Transitions

When I hear the word, "transition," I usually think of childbirth and the three most painful moments in my life. I know everyone is different, but for me, transition is the most difficult part of natural childbirth. It happens very soon before the most wonderful part: the part where the baby is born, fresh and sweet.

I hear a lot of parents talk about the transition from having one child and then two, and then from two to three. Some say it is most difficult going from one to two children. They say after giving all of the love and attention to one child, it can be complicated to divide it between two. Others say that going from two to three is hardest because you only have two hands. I am wondering if going from three to four may be even harder because we would have to buy a larger vehicle (I wish someone would invent a double/triple carseat so I could fit four kids in the back seat)!

For me, the transition from one to two children was smooth because my oldest was three-and-a-half. She understood, for the most part, what was happening. And she was ready for it. Although it was hard for her to be second in line so often, it wasn't long before the baby had grown big enough to play with her. We learned that transition happened before the most wonderful part: sisterhood.

The transition from two to three was more complex because my second child was only eighteen months old. The day after the baby and I came home from the hospital, I panicked when I was laying down with my eighteen-month-old at nap time and the new baby began to cry in the next room. I knew if I left, my nap-needing toddler would not stay in bed. I worried to myself, "How am I going to do this?" Then I realized that as long as the baby was fussing, I knew he was okay. And again the transition happened just before something wonderful: In a matter of minutes, they were both sleeping soundly.

And so it goes in life. How often I have seen that something difficult is then followed by something wonderful! The darkness and cold of night are followed by a sunrise and the warmth of the sun. A devastated cry is followed by the release of pent-up emotions. For me, years of infertility were followed by grateful mothering. And how can we forget that resurrection followed the crucifixion and tomb?

When I was a kid, my daddy always told me that the bad times would help me appreciate the good times. I have learned that he was right.

This weekend, I will go to the funeral of my grandfather. It is sad to know I will not see him again in this life. But deep down I know that death is only a transition into the next life.

I think one of the greatest things mortality teaches us is how to love Heaven when we get there.