Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Survivor's Guilt Compounded

Fertility was an issue for me. I have 3 living children after 8 pregnancies. There isn't really a day that passes in which I am not keenly aware of this at some point, a day in which I don't feel the empty spots. I no longer cry every day, but I still take a beat when I answer people about how many children I have, or when I answer questions about the births of my children (when I know people are asking about living children). Sometimes swallowing the lump in my throat or succeeding in speaking around it is challenging enough to make me eyes burn with tears I will try hard not to shed.

I no longer blame myself or feel betrayed by my own body. I have allowed the Atonement to work in my life enough to know that I am not responsible for the absence of those babies here. I think of them. I hope that they know me, and that I will someday know them. I miss them. I know that I am a better person because of them. I know that I have much to give to others because they existed. I try not to let any of this make it awkward for others at any time. It is often more difficult to hold it together when others become awkward.


Imagine how I felt when my sweet youngest child, my only son, came to me one evening after family prayer and cried out, "Why couldn't you make any of those other babies live?" The tears and the lump in my throat, and the ringing in my ears were instant. Through the fog of feeling as if I'd just sustained a major blow to the head, I could just hear his little voice telling his daddy how much he'd like to have a brother. I know I wasn't moving, and I couldn't speak. I just sat there until he'd gone to bed. Nick turned out the light and pulled the covers over himself, silently. I wept and wept that night. Those missing babies have never held the same weight for Nick and I. They were never real for him, and he didn't experience their passings as I did. None of them were born living, and so he has been unable to recognize their reality. It remains a lone canyon between us, no bridge in sight, only the long way round, or sprouting wings to fly. He held me, silently.

This event has percolated in my heart and mind for nearly 3 months. I haven't spoken of it to anyone because I am afraid of their awkward. I haven't written it down because it feels so lonely when paper is the only one listening. I haven't prayed on it since the first night because I suddenly felt angry that God was the only one who could hear and understand when my husband is right here, and they were his as much as mine. I don't want to feel angry. I don't want to stare at that canyon, an ugly gash in my otherwise happy marriage.

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

The Day I Waited For



As an Unconventional Mo (see a couple blogs back) I did many things my own way, rather than the way that was always expected, or the way "everyone else was doing it." The biggest choice that affected my path and my life was in marrying a non-member. Though my husband was baptized right after our marriage, it still meant I ended up making unforeseen sacrifices in my own spiritual growth. For instance, I didn't get to go to the temple right away for my own endowment. Through the years I took the temple prep classes 6 times, always expecting to go to the temple, but every bishop wanted me to wait and to go with my husband when he was ready. Many years later, I grew impatient with the waiting, and feeling like I was being held up in my spiritual growth and blessings. I finally had a bishop ready to move me forward....and then he was released as bishop. And the new bishop became a real challenge for me in so many ways. Move forward 6 years, and we got another new bishop, and I went to him with my same earnest plea. The night he gave me the go ahead to take the temple prep class again and plan to attend the temple, I broke down crying. The overwhelming feelings of finally being able to take that step were powerful. Bishop Pressler and my husband just stood and watched my speechless weeping for several minutes, and then both hugged me in turn.

Once I received my recommend, what followed was a number of events that seemed especially designed to test my character, and to test my reliance on the Spirit. The biggest obstacle was a particular, tenacious human thorn in my side surfaced yet again, expressing hatred and ignorance and, frankly, acting as if he knows better than my own bishop and stake president regarding my testimony or my worthiness to hold a recommend and enter the temple. In the form of a very longwinded, preposterous letter, this person was a tool in Satan's hand. It could have made me feel anger, outrage, sadness, disharmony....it could have kept me from feeling the Spirit. But all I could do was laugh. I didn't even finish reading the letter because it was just too foolish. There was just one paragraph that struck me a bit, and I addressed that with a prayer and a call to my step-sister, Leigha, for clarification. In the course of that call, my one fear was laid to rest, and I began to joyfully plan for my visit to the house of the Lord.

Some days, the wait was hard, but there is more preparation that must occur once the recommend is in hand, and it felt just a bit like preparing for a wedding day. There were certain special guests and escorts to invite, clothing to choose, etc. and so I looked at that time as a gift to prepare for a day I would not forget, and in which I did not have to look back on wishing I'd done something differently. Leigha came down for a couple days with 3 out of 4 nephews and nieces, and she was my chosen escort on temple day. Other special guests included Cathy Snow, Whitney Moody, and her husband, Jack. Whitney and Jack had just recently been sealed together with their children in the temple.

The feelings of that day were very special, and I promised myself I would return frequently to learn all I can and to keep those feelings with me as much as possible. At the end, Cathy Snow came and squeezed me and said some kind words which triggered a flood of emotion and tears. Leigha sat quietly next to me, holding my hand until I was composed enough to talk, and then we talked about what brought that on...how Cathy had been there in the role of a mother, and how much it hurts that my own mother can't seem to be there for me in that way, in the way that I need her to be there for me as a grown woman with a family of my own. It was a good moment for Leigha and I, and it sparked conversations that helped each of us understand one another a little better and grow closer.

I have returned to the temple several times since February, and since it was announced that the Memphis Temple will be closing for up to 2 years for major renovations, I have committed myself to weekly visits until October. After that, the nearest temples are Birmingham, Nashville, and St. Louis and planning a trip will be much more challenging, given the distance and the nature of working on-call. My husband has done all he can to make sure my weekly visits are possible, and I'm sure he doesn't know how much that means to me, but I know he feels the difference in our home when I return. I know he takes me seriously when I ask him to remember I'll be returning from the temple, and that transitioning back into worldly chaos and disorder is jarring, and to please minimize contention, etc. at home while I am away, so that I can bring home the good feelings of the temple for everyone to share.

Thursday, November 10, 2016

A Great Need

Illustration: Dwayne Booth, a.k.a. Mr. Fish

Inside my brain, stunned, gaping, screaming silence. I understand how Electoral College works. I understand that my fellow country(wo)men did not, by popular vote, place the mantle of President of United States of America on THIS person. I don't understand how it became a real option. Or...anything else about it. See? No words. And these below are likely the last you will see from me on the subject directly.

Love...As The Substance Of Everything cannot fathom how hate seated itself in the highest office in our country.

The mystic Sufi poet Hafiz penned A Great Need.

Out
Of a great need
We are all holding hands
And climbing.
Not loving is a letting go.
Listen.
The terrain around here
Is
Far too 
Dangerous
For
That.

While my heart feels the sentiment flooding social media #notmypresident, my fingers cannot type it as a declaration. For he is indeed the president elect of the country in which I live. My choice is to take the hands of those around me and climb! To fight like hell against every thing THIS person stands for. I will fight like hell against the oozing, pernicious evil that THIS person yields as his banner, beckoning to the worst among us to gather round him as their insidious leader. I will not utter his name. I will not address him as my president, though I won't go so far as to proclaim #notmypresident because I feel it is a way of sticking our heads in the sand, and I can't do it.

Grab a hand. Grab two hands. Climb! Be of good cheer! Love one another! Serve one another! Let your voice be heard saying NO to the things that THIS person champions from a place of ignorance and hatred. Plant love, charity, compassion, goodness, light, holiness, service, friendship, congeniality, strength, warmth, and blossoming, growing wonder all over this dangerous terrain. In this way, WE win, and we learn to do better and choose better and demand better!!!

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

Unconventional Mo

After my last blog, I thought it would be best to go ahead and explain myself as an Unconventional Mo, before any Conventional Mo gets his/her reportedly magical knickers in a twist. "Mo" stands for "Mormon" or "Mormonism" so I am an Unconventional Mormon. I'm pretty stinkin' proud of it too. The easiest way to do this is probably to make lists of Conventional Mo vs. Unconventional Mo traits which I possess. For the record, I have a testimony of the gospel. My faith is very dear to me. I just don't take myself too seriously, and I don't really care to make myself conform to anyone else's ideals for the sake of their comfort. I have room to grow. And that's okay.

Kate The Conventional Mo
  • says a prayer and eats meals at the table with her family
  • says Family Prayer every evening
  • says Car Prayer before traveling long distances
  • has LDS Tools app on her iPhone
  • has Gospel Library app on her iPhone
  • still has analog scriptures in a leather analog scripture case
  • wishes she were better at both personal and family scripture study
  • loves to see the temple
  • watches The Legend of Johnny Lingo and cries and swoons every time
  • says "stinkin' "
  • drives a minivan
  • goes to church on Sunday (okay, not every Sunday all the time)
  • wears a dress to church
  • tries to have meaningful Family Home Evenings
  • has LDS art in her home
  • has A Proclamation To The Family hanging on her wall
  • believes Families Can Be Together Forever
  • doesn't smoke
  • doesn't drink coffee
  • doesn't drink alcohol
  • doesn't use drugs
  • eats meat sparingly
  • uses the plants and herbs Heavenly Father gave us as food and medicine (not a toker, for real)
  • is (mostly) a full-time mom
  • dresses modestly
  • has memorized the 13 Articles of Faith
  • categorizes herself and Mormonism as Christian because testimony of Jesus Christ as Savior
  • freezes meals
  • can be relied upon to provide a meal or assistance to someone in need on short notice
  • practices food storage

Kate The Unconventional Mo
  • has not yet been to the temple for herself
  • married a non-member/convert, not a Return Missionary
  • drops a swear on occasion
  • sometimes doesn't go to church on Sunday
  • doesn't really feel part of a "ward family"
  • wears flip-flops all the time, even to church
  • sometimes feels conflicted about one small part of A Proclamation To The Family, but trusts that Heavenly Father will sort all that out
  • doesn't feel it's her place to judge or legislate who one loves and chooses to marry
  • has a tattoo
  • is a hippie
  • feels equally spiritual as religious
  • sort of unschools her children
  • does not aspire to Molly Mormonism (read Conventional Mo)
  • doesn't care if other people drink alcohol to unwind
  • has friends who drink alcohol
  • has friends who smoke pot (though they respectfully don't do so in her presence)
  • has hippie stickers all over her minivan
  • has no LDS or BYU stickers on her minivan
  • has no stick figure family stickers on her minivan
  • has a rainbow "coexist" sticker waiting to be put on her minivan
  • might watch an R-rated movie if she wants to
  • grew up in a broken, dysfunctional home and family
  • isn't weird about sex/can talk about it in real terms without blushing
  • birthed a baby at home
  • wants to be a homebirth midwife
  • sees a lot of vaginas and placentas as a doula
  • doesn't like baby showers
  • doesn't like Jell-O with pretzels or cottage cheese or anything else that doesn't belong in Jell-O
  • celebrates and honors all cultures and religions, loves learning about them, feels no need to convert everyone she sees
  • is not a Republican
  • enjoys gospel discussion without trying to persuade anyone
  • is an activist
  • abhors canned Cream of Anything soups
  • doesn't care what you wear to church
  • doesn't care what color your hair is or how you style it
  • isn't offended by your tattoos or piercings

There is probably more to say on each list, but it's late, and this is a pretty good representation.

Purity, Chastity, Virtue - Sex By Any Other Name...


The name "Elizabeth Smart" is being seen in the news a lot again lately. Her story weighs on my heart and her courage and openness inspire me to do more for my own daughters and other women. You can read the latest from Elizabeth here. It is an encouraging read.

Like Elizabeth, I grew up in the Mormon faith. I still practice that faith, though I freely admit to anyone that I am an "unconventional Mo." We can talk more about what that means another time. Also, like Elizabeth, I experienced repeated sexual abuse. I was not kidnapped, and most of the abuse I experienced was not at the hands of a stranger. Most times, my own parents put me in the hands of my abuser/s, and to this day I have no idea if they have let that sink in. I don't know if they are still claiming ignorance. It's only been in the last 5 years that I've been able to talk to ANYONE about it EVER. And tonight was the first time I ever shared this with my daughters, sparing them all details, of course. My experience lasted from sometime after I was born (my first memory is around age 3) until I was about 10 and acted up enough that I was able to avoid the abuser/s altogether, or he was finally afraid of me.

As a Young Woman, ages 12-18, we often had confusing, embarrassing (I was embarrassed for my leaders, mind, more than I was for myself, or about sex) discussions with strange and disturbing object lessons/analogies about our purity. The big, overused story of my generation was ABC Gum. ABC Gum, if you don't know, is Already Been Chewed. Our virginity was compared to a pristine, non macerated piece of chewing gum (probably the really white kind, like a Chiclet, or maybe the stick kind with pretty sparkles of chemical trickery). As non macerated white sparkly gum virgins, we were desirable and whole and pure and chaste and virtuous. But, if we shoved our non macerated white sparkly gum virginity/purity into the dirty hands of boys (or girls) and they chewed us up touched us inappropriately or penetrated us in any way, then we would be discarded unceremoniously and every other human on the planet (but especially boys) would find us revolting. Yeah. About that.

The newer generation of Young Women are fence posts. You can drive nails in them, and the nails can be yanked free, but the holes are there forever. (Never mind how one might find it difficult to reconcile the Atonement after such a story, but I digress.)

Annual panel discussions with our Bishopric and youth leaders were no more helpful. In fact, I feel they were worse and even more harmful. They were certainly confusing. Most of the time, the 3 men (Bishopric), and our male and female youth leaders, sitting before us and answering our anonymous questions about dating and sex couldn't even agree amongst themselves about what was appropriate or not. One thought no kisses anywhere prior to marriage. One thought a kiss on the hand or cheek. Another thought a light kiss on the lips (closed mouth) would be fine. WHAT?! Get it together, guys! This is GUM we're talking about!!!!!!!!

But seriously....you know what I want my children (not just my daughters) to know about sex? First, I want them to know the correct terminology for their sex organs and sex acts. Seriously. That's basic.  Additionally, I want them to know all the good and wonderful things about sex. Sex should be fun, sex should feel great, sex can be full of laughter and passion and love. Sex can make babies. Sex can be awkward and fumbly. Sex should absolutely be part of a mutually committed, safe relationship. You should not be ashamed or afraid to discuss sex with your partner (or your parents when you have questions). I want them to come talk to me when they hear well-meaning but ludicrous and potentially harmful analogies from teachers they look up to.

I want them to understand consent.  I want them to value other human beings, and themselves as human beings. Even as human beings who might make regrettable choices. I want them to understand that the only person who gets to regret his/her choices is the person who made those choices. I want them to know that I love them unconditionally, that Heavenly Father loves them unconditionally, and that mistakes don't define us but can help shape us. I want them to understand and exercise personal accountability...and forgiveness if needed. I want them, most of all, to understand that their entire worth is not wrapped up in their sexuality!


Friday, August 19, 2016

My Room


The Burrows Home belongs to the Burrows Family...and when I say it belongs to the Burrows Family, what I mean is, sometimes this home is chaotic and maybe everything isn't just the way I would like it all the time ever. I have a husband. I have 3 children whom I homeschool. They have a giant dog and 2 cats. Outside the home, I have 5 chickens. Our home is regularly tidied and usually somewhat sanitary, but it is difficult to have everything clean and beautiful all the time. And...I can't really have pretty things because EVERYTHING gets broken around here. So I've settled for a simple, humbly appointed, mostly sanitary, sometimes tidy home. It isn't MY home, after all. It is OURS, and I want everyone to feel comfortable and at ease here in our place away from the outside world. A place where we can all be ourselves and enjoy one another's company without pretense.

BUT...I do need that one place where I can close the door and feel peace too, where I can be at ease and be myself, where everything does not get broken, where pets do not reside with their aromas and their shedding, and where I can enjoy some quiet time as I craft, create, write, read, or work. And sometimes sleep when Nick snores too much or I can't get comfy in our shared bed (or when the chaos of untidiness is too much for me in the master bedroom, which my husband has rather appropriated with his mountains of clothing and STUFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!

So, a few months ago I laid claim to the guest room. The picture at the top is the guest bed. The cats are normally entirely unwelcome, but someone had left the door open this day, and they did look awfully sweet. I snapped a picture and then shooed them off with my lint roller, and then promptly rolled away any evidence that they'd been here. I just love my bohemian bedding and piles of pillows! This is a bright and happy, yet calming and centering space. I must have had myself in mind (and didn't know it) when I chose the bedding.

Here below we have a recent find. It came to me from a photographer who no longer needed it as a prop. It was painted an aqua/turquoise color, so I brought it home and sprayed it down with a couple coats of mustardy yellow and hung it up to display some fun and happy memories and small paintings of my own. I apologize that the photograph is a wee blurry, but the lighting in here is not good for photography. It is, however, perfect for ME.



The painting below was done by my Great-aunt Mildred, and it hung in my grandparents' home for as long as I ever remembered, until my grandmother died. Grandpa stored it in the shed for a time. My mother got it, and then she gave it to me. It was in an awfully old frame, which literally fell to pieces as it was handled. There was no glass or anything to protect the painting (which maybe isn't a valuable masterpiece, but which has a story and sentimentality, and I love it). So I reframed it this week and hung it above the bed. It is rather larger than it looks here, so almost serves as a headboard for the queen-size bed.


Here we have an old wooden vessel of some sort. I have no idea its original purpose, nor how old it might actually be. This is another piece that belonged to my grandmother and I don't remember a time it wasn't there. I used to play with this as a child. It was everything from a witch's cauldron to a butter churn to a chamber pot in my imagination. Often, I slapped a big, round, red polka-dot pillow on top and it was a giant mushroom for the fair folk. I believe it was also a Barbie hot tub at some point. My Aunt Debbie got this after Grandpa passed and wanted me to have it. I couldn't say no because I do have such memories of it, so it has come to live in my peaceful room filled with things I love.


Last, we have another art piece. This one I commissioned, telling the artist only that I wanted something inspired by the Iron & Wine E.P. Woman King. I cried when this is what I received. I was so moved by her capturing (and her rendering of the Woman King resembling myself) everything about the music that speaks to me so strongly. This piece is 36X72 and fills a wall for me. It is the first thing I see each morning and the last thing each night. I LOVE this painting!


In this room, I sit quietly. I read. I pray. I meditate. I paint. I draw. I write. I work. I listen to quiet music. I watch my chickens from the window. Sometimes I get a good night's sleep. I love this room.

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

The Art of Birth and Motherhood

"Serving Women and Families Through The Art of Birth and Motherhood" is my mission statement at Woman King Maternity & Childbirth Services. "The Art of Birth and Motherhood" is a multi-purpose phrase, really. My job isn't easy to learn in books, and no 2 doulas practice the same. It is an art form, and it gets better and better with experience and practice and appreciation. There is also art in listening to and watching birth and motherhood. I see raw beauty every day. Sometimes, I am absolutely captivated by the experience and it stays with me for a long time. The most recent birth I attended was one such birth. I wrote about it at Reflections of a Woman King, and I still feel the need to write about it more, and to play around editing the handful of pictures I took during this mother's labor. Because I already wrote about that birth, I won't repeat details here again, but I just wanted to share my favorite photo with some really neat artistic filters with the Prisma app. I do have permission to share her image, but these will make it difficult to determine her identity, and client confidentiality is important to me. 

I am pretty sure that top photo is my absolute favorite. I'd like to choose one and recreate it on canvas to submit to a birth art show.


I found the second and third ones really interesting, and I do like looking at them, but they aren't my favorites.



^ This one is competing for my top favorite. It's making it really hard to choose. What do you think?


And the last two here are definitely close seconds. The last one is actually from The Great Wave Off Kanagawa by Katsushika Hokusai. My pineapple ukulele has that painting on it too, so I am a fan.