I have loved Bentonville. Just thinking about its streets and trails, trees and streams, businesses and people makes me smile. Bentonville has been a place of nurturing for me, in a time when I needed a lot of nurturing. It was the setting for some of the hardest, most harrowing challenges of my life, and lent its light to times of darkness.
Bentonville brought many people into my life from whom I learned invaluable lessons and by whom I felt myself tested. Friends were immediate—within the first day of being in Bentonville we’d been invited to dinner and to drop off our kids while signing on our new house. We accepted both offers, and found friends forthcoming. I loved having an immediate support network, having other women to guide me through mothering challenges, laugh with me over frustrations, and cry with me during low times.
One of the first major challenges I faced in Bentonville came as I tried to reach out to a friend. She was a single mom with three young children, struggling to juggle a job and child care in a new city and suffering the consequences of poor decisions she had made earlier in her life. Her life was hard, and she lamented being stuck in what she perceived as an untenable situation. I volunteered care for her son while she was working, took her grocery shopping, and invited her family for dinners, activities, and events with my family. We established a friendship, and her children really enjoyed being in our home. She talked about her aspirations in life—renewing her membership in the church, finishing her education, and getting a permanent job. I wanted so much to help her.
After about a year of knowing her and her family and watching them struggle, Sam and I prayed and decided to invite them to come and live with us for a while, until she could secure a permanent job and get some more education. I was excited to have her and the kids be with us—excited to provide a comfortable, loving, stable home, excited to have a friend on hand, excited for the opportunities that would now be open to her, and excited to see her reach her goals. I felt happy, also, in the service I felt we were providing and in the sacrifice inherent to that service. It felt good to give of myself to help another and share what we had. My friend and her kids were excited, too, and grateful. We talked together and decided how she and her kids could continue to contribute to the household, what the living arrangements would be, and so forth. It looked like everything would work out beautifully.
Once the family had moved in, I began to learn important lessons. My friend was not as dedicated to her dreams as I’d understood. She continued to make self-defeating choices, which was frustrating to watch. Instead of working hard in her temp job and earning a place of permanent employment, she would frequently fail to go to work at all. She also found it inconvenient to make the effort to go to church, and did not do so. She was doubtless struggling with depression and physical illness (she was very overweight) which made those things difficult. I had understood that she was dedicated to making progress, though, and either she simply was not or she yet lacked the resources/knowledge of how to do so. I offered emotional support, physical support and financial support as best as I knew how, but I felt like instead of making progress, my friend was growing more and more apathetic, and (to my surprise and sadness) stopped expressing gratitude and instead resented that I wasn’t doing more. If I had known then what I know now, I may have suspected depression was debilitating her, and suggested a counselor and medication. I did know signs and symptoms of depression from college, and I guess what she was doing didn’t bring any of those to mind. My memory is faded now. Whatever the issue was, she needed more than I could to give.
As the months passed, my disquiet grew. I began to see that instead of doing my friend a favor, perhaps I had handicapped her further. Instead of using our home as a stepping stone for progress, she was using it as a resort from her problems. Our bishop expressed sadness that we had not counseled with him first, telling me that what I had done was like breaking the egg for the chick and removing the shell. People, like chicks, need to be required to put forth the effort to get themselves out of their difficult situation, or they will not gain the strength of character necessary to thrive. At home, tensions were escalating. My home no longer felt like a comfortable, safe place. There was anger, frustration, and resentment towards me and my family, and disappointment, sadness, and self-reproach on my part. We started to look for other options for her family, though my friend felt she would never make it if we “turned them out.” We kept looking, though, and arrangements were finally made. About 4 months after my friend and her family had come, a week before they could get into another place, things came to a head. The spirit in the home turned so acid one afternoon that I could no longer deal with it. We rented them a hotel room for the week and helped them into their own space.
It was a sad, sad, end for me. The hopes that I had entertained, of helping my friend, ended in fear that I had severely hindered her progress instead. My sadness and self-reproach was very poignant. Now, four years later, I don’t know how she is doing or if she ever got herself on her feet. Just this week, we parked next to a car wherein sat a very overweight woman and two large-sized daughters, and Ethan whispered “Mom, isn’t that the family who lived with us?” It wasn’t, but it was interesting to me that he remembered them still. I wonder what else of that time my children remember. . .
During that difficult time, I was buoyed up by a wonderful Relief Society President—Anne Arrington—and supportive friends. Bentonville’s trails and scenery offered a welcome reprieve, and I enjoyed volunteering at Ethan’s school, often with Carol and Dorothea in tow.
Another challenge came as I pondered my identity and value, which I had long ignored as I was caring for small children. By the time Dorothea was two, I started feeling human again, and my new-found energy led me to mourn the degree to which my talents, passions, and intellectual pursuits had fallen by the wayside. I cried in my closet one afternoon, and opened my eyes to realize I was surrounded by momentos of my history. I looked through old school papers (what a lot I had learned in college!) and impressive grades. I looked through scholarships I’d applied for and won, I looked through pictures of places I’d been and people I’d served, and I read poetry, essays and vignettes I’d written long ago. There was proof that (once) I was a worthwhile, impressive person. What had happened? What was I now? My talents had mouldered on a back shelf for so long, they no longer seemed important. Still, I wanted to resurrect them, and with them a sense of my own worth.
So, I decided to set goals and get to work on them. I updated my writing resume and my dance resume and started making calls. It was my intention to have an opportunity to write for a newspaper and to teach dance. At that time, nothing really came about. I needed more certification for most dance studios, and never put a lot of time into applying for a writing job. Time passed, though, and the following year, the director of one of the dance studios (the best ballet school in Bentonville, which actually took dance seriously and put on a Nutcracker and sent students to New York every year) called and asked if I would like to teach. I jumped at the chance, and for a year I got to teach beginning ballet at Classical Ballet Academy. It was wonderful.
The achievement of my other goal happened through church, surprisingly enough. I was called as the Stake Public Affairs Media Representative, and as such wrote press releases and articles for the local papers about Stake events, missionary service, etc. Later, I served as the Public Affairs Director and continued writing and interacting with the Media.
The Lord’s orchestration of things so that my goals could be fulfilled was a beautiful testimony to me that He knows the thoughts and desires of my heart and answers my prayers. Being in Bentonville was instrumental in making those goals a reality, too, I believe, because it is small enough that you don’t have to be the best writer or dancer in the country to get to do what you love.
The spring after my friend and her children left our home, I (finally) got pregnant. It took longer to get pregnant this time, which was surprising for us. Nevertheless, we happily shared the news with everyone. During that time, for one reason or another, I decided that I was doing pretty well in terms of life-progress, and that I could kick back for a while. I think I remember even informing Heavenly Father that I was quite content with my current state of being and I no longer considered it necessary to progress, or something like that. I don’t remember what made me so confident, but it was certainly vain. The Lord had other ideas for me, and as soon as I made that declaration, I lost the spirit. I went on for a month of feeling rather lukewarm and grey, until I finally humbled myself and apologized to the Lord. “I do need Your spirit and I do need to keep progressing,” I acknowledged. The spirit returned, and the very next day I had an experience that brought progress: I miscarried. I started bleeding and it got heavier and then terrible, flesh-ripping cramps tortured me most of the night. In the morning I went into the OB, and he confirmed that I’d miscarried. He was very gentle and removed the aborted tissue, which, luckily, had all been expelled, so no D&C was needed. I wanted to have what had been the beginnings of a baby, to take home and bury it, but I wasn’t allowed to. My frustration with legislation regarding human tissue was piqued (especially when I later got a bill from a lab company who had gotten my tissue.)
I was weak physically and emotionally for the next few days, but my spirit was strengthened by the Lord. I wrote the following to some of my close friends:
Ah my wonderful friends, whose lives entwine about mine and shape and strengthen and enliven me! You all have been with me since pregnancy #1. What a lucky woman I am. News on the pregnancy/Easter:
After some bleeding on Easter, and a very painful night on Sunday, I miscarried. I was ending the first trimester, which, I understand, is a fairly normal time for a miscarriage. We are doing just fine--I feel very blessed/protected in this whole experience, and that the tender mercies of the Lord have been extended to me on every level. Sam has been taking care of me, and the process didn't require much medical intervention--I saw a doctor Monday morning who gently removed the remaining tissue and said that everything had passed naturally and I could go home. And here I am surrounded by happy, beautiful children who are full of love and give me so much to be grateful for. I felt protected emotionally, because my feelings about this pregnancy had been very sober--there hadn't been the usual sense of anticipation. I also felt prepared mentally, because I expected that, as common as it is, miscarriage would be a part of my childbearing years. My body feels tender and in need of healing, but my heart feels tender, too, and full of peace. Perhaps having it happen on Easter was another tender mercy--the symbol of the empty tomb brings peace for an empty womb, for I know that pain, death, and all our physical frailties and imperfections will pass away, and through Christ's sacrifice and resurrection, we will be able to transcend this mortal sphere and be renewed and live again in a glorious and eternal sphere. I am so grateful for that promise.
So, it was a very meaningful Easter. When I started bleeding in the morning I called the doctor and he said some bleeding was normal, and that staying in bed wouldn't affect things, so I got to spend a wonderful day at church, doing an Easter Symbols egg hunt with the kids, watching Finding Faith in Christ, making and braiding Easter bread, and then giving it to a bunch of our neighbors along with the Finding Faith in Christ DVD. We were even invited to have dinner with friends, which was fun. It was a very satisfying Easter, and I felt very grateful to have been so fed by the Spirit before the difficult part began, which wasn't until we were getting into bed. As I said, the tender mercies of the Lord were on every side.
I love you and am so happy to continue being involved in your lives, even from a distance. What a joy it is to watch as our lives progress--with up and down times, but with faith and hope and love. We are hoping again for #4, in the Lord's time.
LOVE!
LOVE!
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