The First and Last Philosophy

Nov 2010 Issue

By Josi S. Kilpack
Several years ago, when my now-teenagers were little, a member of our ward was speaking in sacrament meeting. He had three teenage daughters at the time and started his talk by saying that before he had children he had lots of philosophies on how to raise them. Now that he actually had children he found himself with no philosophies left. I felt a little sorry for the guy and his kids; good thing my philosophies would stand the test of time (insert sarcasm).

Well, it’s been thirteen years since that talk and I find myself with very few philosophies left. I look at my children and sometimes I’m just terrified. Terrified for the horrible choices they could make at any time. Terrified that I haven’t been the mother they needed me to be. It’s a scary thing to raise children these days; scary for them and scary for us. But I know that if I let the fear paralyze me, then faith has no room to work.

More and more often I find myself going back to the basics—prayer, church attendance, and scriptures are part of that basic package—but the element that is standing out to me the very most right now is love. Love is the foundation of our existence. Everything our Father in Heaven has prepared for us is because he loves us.
Christ taught people how to love; as human beings we wither without it.

Thinking about the importance of love in the overall plan of salvation has made me think back to some of the things I do for my children, and ask myself if I do it for love or some other reason. Do I set boundaries on behavior because I love them or because
I want to control them? Do I cook and clean out of love or obligation? Do I pray for them out of love or out of a desire to keep life running smoothly? When they break promises, is my reaction one of love or anger?

I know the answer should be that everything I do is out of love, but it isn’t. I do get controlling, I yell, I pout, I wish they would just do everything right so that I don’t have to restructure my day when they forget their homework. A lot of what I do on a day to day basis is because of obligation and duty. I could deny it for fear of people judging me for it, but it wouldn’t make it less true. Changing my motivations is something I’m working on. It isn’t easy, but I’m learning a lot.

I’m learning that the path they are on is not my path. They have experienced trials I have not faced. They will have goals I have not set. I can help them through the process, and help them avoid some of the deeper pits, but ultimately their life is in their hands. They will make the important decisions and they will grow based on the consequences of those decisions—they will learn and grow better if I can help them discuss it and plan ahead. They will only trust me with that if they are assured of my love for them.

As my children get older, as they push limits and choose things I don’t want for them, I’m finding myself trying to love them more than ever. When I kneel down to pray—which I’ve done more often than ever of late—I pray that the Lord will help me love my children and treat them in a loving way. It’s the one philosophy I have left—the one that I do not believe will ever fail so long as I don’t fail in my pursuit of it.

Most of my philosophies have had to make room for reality. Most of my arrogant assurances that I would be a perfect parent have dissolved into my hope to be a goodly one. On my own journey I have made mistakes, I have doubted, I have raged, I have struggled to really believe. There is no point in expecting that my children won’t face those same dark places.

Just because I teach my children to cook does not mean they will never go hungry. Just because I teach them of God, does not mean their faith will never be shaken. It’s my greatest hope that I will develop those attributes that show my love to my children so that they will not doubt how essential they are to my plan of happiness; that they will want me to be a part of theirs.