Rise Up and Call You Blessed

I got my patriarchal blessing when I was 14 years old. (Not familiar with my faith or what a patriarchal blessing is? Click here.) I was young. My parents thought maybe I was too young. But, my bishop interviewed me and thought I was ready. So, I called the local Patriarch and set up my appointment. I look back on that day with fondness and total clarity. I remember small, seemingly insignificant details. But I also remember the wonderful spirit of confirmation I received that I was, in fact, in the right place at the right time.

I have re-read my blessing a few times as of late and there is one line that has been sticking out to me even more than it has in the past. I remember the first time I heard it, I felt so wonderful. Referring to my children, it says, "rear them in love and righteousness and one day they will rise up and call you blessed." My mom has the exact same line in hers. We had different patriarchs. Kinda neat.

As I've been taking stock of my life lately, I have found myself wanting in several areas and that just won't do. I want to be like my mother. I want to be a mother who knows. And I want my children to know that I know. I remember as I was growing up, there were multiple occasions on which I walked to my parents door right before bed, peeked in through the crack in the door and saw them both kneeling in prayer. And almost every night, no matter our attempts of sabotage, we gathered as a family to read scriptures and say family prayer. My parents scriptures were always lying somewhere around the house as well, opened up to where they had last been reading. It made an impression on me. Maybe not as big then as it has now, but nevertheless, an impression. Even now, as I type this post, my mother is sitting on the couch across the room from me, reading her scriptures. She is truly a blessed woman. And I will forever be grateful to her for her continued example.

So here I am, 22 years old, pregnant with my first child and recommitting to the basics. Here's me attempting to become the "blessed" mother I was promised I could be. The mother who knows.