Provider, Protector and Plumber

Yesterday was an awesome Father’s Day. I had calls and wishes from all my kids, a lovely dinner orchestrated by my lovely wife (including a steak my 16-year old son grilled for me and cupcakes from my 12-year old daughter) and lovely gifts.

After dinner, before cupcakes and gifts, I was on the phone with my oldest son who lives in a different city. I could hear something going on in the background at home, but was trying to enjoy my time with my oldest on the phone. But I heard hushed concern speaking, sloshing of water, unhappy sighs. Finally I ended my call with my son and wandered back to the powder room to find my lovely wife and my 16-year old trying to plunge the toilet.

Ick.

Let me say that this has been a problem toilet for some time. It was the nexus of the great Thanksgiving Plumbing Disaster of 2010, when an over-use of the kitchen garbage disposal resulted in a clog that forced the house’s entire outflow to come back through this particular toilet, resulting in TWO trips by emergency plumbers over the Thanksgiving weekend (one on Saturday, one on Sunday), and resulted in the explosion (yes, explosion) of the powder room toilet when the snake used by the first plumber ended up going the wrong way through an octopus of a plumbing connection while trying to clear the clog. (It was the second plumber who discovered that it was just a clog from over-use of the disposal; we were so happy we would NOT have to have the backyard dug up to replace outdoor sewer lines we were almost giddy. There’s some great psychological / sales lesson there somewhere.)

As a result of that excitement, we replaced the toilet in the powder room with a new one from Home Depot. And new in our community meant low-flow. And since I did it myself, it meant I bought the cheapest one.

We have a low-flow toilet in the main bath upstairs. It works great. It never clogs. Not so with the one in the powder room. It clogs if you look at it funny, which people must do often. And since it’s an elongated bowl, no plunger fits properly. So clearing clogs is a challenge.

Which brings us to yesterday.

Ick.

I entered after my lovely wife and son both tried their hands at the less-than-effective plunger. I took my turn and we determined we needed to use the snake. Which meant first that we had to find the snake. Which meant I had to dig through the cabinet in the garage.

Even using the snake is no picnic. It’s a manual hand-crank type which is only moderately useful, but useful enough. Alternate the snake and the plunger enough times and the clog eventually clears. As it did yesterday. On Father’s Day. Between an awesome dinner and an awesome dessert.

So, not only did I get to be treated to an awesome meal with gifts, but I was also allowed to feel useful. Who could ask for anything more?




   

The Boomerang, My Father, and Me

When I was 11 or 12, my father and I embarked on a project to build a boomerang.

I’m not sure why we did this thing. Perhaps Dad just wanted us to share an experience. Perhaps it was to try to have a “project” going when his father came to visit. (Grandma had died and Grandpa had stopped his woodcarving hobby after her death; perhaps Dad was trying to rekindle that interest.) Whatever the reason, I was thrilled.

I loved spending time with my dad. He worked what seemed to me a lot of hours. He traveled quite a bit, and he was on the high council in our stake and advised a different ward from ours so he was almost never in church with us. So the chance to build a boomerang was way cool.

My first boomerang had been a gift from Dad, brought back from a business trip to Australia (and looked a lot like the one in this photo). I’d never tried to throw it, just because it was cool. (And heavy. I was surprised how heavy it was. It was probably about two feet long, and my scrawny 10-year old frame was not up to throwing it.) The plan was we’d build one we could throw together.

We headed off to the Carnegie Library in Oakland, east of downtown Pittsburgh, next to the Carnegie Museum and near the University of Pittsburgh. I was pretty much in awe that Dad knew how to find plans for a boomerang in the magazines in the library and photocopy them for our use. (No internet then, of course; that “trip” would be accomplished with a few mouse clicks today.)

Armed with our plan we headed to the lumber yard in Coraopolis, down the hill from our home, to buy the wood – pine – and glue.

Like all projects Dad did, this would be a test of patience. This was not a one-day event. There would be gluing, clamping, cutting, sanding, filing. We created a three-layer laminated piece of wood from which we cut the basic shape, and then had to file the “wings” properly so it would spin and return to us.

In reality, I have no idea how much of the project Dad let me do. Some of it, to be sure. And I don’t remember how many weeks of Saturdays we worked on it, but I’m sure it was quite a few.

I remember the day we finally took it out of the vice on Dad’s old workbench at the back of the garage and he suggested we go give it a try. We walked the quarter mile up our road to the local elementary school. We stood on a hill above the playground and he let me have the first throw. I had no idea what I was doing and I tried throwing it like a Frisbee. It sank like a stone to the playground below, and I ran and retrieved it.

Dad took the next turn. He held it high above his head, holding it like a torch in his hand. He heaved it forward with a grunt and I watch in awe as it leveled out and spun through the air, first away from us and then returning, just the way it was designed to do.

Dad was awesome. I was amazed. We had done it.

Dad was pretty pleased, too. I have no idea if he wondered whether it would work, but he never expressed any doubt that it would.

Since we were on top of the hill, I scampered down to retrieve the returned boomerang and brought it back to my dad. “Throw it again!”

He obliged. He held it up like a torch and heaved it forward. This time, though, it spun forward, end over end, spinning straight into the ground of the playground below with a loud crack. One end stuck in the ground and the other snapped off. In one shot, the boomerang was in two useless pieces.

Dad walked slowly down the hill, sighed, and pulled the wedge of wood out of the ground. We walked home quietly. We didn’t talk about what happened. I didn’t fuss about not getting a chance to throw again. He didn’t fuss about weeks of work broken in one poor throw. We simply carried the pieces home and returned to our lives.

But that memory still lives on with me over four decades later.

Thanks, Dad. And happy Father’s Day.

The Big One

Like others, I tend to see themes-for-me in conference. As I’ve blogged before, I took a couple of specific questions into conference with me. Those questions had me listening particularly closely for messages that had to do with how I related to my family.

In the spirit of listening for multiple messages (see here), I paid particular attention to repeated calls (to me and me alone) to be a better parent, and counsel about how I might do that. (I say to me and me alone for two reasons: First, President Uchtdorf told me I can’t judge anyone else; Second, my stewardship is my stewardship, not someone else’s, so of course the counsel I get will be for me.)

Here are some lessons I learned about my relationship with my family:

1. Elder Packer reminded me that a child is a nation, which means, I think, that a child represents all who come after him. He’s not the only one to suggest that when we save a child we may also save the subsequent generations that follow him, too. It’s a big responsibility.

2. Sister Esplin reminded me that I need to teach my children in love; I need to let the Spirit teach them. Frankly, in my 30 years of fatherhood, I’m not sure I’ve paid nearly enough attention to allowing the Spirit to teach my children, and I’ll be giving a lot of thought and prayer to how to do that.

3. Elder Koelliker taught me that I can help awaken in my children the desire in their hearts to know gospel truths. I have prayed for this often in my years as a parent. I’ll be looking for more help here, too.

4. President Eyring was clear: I must lead in saving my own family. It’s part of my role as a father and a priesthood holder. There are others who will help me, but I must take the lead. And I must do it using the principles of D&C 121.

5. Sister Beck reminded me that my wife has power and authority. There’s great value in my remembering that, especially in connection with #4.

6. As Elder Ballard talked about reforming our homes, I found myself thinking of ways I can reform mine. And how I can enlist the help of those who live there in that effort.

7. I need a vision for my family. Thanks, Elder Halek for that counsel. It’s not that I haven’t had a vision for my family before – or at least hopes and dreams – but I’ve never thought about it in this way. I don’t yet know what that vision is, but it will be the subject of continued pondering and prayer.

8. I cannot compel my children against their agency. Elder Wilson’s story at the beginning of his talk reminded me of something my father taught me when I was very young: having the priesthood does not grant a man the right to command anyone. That I cannot compel my children against their agency is more than counsel not to do it. It just really can’t be done. I wish I had learned that lesson earlier in my life than I did. (More D&C 121 – applicable to dads and moms.)

9. I should fill my home with courtesy and quickly resolve contentions. Thanks for that gentle nudge, President Monson. My take away is not that I should teach my children to do this thing. I should do it. I should lead by example, in love.

This is my mountain. And I’m thankful for it.

Daddy Danger

Norbert over at BCC posted a really thought-provoking post on Tuesday around the question, “What is the greatest threat to your family?” Without transcribing his post (please go read it; it’s really quite good), I’ll cut to the chase:

Norbert suspects that his instructor meant to ask What is the greatest threat to THE family, but in response to the question asked, he determined that he – the dad -- was the greatest threat.

Many commenters (myself included) identified with his perspective. I am a little conflicted on this topic, though, and wanted to explore it a bit more.

Certainly the reality of Section 121 holds for fathers perhaps more than in any other circumstance:

We have learned by sad experience that it is the nature and disposition of almost all men, as soon as they get a little authority, as they suppose, they will immediately begin to exercise unrighteous dominion (v. 39).

For me, unrighteous dominion in the home is most insidious precisely because it is so easy to get there from here. Men are taught by the church to preside. Parents are taught to teach their children. There is an implied message that parents can be evaluated by how their kids behave. And so it is exceptionally easy for Dad to compel behavior in the name of “reproving betimes with sharpness.”

The other reason unrighteous dominion is so insidious is because the stakes are so high. The Proverbs teach “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old he will not depart from it” (22:6). By golly, as a dad I want to ensure those kids are trained up right! But in doing so, I risk violating the terms of Section 121. In my zeal to have my kids “turn out right” I can easily do more harm than good.

There are some other complicating factors:

1. Many men (and maybe women, too, I suppose) really like the notion of control. I am one of those men. I am uncomfortable with uncertainty. Especially as a young father, I knew what a “happy family” looked like, and I was going to have one if it killed us.

2. Humans have an inborn “fight or flight” reflex that shows at the sign of conflict. Part of overcoming the natural man, I suppose, is overcoming this particular impulse. But those of us who lean toward the “fight” side of that pairing can be pretty tough to live with (and even dangerous in extreme circumstances).

3. Children are not highly predictable beings. Because they are constantly growing and learning, each day can be a new adventure for parents. For a dad who detests uncertainty, that can be particularly trying.

Section 121 actually offers a remedy, as well:

No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned;

By kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile (v. 41-42).

Of course as a parent, we sometimes need to offer correction. It’s part of our job, but even that requires the proper approach according to Section 121:

Reproving betimes with sharpness, when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love toward him whom thou hast reproved, lest he esteem thee to be his enemy;

That he may know that thy faithfulness is stronger than the cords of death (v. 43-44).

I’ve written about this before, but the sharpness of this verse, as taught by Theodore M. Burton, is the sharpness of a clear photograph, not the sharpness of a caustic acid. So we can offer clear correction, but that correction needs to be enveloped in enough love that our children know that our faithfulness is stronger than the cords of death.

There’s another thought that bears mentioning here. Our children have their agency. They will make bad choices. It is part of their earth-experience to do so. A friend of mine suggested that we should pray for our children to make their bad choices while they still live at home so that we are there to help teach them.

At some point, we are not responsible for the choices our children make – certainly by the time they are adults, but some might argue after age eight. We are responsible, as parents, to help our children feel the consequences of those choices so that they can learn right from wrong. In the end, however, our children will make their own choices.

I’ve been a parent for over 30 years, and my youngest child is 11, so we have a number of years to go before all our kids are out of the house. (We’ll never stop parenting, we’ve discovered, but the “away” parenting is very different from the day-to-day retail parenting of minor children.)

I’ve had some really great moments as a dad. And I’ve had some really bad ones. I can really understand Norbert’s suggestion that a father may be the biggest threat to his own family. Even a good, well-meaning father can make mistakes.

The good news is that the atonement extends to fathers, too. We can seek the forgiveness of our children if needed. We can repent. We can improve. We can take parenting classes. We can study. We can seek the help of a professional therapist if needed. We can listen to the counsel of our spouse. We can enjoy the guidance of the Holy Ghost.

As we approach the right behaviors in teaching our children, according to Section 121, there is a remarkable blessing available:

The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth; and thy dominion shall be an everlasting dominion, and without compulsory means it shall flow unto thee forever and ever (v. 46).

A good friend taught me that in his view, the greatest way that promise can be fulfilled is if our children (our everlasting dominion) come to us without compulsory means – that is that they want to be with us now and in the eternities.

Thanks, Sister Dalton, for your counsel to fathers

First, Sister Dalton, thanks! We don’t often have sisters in conference speak directly to fathers. I know my daughters are not my possession. But I know they are my daughters, on loan from our Father in Heaven, and I’d like to do what I can to help them find their way home again.

Thanks for continuing to think about how our daughters can find their way home, and how we can help them succeed in developing into the women we hope that they will be: strong, faithful and virtuous, confident that God loves them and confident in His plan for their happiness.

Thanks for reminding me to love my wife. I always like getting a challenge that is easy to meet.

And thanks for challenging me to model virtue in my own life, confirming that it is not just a value for young women, but also for their fathers.

I’m happy to report I have never had to go looking for any of my daughters because they didn’t come home on time. (Of course, the youngest is only 11, so I suppose there’s still time for me to have that experience!) ;-)

Are Men Biologically Adapted To Nurturing?

We know that The Family: A Proclamation teaches that fathers are to preside, provide and protect, and that mothers are to nurture, and that they are to support one another in these roles. We’ve heard a number of talks in recent conferences that seem to suggest (or directly state) that mothers are more in tune with the tasks of nurturing than men.

That may be, and I do not intend in any way to refute the Proclamation, but there’s a new study published in The Proceedings of The National Academy of Sciences, and reported by the New York Times that would suggest that fathers also are biologically adapting to a more nurturing role.

Lee Gettler, an anthropologist at Northwestern University and co-author of the study said,

This should be viewed as, "Oh, it’s great, women aren’t the only ones biologically adapted to be parents."

Humans give birth to incredibly dependent infants. Historically, the idea that men were out clubbing large animals and women were staying behind with babies has been largely discredited. The only way mothers could have higly needy offspring ever couple of years is if they were getting help.

The study, which tested men before and after becoming fathers involved over 600 men in the Cebu province of the Philippines:

Testosterone was measured when the men were 21 and single, and again nearly five years later. Although testosterone naturally decreases with age, men who became fathers showed much greater declines, more than double that of childless men.

And men who spent more than three hours a day caring for children -- playing, feeding, bathing, toileting, reading or dressing them – had the lowest testosterone.

Researchers view the drop in testosterone as a positive thing for families, hormonally encouraging men to be more faithful to their families than straying.

“This is part of the guy being invested in the marriage,” said Carol Worthman, an anthropologist at Emory University who also was not involved in the study. Lower testosterone, she said, is the father’s way of saying, “’I’m here, I’m not looking around, I’m really toning things down so I can have good relationship.’”

So, it would seem there is some biological evidence that a father’s role extends beyond conception, and that the father is biologically tuned to participate in the nurture of his children.

On motherhood, fatherhood and priesthood

I have generally given up trying to explain why God does things. There was a time in my life when it was important for me to have that answer (and to share it), but I guess I’ve settled into a different place in my development. Now I can observe what God does and not worry about why. It is what it is, I tell myself, and that’s ok.

Not everyone is where I am, and that’s ok, too. For some, a quest of the “why” is vitally important. Others want to know, but are willing to wait and see if the “why” reveals itself. And other just don’t worry about it anymore. I think I’m somewhere between the second and third.

Some folks worry about why women don’t hold the priesthood. And others, hoping perhaps to assuage the need to know why, have offered the idea that men can hold the priesthood but women can have children, as if those two are equal endowments meant to offset one another.

This much I know: men hold the priesthood and women can have babies. And in the LDS church, women don’t hold the priesthood, and men (regardless of religious affiliation) can’t have babies.

This much I don’t know: the opportunity to hold the priesthood offsets the opportunity to have babies (or vice versa).

The Family: A Proclamation to the World says:

“By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families. Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children. In these sacred responsibilities, fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners.”

Even if one accepts that premise (and I do, by the way), it does not support the idea that motherhood and priesthood are corollaries.

The corollary to motherhood is fatherhood. Our former stake president taught this principle regularly as he reminded us that when we were at home with our children, especially if we were watching the kids so mom could be away, we were not babysitting: we were being fathers. Indeed, the proclamation says nothing about priesthood, only motherhood and fatherhood.

Why don’t women hold the priesthood? I don’t know. Certainly they may receive all the blessings of the priesthood the same way any man can: by receiving the ordinances of the priesthood. Thankfully years of teaching by the church is giving women a greater voice in the councils of the church. (The recent training on CHI II has emphasized this point, but Elder Ballard has been speaking about it for years.) And we know that in certain settings, women play an active role in ordinance work. They certainly minister among the members of the church and in their families. Women teach and pray and have access to the same personal revelation and inspiration as anyone.

I am grateful to my eternal companion for her contribution to my life. Our family is pretty traditional. My wife is a SAHM and I work longer hours than I wish I did (so does she by the way!). But, bless her heart, my wife reminds me regularly of the contributions I make as a dad. Am I’m grateful (and tell her so) for her contributions as a mom. In those roles, I think we are as complementary as we are complimentary.

A consecrated life -- an example from the front lines

One of our sacrament meeting talks this past week referenced Elder Christofferson's "A Consecrated Life" (from October 2010 conference). As I listened to the talk in church (our speaker focused on Enoch as an example), I thought of other examples.

The first that sprang to mind was my own father. He was not a perfect man, but he was a good man, an honest man, a hard working man. My father was a convert to the church in his early thirties. He and my mother had four children (I was the youngest) and were doing their best to rear us in a good way. Dad worked professionally as an engineer, and they were active in their Presbyterian church.

When my father heard the gospel, he accepted it as we all did. He had a struggle to give up certain habits that were not consistent with church membership, but he did it. He developed the faith to pay his tithing. And he dedicated himself to service in his new church.

During those years of young and growing children, Dad worked more than he wanted to, was away more than we wanted him to be, and still served faithfully wherever he was called. He was not the most eloquent high council speaker, but he was sincere and devoted to the Lord. My mother often helped him with research for his talks, and I traveled with him on multiple occasions over his years of service. He was diligent in his other assignments, whether shepherding his assigned ward (which he attended every week) or planning a youth conference, establishing family history centers, organizing stake temple trips or whatever else he was asked to do.

He worked hard to provide for us. His traditional thinking firmly rooted him as provider and protector of our family, and provide he did. He also repaired and improved our home, and enjoyed laughing with his kids. At some family nights, when we had all reduced ourselves to giggling uncontrollably after singing many, many hymns (at his insistence), he would finally suggest that we let Heavenly Father in on the joke as we said family prayer.

He taught me mostly by example, rarely by lecture. He encouraged me to believe I could do anything if I worked hard enough, and that I should not assume deficiencies in myself. He warned me the night before my wedding that my new bride should finish her degree or he would be most disappointed.

About the time I left on my mission, my parents moved with Dad's work to West Africa, before the church sent missionaries there. That time away from the mainstream church (my folks held a sacrament meeting in their living room each week for themselves and another expat or two who would attend at times; later, after the revelation on the priesthood, the senior missionary couples would sometimes join them) gave my father a chance to rethink and renew his commitment to living the gospel and serving in the church. Upon his return to the US, he also returned to service on the high council, and I heard him speak in a ward conference the week I came home from my mission.

Even in his most senior years, he served. In retirement he was a branch president in West Virginia, serving many hours each week to meet the needs of his little flock. (He was released after a stroke disabled him for a time.) And years later from his assisted living facility in Michigan, after my mother's death to cancer, he traveled with another member of the high priest group leadership monthly to the Chicago temple to work as an ordinance worker.

I don't know that he was a great scripture scholar. I don't think he considered himself a great teacher. And his approach as often as not was decidedly pragmatic rather than mystical.

But if he had something to give, he gave it. If he could serve, he did. And I would do well to follow his example.

My father passed away three years ago this week.

It is resolved

My father was born on New Year's Day. I associate my memories of New Years with him because of his birthday, but also because of New Years Resolutions. I can remember trying to write down resolutions – goals for the year – at his urging when I was a kid. And now, even though my father has been gone for several years, I still think of him and resolutions when New Year's Day comes around.

Dad was a firm believer in self-improvement. He was well-read, not because of his formal training (he was an exceptionally average engineering student in college, but he had a fine career including professional recognition in his field), but because he enjoyed learning. There were many family dinners during which one of us kids was sent looking for the encyclopedia to prove (or disprove) some point of discussion at the table.

Dad sought to instill in us a desire to reach higher, to do more than we thought we could do. His example, together with my mother's, seemed to suggest we really could do anything we set our minds to. I remember talking to him as I graduated high school about what I would study at college. I was a little worried to suggest that I would study theatre, thinking it would be too artsy for his very practical view of life. He surprised me when he thought for a moment and said, "Whatever you study, if you're the best you'll always work."

Dad loved New Year's resolutions, and he encouraged us to write them. Goals for the year. Short statements of what we would seek to improve or build upon in the new year. Chart a course. Lay out a roadmap. Make a plan.

I spent many years of my life as a compulsive planner. Before we married, I wrote budget after budget demonstrating that we could not afford to marry while my wife said, "Let's see – we live separately now for more than it would cost us to get married and live together. What's not to work?" I planned my children's futures. I planned my own career (many times as I kept changing horse mid-stream during college).

Several years ago circumstances combined to help me take a shorter term view, to focus less on the future and more on today, to live in the moment, even one day at a time. And in the intervening years, I've been learning to balance prudent long-term thinking against the value of living today for today.

So not all my resolutions will be for a year. Some will be for a day. And I'll make them each day. And some will help me strike that balance between one day at a time and prudent long-term thinking. But they'll still remind me of my dad.

What a father wants

Yesterday was a delightful father's day. I heard kind wishes from all my children and was treated to lovely meals and gifts. And I had a chance to think about my own dad who died a few years ago.

As I think about my dad, I try to imagine what he would want from me. Especially at the end of his life, gifts had little meaning. He was aging, and spent his last years in a nursing home where he had little room for things, and his aging mind, sadly, also had little room for things, either.

As I thought about honoring him, I've concluded that what I can continue to offer him is what I hope my children will continue to offer me: the honor of good lives well lived with kindness and compassion toward others.

I've written before that some of my children are walking paths I would not have chosen for them. They have found more comfort outside the faith of their childhood than in it, and that makes me sad when I dwell on it, only because my feelings about that faith are so strong. But over time I'm happy to feel the ties that bind me to my children are stronger than those of disappointment. Because even in their separate paths they are honorable and honest. They are kind and generous – toward one another and toward others. They are loyal friends and ready to lend a helping hand where they can.

I had a brief conversation with one of my sons (an ongoing philosophical conversation) about what constitutes a family, and about the need for the marriage covenant. He has many friends who come from single parent homes, and does not want to dishonor them by suggesting that the home of their origin is something less than his where his parents were (and still are!) married.

This is my son who has always loved to spar with me; when he was thirteen I could not say it was light outside without his disagreeing. So I know better than to try to convince him. He is right, of course: his friends do come from families, many of them very loving and good, even if they are not traditional.

But I still maintain that the model has not changed: a married father and mother working together to provide for, protect and nurture the children that come to their home. That other solutions also have worked does not negate the value of the basic model. That not all "traditional" families work also does not negate the value of the ideal.

The Family: A Proclamation to the World teaches the model. Divine scripture teaches the model. And wise people do their best to emulate the model.

What this father wants? What my father wanted: for my children to be happy, successful, and safe in families of their own one day.

To Life!

There is something about babies that just melts me. I'm the dad of seven. And in our extended family we have within the last few weeks had three more little ones join us, with another two on the way very shortly. Seeing photos of these little ones (all on FB; thanks very much techo-geeks who make all this possible) brings tears to my eyes. It's silly, really. These aren't my kids, or even my grandkids, but they are my niece and children of my nieces and nephews. And they are just amazing.

Over the years when my own children were born, we went from steel delivery tables to remarkable birthing suites. We watched with awe as the technology of disposable diapers moved from plastic-bag-with-padding-in-it to something that holds more liquid than a small camel. Our car seats evolved from the Bobby-Mac "barrel" design (I felt like I was strapping my child into a space craft) to five-point restraints in seats that doubled as strollers.

But in the end, it's the babies! All the fingers and toes and eyelashes and little pudgy knuckles and poofy hair that would rub off in the first few months. It was apgar scores and calling the help from "our friends in the neo-natal unit" when #2 wasn't breathing right (he did just fine after all) and bilirubin counts (and "the lights" for some). It was giving my wife space to nurse and then sitting with her when she nursed so she wouldn't feel alone. It was my son who didn't want anyone to touch him or my daughter who only wanted her mother to touch her, or others who didn't care who held them. It was anticipation fueled by the picture book A Child Is Born that couldn't even imagine the real thing, and it was the amazement every time that these babies are so small, so new, so fresh, so helpless.

When my first child was born, my mother said to me as she left after spending a week with us (my wife's mom had been there the first week), "Don't worry. You'll do fine. Just follow your instincts." I told her my instinct was to call her!

We stumbled as parents every step of the way. Our children taught us over time as much as we've taught them. And they continue to do so. They are still amazing in so many, many ways, continuing to surprise and delight us, even as many have entered adulthood, and some have chosen paths we would not have imagined for them.

But they all started – we all started – as these little tiny helpless bundles of new life. I consider myself fortunate to get to see it happen over and over again, and to remember what a blessing this life is, and what a blessing these little lives are in our world.

Adam and Eve as Co-Parents

I remember a friend of mine telling me of an exchange I found unbelievable, but I knew it was not only true, it probably had happened many times.

It seems they were having a discussion in their priesthood quorum about D&C 121 (where we're told how to exercise proper persuasion as priesthood holders – kindness, gentleness, meekness, love unfeigned, etc. -- see verses 41-42). When it came to the "reproving betimes with sharpness" (v. 43) verse, a brother said out loud that this verse gave him license to yell at his wife when she was out of line.

As my friend told me this story, I reflected on some solid teaching I received on my mission from Theodore M. Burton, then a member of First Quorum of the Seventy who instructed our zone conference. He said as a chemist he likened the "sharpness" in that verse to the sharpness of a clear photograph, not the sharpness of an acid. That image has always stuck with me, as has his rush to the second part of that verse ("showing forth an increase of love").

I remembered this story the other day as I read in Moses 4:22 the Lord's instructions to Eve that her husband was to "rule" over her. Someone in our class recalled President Kimball's discussion on that point suggesting that the word "preside" could well replace the word rule.

But the real nugget for me came in the next chapter, where we read in verse 4, "And Adam and Eve, his wife, called upon the name of the Lord, and they heard the voice of the Lord from the way toward the Garden of Eden, speaking unto them…" I was struck that Adam and Eve were praying together, and that they received divine guidance together.

The Family, A Proclamation to the World teaches, "In these sacred responsibilities [of presiding and nurturing], fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners."

The cool thing for me in the Moses verses is that Adam and Eve approached their condition together: they prayed together and they received inspiration together. A great model to emulate, if you ask me.

- Paul