I’m an avid resolution maker in January, but it always seems to be April before I gather the energy to face my flaws. Something about the earlier sunrise makes it easier to get up and read or walk. Something about the plants pushing through heavy soil and blossoms weathering snow makes me want to struggle to become more. To stretch, grow.
I’m finding my thoughts this spring directed toward my efforts as a mother. Maybe it’s all of the new life emerging—flowers, chicks, babies. Maybe it was the talks at Conference or some of the posts here at Segullah. Maybe it’s Mother’s Day looming on the horizon. Whatever the reasons, I’ve been thinking about mothering, and it’s the mothers of the army of Helaman that keep coming to my mind.
I don’t think a Mother’s Day ever passes without some reference to these women. Over the years, I have felt perplexed, irritated, intrigued, and even maddened by the short verses that imply so much. For me, these mothers have melded into one lofty ideal that often intimidates me more than it inspires. The story leaves me feeling my lack of faith. “We do not doubt our mothers knew it,” is the record of the sons. It’s a frighteningly clear phrase–one I’m not sure my children would echo.
I can’t say that I know many things in a spiritual sense. When it comes to matters of faith, I often find myself in the “Lord, I believe; help Thou mine unbelief” camp. I know that God is real, that He loves us, that His plan is for our ultimate happiness. My unbelief lies in whether or not what I want will align with His will. I stumble at how to teach my children about God’s infinite capacity for miracles while at the same time cautioning that He may not use that power if we ask. Wanting something is not the same as having faith, and I’ve tried to learn how to put my faith in God rather than in the outcome of events. “But if not” is the phrase that resonates in my soul.
The audacity of these mothers promising their sons that” if they did not doubt, God would deliver them” blows me away.
Years ago I used to think of their faith as childlike. We are told to be as little children, and maybe these women had achieved that. Perhaps they trusted God with an absolute innocence that guaranteed the safety of their sons.
Lately, though, I’ve wondered if that interpretation gives them too little credit. These were people who had thrown off the culture and traditions of their fathers, and by so doing had engendered a special hatred against themselves. Over a thousand of their brethren had been killed rather than taking up arms in their own defense. The women knew this, and had perhaps seen it. Innocence was not the most likely outcome of these events.
I think about the anguish of these parents as they considered sending their young sons to battle. Having their children assume this burden on their behalf must have run contrary to every parental feeling. I think of the desperation with which these mothers must have prayed for the safety of their sons, knowing that their enemies particularly hated them.
I’m thinking now that these mothers must have received an answer. The Spirit must have witnessed to them that their sons would live, because it is only through the Spirit that we can truly know anything. This promise of deliverance could not have been realized because of blind trust or even their intense desire for the safety of their sons. They may not have known everything, but they knew their sons would be delivered, and while the young men were not spared from wounds or pain, the promise did erase the “but if not.”
There will be times that I doubt, that I question or don’t know. There will be many “if nots” in my life. But I hope that I can live in such a way that when it matters, I will know. I hope that through the Spirit, I will be able to promise a spring of grace for my children even with the snow flying.
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