Sabbath Devotional :: Agency

“Look unto me in every thought. Doubt not, fear not.” (D&C 6:34, 36)

“Be not faithless, but believing.” (John 20:25)

Recently, a friend joked with me about how she’s a mother in favor of Satan’s plan: “Follow my orders and stop causing me grief with your mistakes and failings!”

“Ah, theoretical fancies!” I thought as I imagined a group of faithful LDS women sporting black t-shirts with “Moms for Satan’s plan” blazoned across their chests.

I had to laugh and admit that my children’s complete submission to my will and wisdom sounded pretty amazing. I know the way they should go and the steps to avoid, right? It’s funny how we prize agency for ourselves, but don’t always appreciate it when our children choose differently than us.

My lighthearted take on this concept of willed obedience now seems antiquated after recent gut-wrenching discoveries at home.

Only a few weeks after this carefree conversation, I am confronting a poignant experience with child agency that drives home this main point: my children are going to grow and develop through a combination of both beautiful and painful experiences . . . just like me.

It is a crushing thought at this moment. Waves of mom-guilt wash over me as I consider all the ways I could have prevented my child’s failures. If only I had caught on sooner, could I have spared this child the pain, remorse, and sheer work required to remedy their choices? Had God tried to intervene and alert me earlier, but I hadn’t been listening or quick enough to respond?

With these questions in mind, I consider the many times I have approached the pains of strangers and clients as the calm, rational-thinking mediator that I’ve been trained to be. Behind the conflict theories, blog posts, and calming of clients, I realize that my current real-life experience is pushing me beyond my professional training. Throbbing, beating, “truly alive” life is calling at the door to change my heart and deepen my understanding about my true relationship with God and my child. I am raising His child too.

As I kneel before my child, crying about the fact that they have deliberately lied to me for months, tears are streaming down my face; I am exhausted by the upheaval and lack of closure. There is nothing theoretical going on here for me. I am raw with emotion, pleading desperately for a chance to connect with this pained soul. I think of the earliest ultrasounds, the first kicks within me, the snuggles before bed, and the late-night conversations we shared recently.

“Where are you? Who are you?” I cry within myself, but then the words make it outside my pained soul. I am wanting to touch the deepest part of my child’s heart so that I know our connection remains real and strong.

“I can’t lose you. You are so important to me. I would do anything to help you out of your sorrow.”

Tears come to the child’s eyes. I see my child again although clothed in an adult-sized body.

“Mom, I lied because I was afraid to hurt you. There wasn’t anything malicious about it.”

Oh, it does hurt, but far less today because now I know why there was deception. My child worried that my love would be withdrawn, just like I worry about God withdrawing his love from me. I trust God and I trust my child, so I move forward cautiously but with the stirrings of hope.

Like my child and me, each of us will experience our “falls” that demand the balm of Christ for redemption and renewal. As steward and guide, I know that I’ve signed up for a different kind of plan in raising children. This plan involves the turning of the tables; the opportunity to lift, love, and believe in redemption on behalf of those we love, and not just for myself.

All said (and experienced), I believe in a gospel of agency for each and every soul born into this world. I cannot rob my children of their agency by stifling their opportunities to learn from their own experience.

I better understand how the temple ordinances liken each of us to Adam and Eve. We must all experience our own falls and then choose to seek redemption in Christ. As much as I would stand in my children’s place, they must know the bitter so that they learn to choose the sweet. They must build their own ties with the living Christ who understands their very personal pain and the deepest yearnings of their hearts.

Already, the moments of redemption and connection that we have experienced with each other bring to mind Christ’s words: “Be not faithless, but believing.” Like Thomas, we must choose to believe when striking moments of desperate reality test our grasp of the world we encounter. Thanks be to God for the gift of His Son, Jesus Christ.