How Is It Done?

I finished reading the Book of Mormon today. I have learned so much about his time through and have been reminded how much Christ should be the center of my life. As I have read and looked for Christ in each page and each verse, I came to see again that there is a lack in my life, a place in my heart that is walled in by fear; a place where I have a hard time letting Christ in, where I can’t seem to apply my faith.

I believe in a Christ. I know He loves me, that He loves and died for each of us, that we can all be forgiven and have hope in His Atonement. And yet I often can’t seem to feel that it applies to me. Let’s take this week’s example:

I have been working a lot for the last who-knows-how-long at not yelling and losing my temper with my kids. It is my natural reaction to their defiance, and even though I know that it really doesn't help to fix any problems, I still fall into it. And I hate it. I hate how I feel, I hate how my kids look at me, I hate the thought of treating my babies that way. I am ashamed of myself, and I question my life decisions and my fitness for motherhood each time I do it.

Last week I did really well. I refused to get triggered by a lot of things, I was patient with my kids, I made a huge effort to have a good attitude through Christmas stress and tantrums and gatherings and messes, and I was proud of myself. I let my kids have friends over for a whole day and I cleaned up after their messes and bought them pizza and dealt with their meltdowns. And then a child was rude and defiant and persistently in my face instead of letting me cool off like I asked him to and I absolutely lost it. Maybe the worst I have ever done. I released all of my frustration on him and was  just terrible. And then I could hardly look at my children for the rest of the night. I felt worthless and absolutely hopeless. I have been given so much and I just can’t get it right, can’t be who I am supposed to be, can’t really change. I keep trying without getting any better. How can that happen? How can I ever overcome and how could that kind of behavior ever be erased? I’ve already scarred my children with it, I’ve already seen them look at me the way I swore as a child I would never make them do. How can I recover from that?

All week the words of Enos in his prayer echoed in the back of my mind, “How is it done, Lord?” How can this guilt be lifted and this rift mended? How could all of this possibly be swept away when I am screwing it up so royally?

He answers, “Because of thy faith in Christ, whom thou hast never before heard nor seen.”

Enos didn’t just believe in Christ; he prayed all day and into the night with such earnestness that he called down an answer. He wrestled with himself before the Lord. And when God told him he was forgiven, he knew God couldn’t lie, so he believed.

Somewhere deep inside I am afraid to believe. Afraid to let go in case I am actually not enough, and my efforts aren’t enough to merit forgiveness. To be counted as His. Afraid that He really won’t make up for when I fail my children. Afraid that my failure will lead to theirs. And all that fear drives away my faith.

It was timely that I am as reading Moroni at this same time, because he taught me again about faith. How it leads to hope and love and every good thing, and not to despair. How Christ is calling me to Him and not looking for reasons to say I’m not enough or to punish me for my failings. He gave His life to bind up my wounds, and so that all of our imperfect efforts can be sanctified.

Tonight we had a little family counsel about the new Come, Follow Me curriculum and how we can make our home more gospel-centered. We talked about forgiveness, and about how we all mess up and even Mommy and Daddy are trying to do better so we can help each other. The same boy from the episode I described earlier declared, “You’re the best Mommy and the nicest Mommy in the world!”

My very sensitive and maybe more honest boy said, “Well, maybe you’re not the nicest mommy in the whole world, but I mean you’re nice.”

Thankfully I don't need to be the nicest or the best or the most perfect, because Christ did that already. But I can have hope that I can be nicer, better, and more perfect in Him.