From the moment we brought our precious baby boy home, our lives were immersed in an unexpected journey that began under the soft glow of bili lights. This common treatment for newborn jaundice, while medically necessary, introduced a unique set of challenges and profound lessons into our early days of parenthood. If you’ve ever had to navigate these waters, you understand the intense stress and unwavering vigilance they demand.
The Tender Trials of Phototherapy: A Parent’s Heart and Soul
The experience of having our newborn stripped bare, resting on a hard table beneath a constant beam of lights, was emotionally taxing. Day and night blurred into a continuous cycle of waking, checking his temperature, and an overwhelming worry that he might somehow roll off – an irrational fear for a baby so young, but one that relentlessly jolts a new parent awake. Every tiny movement, every soft whimper, amplified our concern, yet paradoxically, this intense situation brought us closer. We found ourselves holding him more deliberately, breathing in his sweet newborn scent, and circling each other with an even deeper sense of awe for the miraculous gift we had received. He was, and remains, utterly perfect in our eyes.
Our journey extended beyond our home, involving frequent trips back and forth to the hospital. There, we endured the sight of his tiny heels being pricked repeatedly for blood tests, anxiously awaiting the results as his bilirubin levels for jaundice fluctuated. Witnessing our child in discomfort, day after day, was a profound heartache. How does a parent stand by, seemingly helpless, as their baby experiences pain, knowing it’s for their well-being but feeling the sting nonetheless? It’s a testament to the depth of parental love, a willingness to fully enter into their child’s experience, even when it involves suffering. Perhaps this is the essence of becoming a parent: to momentarily feel what they feel, to walk alongside them through joy and sorrow.
During these challenging times, my thoughts often drifted to a Heavenly Mother. Does she, too, watch over us and our children, witnessing our suffering, our triumphs, and our heartaches? Does she intercede on our behalf, offering solace and strength? I believe she does. I envision moments where a divine hand might gently rest on her shoulders as tears fall for her children who may have momentarily forgotten their sacred connection. It was this profound sense of a higher, compassionate presence that guided my own prayers.
As I sat there, holding my son while his blood was drawn, I prayed with the same intensity I had carried through three near-fatal pregnancies, periods of unemployment, and countless heartaches: “Help me to become like Thee. Let these experiences change me, not break me. Help me to never forget the lessons learned. And please, if I must endure such trials, help me to one day discover a purpose in it all.” This prayer became a bedrock of my existence, a fervent plea for transformation and meaning.
A Tapestry of Life: Unraveling the Divine Plan
And slowly, gracefully, the pieces began to align. Our lives started to resemble a beautifully orchestrated movie, where every small moment, every person we encountered, and every experience we lived through intertwined, revealing a profound and intentional plan that had been unfolding all along. It became clear that every struggle, every tear, every moment of uncertainty, had to happen. They were all leading to a singular, pivotal moment – a moment that, standing beside Cade in front of more than 30 people, would irrevocably change our lives. This entire journey was far grander than simply Cade or I “becoming”; it was the unfolding of one of the greatest answers to a prayer I had whispered as a little girl.
Echoes from the Past: Navigating Self-Worth and Belonging
Settling back into the quiet rhythms of home with our new baby, I found myself in a deeply reflective state. My own upbringing, like many, was a mosaic of highs and lows. Yet, in my mind, the lows often cast a longer shadow. While my family showered me with love and I excelled academically, I grappled with a persistent feeling of invisibility and misunderstanding among my peers. The memory of eating alone in the high school cafeteria serves as a poignant example, a vivid illustration of that deep-seated sense of not belonging. Despite feeling like a fun-loving girl who enjoyed laughter, adventure, and silliness, I struggled to find acceptance, which eventually led me down a path of depression that intensified with each passing year – a story for another time.
Just a few weeks prior, an Instagram follower had asked me about my high school self. My immediate, raw response was, “I was broken.” I genuinely believed that no one truly cared, that I had no friends, and that I lacked anything significant to offer the world. Yet, beneath that profound sense of emptiness, I clung fiercely to a fundamental truth my parents had instilled in me: “You are a daughter of God, and THAT is enough.” This powerful affirmation became my lifeline, a quiet anchor in the stormy seas of adolescent self-doubt.
As a young girl, my prayers were often filled with a yearning to matter, to make a difference. I vividly recall pleading, “Let me help bring light, even in a small way. Let me contribute to Thy work, please, I just want to be a part of it!” I don’t fully comprehend why this desire was so crucial to my young heart, but the weight of trials can sometimes make us forget the purity of such early aspirations.
It was only later that I came to a profound realization about my high school years: my perceived lack of friends wasn’t truly a deficit in others, but rather a deficit in my own capacity to *be* a friend. I was so consumed with what I believed I lacked that I couldn’t see the unique qualities and genuine warmth I had to offer. This shift in perspective was transformative.
The Alchemy of Adversity: Lessons that Shape the Soul
Walking downstairs one day, a new thought solidified in my mind. For years, my prayers had centered on being “saved” from trials, on “me, me, me” – an almost self-centered plea for personal ease. But that day, I was done with that approach. I simply wanted to live the profound truth I had painstakingly learned: life is what I choose to see, what I choose to do, and who I choose to love. True happiness and fulfillment, I realized, don’t require anything in return.
My periods of loneliness became invaluable teachers, shaping me into a more empathetic and understanding friend. For that gift, I am eternally grateful. Being broken taught me to mend not only myself but also to reach out and uplift the weak and weary souls around me. Experiencing poverty instilled in me a deep sense of intrinsic worth and underscored how truly little we need to experience genuine happiness – a happiness that blossoms most beautifully when we give, even when we feel we have nothing to offer. But it was sickness, in its relentless grip, that taught me everything. It opened new eyes, allowing me to perceive the world, myself, and my purpose with an clarity I had never known before.
Sometimes, the most profound blessings arrive disguised as unexpected, even shocking, trials. What came next, well, that would become the most incredible miracle I had witnessed in my 35 years of life.
A Culinary Dream Forged in Fire: The Cookbook Journey
It was the very month I began to feel a sliver of my normal self during pregnancy when Cade and I received an unexpected inquiry about writing a cookbook. For years, we had politely declined similar offers, but this time, something felt different, despite the seemingly impossible timing. I was still battling the lingering effects of hyperemesis gravidarum, struggling with the thought of food, and Cade, while supportive, couldn’t manage the entire project alone, especially since I handled all the photography. So, in a move that might seem counterintuitive to any couple facing such trials, we did what felt right in our hearts: we said yes.
Once our little guy was born, we plunged headfirst into “cookbook mode.” Contracts were signed, and we immersed ourselves in developing and testing new recipes. I distinctly remember vowing, multiple times, that we would never write another cookbook. The sheer amount of time, energy, stress, and relentless work felt unreal, especially coming on the heels of a major move just two months prior and my severe battle with hyperemesis gravidarum only weeks before. Yet, amidst the chaos, there was an incredible joy in working together as a family.
Our children still recount the stories with shining eyes and beaming grins: the days when I would photograph so many delectable desserts that by dinner, I’d declare, “Have at it!” And we would, indeed, sample eight different desserts, making ourselves delightfully sick with laughter. Those moments of shared joy, even amidst the demanding schedule, became cherished family memories, cementing the cookbook’s creation as more than just a project, but a shared adventure.
Just before the cookbook’s official release, we received an invitation to present to the entire Deseret Book team. This involved showcasing our recipes and participating in a Q&A session designed to help everyone get to know us better, thereby equipping them to effectively promote the book. The weeks leading up to this event were a whirlwind of stress and frantic activity. We slaved away in the kitchen, meticulously preparing small samples, even delicate, bite-sized Nutella crepes, ensuring every detail was perfect.
The day arrived. We stood before a sea of faces, our hearts pounding. When someone asked about our true intent behind creating this cookbook, something entirely unexpected happened. Suddenly, Cade and I found ourselves pouring out our story – a raw, emotional narrative of faith and resilience. Tears streamed down our faces as we spoke of two years of relentless unemployment, of having no savings to fall back on, and the sheer desperation of surviving multiple hyperemesis gravidarum pregnancies. We shared how our sweet baby boy, nestled in the back of the room, was truly a product of miracles, a testament to divine intervention.
And then, something extraordinary occurred: they cried with us. Together. It wasn’t a pity party or a sob story; it was an authentic connection, a shared moment of humanity. Our story, for us, was simply *our* story – a narrative of unwavering faith and eventual triumph. So, what did we truly want to convey with this cookbook, beyond the recipes themselves? Our most profound desire was to gently remind families everywhere that it’s never just about the food on the table, but about the loving hands that created it, the hearts that poured themselves into it, and the shared moments that transform a simple meal into cherished memories.