When it rains, it pours.

Worth. It's a small word. It even looks kinda funny by itself, but it has been on my mind a lot lately, in many different contexts.

Right now, those little blades of grass growing in our backyard mean a lot to us. We worked hard for them and we hope they fill up our yard with lush, pleasing green. A whole week of thunderstorms is trying to stop that from happening, and we find ourselves asking, "Was it worth it?" I guess it's too early to tell.

There have been times the past few years that we have wondered whether it was worth it for Jeremy to go back to school. We struggled for three years. Now when I say struggle, I'm talkin' sold our house and moved to another state with two and a half kids, and having yet another wee babe before the graduation robes were put on, struggle. Student life with four kids is no party people! But it is going to be worth it! This is the thought that got us through. A year after graduation the economy tanks and Jeremy is working at a place marginally better than where he was working before we went to school. We have a job and we are very thankful for it. But lately we've wondered (as we write out our checks to the student loan guys and muddle through the financial shlumpity-slump), "Was it worth it?"

How do we judge how much something is worth? I listened to some guys on the radio talk about how much Ronaldinho is worth. A lot, apparently.

I recently sold some books and had a hard time determining how much they were worth.

Money is one way to determine some thing's worth. Beauty and time invested are others.

Sometimes we learn about worth in painful ways:

Friday morning I went to the temple with a friend. I asked my brother to watch the kids for me. I went early and hoped that my little girls (especially Anna) would stay sleeping the whole time. I had a beautiful experience at the temple and got a much needed spiritual boost. I came home a little later than I planned to a house full of wide-awake children and a brother with a nervous twitch. He gave me this look that said, "Why??"

He proceeded to tell me that Anna woke up about an hour after I left and went berserk because I didn't tell her I wasn't going to be there. She ran out the door and half way down the block screaming. When my brother tried to get her she screamed in a hysterical, I-just-woke-up-and-I'm-so-mad!, voice, "Get away from me! I don't like you!" My sensitive, kind and gentle brother didn't know what else to do but sit there with her in the middle of our block and pray that the neighbors didn't call the cops. Eventually Anna calmed down and came in the house with him. My brother was traumatized.

So, was the trip to the temple worth it? Two days after the whole affair Anna and my brother have recovered and I can tell you it was.

As a mother I have certain gauges that I semi-consciously use to determine my self-worth. I don't have quarterly reviews from a boss. I don't get raises or bonuses for doing good work. I don't get a report card telling me what I've passed or failed.

I know that Heavenly Father thinks I'm of infinite worth, but because I am a poor, feeble human I tend to be less secure when I consider my own worth.

Why do ye not think that greater is the value of an endless happiness than that misery which never dies—because of the praise of the world? (Mormon 8:38)

I suppose I can go back to seeds and grass here. What truth there is in the law of the harvest! My life-lawn right now is filled with lots of small, unglamerous things: Laundry, dinners, scrapes and bumps, little voices, little very needy and grabby fingers, peas on the floor, clogged toilets, book reports, math facts, marker on the wall, manners lessons and other daily family "seeds." Sometimes the sun is shining, sometimes it rains. Sometimes the storm is so violent we wonder if our seeds will make it and if it is even worth it.

Yet we are promised help,
My doctrine shall drop as the rain, my speech shall distill as the dew, as the small rain upon the tender herb, and as the showers upon the grass.
(Deut. 32: 2)

And hope,
And he shall be as the light of the morning, when the sun riseth, even a morning without clouds; as the tender grass springing out of the earth by clear shining after rain.
(2 Sam. 23: 4)

I imagine myself an old grandma someday surrounded by my children and grandchildren whom I have watched grow. Who have cried tears of sorrow and joy with me. Who love me and love each other. That will be my priceless, viridian paradise.

All the rain and storms, the lack of new clothes and shiny things, the tears and heartache, the missed cruises, the worry; small price to pay.

It will be worth it.