All Those Times I Fell

When I was a younger mother, church went like this:

Get up. Change diapers. Get the family fed. Shower, maybe. Change for church. Change Anna (my daughter) for church. Change Matthias (my son) for church. If we had my stepson that weekend, I would also make sure he'd get ready. Probably fight with my husband about being on time to church. Pack a diaper bag with essentials: changes of clothes for two kids, sippy cups, diapers, snacks, toys, books, etc. Load up two babies or toddlers (depending on the year) into car seats. Arrive at church, probably late. Sit in the pew for two seconds before a child had to be captured and returned to our spot. Repeat every four minutes until one child begins screaming. Take screaming child into hall or mother's lounge. Never return to the chapel because child will never calm down sufficiently.

It was even more difficult when my ex stopped attending church. Sometimes, I would leave one of the kids home with him. My kids are 14 months apart so I had two babies, and then two toddlers, at the same time. My son was always exceedingly hyperactive, and rage-prone. Screams and tantrums every single week. He couldn't/wouldn't sit still for more than a few moments at a time. I never learned a thing at church. Never. When Matthias was old enough for nursery, I was sometimes free to go to Gospel Doctrine and Relief Society, but often, my help would be needed with him in nursery. Sacrament Meeting was a joke. I literally chased and attempted to calm a child the entire hour. I never felt the spirit during Sacrament Meeting.

This went on for many years. Even still, my son is 8, and I have to deal with his screaming tantrums in the middle of Sacrament Meeting. Just last Sunday, I had to sit in the parking lot with him for a good twenty minutes before he was ready to go back inside! It's much better now, though, then it was in those earlier years. His meltdowns aren't even weekly anymore. I do love that sweet, sweet boy. He saves me every day. Anyway, church was an incredible chore, every week. I did not enjoy it. And I would think, week after week, what is the point? The effort far exceeded the reward. My kids certainly weren't learning anything at church. I wasn't gaining any spiritual knowledge. I didn't have a single friend at church. My husband didn't help with the children (unless he stayed home with one of them). And it was just. so. pointless!

I asked my mom, why bother? It's too hard. Church is harder than it's worth-- why even try? I was at a breaking point. I was exhausted and frustrated that I was doing the right thing for nothing. I made an effort to be there each week, and I felt abandoned at church. I was supposed to enjoy church. I was supposed to learn and grow and feel the spirit. But that didn't happen, and I became a little resentful. I'm doing the right things! Why is this so hard? Anyway, when I asked my mom why should I even try, she said something to the effect that it was doing good; I just couldn't see it. She encouraged me to keep trying, keep going, and that even though the kids prevented me from learning much, it was still doing good. She said sometimes, we don't go to church for ourselves. Sometimes, we go for our children.

For some reason, I believed her. I believed that what I was doing week after week-- chasing my kids around the church halls, sitting in the car with my son during a meltdown, rocking a baby to sleep in the mother's lounge instead of enjoying a beautiful Relief Society message-- was going to somehow help them. Somehow it would show them, as little as they were, that church is important. However, I did not believe it was good for me. But I kept going. I kept going to church and not gaining any spiritual insights. And I thought it would never end. This was how it was going to be forever.

But I kept going.

Now, I look back with gratitude that I kept going. Even though I wasn't learning any spiritual truths, it kept me in the habit for when my children were older. Perhaps I would have become inactive had I quit then. It taught me patience with my sweet kids. It taught me that spiritual things are important enough to do even when it seems pointless. It taught my kids that church is important. Eventually, they even learned that you're supposed to be quiet at church! Years. For years, church was exceedingly difficult. And I wanted to quit every week. How grateful I am that I didn't quit! Dear Stephanie, thank you for not quitting!

It got better. Now, I look forward to church. I love it, and I get to listen, and I get to feel the Spirit, and I get to learn. And yes, my sweet boy sometimes has meltdowns, but it's so much better now.

Similarly, when I look back on how long it has taken me to climb out of this horrible pit of despair, this addcition; when I think of all those times I thought, why bother? What's the point? Why even try to give this up when I'll probably fall again? but got up again anyway, I want to thank myself! I thought it was hopeless. I didn't think I would ever get out. But I tried anyway. I repented anyway. I did it again, and again, and again, year after year after year. No matter how many times I fell, and no matter how long I stayed down, I always got back up. And that was my thing. I knew I'd always get back up, even though I couldn't see a permanent way out. Sometimes, I thought that I may as well stay down and surrender to the addiction. But I couldn't. Because there was my Father telling me "Don't you quit. It will get better. Do it for your children. Just keep going."

And this went on for years. Thank you, then-me, for not quitting! I would stand back up even while believing it was pointless, even while believing that it would never do me any good. I am so glad I did. I know now that each time I rose again led me to where I am now. And now, I see love in every day. I see hope in every waking moment.

It took me a while, and sometimes my Addict has meltdowns that I have to quiet. But it's so much better now.