April 20, 2021 – Holding to the rod

I think I want another baby.

It’s hard for me to admit, and I never talk about it because it feels so weird to even say.  But I do.  Lately I’ve really been wanting another baby.  

We’ve surprisingly had people ask whether or not we’ll have another baby now that Benny is gone.  We’ve always said no, because it’s felt to us that if we did, we would just be trying to replace Benny – and Benny simply cannot be replaced.  Plus, when we were first married, we knew our family would include three babies (that I would carry) and then we’d be done.  We both received our own personal revelation of that familial makeup, and we’d received it together as a couple, so that’s what we believed would happen.  And in fact, that’s exactly what happened.  We had our three babies, in two years no less, and we were thrilled. 

But then our third baby was called to his heavenly home after only five months, and it left a baby-sized hole in our hearts.

It’s amazing how our minds and hearts work and how after losing a baby we begin to think about having another.  Maybe that’s just me, but I’ve had enough people ask that I think it must be a common response.  At first after Benny passed away, I thought this question was crazy and even a bit insensitive.  How could I even consider having another baby when I’d just lost one?  But as time has moved on, I’ve realized just how much I miss having my little baby to hold and it makes me want another. 

But I’m not going to have another baby. 

(At least we’re not planning to have another baby, barring some completely unexpected plan God has for us that neither of us are aware of right now.) 

Because one thing I’ve realized is that it’s important for me to stick to the decision Tom and I made—with the Lord—when we weren’t in the throes of our grief.

One of the most frequently taught scripture stories in the Book of Mormon tells of a beautiful tree that represents the love of God, and the tree is reached by following a path that has an iron rod that leads directly to the tree.  As part of this story, the people holding the rod that leads to the tree had their vision clouded by mists of darkness that came as they were pressing forward, and these mists led many of them to let go of the rod and fall away from the path that led to the ultimate destination of being able to partake of the fruit on the beautiful tree. 

For some reason this story came to mind while I was cooling down from my morning run.  As I thought about the story, for the first time I actually pictured myself in it.  I pictured myself looking at the beautiful tree, afar off in a field, and I could clearly see the rod of iron that led toward it.  I pictured myself then grasping the rod and walking along the path, holding tight because I knew where it led.  But then as I moved forward, the mists of darkness came and I lost my vision.  I couldn’t see the tree anymore.  But I knew that the rod I was holding would lead me to it, even though I couldn’t see it.  Because I HAD seen it.  When my vision was clear, I could see where the path led and I could trust that.  I didn’t need to let go of the rod when the mists came – I needed to cling to it tighter and trust my vision from before. 

Even though this is not typically the gospel principle taught by this story, it resonated with me differently today.  I’m really grateful for how the gospel and the scriptures do that and somehow contain just the answers we need, especially when we need them most. 

Thinking about the story in this way made me realize that instead of questioning whether or not we should have another baby, I could (and should) trust the decision Tom and I made—again, with the Lord’s guidance—when our vision was better.  When we weren’t covered by the dark mists of our grief. 

Usually the mists of darkness in this story are thought to be the evil influences of the world, which I absolutely think they can represent.  But as a grieving parent, I also think the mists of darkness can be grief.  And pain.  And heartache.  And betrayal.  And loss.  And emotional struggles.  And so many other things that weigh on our hearts and which may cause us to let go of the rod and lose our way.

The grief of losing Benny has at times made me want to let go of the rod.  And not just let go, but throw myself down and dissolve into a puddle of tears because the pain is just too much.  And recently the grief has made me long for another baby.  But then I remember that holding onto the rod is the only thing I know.  It’s the only thing that will get me through.  I need to trust that.  I need to trust the vision Tom and I had before this grief-filled mist arose. 

I’m grateful to have been reminded of this today.  I’m grateful to have been reminded that Tom and I wanted three beautiful children – and we have three beautiful children.  I’m grateful I have the scriptures and gospel principles that give me the strength to keep holding to the rod and pressing forward, even when my vision isn’t perfect.  I’m grateful I have my faith that gives me perspective when I can’t see the whole picture.  I’m grateful to believe that when I started on the path, I could see the whole picture and now I just need to continue on.  I’m grateful to have the hope that at some point the mists of darkness will lift from our lives and we will see clearly the progress we’ve made in moving closer to God.  And, I’m grateful to be able to trust that what I felt was right before is still right now.

Despite the loss-driven desire to potentially have another baby, that just isn’t in the cards for us.  And that’s okay. 

Because today I’ve been reminded that I have two beautiful babies (who I’m holding a little tighter these days) and I also have their angel brother who watches over all of us from heaven.  I have my three perfect babies.

Goodness, I’m the luckiest mama in the world.