Today I had a little scare. I was getting Amberly’s things
put together for our weekend in San Diego and I had propped Amberly up on the
big, soft rocking chair that we have in her room. She had gotten tired of playing on the
floor and I needed both hands for a moment. She was happily playing with a toy
sitting in the corner of the rocking chair while I was organizing her clothes right in
front of her. I had to grab something from the closet across the room so
I stepped over and then thought, “Oh, I’d better get Amberly” and just as I
turned around I see that Amberly had wiggled and fallen forward on her face on
the very edge of the chair and was going to topple off. It seemed like time
slowed down and though I jumped as fast as I could, I reached her just as she
bounced onto the floor. I swept her up in my arms and she hardly even cried. I
was expecting full hysteria and, holding her close, ran to the other room to
grab the pacifier. She whimpered and snuggled, sucking her pacifier, but didn’t
cry much. My heart was beating so fast and I was worried by her lack of
movement that something was wrong. I examined her through my own welling eyes,
not knowing what I’d do if something was wrong with my darling little baby. But
within moments she was happily playing with her pacifier as I held her close in
my lap and stroked and kissed her little head. Tears were falling now as my
love for her welled up in me. She is so precious to me, so close to my heart. I
thought of my responsibility to protect her and keep her safe. I thought how
fragile life is and how fragile her tiny little body is. I thought of the
miracle of life. My mind reflected on my experiences of being pregnant and
having her perfect little body grow within me and how my love for her seemed to
start growing from those first moments that I felt her move. I thought of the
pain of childbirth and how my heart seemed to leap in love and joy the moment
her squirmy little body was placed in my arms. I caressed her perfectly smooth
skin, admired her glowing pink, chubby cheeks and her gently curved eyelashes.
I watched her chubby, dimpled fingers adeptly grasp her pacifier and her lips
pucker in anticipation as she leaned forward to suck on it. How she depended on
me! And how imperfect I felt. Tears continued to come to me as I thought about
how much I lack and how I’m not going to be able to protect my baby from hurt
and pain and sorrow. My heart ached knowing that she’ll be hurt at times when I
won’t be there to soothe and comfort and hold her. And there will be hurts in
her life that Mommy won’t be able to fix, even if I’m there. And even in my
sorrow at her pain, my spirit was warmed. My soul echoed with the importance of
teaching this precious little one that even if Mommy can’t fix the hurt, that
Jesus can. That, no matter what pain she encounters, the Atonement can offer
solace and healing. How my life has been blessed by the healing power of the
Atonement. I’ve felt such strength, peace, comfort through the gift of healing
and comfort that Jesus offers us. The Spirit testified to me of the importance
of my calling as a mother. He emphasized the love that Father in Heaven has for
my little daughter and how perhaps my most important responsibility to her is
to teach her of His love for her as His daughter. So, through teary eyes and
while clutching my sweet baby in my arms, I thanked my Father for watching out
for me and for soothing my worries and fears through His great love for me and
for her.
