“I’ll sit with you.”

In essence, that’s all you have to do. That’s all you need to say.

Sometimes we encounter a friend, ward member, or family member who is in so much pain, we feel like the right words are completely lost. Most of the time it’s because we have no experience in what they’re going through. How then can we be of comfort to them? We want them to feel better, but it seems we’re destined to say the wrong thing. Yet we feel obligated to respond. So what can be done?

My baby has been sick with a rare form of infant seizures categorized as a “catastrophic epilepsy” due to its urgency and impact on physical and cognitive development.* We don’t know the cause, but we do know that compared to other babies with his seizure type, he’s been very lucky. Despite a delayed diagnosis (and wading through multiple misdiagnoses), the frequent potentially brain-damaging seizures abated quickly, and we have resources to work toward a normal development. But despite this good news, I’ve been a total wreck. First, there was the struggle to even get an EEG and convince the doctors that it wasn’t mere acid reflux. Then there was the period of researching the rare disorder, and facing the terrifying statistics for outcomes. After that, I found an online community of moms who have infants with the same disorder, and found out that each baby’s case is unique. And now things have slowed a bit, as the most major devastating causes have been ruled out, and we let the treatment take effect.

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Last week, my family made our annual trek up the canyon to a small grove of bristlecone pine trees clinging to the edge of a cliff. That cliff overlooks the beautiful Virgin River Valley, including the Zion Narrows, in Southwestern Utah. Bristlecone pines are amazing trees, thousands of years old, gnarled and warped, appearing half-dead, withstanding the high altitude, wind, ice, and extreme temperatures. I can’t help but have a profound respect for these trees who keep persisting, keep living, keep watching up on these cliff tops.

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Nine years ago, I sat in a graduate seminar dedicated to studying female writers of the English Renaissance. Our professor asked us to consider what it was like for women in England to lose the figure of Mother Mary as the state converted to Protestantism. Was Elizabeth I a comfort to them during this transition, as was her middle way in allowing people to privately hold to their beliefs? Yes, I thought so. But the question sat on the edge of my mind. This was BYU, and growing up in the Mormon Church, I had never thought about what it would be like to have a divine female to pray to, and much less to lose one. How could I imagine that losing Mary as a central figure would upset anyone?

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When I was expecting my baby, I posted on the anxieties I felt about his baby blessing. I now want to report back on this experience because it was very special to me. I’ve hesitated posting it for a couple of months because this experience may not resonate with all our readers on either side of the belief spectrum. I’m sharing this personal experience here in hopes that other readers who have anxiety about baby blessings might be able to see how it worked out in my case. This is only meant to show how it worked for me, and not pass judgment on others’ experience.

In addition to my fear of being excluded, I was also concerned about other expectations that are placed on mothers. One of my anxieties was the open house, which at least in Utah is customary after a baby blessing. Because of the size of our families, we decided to hold the blessing in the Relief Society room on a Sunday evening. That way, we could host a small reception in the same room afterwards since our home was too small to fit everyone. Our bishop had agreed to let us do the “home” blessing at the church with just our families and a few close friends present.

Since we weren’t holding the blessing as part of a regular Sacrament Meeting, we decided to have a little program with songs and prayers. I chose two of my favorite primary songs for the opening and closing songs: “I Feel My Savior’s Love” and “I Know Heavenly Father Loves Me,” which focused on the message of the gospel I’d really love for my baby to understand. Because women wouldn’t be in the blessing circle, my husband and I both thought it would be nice to have our mothers say the opening and closing prayers so that they could have the opportunity to say how they felt about their new grandson and ask for any blessings they felt inspired to give him through their prayers.

We also thought it would be nice for me to give some remarks at the blessing. We had originally planned on doing this after the blessing, but our bishop had called and said he was running late, so we decided to have my remarks first. I had just finished nursing our baby, so I was still holding him in my arms. Even though there were only about 30 people present, I hadn’t planned what I would say in advance and was nervous that I wouldn’t be able to mentally construct any coherent words to reflect the love I had for my son.

“I want to say a few things about our baby and some things I hope for him. I feel like I had such a major role in creating his body that he’ll have for this life, so I hope that his body will serve him well in his earthly mission,” I began.

I then looked down at my son and locked eyes with him. “I hope that his eyes will be able to perceive, that they will learn to sort truth from deception and appreciate the nuances in between.” As I focused on my child, I began to feel that I was alone in the room with him, and my nervousness dissipated. “I hope his ears will be blessed with hearing kind and beautiful things. I hope his mouth will speak his truth and messages of the goodness he finds in the world. I hope that his hands will be used to reach and heal others. I hope that his arms will be used to hold and comfort those he loves. I hope his feet will be able to carry the knowledge that he gains to others who are open to what he can give them.” As I said this, I remember feeling so full of light, knowing that our bodies are glorious gifts. I felt full of excitement thinking of all the experiences my son will have in the future.

I then closed in the name of Christ and sat down, feeling so full of love and astonishment at the vision of what my son may be able to do in this lifetime. These words came to me in an overwhelming sense of love and hope. They weren’t perfect, but they came from the moment, and they came from my heart.

The bishop had arrived shortly after I began speaking, so they were able to go right ahead with the Priesthood blessing. Afterwards, while we were having cake and pie, I was approached by several members of my family. My mother-in-law, a feminist in her own right, said she was so moved by what I had shared. My brother, a very traditional Utah County type, said he treasured what I said as a type of beautiful mother’s blessing. My mother, who is also quite traditional, said she loved that I was able to give my son a mother’s blessing as part of his baby blessing. These acknowledgements and approvals both shocked and delighted me.

While I am usually anxious and fearful about doing anything out of the norm in real life, I didn’t feel ashamed at all at what I said, even if I perhaps crossed the line from what mothers usually say on such occasions. It seemed to me that my blessings were totally prompted by the Spirit and what was right in that moment. It wasn’t a political statement. It was just a mother’s blessing.

Even though what I said was so small that some may judge it as insignificant, my participation that night was significant and enlarging for me. I didn’t lay my hands on my son’s head, but instead cradled him in my arms in a small circle of two. I used words of hope for the future instead of commanding God to bless, or my son to receive such blessings. I don’t bring up these contrasts to put one above the other, but to contrast a difference of style, and those stylistic differences suit me. It may not be enough for another mother at another time. But on that night, it was a blessing for me and my baby.

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(My son, one day old)

I recently read a book to my three-year-old nephew: The Berenstain Bears and No Girls Allowed, a book he chose from those I owned as a child. In the story, Brother Bear and his friends organize a club to keep Sister Bear out. Sister Bear complains to her parents, and Papa Bear immediately sets off to force the boys to accept Sister Bear into their club. That is until he’s stopped by Mama Bear, who reminds him that gentle persuasion is more conducive to friendship than brute force. Eventually a successful plan is hatched based on Mama Bear’s observations, and all ends well.

I couldn’t help but be initially amused at the gender dynamics displayed. My sister said she has been reading a lot of these books from our childhood to her son, and she reminded me that Papa Bear always wants to do something rash or stupid until Mama Bear convinces him of a better approach. I realized how this reinforces the negative way men are portrayed in society. I think of those movies that my friends and watched in high school: Billy Madison, Dumb and Dumber, Tommy Boy, and the like. I haven’t kept up to date with them, but see the trailers for these movies that are still being made, an entire genre targeted to teenagers and young adults to show how adult men behave selfishly and foolishly. Have I missed the criticism that these movies’ messages deserve? When this humor is so unbalanced toward men, it creates a disappointing and sexist image. Perhaps it’s because men dominate the comedic profession. Yet that still points to our sexist expectations of people’s behavior.

Lately this hits closer to home. In my three months as a mother, I’ve discovered this strong biological instinct to protect my son. In the absence of many physical threats that traditionally plagued my ancestors (food scarcity, lack of shelter, wild animal attacks), I find myself mainly concerned with his social and emotional welfare. How can I give him a sense of inner security? How can I give him the tools he needs to become a good man? These are the questions I find myself asking during those quiet hours of nursing him.

To answer those questions, I have to look at the challenges he will face. As an academic feminist, I’m trained to look at the messages society sends women and girls. But I’m also focused on gaining an understanding of the messages society sends men and boys, especially now I’m a mother of one. I see the messages played over again: men are irresponsible, selfish, sex-obsessed, and uncontrollable hulks. They lack awareness and empathy, and only women can save men from themselves. And this just barely scratches the surface of the ills our society stereotypically puts on males. As a mother of a sweet, innocent baby, I do not want this to be my son’s inheritance.

But that’s society at large: “The World,” as we say in Sunday School. The Church is, or should be, different. Unfortunately, I see these perceptions promoted by society leaking into our Church culture and our explanation of male-only Priesthood or lack of women’s stories in the Book of Mormon. In Relief Society, I often hear women claim that they are inherently better than men. They say they are more spiritual, more sacred, wiser. Like Mama Bear, women are said to be the ones behind all sound family decisions while men are meant to be the public executors of their wives’ decisions so they can appear to preside in the family, preserving women as sacred entities. This stands to reason that men are not then as sacred.

Some people reason that fatherhood is not as important a role as motherhood, so we must give men something in addition to their opportunity to create and nurture human life. This type of reasoning implies that baby boys are born deficient when compared to baby girls, and only when they receive the Priesthood will they begin to recoup the spiritual power that places such a wide gap between them and the girls who are so above them.

My experience is that this reasoning is hogwash. Perhaps it is based on women’s own insecurities, but it’s no excuse to harm others in the process of working out your own self-doubt. Sometimes this belief is perpetuated within the sex: men will promote the idea because they are at a loss to explain why they hold the Priesthood and women don’t. But this answer will not satisfy me because it clashes with what I understand with my heart.

As I hold my son in my arms, I feel such a sense of fullness, of completeness. How can I describe my certainty except that it comes to me as a type of revelation or epiphany? His name is as sacred to me as any woman’s on earth. I know that he is everything he is supposed to be. I do not sense any deficiency in his spirituality because of his maleness. I cannot imagine him any more perfect if he were female. In fact, I sense a strong kind of connection he has to the Divine. A focus he has. An understanding. Totally male and totally complete in God’s love and power. And he doesn’t even hold the Priesthood.

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