Blessed - a short story

I recently read, in two different places, that in the early days of the church, women would offer blessings of healing. I was considering entering a short-story writing contest when I learned about this little historical fact. The title of the contest is "Four Centuries of Mormon Stories" focusing on the 19th, 20th, 21st, and 22nd centuries. I thought that a short-story about a woman giving a blessing of healing would be interesting. So here is my submission:

BLESSED

“Don’t leave me,” Claire pleaded. The fire reflected off her sweat drenched brow as she lay on a bed of blankets on the wood floor. Mary winced as Claire’s fingernails dug into her wrist.  Claire’s labor pains were long and hard now, and the two young friends clung to each other in the otherwise empty cabin.

“Even if I wanted to, I can’t now,” said Mary, forcing herself to sound calm and unconcerned. She shuddered as the winter storm blew a draft under the door and across the floor. “The wind would push me right back through the door and back to you before the snow even had a chance to touch me.” She wiped Claire’s brow with a damp rag and stared deeply into her frightened eyes. “Everything will be fine, Claire,” Mary asserted. “This pain is but a moment and shortly you will be holding your beautiful baby.  You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.” She repeated the words, hoping to convince herself.

Neither woman had expected Claire’s labor to start that day. They had planned on finishing the last baby quilt together, while their husbands worked on securing the barn at Mary’s cabin, just a mile away, before the first big storm of the winter arrived. The baby wasn’t expected for another couple of weeks, but the storm arrived early, before the men were able to make their way home.

 When the pains of labor began, the friends stoked the fire and chattered in excitement and anticipation, contemplating the glory and wonder of new life. The labor grew more intense as the snow continued to whirl outside, blowing more and more fiercely as the contractions raced on. The earlier emotions gradually morphed from anticipation to anxiety as the women realized, they were on their own and neither the storm nor the baby were holding back.

When Claire closed her eyes for a small moment of respite between pains, Mary also closed her eyes. She had assisted other births with her mother, a gifted midwife. She knew to expect intermittent pain and relief. She knew how to tell when the baby was close and had witnessed her mother help many babies take their first breath before laying them in their mothers’ arms. Claire’s labor was different somehow. The pain seemed longer and deeper with hardly a chance to catch a breath. Mary whispered a prayer. Please dear Father in Heaven, make me equal to the task. Help me be what she needs.

Claire twisted and pulled at the blankets beneath her. She grasped Mary’s hand, this time with such force that Mary bit her tongue.  “Robert. Where’s Robert?” Mary glanced at the window and the drifts of snow rushing like angry fists against the glass.

“He’s on his way, Claire,” Mary lied.  “He’s coming.” She wiped Claire’s brow again and tried to loosen Claire’s grip on her hand.

“He said he’d give me a blessing. I need a priesthood blessing,” Claire pleaded. Her eyes shut fiercely as another pain ravaged her body. The pain was long and deep, low in her back. It felt as though the pain would rip her limbs from her body. She opened her eyes as the pain faintly diminished and stared up at the blank ceiling.

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed, in short, staggered breaths. “I don’t know how. Please God, please help…” With a guttural yell, she pulled her head toward her knees.

Mary knew this was a sign that birth was near. She wrenched her hand free of Claire’s grip. Claire rested her head back on her shoulders and cried, both hands now grasping the edge of the blankets at her side.

Mary knelt at her friend’s feet, ready for the next contraction. She could see no progress as Claire screamed and clenched her fists again. Claire trembled and frantically looked for Mary but couldn’t find her. Mary seemed so far away. Everything seemed far away and dim. Mary saw Claire’s glazed eyes and was frightened for her. Something wasn’t right, she could feel it. She could feel it deep in her heart, in a way that spoke truth. Something wasn’t right.

Mary wished her husband were here with her. She longed for his confidence and capabilities. She yearned for the priesthood authority he held and for the blessing he could offer poor Claire in her time of need. She covered her head with her hands and let out a helpless sob. What could she do, a young, inexperienced woman, alone in this solitary cabin, with the storm raging outside and her friend failing by her side?

In that instance, staring into the fading eyes of her friend, Mary rose onto her knees. She had to do something, she decided. She wasn’t about to sit by and wait for her friend to die. Mary knew God exercised His power on this earth and she knew He answered prayers. She had seen it before, when the priesthood was exercised on behalf of others who were ill. She didn’t hold the priesthood, but she believed in its power. She placed her hands on Mary’s fevered head. Her hands shook as she began a fervent and sacred prayer with all the power of her faith. She vocally and reverently began to plead for the life and safety of Claire and her, as of yet, unborn baby.

Mary wouldn’t allow room for doubt in her mind. She searched her heart for feelings of the spirit and the will of God. She moved her hands to cradle Mary’s face and continued to pray for guidance, for knowledge, for a miracle. Claire writhed and groaned as another contraction enveloped her mind and body in unending pain. “I don’t know what to do, Father,” Mary submitted. “Please guide my hands.”

Mary laid her hands on Claire’s stomach and paused. Claire’s breathing was irregular and shallow. Her stomach was tight, yet Mary could feel the slight contours of the baby in the womb.  She continued her plea to heaven. She felt to bless Claire in her pleading, with strength and power and the will to live. Suddenly her hands felt warm and her sense of touch acutely perceptive. In her mind, she could see the form of the baby and knew it needed to be turned. Following the impressions she felt in her mind and her hands, she pressed firmly on the hidden limbs of the baby and gently nudged them to a new position. She cradled the form of the baby in her hands and prayed a blessing on her. Yes, somehow she knew this baby to be a girl.

Mary was suddenly aware of Claire shifting on the blankets. Feeling like she had woken from a dream or trance, Mary reached up and grabbed Claire’s outstretched hands and helped her brace herself with her knees. Mary lowered her hands again while Claire endured the final anguish and freeing emptiness of childbirth.

When Claire finally fell back in exhaustion, Mary held in her hands a baby girl and helped her take her first breath. Hardly moving, she reached for a clean cloth, tenderly wiped the residue of birth from the baby and wrapped her tightly in a soft blanket Claire had prepared just that morning.  She shuffled, still on her knees, to Claire, who laid quiet yet still trembling from the effort of the birth. Claire tried to pull herself to a sitting position as Mary pulled a nearby chair behind Claire as a backrest.

“She’s beautiful,” Mary said, placing the baby in Claire’s arms, marveling at the miracle that had taken place. Claire cradled the baby close to her chest. The fire flickered and flamed brighter for an instant, casting warmth and light around the two women and the newborn. The muffled wind continued to blow around the cabin like a sentinel guarding a valued possession. Claire’s eyes sparkled and shone in the firelight, filled with well-earned tears. She looked to Mary, whose tears matched her own. Mary wrapped her arms around Claire and her baby and held them both.

“I thought I wouldn’t make it,” Claire said quietly, almost to herself. She looked at Mary, then back at the baby and stroked her daughter’s cheek. “I didn’t think I would make it and now I’m holding this beautiful baby. My baby.” Words failed her and she laid her head on Mary’s shoulder.

The reverence of the experience settled in the room and the spirit grew thick around them. “We are blessed,” Mary acknowledged. “So very blessed.”

Book Review: Where The Mountain Meets The Moon

The Newberry Honor book, Where the Mountain Meets the Moon," Grace Lin, is a great read.  The story focuses on Minli, an only child in a small Chinese village. In order to help make her mother happy and bring fortune to her family, she leaves on an adventure to find the Old Man on the Moon, who can answer any question. On her way she meets many friends and discovers that most answers lie in the heart.

Minli's story is facilitated by Chinese folklore. I loved reading the folk stories inside the larger story. It really felt authentic, until I read the author explain that they weren't.  It took a little of the depth and oomph out of the experience for me but the story still remained a great story. Minli is a strong little girl with a good heart. Her traveling companions are stalwart and true. Her discovery at the end of journey, although predictable, is welcome and satisfying.

Young readers may be a little put off at first with the folklore and becoming accustomed to how the folklore relates to the overall story. But I think it is a great cultural experience and would encourage any and all to read this book. It won't take long and it will be worth your time.

Hikes and eggs

A few days ago, our neighbor brought over some eggs from her backyard hens. The following conversation ensued.

 

 Mom: Let's use these eggs for our German Pancakes in the morning. (our traditional Sunday breakfast)
Rachel: Wait, wait, wait. No way, Mom.
Mom: Why? What's wrong?
Rachel: These are, like, chicken eggs... not real eggs.
Mom: Where do real eggs come from?

We've got a little work to do, Farm Bureau family, teaching our own kids where our food comes from.


We've also been on a few hikes lately.
This is up Lamb's Canyon, near Park City. The trail is 2 miles to the top, which is a saddleback. From there you can continue down Millcreek trail into the Salt Lake valley or go back the way you came. It is a beautiful hike. The trail is narrow and well-maintained and the scenery is full, lush and gorgeous. (I would include more pictures but I keep maxing out on memory and can't find a way around it. Does anybody know how to fix it?)

This is up Provo Canyon. The leaves are changing color and they are just breath taking! (The picture doesn't do them justice)

Book Review: One Crazy Summer

 

I absolutely loved "One Crazy Summer" by Rita Williams-Garcia. As you can see from the cover, this book has won a lot of awards and it deserves them.

Delphine has taken care of her sisters ever since her mother left them alone with their dad. It was still a good life, living with her dad and grandma, but her mom was a completely absent person. Until the summer of 1968her dad decides to send them from their home in Brooklyn, New York, to visit their mother, Cecile, in Oakland, California.

The problem is, Cecile doesn't really want them. The children are then left in the care of a woman who forbids them to enter the kitchen and sends them off to the Black Panther summer program down the street to fend for themselves.

I just fell in love with Delpine and all her oldest sibling characteristics. She had to grow up much to quickly and it shows. She and her sisters have several adventures of their own. They travel the city, they learn about the Black Panthers and their mission, which is vastly different from what they had learned from the tv and their grandma. It's the story of an important time in our history and an inside, child's view into the black panthers. It's a story of growth and understanding. It's not a nice and tidy ending but it is satisfying and complete. I would love for all of my children to read this book. I highly recommend it for all ages.

Book Review: Maisie Dobbs

"Maisie Dobbs" is a fantastic novel, written by JacquelineWinspear. It is set near the turn of the century and includes World War I.

Maisie Dobbs is the daughter of a grocer. Her mother died when she was young, so it had just been Maisie and her father for quite some time. Eventually, Maisie finds herself working in a wealthy household as housemaid (think Dowton Abbey). While there, she impresses her employers who send her to Cambridge to gain an education. From there, she enters World War I as a nurse. When she returns, the world has changed and she cannot resume the life she once had. She opens her own investigative business and begins a dangerous mission to uncover deadly secrets. It's Downton Abbey meets private investigator. It's fabulous.

The story is fleshed out from beginning to end. There is just enough of each segment of her life to satisfy. The glimpse into the early 1900's is delightful. The front lines of the war, in France, are harrowing and real. The investigation is tense and fantastic. Oh, the whole book is fantastic. This is a must read.

Here are a few of my favorite passages, regarding veterans of the war. They are really touching and insightful.

“So what do you do when you cannot sleep?”

Billy looked down at his hands and began pulling at the lining of his cap, running the seam between the forefinger and thumb of each hand.

“I get up, so’s not to wake the missus. Then I go out. Walking the streets. For hours sometimes. And you know what, Miss? It’s not only me, Miss. There’s a lot of men I see, ‘bout my age, walking the streets. And we all know, Miss, we all know who we are. Old soldiers what keep seeing the battle. That’s what we are, Miss. I tell you, sometimes I think we’re like the waking dead. Livin’ our lives during the day, normal like, then trying to forget something what  ‘appened years ago. It’s like going to the picture ‘ouse, only the picture’s all in me ‘ead.”

And another passage:

“Shame, isn’t it? That we only like our heroes out in the street when they are looking their best and their uniforms are ‘spit and polished,’ and not when they’re showing us the wounds they suffered on our behalf.”

dirty comic

See that top comic there? That is my favorite comic. BABY BLUES. It's my very most favoritest. I read it every single day, Saturday and Sunday included. (I also used "Baby Blues" in this post.)

Today it made me especially chuckle because I had two children tromp off to school in dirty clothing. One child wore the exact outfit they wore the day before, with spilled food on it and all.

The other child has been wearing the same shorts for almost a week. When it dawned on me that if they were wearing the same shorts, then the underwear was probably the same  -- I was horrified. Then I remembered this child had to have showered for church somewhere during that week and probably changed underwear at that point. So then I was only sort of horrified.

Being a mother and choosing your battles is an interesting game. It's different for everyone and it varies even for myself depending on the child, the day, their emotional state and my mental state. Any of those variable can change at any time.

Today, two of my children went to school in dirty clothes...and today, I'm ok with that.

Without Kimber

Remember when cousin Kimber came to stay with us for a few days during the summer? Well, we got a little crazy one evening and went to the park with a video camera. This is the final result of that escapade.

We miss you Kimber!