Recently our family went skiing. It was a miracle, literally.
First, because we have never been skiing as a family before. Ever.
And second, because we all survived and came home smiling.
Now, don’t get too excited. It wasn’t downhill skiing—only cross-country. But for this inexperienced family, successfully skiing together was a victory.
My kids were just fine. They strapped on their skis and raced back and forth across the trails. If there was a slight decline, they pushed their poles into the snow and went as fast as possible. They screamed and laughed and had a wonderful day.
Then there was me.
After I finally learned how to keep my feet underneath myself, I slowly inched along.
One mile, two miles, three miles, four miles up the tree-lined trail to the turnaround point.
We reached our destination clearing, turned around, and…Whiz! Whiz! Whiz! My kids sped back down the mountain laughing and yelling.
I turned halfway around… and froze with fear and realization.
Suddenly I wasn’t pushing my skis anymore. They were pulling me! I hadn’t noticed that the four miles into the woods had actually been slightly uphill. And now I was skiing back downhill.
My skis were quickly cutting through the icy snow and I was on top. My stomach did a flip and my entire body went out of control. I involuntarily let out a yell.
Thankfully, my levelheaded husband called, “Fall over!” I hate falling, but I did what he said. And then I lay in the snow. My heart was pounding, my hands were sweaty and my stomach was still lurching.
My husband skied up to me and stifled his laughter.
“I don’t want to get up.” I said. I could envision the entire four miles back to our car: all downhill, all slightly declined, with me on top of the skis screaming my lungs out. A terrible fear gripped me. I couldn’t physically or emotionally or mentally pull myself together.
My husband took my arms and hands and did his best to talk me through standing up again, but to no avail.
“I’m going to take off my skis and walk down,” I said.
“You can do this,” he encouraged.
All at once I could see exactly what was happening. Walking down the mountain was absolutely doable. In fact, four miles trekking through the beautiful woods would even be pleasant!
But, like a ton of bricks, the truth hit me. If I didn’t try skiing again right then, I never, ever would. I would spend the rest of my life with that same gripping, throat crunching fear paralyzing me.
“I can do this,” I said to myself, and somehow stood up.
“This time, push your ankles out,” my husband coached.
I was hardly aware of my ankles before, but as I started downhill again, I pushed out my ankles with all my might. Somehow, it slowed me just enough to catch my breath and fall over…again. I lay in the snow, panting and crying. But, I had done it! I had pressed through my fear and stood up and skied.
I could stand up again.
My husband righted me in the snow and, doing my best to ignore the familiar fear inside, I slowly started skiing again, pushing my ankles and praying that I wouldn’t die.
I didn’t.
I lurched. I fell. I stood up. I tried. I lurched and fumbled and fell into the snow again.
After the first mile I could finally see through my tears. After the second mile I noticed the beautiful white snow and stunning forest around me. After the third mile my husband suggested we stop to catch our breath.
But I didn’t stop. I was terrified that if I waited at the side of the trail I would be overcome with anxiety and never try again, so I hobble-skied past him and continued downward.
Then came the final hill. It was bigger than any I had stayed standing up on before.
“This is my last chance to succeed,” I told myself. “I’m not falling over this time, I’m going to make it to the bottom.” And then, I started down. I pushed my ankles out with all my strength until gravity took over and I flew straight down the hill.
“Don’t fall, you’re fine…” I insisted in my mind. My stomach did multiple flips and I saw my children laughing as they watched, but I stayed standing until….I reached the bottom and came to a natural stop.
It was only then that I noticed I had bitten my lip so hard it was throbbing. But I didn’t care. I had done it!!! I had skied to the bottom of the four-mile incline.
And miraculously, I was alive.
That feeling of victory stayed with me for days, and I realized an incredible similarity between skiing and motherhood.
We can’t stop.
Motherhood is us at the top of an incline, with our skis pointed downward. We have absolutely no choice but to let gravity take over.
Once we conceive, once we give birth, once we adopt a baby—we are stuck.
Like it or not, we must go on.
Just like me, in tears at the top of the hill, the reality of mothering is that there is no way out but through.
This truth is the WORST and BEST part of motherhood. Why?
It’s the worst part because no matter how difficult, we must keep going. Somehow we must get up each morning and care for our children. Somehow we must keep loving them even when they have embarrassed or hurt us. Somehow we must keep moving along, one clumsy step in front of the other, raising children who ultimately become better than we are. Somehow we must parent without a handbook, learning through trial and error, forcing ourselves through the thick and thin and exhaustion and exhilaration of everyday life.
This part of parenthood is painful, and often—like skiing— filled with tears. Sometimes I don’t want to stand up again. Sometimes I just want a little break. It is hard to face the reality of miles that are difficult.
But, I’ve noticed that this truth is also the best part of motherhood.
We can’t give up so we don’t, and eventually, we succeed.
We learn to parent. We learn to live without sleep. We learn to deal with temper tantrums and diapers. We learn to talk to toddlers, and tweens, and teenagers. We learn to give of ourselves, and love more deeply. We learn to plant flowers and manage budgets and grocery shop and do laundry and dry tears and help with homework and hug sweaty kids and laugh and cry and live. We learn to get up every morning. We learn that we are stronger and better than we once thought we were.
And soon, we are.
In a paradoxical way, the fact that there is no way out but through forces us to become. And the becoming is the pinnacle piece of a perfect plan.
I have no desire to ski again any time soon. But if and when I do, I’ll be more confident than I was. In fact, I may even have fun.
And I’ll admit that here on mile 3 of motherhood, (having survived my first two miles, err…10 children) I’m enjoying the beautiful scenery of life. I’m standing a little taller, feeling a little more confident, and sensing sprouts of exhilaration and success in my soul.
I’m grateful for the days that I couldn’t give up, so I didn’t, and now I’m in a better place because I kept going. The initial fears and doubts were stepping stones to an inspiring place, where I’m suddenly rich with experience and joy.
Motherhood is the perfect metaphor for life.
Thank goodness we are trapped in this reality, forcing us to move on and move up and eventually come out on top. (Or, arrive at the bottom of the hill, if you’re skiing.)
Thank goodness life teaches us to be better.
Thank goodness we are sometimes forced to try difficult things.
Thank goodness we are challenged when we otherwise would choose not to be.
Thank goodness we are stuck…with no way out but through.
Thank goodness we cannot give up, so we don’t.
This is the worst—but best—part of motherhood.
This is the best fact of life.
No! SUMMER CANNOT BE OVER YET! It absolutely may not end!!! I know I write this exact same column every single year, yet I have these exact same emotions every single year. August turns into September and then into October long before I am ready to give up July.
No. Don’t make me admit that there is change in the air. That fall is inevitable. And whatever you do, absolutely, positively do NOT show me an orange-gold pumpkin. Not in the fields, not on the neighbor’s doorstep. Don’t you dare put up Halloween decorations in the stores. I don’t want leaf wreaths or yellowed stalks of grain. Don’t say the word “Jack-o-lantern” or show me a black cat or an apple pie. I only want summer. Pink and orange and green and brilliant summer. Fun, carefree, no-responsibility summer. That’s still me.
Last year The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints announced it would discontinue its relationship with the Boy Scouts of America and introduce a worldwide youth program in 2020. While our family fully plans to embrace the new Church Child and Youth Development Initiative, we also intend to continue our participation in Scouting. Here’s why:
Reason #1: Structure. The Boy Scouts of America has been around for over a century, and the BSA has proven its worth as a structured program. This structure is a remarkable support to both Scouting leaders and Scouting families. Regular quality activities, handbooks full of information, and leader specific trainings all provide a tried and true ladder guiding youth to leadership, character, citizenship and fitness.
BSA programs—Cub Scouting thru Venturing—are based and built on age-appropriate activities, like stepping stones. My Cub Scout learns to handle a pocket knife, my Boy Scout earns the Woodcarving Merit Badge. My younger son takes a mile hike with his den, my older son hikes for 30 miles with his troop. You get the picture. My children are benefitting from a program shaped and tested for decades, with applicable achievements for each group, and all under an umbrella of specially trained leaders. Scouting is a safe place to learn and grow.
Additionally, I love that Scouting youth have requirements—steps that must be followed—and hard tasks to complete. As humans, we rarely choose to over-extend ourselves, but the organization of Scouting gently and consistently compels youth to climb higher, be better, and accomplish hard things. In a world becoming increasingly wishy-washy and self-centered, I find the structure of Scouting remarkable and helpful to my parenting efforts.
Reason #2: Skills. Scouting is all about skills—building fires, camping, backpacking, tying knots, pitching tents, cooking, swimming, lifesaving, first aid. The list of Scouting skills is endless! Take a glance at the 137 merit badges offered to understand the full gamut of opportunities available to Scouts. Where pushing buttons with thumbs has become an all-to-common society staple for youth, I am grateful for skills taught through the BSA programs.
“Outing” is a key component of Scouting. Leave the lethargy and apathy at the door and step into adventure: rock-climbing, rappelling, canoeing, biking, rafting… the list goes on and on.
And the fun isn’t just for the older youth. Last week our Cub Scouts learned and played the iconic game of marbles. Imagine seven 9-year-olds, squealing, laughing and cheering as their marbles rolled across the dirt. And in the preceding weeks our Cub Scouts hiked, whittled with pocket knives, cooked over a fire, constructed with carpentry tools, pitched tents, conducted science experiments, practiced safety, and built contraptions with simple machines. Scouting is all about skills.
The skills lead me to Reason #3: Substance. Scouting is chock-full of substance. Let’s face it; there are a million and one extra-curricular options for kids today. But I can’t think of another activity, club, pastime, team or sport based on Duty to God, Country, and Family. Each week I watch Cub Scouts raise their arms in the Scout Sign and recite the century-old Oath and Law—promising to be trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind…the iconic list goes on.
When any youth commits to Scouting values, we’ve won a battle for our future. Like I’ve said before, our time as a family is precious, yet the substance—the values and character-building opportunities—offered through BSA programs put Scouting at the top of our extra-curricular list.
And my fourth point—if I may have one—is Patriotism. No one does patriotism like the Boy Scouts of America. Two weeks ago I stood with over 100 other observers at a campfire. The sky was crystal clear. The stars shone brightly. The full moon came up over the ridge. The fire glowed orange and red. It couldn’t have been a more picturesque evening. Around the campfire stood eight solemn Boy Scouts. With all the respect they could muster, they displayed a flag, tattered and torn. Then, while the audience watched, they shared history in broken and emotional tones, before respectfully retiring the flag in the flames.
The audience was completely silent, engulfed in the emotion of the moment. My 12-year-old son was one of the boys by the fire. Four of his younger siblings watched him participate in that sacred event. It was worth gold to me to know that he had set a standard of respect for our family as he handled the American flag that evening. Yes, no one does patriotism like the Boy Scouts of America.
Will the partnership between the Church and the BSA end in December? Yes. But for our family Scouting will go on. The structure, skills, substance and patriotism offered by the BSA are—in my mind—indispensable. It is my belief that Scouting will compliment—not compete with—any other extra-curricular activity, including the forthcoming Church initiative.
Our family looks forward to another century of citizenship, fitness, leadership, and character through the Boy scouts of America. In 2020 we will Still be Scouting.
I wasn’t even a mom when I first used this phrase. Well, I wasn’t quite a mom.
I open the cupboard and see the oatmeal. Again. I have made at least a million gallons of oatmeal in my life. And a million peanut butter sandwiches. And sliced a million oranges for lunch. And wrapped a million carrots. And buttered a million pieces of toast. And don’t even get me started on how many morning ponytails I’ve brushed or diapers I’ve changed.
First, the voices are wrong because I do go on. I do get up each morning. I do wake up children. I do make the breakfast. I do brush the hair and kiss the cheeks and hug them goodbye. Yes, like every morning, and every other mom around the globe, this Mama goes on. And on and on and on… Like the Little Engine that Could, or the Titantic, or the Energizer Bunny.
The world would stop turning without us. Literally. And the sooner we come to realize this amazing fact, the more empowered we are to go on.
In fact, by the time they walk back through the door that afternoon after school, they are literal saviors. Their happy chatter heals me. Their souls are my souls. Their accomplishments of the day are my victories. Their friendships and kindnesses have filled my bucket. This reality is surprising, and our shared existence is exhilarating.
I am the scientist (my son) launching satellites around the globe.
I am the DECA president, (my daughter) traveling across the nation to compete in marketing.
I know nothing about satellites. I cannot speak a word of Swedish. I can’t play the flute, or recite the Scout Outdoor Code—but I am all of these things because of my children. It’s a humbling and exhilarating realization!
In fact, Mother by definition, is everything. The world. The future. The universe.
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