doctor's office, and within an hour, found myself checking in to the hospital. In the many opportunities to wait, and wait, and wait some more as the doctor examined Eliot and as we got checked in, I found myself mentally evaluating how well I was going to handle that experience, especially since I had literally been typing out that afternoon how tired and overwhelmed I have been feeling. I thought that Eliot in the hospital might be my breaking point, that I would end up having a major meltdown, that I would consider drastic outcomes like packing up our stuff, shipping out to Utah, and telling Grant I'd be back in May for his graduation. And yet, like so many moms do in those "going gets tough" moments, I held it together. I surprised myself by my with-itness. I was calm. I was patient. I didn't cry or get upset. I didn't feel sorry for myself. I was almost cheerful at times. I was blessed with strength beyond my own and the ability to forge through a scary and unknown situation. It was one of those times when I got to see how strong and resilient I really am under my whining and complaining outer shell.

I think a lot of that faith, which I was quite reassured to find really is resting deep inside of me, was summoned up by none other than the calming example of my child. If you know Eliot very well, you might not think the words "calming example" describe him too well. He's a sweet child, and pretty well-mannered, but he's not exactly calm. He's got a ton of energy and is on-the-go most of the time. I guess what I mean by "calming example" in this instance was that he wasn't too upset or worried about our little "hospital adventure." In fact, he seemed to think it was pretty fun. I was a bit surprised because as of just a couple doctor visits back, he would tense up the moment he realized where we were, and once clothing articles started being removed and particularly when any form of examination would begin, he would lose it. And yet this time, from start to finish, he was calm and cooperative. He even thanked the nurses after receiving his breathing treatments and yicky medicine, and when anyone would leave after coming to check on him, he would call, "Thanks for coming!"

I can't explain Eliot's composure except that I think it was a blessing from a merciful Heavenly Father. Maybe He, knowing what was typed up in my unpublished blog post, decided to give me a break. I think what would have been most difficult for me at that point would have been to have an upset and frightened child and to have to find the courage to comfort him when I felt frightened and worried, too. Mercifully, I found my own fears being stilled as my son eagerly soaked in the novelty of getting to watch Toy Story about five times in a row and eat french fries in bed. No, it wasn't an easy experience. Our night was awful and we got little to no sleep, which, combined with multiple doses of steroids to open up Eliot's airways, resulted in a walking basket case of a child by the time we left. Yet we managed. We came out fairly unscathed. Thanks to kind and caring nurses, good physicians' assessment and care, and most of all, the bravery of a sweet little two-year-old, we made it.

As I lay in the hospital bed that night, Eliot in his cage-like crib next to me, obediently trying to fall asleep in a new place full of unfamiliar lights and noises, I found my heart filling with so much gratitude for him. I was so proud of him, so impressed by him, so grateful for his strong spirit which was helping me to be brave, too. I found myself running through an unspoken testimony in my head of how much I have learned from my child, of how thankful I am for the priesthood through which Eliot had just received a blessing that assured a quick recovery, of gratitude for the inspiration I had received (and luckily followed) to plow through a lot of red tape and hassle to get additional insurance for Eliot, a testimony that my Heavenly Father is aware of our family and all of the struggles that we are facing. A testimony that He knows I am tired, and that even though I may continue to be so for a while longer, He will help me. I felt the assurance that most of that help would come through the strengthening power of His Son, the Savior Jesus Christ, whose atonement is the greatest source of enabling power. I also felt a powerful witness that additional strengthening power has been sent to me through another of Heavenly Father's sons, my sweet and strong Eliot. I know that He has been sent to me and to our family to be a calm and happy leader. And I am grateful already for his influence and can't wait to see him fulfill that role as he grows older.

As I have reflected on what this experience has taught me, this verse from The Book of Mormon came into my mind: "For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit ..." (Mosiah 3:19). Clearly I have a long way to go in ridding the "natural man" in me and becoming a saint, and yet, clearly, the way is set before me. My model is right before my eyes -- I am to become "as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon" me. I am to become like a child. I am to become like my child.

If my Eliot, an innocent and tender-spirited two-year-old, can be tough and smile and make others happy and cheerful even when he's scared and in a new place and struggling to breathe and doesn't feel well, then maybe I can be tough and face my moldy apartment, my fears about the future, the inconveniences and frustrations of apartment living, and whatever else "the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon" me and my family right now. I, like Eliot, can be brave. I, like Eliot, can make difficult times easier for myself and those around me by having a patient and upbeat attitude. I, like Eliot, can be grateful for the good and simple things -- the "cowboy" movies and the french fries -- that make the journey easier. I, like Eliot, can submit cheerfully. I, like Eliot, can thank those who are helping me and show appreciation for what's intended to make me stronger, even if it's tough medicine to swallow. I now have a new image in my mind when I think of the invitation to become "as a child." I think I'll forever see my Eliot, smiling in a hospital bed, gleefully popping french fries and telling his nurse "I do great!" as she finishes his treatment. Yes, Eliot, you did do great. I want to become more like you.