Easter Hope

The last time Easter fell on April 20th was 2003. That date is stuck in my brain because it was the year Dallin was born.  His birth, on March 23, 2003, was difficult, and as Easter approached, he was still struggling every day.  We were waiting for the benchmarks of enough caloric intake, lower bilirubin levels and blood counts that could sustain his body without further transfusion.

I looked at the calendar, at Easter day, April 20th, and in my heart I hoped that my baby would be home by then.  It kind of became my little secret wish. I didn't dare say it out loud, but in my prayers I pleaded, "Home for Easter. Home for Easter."

Although he was getting stronger, Dallin did not make it home by Easter.  He drank from a bottle for the first time that day. We were elated! It was improvement, but not enough.

I've thought about that hope many times since, and although he didn't come home that day, the hope of Easter, hope in the Savior, is ultimately what brought me peace.  Hope in His life and His resurrection; hope in His gospel and His priesthood; hope in covenants made in the temple; hope that no matter the outcome for my baby in this life, he would be mine throughout eternity because of the One who came to save.

By the following Easter, my miracle boy was not only home, but healing: growing, learning, crawling around to find plastic eggs and putting the basket on his head. My busy, darling one-year-old was such a gift to me. He is still a gift. His scary beginning will always be monumental; a time that taught me much about hope in the the Lord and, forever after, shaped my faith.

For that, I am grateful.

heaven

As I folded the laundry, Lea tip-toed in to show me she could walk "en pointe" (a term my ballet-loving girl learned from a Fancy Nancy book). 

She said, "You used to do this when you were three or four, too"
"I did?  How do you know? You weren't born yet."
"Where was I?"
"Still in heaven, waiting to be born, with Heavenly Father and Jesus."
"Oh yeah.  I like them. And they love me.  We played games there. Matching... and Candyland. And, there are grown up games, too. You would like it."


I'm not sure she can really remember heaven, but I'm glad she knows she is loved by her Heavenly parents. In church, when she climbs on my lap during the sacrament, I whisper in her ear, "The bread and water remind us that Jesus loves Lea." I hope it sticks in her brain for always. Knowing who you are makes all the difference.

Listening

We pulled up to the curb to wait, like we do every day, for the elementary schoolers. The little girls were both asleep in their car seats as Davis wormed his way from the back seat, up to the front, and climbed onto my lap. He snuggled in and I asked him about his day at school. He told me about the cutting project he did at school; about waving to his speech teacher, but not going to her class today; about the story his teacher read and the game he played. He talked and talked, which isn't typical for my boy. Or, maybe it just isn't typical because he is in the middle of our family, smashed between two very talkative sisters. For these minutes, he had my full attention. I listened with my ears and my heart and I remembered how much I adore him. Mid sentence he said, "I want a kiss and a hug!"

I obliged.

"I love you Davis,"

"Yeah. Daddy loves me, too."

I'm glad he knows, and I'm trying to show it more often. I want to create more of these perfect moments.