Raw

 

 Blessed are ye that weep now, for ye shall laugh. -Luke 6:21 

How many squares are in the image above? Go ahead, count. Do it before you read on, because once you hear the answer it won’t be fair to go back and count when you know what you’re looking for.

I nursed RE until she was 11 months old; she never drank a single bottle. I was a young mother back then, before the internet and social media wrecked real life with endless inquisition and comparison. Henceforth, I didn’t know I was Nursing Queen nor did I feel inadequate. I just fed my baby hedgehog and watched her black hair grow in blonde.

I tried to nurse Archer and Everett similarly but that didn’t pan out how I hoped. Let’s just say OLD COW NO MILK. Let’s also say STRESSED COW NO MILK. I got Archer to six weeks and Everett to six months but thankfully formula kept them alive and kicking. When my friend Keli was struggling with her milk supply for her last baby, her mother found a pioneer journal that detailed an ancestor who literally watched her baby die on the plains because she had no milk (and no one else did, either). This story made Keli not complain about the option of formula. She shared the story with me when I was transitioning Everett to Enfamil and it solidified my NO GUILT, FORMULA ROCKS mentality. We live in times of plenty. Formula is expensive but it costs less than a life.

I noticed this Book of Mormon verse about Nephi’s traveling family when I was coming up short for Everett:

And so great were the blessings of the Lord upon us, that while we did live upon raw meat in the wilderness, our women did give plenty of suck for their children, and were strong, yea, even like unto the men; and they began to bear their journeyings without murmurings. -1 Nephi 17:2

My first thought was, “Wow, those women were nomadic, eating raw meat, and likely missing their walled homes in Jerusalem, yet they successfully breastfed. Amazing. I’m stressed out just thinking about their feelings; my milk just dried up in their behalf.”

I'd skimmed over this hidden gem dozens of times but never seen for its true worth. Nursing in any shape or form is a miracle.

It’s been six months since Everett’s bottles began and Greg and I have continued chasing the mirage of a Certificate of Occupancy, started packing a.k.a. realizing how much meaningless junk we own, eaten a lot of canned peaches (Operation Only Move Empty Jars), minimized our sleep, and squeezed in unrelated life-sucking tangents like root canals, cabin maintenance, and teaching RE to drive. Add on all the finals, the lasts, and the goodbyes I require for closure and they equate to one emotionally raw Melissa. Raw like I’ve never felt. Deep down I know it’s a blessing to hurt this much because it means I loved this much, but the raw aches all day and throbs as I’m falling asleep (like the Tell Tale Heart!). Ow.

It’s been six months since Everett’s bottles began and I’m still looking back to that verse. There’s more than a milky miracle nestled under all that nursing, there’s a metaphoric truth:

IN TIMES OF RAWNESS THERE IS STILL PLENTY.

Plenty of milk, plenty of muscle, and plenty of happy trails accompany the raw meat diet.

I’ve heard it termed LIVING IN THE BLESSING. LIVING IN THE BLESSING means not wasting where you’re at, no matter the scene, and is personified perfectly in my verse. It is finding milk and honey when everything around you is unfinished or depleted. It is drawing strength from your caravan, not your address. It is refusing to let stress, packing tape, or uncertainty turn you into a whiner. (Still working on that one.) It is seeing the miracles instead of the mayhem. (I'm good at this one.)

Elder Ronald T. Halverson said, “Many of us get so involved in our day-to-day tasks and worldly pursuits that we do not notice the many small miracles that constantly occur around us. This is one reason we may lose contact with the Holy Spirit and lose awareness of His promptings.” That’s a bold statement I’ve never forgotten, especially when my eyes are tired.

There are 40 squares in the picture. The first time I did the exercise I found 37. It is easy to miss a square. It’s just as easy to overlook a miracle.

I’VE MISSED MIRACLES BECAUSE I LACKED EXPERIENCE. I only noticed the miracle of ancient milk supply after my body forced me to wean two babies ahead of schedule. Sometimes your eyes aren’t ready to behold all that is out there.

I’VE MISSED MIRACLES BECAUSE I WASN’T LOOKING FOR THEM. Just like the squares, some miracles are big and obvious, like Archer’s IVF conception, or being forgiven, or scoring the antique church pew of my dreams in the classifieds for a steal and having it fit our new entryway to the inch. Some squares are less obvious; more chorus line than headliners. Oddly placed miracles wait patiently to be noticed, like Lucy not running away even though our front door was accidentally left open for three hours, or Everett still fitting diagonally (and therefore sleeping soundly) in his borrowed mini pack-n-play bed in our closet, or Greg’s truck not wrecking even though it had 0/32nds of brake pads, or shelves full of convenience at the store, or finishing a sewing project with five centimeters of thread left on my bobbin. Some might say these aren’t miracles; they are consequences of science or planning or luck. I say they are miracles. I say they are squares. I am forever finding squares.

Often we learn in progression, like milk before meat. But sometimes we learn in reverse, like milk because of raw meat. 

Photo quote is a lyric from "Truth Reflects Upon Our Senses" by Eliza R. Snow

"Obeying the Whisperings of the Holy Ghost" by Ronald T. Halverson, Ensign, August 2007

Archer has been watching the blue garbage truck dump our blue trash can since his eyes could focus, sometime around 12 weeks old. I planned our lives around making sure he got to watch the “trash truck” dump our can, usually from the front steps while I was in my robe with bed head. What started with a wave or an extra honk slowly turned into familiarity and a fist bump. Archer recently turned three, which means he’s watched roughly 140 garbage trucks drive by. We have had the same driver these three years. Archer now zooms out to jump up and down and talk at length to his to his friend, Josh. Archer gave Josh a picture and a treat in December. Josh reciprocated by wrapping some cookies and applesauce pouches for him the following week. Josh knows our days are numbered, so last week he dumped our can, jumped out of his truck, popped the seat forward, and surprised Archer with a Tonka garbage truck and miniature blue garbage can. I tried my hardest not to cry because I knew it would embarrass RE. We’re going to miss seeing Josh at 11:07 every Thursday. He’s going to miss Archer in the sweetest way there is. I’ve seen a transformation over the years; somehow a little boy counting on his garbage truck driving hero mattered on both sides. It has been a spot of "plenty" in my "time of raw." It also got me dressed and presentable before noon on Thursdays, which I’ll count as an extra miracle.