A rainy Christmas walk

 Last night I was walking along the streets in Marinha Grande, trying to accomplish a few last minute Christmas tasks. As I walked along the rainy streets, ducking in a few obscure shops here and there, I was pondering on this thought from Elder Holland:"Shepards would soon arrive and later, wise men from the East. Later yet, the memory of that night would bring Santa Claus and Frosty and Rudolph- and all would be welcome. But first and forever there was just a little baby, without toys or trees or tinsel. With a baby-that's how Christmas began". 

Being so completely familiar myself to the absolute awe and wonder you feel as you hold your newborn baby in your arms, I tried to picture the possible realities of that sacred night. Far from any ideal circumstances, void of skilled physicians, an experienced mother, a compassionate doula, or even a clean bed, this young first time mother experienced the travail of childbirth possibly without any earthly assistance. Having myself experienced strength and wisdom from the other side of the veil during difficult moments of birth, I am convinced that she did have heavenly help and presence to guide and comfort her. 

As I walked, I used what I know about birth, and what I know about God, to braid together what that first sacred Christmas night may have looked like:

I imagine how Mary's bulging body must have felt after alternating walking and riding on a donkey for many days in a row. The muscle memory in my body can almost feel her aching back and unrelenting pull and pressure of her womb. I wince as I consider the poor sleep she might have had sleeping on the ground along the way, with perhaps only a blanket between her heavy joints and the hard ground, as she has to switch sides frequently to relieve the pain. I imagine that she is anxious to get to family, to be in a safe home, to arrive some place her body deems safe as she senses somewhere deep down that her baby is coming.

I think of Joseph, whose inexperience doesn't stop him from acting quickly to create the most comfort and privacy he can. I imagine him tenderly helping her to move, to breathe, having a laser focus on her and attending to every possible need he could meet. I picture him with a calm and reassuring presence that defied his lack of experience in childbirth, and in all personal female areas for that matter. His devotion to her is evident in the way he cares for her and never leaves her side, offering silent encouragement and whole hearted belief in her. His eyes are full of love and concern and his steady presence sees her through the increasingly intense waves.

In my mind's eye I can feel the faith and quiet strength emanating from these two young kids, feeding off each other and growing to create a tangible feeling of living faith, as they work together side by side to bring this baby earthside. I see her sweating profusely, shaking with the mighty power that can be neither stopped nor controlled, as her body does the glorious and difficult work of opening fully. I imagine that Joseph is overwhelmed with feelings of awe for her, as he watches her submit now not only in spirit and mind as he's known her to do in their time together, but in body as well. As the moment of birth draws near, and she must give herself wholly to the forces at work within her- he alone bears witness to her physical manifestation of complete surrender to the God she knows and loves. 

I have to think that through the Spirit they knew just what to do as that precious baby entered this world. I imagine Mary clutching that baby to her chest with all of the fervor of a hard won victory. I see her wrap him in her cloak as she works to wipe him dry and bring him to her breast, still heaving with the work of it all. She brings him away only to look into his eyes and marvel at him. The love she feels for him surges through every part of her and she is completely overcome with their proximity to Heaven. 

The logistics of their circumstances are in sharp contrast with the sacred feelings that completely envelop them. 

As I walked along, a bit lost in my mental exercise, my mind transitioned to our current circumstances, right here in central coastal Portugal, 2025 years after that sacred night. I find myself in a land and culture different from that of Bethlehem, but also different than my own. I am a stranger here, and I feel that every day, and in every attempted conversation. My brain wants to make a connection between that first sacred Christmas night, the one I have conjured up, with hopefully at least a fraction of accuracy, and my present circumstances. I think of all the highlights of this year, the things one might post about on Instagram or highlight on their Christmas card: Madeira Island, Scotland with Braden, Sweden with Elise, Austria for a birth training, hiking the Swiss alps with the whole family, England with the younger four, Braden and Maisey to Dublin, Spain and Gibraltar for Levi's birthday. My camera roll for this year is astounding. I have pictures with my family in it that look like travel ads. My mind is blown at the places we got to see this year. I absolutely cannot believe we absorbed so many magical places. And yet, when I think about the most meaningful moments of the last year, those exotic destinations are not what come to mind. I think about braden tearfully playing the piano while Anabelle and Maisey stand close, singing hymns about the Savior. I think about kneeling at the bedside of McKay as he weeps for a family whose mother was killed. I remember the night I received distinct and clear messages that I was to convey to Maisey after praying to know what our Heavenly Parenst would say to her if they were with her. I recall Braden and I having raw and vulnerable conversations, summoning faith for the difficulties we're facing on many a dark, dark night. I think of overhearing Maisey on a lesson with the missionaries as she bore testimony of the purpose of trials and the strength we draw from them. Or the many times Emmett has told me something he's learned in scripture study that he's working to implement in his life. I think of countless moments spent in our living room, as we bore testimony of the reality of the love of God in our lives, or counting our blessings around the dinner table. Our most sacred moments, the ones where Heaven infiltrated the room and the spirit melts you, happened at home. There are no pictures or videos to scroll through. There were no other witnesses. It was just our family, in our home, feeling keenly the quiet yet undeniable reality of a loving Father's presence among us. 

In the same way that the celebration of Christmas has become littered with so many "extras", so many activities, events, traditions that can bring fun, but can also bring stress and distraction if not carefully navigated- so it is with our everyday lives. When we strip away all the extras, and break down what is truly meaningful, it is the private and simple moments with our family where we are doing the work to bring Jesus closer. All other endeavors pale in comparison, and many other pursuits become clear for the trivialities they are.

I hope as I move towards a new year and a new beginning that I keep this focus and hold it close. I hope I prioritize what is holy and eliminate what is just taking up time. How can I maintain that beautiful image of Mary, baby clutched tightly to her chest, with joy and love radiating through her, even as she is experiencing pain. I know that feeling well- being overtaken by the power of love and feeling washed over by it, even while your physical body is suffering immensely. This truth applies not just to childbirth, but to our entire journey on this earth. Love and light and peace ever and always overpower pain, fear, and difficulty. It isn't an unknown source of light and it isn't just a scientific fact, although I'm sure there's also a science to it. The light is Jesus. The star that announced his birth stood as a powerful symbol of the illuminating effect He can have on our darkest nights. 

The depictions of the Nativity scene frequently depict so much distance between Mary and baby Jesus. And if not distance, there seems to be a stiffness there. But I see Mary holding her baby right to her face, nuzzling him, rubbing him, gently touching each finger with awe and arranging every curl with gratitude. I see the fierceness with which she loved him, and the sacrifices she made for him in her every move. I want my next year to be the same. I want my fierce love for that same baby evident in the way I care for others. I want that love to seep into my conversations, my plans, my goals, and the way I choose to spend my time. I hope I can embrace simple and holy and let go of what keeps me from gazing at that baby and adoring Him.

 It is one week before Christmas. This Christmas season has felt a bit different, for several reasons. The first is that Anabelle isn't here. While we are used to being without her in our day to day lives, having her gone for our favorite part of the year is a new experience. Her missing presence is keenly felt, as is her laugh, and her company. In the same moment I feel that, I'm also absolutely delighted about where she is and thrilled for her to be experiencing the growth that she is. We got to talk to her on Monday-after her first week in the mission field. She is doing well, all things considered. You could see the courage and the grit at work in her, in full operational force. She was fighting tears as she admitted how hard it's been, how completely frustrating to not be able to understand anything. She is a person who likes to be in on the conversation, she wants to understand where people are coming from, hear their experiences and their perspectives, and be able to share on a personal level. The inability to participate in conversations and discussions is really difficult for her. When she told me this my heart erupted with empathy. That's been one of the most difficult aspects of being here in Portugal for me. I feel confident that she will progress quickly, especially considering that she got the native trainer that she prayed to have. I'd say she's right on track. Still, it tugs at my Mom heart to know she's struggling. But I also know Anabelle, and I know she will struggle well. 

The other thing that sets this Christmas season apart from others, is that in the past, it has been our habit to try to fill our Christmas season with giving, charity, and service as much as possible. It has oftentimes been a bit of a task to try to find people who need help. My frustration in those times has always been that I know there are people struggling all around us, it was just hard to identify them. We now find ourselves in opposite circumstances where the requests for help roll in almost daily, if not several times a week. The majority of ward members here in Leiria 1 & 2 are recent immigrants. They mostly have temporary factory work for employment, earning wages that are wholly insufficient. Many of them can make ends meet, but just barely- a car repair or unexpected dental procedure is out of the question. I have spent enough of my life living in this category and I feel deeply for them, and want to help ease burdens. We are just about the only ones in either ward who has the resources to help. Whenever there is any need, we are the first place our ward members come. I believe also that the stake president has funds also, but he is a bit unapproachable. Our generous friends from Colorado (the Miles), have given us a fund to use for these situations. Watching them first turn their vacation here last year into a week long service project was incredible. But they didn't go home and move on with their lives. They kept sending money and praying for the people here. It's been perhaps one of the most charitable examples I have ever seen. Although we absorb plenty of costs along the way, they have contributed the lion's share of funding. We get the fun part (and also it's a lot of time and effort), of meeting the needs. It's quite consuming, and I've found that we struggle to balance meeting the needs of our ward members and meeting the needs of our own family. 

Just before Thanhksgiving, our dear our friends the Davis's were scheduled to come for an 8 day visit. At the same time, we learned of a convert (of two weeks), with a four month old baby who was facing some tough circumstances. 

an answered prayer

 On September 20, 2023 our family knelt for prayer on our wood floors in our empty house in Monument, Colorado. Outside, our 21 suitcases were packed tightly into the Miles' trailer. Braden asked me to say the prayer. It feels impossible to describe myself in that moment, but I'll try. It had only been five days ago that we received the definitive 'yes' from the Air Force that we could go. We had spent the better part of the last year overcoming impossible odds to be able to go to Portugal. If you could somehow have an aerial view of the course of events that brought us to this moment, it would be nonstop hurdles, sharp curves, twists, drops, and wicked inclines, sprinkled with the tears of teenage girls. But I think what you'd also see, since we're talking aerial view, are angels helping us in miraculous ways through every one of those obstacles. It was so tight and stressful so many times, I can remember praying that one of our dads would help move a particular paper up the stack on someones desk. The pattern was perfectly reliable: problems and difficulties every step of the way, followed by a very last minute, unforeseen, "impossible" door opening allowing us to proceed to the next step. Participating with our family in this process was both completely exhausting and simultaneously faith building and exhilarating. In the temple I had gained a sure knowledge that our family was meant to go to Portugal. The federal government couldn't change that, although they gave it a good run. What I didn't know was why. What work did Heavenly father have for us to do in Portugal? Why did it matter so much that we leave everything in our lives and move across the world for this next season of our lives. Not surprisingly, I was given no indicators regarding this, I only deduced that there must be some work we were tasked with accomplishing. And so as I knelt, unslept, harried but humble, emotional but convicted, I was flooded with this one simple plea: help us accomplish the work we're going there to do, whatever that is.

I can remember thinking during one of our many fasts and times of intense asking for the miracles we needed to get us there, that if we could just get to Portugal my life would ease in stress and chaos. I'm not sure if I've ever been more wrong in all of my life. I can just picture Heavenly Father with a knowing smile saying, "bless her heart". Our stress and chaos had only just begun.

Instead of rhythm and stability, our lives felt like they were put into a blender. Braden told me at one point that he was the lowest he'd ever been. He was in a dark place. The darkness was so thick and so real it scared us both. Nearly every aspect of our lives felt hard, down to the simple tasks of feeding and clothing our kids in this new country under constantly shifting circumstances. We were moving airbnbs every few weeks, living out of suitcases, changing schools and bus stops constantly. The pressure was astronomical on Braden, the problems were magnificent and absolutely relentless, our money was drained, the kids were really struggling, and the very program he came to do was not going well. For quite a long time, we were just surviving, and we were barely managing that it seemed. The thought of coming here for some higher purpose felt so far off from what we were experiencing day to day. 

Little by little, stability grew. Rhythm returned. We settled into our home at long last. All the problems did not go away. Some got better with time. Some got better as we softened and worked to change things within ourselves. A good deal of struggle remains. We are presently at work on many difficulties that are ours as a result of being here. When Anabelle came home for a few weeks before her mission, she sat one day at the kitchen counter and listened to Braden shoot some headlines at me about issues that had popped up that day. She said, "wow. All you guys do is field problems-yours and other peoples". It was a simple yet astute observation. I guess I hadn't summed up our lives that way but when she said it my whole body felt validated. It spoke to my weary soul and I realized that it was a pretty accurate description of how our time is spent lately. 

At this point, most of the kids are happy in their school and have a high level of happiness in their lives. So many things have improved, but some deep struggles remain. We experience a lot of joy in our home, in our relationships with each other, and in living the gospel. We've been able to help quite a lot of people in our ward. Increasingly I've been able to see that we have been instrumental in many ways and for many people in our time here. 

Last night, after more than two years here, our family was kneeling once again on a wood floor in an empty room in prayer. For the last several weeks we have taken in a woman named Antonia and her four month old baby, Yasmin. She came alone from Angola the day before giving birth, as a means of helping her immigration process here. She is hoping for a new start here, away from an abusive and controlling husband. Taking her in proved to be quite consuming of our time. She came at a time that overlapped the visit of our friends, the Davis's. In that time, we fell in love with her baby. She went from being alone with a single mom to having a line of people vying to hold her and love on her. She blossomed in our love. She loved participating in family prayer each night. She didn't like to go to bed until we'd had it and she made sure not to miss it. 

When we found a place for her to go, it broke all of our hearts a bit. We moved her things into the 7th floor of a shared apartment. We were preparing to leave and Antonia asked if we could kneel to have family prayer before we left. She went to get Yasmim from the other room so she could be there for the prayer, which was so sweet. While she was gone I suggested to Braden that he dedicate her room for her. She came back and as we all knelt together on her floor, the image came to my mind of us kneeling in our own empty home, with me asking that He help us do His work and be His hands. The spirit reminded me that are doing it. 

So tonight my prayer is just one of gratitude, for answering that simple yet sincere prayer, and for letting me feel the evidence of it.