Because I Have Been Given Much

It’s been my good fortune to have inspired and motivating mentors in my life. The first that comes to mind is a kind and nurturing stake Relief Society president that taught me how to minister rather than administer, how to plan with a purpose and how to invest in individuals. I think of her often and the way she has shaped me as a leader.

Then there’s my therapist. I saw a counselor for nearly two years. She taught me so much about ownership…learning to own my feelings, my behavior and most importantly, my greatness. She’d always hug me goodbye and say “Go be awesome JBrink.” She was a huge advocate of me getting more education, speaking publicly and trying hard things. I know she smiled from heaven when I earned that PhD.

I’m grateful for a wise man who saw potential in me then had the courage to push me to do more. As a result of his influence I’ve accomplished dreams that were tucked so deep in my heart that I barely knew they were there. He put me on the path to earn my doctorate which led me to BYU and Utah, where I met my husband. What a beautiful life we are living as a result.

Those are just a few of the people who have mentored me. Who are the people in your life that have helped to shape and develop who you are today?

I suspect we all have special people who’ve made kind investments in our progression. The more I reflect on the various people who’ve nurtured me, the more I want to give. I’m grateful for the ebb and flow of life that allows us to be takers and givers. Right now is a giving season for me. Our daughter is the primary recipient yet my heart is stretching to others. Just recently I’ve started working with a 13-year-old young woman in my ward. We’re doing our Personal Progress together. And I love it. I’m learning as much from her as I hope I am giving to her.

There’s something about one-on-one time with someone; coaching, loving, nurturing and digging deep to draw out potential and infuse confidence. What if every one of us were to prayerfully identify someone that we could help along the path of discipleship?

Here’s an invitation:
1. List individuals who have mentored you in some way. How did they help you? (think of teachers, your parents, family, Church leaders etc)
2. What qualities and skills do you have that could be helpful to someone else? (go beyond obvious outward talents. we all have unique, God-given talents that are meant to be shared.)
3. Identify a young person that you want to help… talk to their parents and leaders to get permission.
4. Find a way this young person can be helpful to you so it’s a reciprocal process. Help them to feel useful, needed, and trusted.
5. Act…and be sure to note what you’re learning in the process

Perhaps this talk from Elder Richard G. Scott will help inspire you.

And please share your thoughts and process!

In training

I’ve run at least three days a week for about eight weeks now. There have been two official 5k’s in the mix and I’ve logged about 10 miles a week. It’s not my personal best but it feels like a good post baby come back.

And. My whole body hurts…head to toe.

Upon finishing a 4.5 mile run on the treadmill the other day, I noted that I had ran a decent distance and gotten no where…I was in the exact same place in the Provo Rec center overlooking the “lion” basketball court. How strange! And how profound.

This really has me thinking. Why do I do it?

For one, I love the time with my friend. There’s something about talking through life’s joys and challenges with someone that’s just a bit further along in the trenches of marriage and motherhood.

Then there’s the amazing sense of discipline; knowing I’ve gotten up to work my body and meet a goal despite what the night consisted of for me and the small fry. I like to sweat…there’s something to be said about laboring by the sweat of our brow (and other parts) to work at something. It matters to me.

Then there’s this thinking that comes with the physical toil. Like looking at the treadmill and celebrating the distance despite no real mileage covered or scenery changed. It’s poetic in a way…climbing on a machine to work and exercise and struggle. And knowing that this is a metaphor for my life: I’m learning that life is often ho hum…that it can be the same thing over and over, mechanical. But if I’m seeking for personal growth and development so I can be more fit for the kingdom, I’ll find it. The routine of it can become meaningful. The treadmill is helping me increase my endurance and lung capacity, it’s helping me to be steady and consistent. I need to learn to be steady instead of running in bursts then collapsing in fatigue. I’m learning to pace myself and not run faster than I have strength. But. To keep running my race. I’m in training. For what? The day. I’m training and disciplining my body for the work of the day- the hours of nurturing and loving our sweet, happy baby, supporting and partnering with my good and kind husband, ordering a home, transitioning from a full-time career to stay at home motherhood. Life. I’m training for life.

And so my body hurts. I move with care because my hips and knees and back and feet and everything are sore. I let the ache remind me that I’m practicing, I’m teaching myself the value of consistency, effort, and diligence. I know that one day the run will feel more intuitive, less laborious. But for now it’s serving me. Exactly as it should..the struggle, the ache, the training.


There’s something about celebrating milestones that thrills me. Today marks the second anniversary of our marriage. The best two years has taken on new meaning. We commemorate our promises and potential together as we return to the temple today. This is also a significant event as it is the first time we will leave our daughter with a caregiver. Some may find it strange that I’ve not wanted or needed a babysitter these last four months. Truth is that I just don’t want to miss a thing. Even more so, I don’t need a break. Life feels like a dream these days, certainly not a burden. More and more I’m coming to understand the genius of God’s design for the family. I find myself feeling increased glimpses of His love as we celebrate and find joy in our babe’s development. Lately it’s been marveling at her increased neck strength, ability to roll over and her laughter. Oh her laughter! I found myself pondering the joy we feel in watching her grow then had the thought that this is how our loving Father feels for aus. While our progress may feel tiny, it’s significant in the scheme of things as it’s laying the foundation for more important events. Just as our daughter’s increased neck strength is preparing her to sit, crawl and eventually walk, our tiny steps of progression our preparing us for bigger things…to ultimately enter His presence and “go no more out.” And so on this day of celebration I give thanks for our patient progress and rejoice in the promise of forever. I am grateful for continual second chances and prompts to be still and soak it all in. This is the life we imagined and prayed for during those decades of waiting. What a gift!

Scarred Disciple

This babe of ours has loved music since she could wiggle within me. Some would suggest she had hiccups but I know she was keeping rhythm. Without fail her movements consistently matched particular songs or musicians. For instance, she loves the music of our dear friend, the extraordinary songstress Cori Connors. I loved sitting through Cori’s Christmas concert last winter, feeling within me the babe’s response to her whole souled performance.

Or there were the several times I taught the children in our stake that Doctrine is truth that points us to Jesus Christ. To practice seeking these truths, we’d identify statements as we’d sing I Am A Child of God. Without fail, this babe of mine would “leap within my womb” as I’d sing this song. On one occasion, I shared her movement with the children in the room. One perceptive and wise 5 year old responded: your baby loves the doctrine.


Here she is now, three full months old today, and this little angel of ours has demonstrated her moves as she dances to music every day. It’s the most extraordinary thing to see her move and acknowledge: I know exactly what the motion feels like!

More than that, I love her joyful expression, the motion of her passion.

She still loves Cori’s music and has added to her repertoire a love for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir (particularly their Primary music) and Mindy Gledhill (just to name a few). This morning our little dancer was laughing and singing to each song on Mindy’s Anchor album. As I sang along the lyrics:

Oh, I’ve loved you from the start
In every single way
And more each passing day
You are brighter than the stars
Believe me when I say
It’s not about your scars
It’s all about your heart

I told the babe; you don’t have scars. and it struck me once again. God has trusted me with this perfect spirit. Oh how I want to protect her in every important way…guard her and custom fit her armor so she can be a good steward. I want her to know the power of the atonement in healing every wound she’ll incur in her mortal experience. It’s inevitable. It’s necessary.

Then I told her mama has a scar to remember you by. Every time I see it I’ll remember you came from deep within me. Immediately, a favorite passage came to my heart and mind. The tears began to flow:

Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the [daughter] of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.
Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.
Isaiah 49:15-16

I don’t want to forget. Ever. Yes. The perfected Christ has retained scars so that I can remember that He knows and loves me. He has ransomed me and made way for my return. He’s retained scars to ensure that He is recognizable to you and to me.One day he will permit me to thrust my hands into his wounds and bathe his feet in my worshipful tears of gratitude. Likewise, He’s allowed me to retain scars as a symbol of his redemption- a literal mark of his saving grace. My wounds are bound up by him and him alone.

I’m grateful for the lessons of mortality, manifest in the flesh. I love this purple scar across my womb – a symbol of her as a type of Him. And a call to be like him as I carefully guide her on her path of discipleship. Like my daughter, I feel this rhythm deep within me – the song of redeeming love.


Okay. I’ll confess. Though admittedly I’ve been in denial for some time, I am a type A personality: intense, driven, passionate, task and goal oriented, high expecting, high achieving and relentless. These qualities have helped me to accomplish a great deal in my life. And like all personality traits, they can be both strengths and weaknesses.

Having said that, nothing has challenged me more than motherhood. This schedule lover of checking off the task list has come to almost a complete stop.

What a gift.

My daughter is inviting me to reevaluate the measures of a successful life. What used to be so natural and easy for me to do is now a major accomplishment (like sincere scripture study and kneeling prayer). And when it’s all said and done if she has slept well each day, I am happy. (Not because I love the time when she’s asleep but because it’s her “work” right now as she grows,) She is encouraging me to slow down and drink deep from the unique opportunity of service that she has granted me.

What a joy to spend my days becoming an expert in HER…learning to read her needs and attend to them quickly, marveling at her simple discoveries (right now it’s her hands) and new skills (currently she’s working on the most adorable giggle I’ve ever heard).

So I haven’t gotten on my hands and knees to scrub my floors like I prefer, written extensively each day, taught classes or interacted with many people. I don’t get much “done” each day. It’s a big deal if I exercise, study my scriptures and take a shower all in a 24 hour period of time. But I’m accomplishing exactly what I should be each day…I’m growing a beautiful girl who is refining an over programmed mama. It feels like I have a second (or third or fourth…) chance to change. And I marvel that my work for her is primarily physical while her reciprocal gift to me is absolutely sanctifying and exalting.

Thank you baby girl. Thank you.

Surprised by Hope

Certainly there are aspects of new Motherhood that have been a surprise to me. For instance, take the amount of laundry that one little person can create. That’s been surprising. Or her noises. I thought I’d been around a few newborns in my life but clearly not enough to realize they’re so noisy. My babe has a lovely array of sounds; sounds that I want to record and let her identify later. She’s quite good at impersonations of baby goats or elephants and screeching tires or squeaky doors. Gratefully these sounds don’t scare me anymore. 

I’m surprised by my seemingly lack of interest in any other living creature. Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t hardened my heart to other people, I’ve just lost any desire to socialize or interact with others. My hours are spent studying the tiniest features of my baby- the hair on her shoulders, ears, neck, back…she’s so fuzzy and cute. Counting and recounting her fingers and toes, running my fingers through her dark hair over and over and over and again. Feeling like I can see her grow right before my eyes. Watching her stretch and yawn, wave her arms like she’s conducting music and respond to light or the sound of music or a fan. She fascinates me. 

I’m surprised by how comfortable I feel mothering her. Its not so intimidating anymore to bathe and dress her or to figure out what she needs… what her cry means. I’m surprised at the way we communicate with each other and how I work to anticipate her need before she cries. 

I’m amazed at how much I love my body, marveling at the work its done in creating her and now nourishing her. I feel myself fulfilling a measure of my creation in her creation. God is good. What a paradox to consider the adversary’s relenting efforts to destroy my empowered sense of my body. 

Perhaps the most amazing surprise these past 7 weeks is the amount of love I feel… for her, for her daddy. I thought I was in love before but this space in my heart has expanded in a way that I never thought possible. I always hoped for this. All I ever wanted was to be a mother and now I am one precious little girl’s mama. In the corner of my mind, even during the darkest, singlest days, I hoped for her. And believed this would happen.

Still. I’m surprised by the way Hope feels when it becomes a reality.



It was 4 weeks ago today… almost to the minute, that I gave birth to our daughter. I was 36 weeks 6 days pregnant on that Thursday afternoon. I was anticipating a baby shower later that night. As we drove to the doctor’s office, we were guessing how dilated I might be and how much longer until she’d arrive. We never expected hearing “you need to have this baby now!” from Dr. Jones. But as it turns out, my blood pressure (which had been monitored with non-stress tests for the past six weeks) was dangerously high. Knowing my desire for a natural birth, the doc suggested the option of being induced (at a 1 cm dilation) or a c-section…explaining his concerns of what my blood pressure could do during a long, hard labor. 

We chose a c-section.

Within an hour of that conversation, our baby was in our arms. Perfect and beautiful. And suddenly all that we had been planning and preparing for had happened. Our daughter had arrived: 6 pounds and 14 ounces of pure joy. 

My delivery was nothing like I had planned. But isn’t that typical? After all, I’ve committed to live the unexpected life.

I loved being pregnant and was surprised by the ache in my heart when the anesthesiologist numbed me and I could no longer feel her move inside of me. While I knew that a very real baby was about to be in my arms, I still felt this tug that I had not prepared for. What a transition.

Having miscarried two times prior to this pregnancy, I experienced a bit of anxiety during the first 12 weeks. But the nausea trumped and some how squashed out the worry. Once we saw an ultrasound everything shifted for me. Indeed, we had a viable pregnancy, we really were having a baby! It was at this point that I made an important choice: throughout this pregnancy, I was going to focus on the Atonement and trust in Alma’s promise:

And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind;

and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people. 

And he will take upon him death,

that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people;

and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy,

according to the flesh,

that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.

Now the Spirit knoweth all things;

nevertheless the Son of God suffereth according to the flesh

that he might take upon him the sins of his people,

that he might blot out their transgressions

according to the power of his deliverance;

and now behold, this is the testimony which is in me.

Alma 7:11-13

Remember Him” became my mantra.

My focus has been on the atonement, coming unto Christ in a way that I had never thought to before. Trusting Him and His plan.

As I prepared for and practiced for my natural birth I visualized Him and His suffering. When I felt her move, I remembered Him.  When I was sick, uncomfortable, aching or tired, I thought of Him. She became this powerful motivating force in my life, this symbol and type of Christ. So when it came time to have major surgery to deliver her…exactly what I did NOT want to have happen, I was reminded that one of the most important aspect of the atonement is to surrender: submit my will. And in this case, my choice wasn’t just about me, it was about the life of someone else…my daughter. Nevertheless. Thy will be done.

While my recovery has been amazing and our baby is healthy and so very happy and content, I’ve still experience quite a bit of anxiety.

Is she breathing?

Should she sound like that (she has a great assortment of animal sounds)?

Is she eating enough?



I’m a new, first time mother. I joke that I gave birth to twins that day: a baby and anxiety. Yet in the wakeful early morning hours, I’m stirred to remember Him. To surrender. AGAIN. To recognize that the pregnancy and the practice of coming unto Him was just the beginning. I have work to do. 

Maybe it wasn’t anxiety and a baby that I gave birth to on January 23. It was my daughter and my new life. Two new creatures, born of Christ… blood, water, and spirit.

As I look at her, I remember Him. I see HIM in this vibrant, valiant spirit that we’ve given life to. This symbol of new life both physically and spiritually. I embrace this opportunity to surrender. And to learn. I welcome our beautiful daughter to our hearts and home- our symbol of Hope, the Perfect brightness of HOPE through the Atonement.

What a miracle: her, me, HIM. 

Happy one month of mortality my sweet little friend.

Please keep teaching your mama. 


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