Letters from Mom

Okay.

So I'm debating this.

I think I should probably really get permission to do this first, but I think I need to.

Because my mother wrote me a letter that made me cry. (In a good way.) And usually I don't cry when I read my mother's letters. I'm one of those kids who when you tried to hug me, I tried to squirm away. I get really uncomfortable with shows of affection. With listening to you philosophize about my life or my thoughts. Just give me the facts and be quick about it. Then lets get back to work.

But the letter made me calm down today a bit more. Really think about the experience I'm giving these children in my care. It made a difference.

I think that by posting this, I'm saying thank you. For loving me enough.

Here's the letter.

If you really object, I'll make an exception to my no deleting allowed rule, and remove this post.

I asked David to read your blog today.  I got it up for him and noticed that you had written again.  Profound!  Perhaps all of us feel that way at times – that we are never good enough at anything and I always pray that my kids will be at least normal in spite of me.
 
But  I want to tell you that I what I see you doing is greater than any other thing you ever could do – to love not only your own sons and daughter but to extend that love and decency to so many others, whether in your callings or your profession. And what a blessing to so many of these children to see you and Marty doing this together; a man and a woman!  What a contrast to the way of the world with mothers and fathers being single, dating and committing fornication as the model for their children to assimilate.  What a blessing for many of them to be held on his lap and treated as a ‘child’ – by a man!  I hope he enjoys that.  That takes a real man to do that job – it is a job fewer and fewer men do even for their own children. 
 
This is greater than all those other things on your list.  And there is a time for all things.  When that time is I am not sure.  I have a few knots about some of that stuff and yet I have a core that knows who I am and what I really am and I have chosen to be what I am.  I am a daughter of my Heavenly Father, and he loves me.  I will stand as a witness of him and of his son, first to my own family and then to anyone else that will hear me. But the angst is still ever present. 
 
I have learned it a part of the opposition in all things, the bitter and the sweet.  Listen to that inner core that you hide deeply – the gut, the feelings of your heart. Trust that you are one of those noble and great ones the prophets have seen, it is within you.  Take stock once in a while and look carefully at yourself so you know yourself as a dear friend, and then be as kind as you would be to that dear friend.  Hug yourself a little, sometimes cry with yourself a little and then like the conference counseled – go out and do more and be more and have more blessings and more joy – and sing!  Be sure to sing (and/or play).  That alone will bring you comfort and direction and peace when there is naught of it anywhere to be found. 
 
I love you my dear and wonderful daughter and stand watching you be a miracle – you were a wonderful and amazing child and you have grown to be much more than a decent adult who knows how to love and forgive and love some more.  You are noble and upright like so many of your progenitors. As you climb the hills and mountains of adulthood breathe deeply and then keep moving forward with the faith you exert now in exhaustion just to exist some days and you will not only be great but you will find real joy and understanding of a magnitude you can not yet imagine. Loving and serving your own husband and children and then extending that same love to your extended families and church and community in the many ways you already do will bring that joy and understanding.  With these you will produce literary works that make Jane Eyre pale in magnitude.  I believe you may already have the seeds in place. 
 
Again I love you.  I am so proud of you and pleased to call you my daughter.  L Mmm

 

 

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