My little corner of the World

My heart has felt heavy lately. Mostly, I think, because of all the pain and suffering around the world. From the injustice in Libya to the devastation in Japan to our friends down the street from us who are in the middle of fighting their own tiring battle. At night, we pray for them all as well as a whole list of others we know who are suffering in some way. It's just that lately as the list has gotten longer so has the burden of worry and sadness.

I feel so helpless. I can't go to Sendai and help the sweet Japanese people rebuild their city, though I wish I could. I can't go to Libya and dethrone Ghaddafi (in my mind I always want to say God-Awful). I can't find awesome jobs for those who've been unemployed for longer than imaginable. Sitting in my little corner of the world, I can't fix the troubles, I can't solve the problems, that so many are facing both near and far.

That helpless feeling can become so overwhelming.

***

The other day I had a moment when the helpless feeling turned to something more similar to hopeful. I was reminded that "man's extremity is God's opportunity," as expressed by Elder Holland in this talk.

As I sit in the comfort of my own home, feeling overwhelmed by all of the suffering going on in different corners of the world right now (feeling both guilty and grateful for my blessings), I remember that there is an omnipotent God who is also full of love and compassion. He loves and is keenly aware of all of His children in every far corner of the earth. I know that He has the power to make things right. And, somehow, He can even take the most awful of circumstances and turn them around.

(Not that that means I'm content to sit idly by, doing nothing... just that I can find comfort in doing what I can from where I'm at without feeling hopeless at my minuscule efforts.)

***

Fortunately the duties of motherhood have provided me with some distraction from getting too engrossed in the 10 o'clock news. As I turn my focus from news stories to my little boys - Benjamin and Hugh - I feel some worry about the world they'll grow up in and how to properly prepare them for that, but mostly I feel empowered by their innocence and purity.

I don't have control over the affairs of the world, but I do have some control over our little corner in this great big world. Their (Ben's and Hugh's) world, is one in which I do have some control. I can choose the environment they grow up in, I can create a haven of peace, I can influence them for good. I can be patient, I can keep my calm, I can teach kindness with my actions. Here we can have peace. Here we can find comfort and safety from life's storms.

While wars are raging and natural disasters are wreaking havoc, the reality is that here in my little corner of the world I still have dirty diapers to change and mouths to feed and owies to kiss and two little boys who need me.

And, thank goodness for that.

(And, we'll keep flooding heaven with our prayers... hoping they might help just a little.)

Seasons of Life

 May 2009, Muir Woods (in a much different season of life)

A little over a year ago I was sitting in a church meeting listening to a very optimistic woman (whom I admire) talk about how no matter what we're going through in life we need to be cheerful. I remember I was sitting alone and felt even more alone as I tried to make sense of the words coming out of her mouth. At that point I was still struggling to carry my burden of grief and loss. There wasn't any part of me that felt cheerful about what I was going through.

I knew there was some truth to what she was saying, and that part of me felt guilty, to the core. Tears filled my eyes and I found myself staring into an opened book in my lap, hoping no one would notice my sadness, especially during a lesson on being cheerful. 

But, there was this other part of me that felt like there was something missing from her well-intended encouragement. I knew the message this woman was trying to convey was only meant to be uplifting, but it just felt like there needed to be some distinctions made between different kinds of trials and different responses to those trials. 

Aren't there differences in weight and scope of trials? Aren't some trials harder and more painful than others? I mean, as frustrating as it is to lose your car keys, it's quite a different burden than losing a child, isn't it? And, in those heavier trials, isn't there a purpose to letting ourselves feel the pain and the grief? How can we properly be comforted if we don't properly mourn? Is being cheerful always the answer?

As I sat through the rest of that meeting, I turned my thoughts to the scriptures and was reminded of the Savior's response upon hearing of the death of his friend Lazarus. He wept. I'm sure he wept, in large part, because of the deep compassion he felt for those who were devastated by his death. They were mourning and his response was to mourn with them. There was no mention in that situation about their need to be cheerful. He mourned with them and then he reassured them of His own power over death and brought Lazarus back to life. It could have been so easy for the Savior to skip the whole mourning part and just display his power to heal. If the Savior felt the need to weep, even when he knew in a matter of minutes he would reverse the effects of death, then there must be some lesson there for us.

A couple of days later I found myself thinking about the famous verses found in Ecclesiastes, made more famous by this song.

1 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: 
2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; 
3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; 
5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; 
7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; 
8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Now, as I sit in this particular season, which is drastically different from the season I was in a year ago, I recognize even more the wisdom in allowing myself the time and the space to fully and purposely embrace the different seasons of life. I'm glad that a year ago I gave myself permission to break down, to weep, to mourn. I'm glad that I went through the stages of grief, even though at times I felt guilty and awful for some of the ugly feelings that would surface. 

There is something about experiencing the hard and the painful in their fullness that have now made the joy and the gladness that much more beautiful.

And, even though my season of mourning has gratefully been replaced with a season of joy, my heart is painfully aware of dear, close friends who are currently in a season of pain and mourning. I wish I had all the answers for why certain things happen, but this I do know... there is a time to every purpose under heaven. 

So, my dear friends, I hope whatever season you find yourself in, you'll give yourself permission to feel whatever you need to feel, without feeling guilty for whatever those feelings are. It's okay to feel sad, it's okay to cry, it's okay to mourn lost dreams, it's okay if you don't feel cheerful about the painful trials you're required to go through. And, please know that you are not alone in your mourning. Remember it is a season. It has its own purpose. It will have an end. There will be another season around the corner. A season when it'll be okay to laugh, to dance, to heal.

That joyful season will come to those who are still painfully awaiting its arrival. I had a hard time believing it myself when I was stuck in my grief, but my season of joy has come just like I was promised it would. And, I hope that my friends who currently find themselves in one of life's darker and harder seasons, that they'll hang onto hope for the season of joy that will come. Because it will come. I know it will.

The process takes time

Within weeks of losing our twins, we were bombarded with all kinds of well-intended advice, some from perfect strangers.

Jump back into adoption.

Become foster parents.

Go back to school.

Find a new fertility specialist.

We weighed all of these options and then some more. Ultimately we knew we just needed time. Time to grieve. Time to heal. Our broken hearts wouldn't heal properly by simply rushing into the next phase. We knew that. And, we felt confident that the right answer would come at the right time.

Plus, to be completely honest, for the first time I was questioning the one possibility I had always been too afraid to consider.

Maybe I wasn't meant to be a mother (in this life). 

That was around the time when my prayers changed. My pleadings became drastically different.

~~~

In the early springtime, I started reading the biography of Ardeth G. Kapp, an amazing woman who has lived a life of joy and satisfaction while still yearning for the blessing of motherhood. 

I've been struck by her faith, encouraged by her perspective, and inspired by her example. This part especially sunk deep into my heart, and swirled around for days and days of quiet pondering:

"One night, as my husband and I were reaching for that 'kindly light' to lead us 'amid the encircling gloom,' we read a statement from President David O. McKay: 'The noblest aim in life is to strive... to make other lives... happier.' "

"Peace of mind comes from keeping an eternal perspective. Motherhood, I believe, is a foreordained mission. For some, this glorious blessing may be delayed, but it will not be denied. Motherhood is an eternal reality for all women who live righteously and accept the teachings of the gospel."

~~~

Sometime in May we went to see this awesome movie. It hit so close to home, especially those first ten minutes. I felt like we were watching our-animated-selves on screen. As we walked home from the theater afterward, we made silent promises to ourselves and each other that we wouldn't put off our fulfilling our dreams and living our adventures (with or without kids in tow). 

Within weeks we bought our tickets to Italy, our own Paradise Falls, a dream that had been put on hold for far too long already.

~~~

One evening in mid-August, after returning home from a particularly powerful Church meeting, with messages that seemed to come directly from heaven straight to my heart, I voiced some feelings to Marc that I never imagined I'd ever experience.

If this is it... if this is the way our life is meant to be lived - just the two of us - I'm really okay with that. We have a happy marriage, we enjoy life together, we really have it pretty good... how can I be disappointed with what I've already been given?

~~~

I don't know if it was necessary for me to get to this point of acceptance - not that acceptance means losing the desire to have children - but, taking the time to go through this process has been good for me. In daring to ask some hard questions, I've found a new measure of peace and healing. I'm learning to completely entrust my desires and my dreams into the hands of God, seeking to know and accept His plan for my life.

Bike to Work Day

Today, in this part of California at least, was Bike to Work Day. I think it's so cool to have a day for something like that. If only there were more of them in a year. Though, that's easy for me to say. Since Marc works from home and I work for him, we don't have a commute to worry about, nor do we typically add much to the daily amounts of car emissions mixing in our atmosphere. There is great peace of mind about that when I put on my green "every day is earth day" hat. (Love that hat.)

I felt a little left out that we weren't able to bike to work, so this afternoon we decided instead to go on a bike ride in honor of the day. Marc happened to have an appointment and I decided to tag along. While he was in his meeting, I found a shady spot of grass under a large redwood tree. After enjoying a quick, but deeply touching, phone conversation with an amazing and wise friend, I opened up the book I brought with me - Viktor Frankl's Man's Search For Meaning. 

As I was hurrying out the door, I grabbed it without a second thought, because honestly if there is one topic that has been weighing more heavily on my mind lately, it's my search for meaning and purpose. It's been a matter of serious prayer, pleadings for answers that have caused many tears to fall. I've turned to various sources, seeking answers to my questions. Today, I was hoping that Mr. Frankl would fill in some of the gaps, that I would find some insight, some perspective, some understanding about the purpose of suffering. I picked up where I had left off who-knows-how-many-months-ago, and not even two sentences in, I was reading words that offered an abundance of light. Had I had a red pencil with me, I would have marked every sentence of the dozen or so pages I read. 

Here's just one phrase I will share that made its impact on me today:

We had to learn ourselves and, furthermore, we had to teach the despairing men, that it did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us.

Beautiful.

With a number of competing thoughts vying for my attention lately, between my friend's encouraging words and the ideas expressed by Mr. Frankl, direction for some choices I've been considering seemed so clear.

Now, I'm just hoping those feelings will stay with me in the coming days as I continue my search for meaning. If I didn't know any better I would give all the credit to Bike to Work Day.

Sunday leisurely reading

Last week in Relief Society I taught Lesson 31, which ended up being a very overwhelming task. I'm happy to report that I survived working the DVD player and never once did my knees crumble beneath me. In my preparation for that lesson, I came across two talks that have been on my mind a lot for the last couple of weeks, and thought I might share them here for your Sunday leisurely reading. They are very much worth your time.

They have brought a measure of comfort and understanding to my heart, even confirming to my soul that some words truly can heal a wounded heart. I'm grateful for the examples of really good people who have gone through really difficult trials; for the things I can learn from them and the comfort of knowing I'm in good company. 

Here's a small taste of the first talk by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, given at a CES fireside last year, Lessons from Liberty Jail: 

But tonight’s message is that when you have to, you can have sacred, revelatory, profoundly instructive experience with the Lord in any situation you are in. Indeed, let me say that even a little stronger: You can have sacred, revelatory, profoundly instructive experience with the Lord in the most miserable experiences of your life—in the worst settings, while enduring the most painful injustices, when facing the most insurmountable odds and opposition you have ever faced.

Now let’s talk about those propositions for a moment. Every one of us, in one way or another, great or small, dramatic or incidental, is going to spend a little time in Liberty Jail—spiritually speaking. We will face things we do not want to face for reasons that may not have been our fault. Indeed, we may face difficult circumstances for reasons that were absolutely right and proper, reasons that came because we were trying to keep the commandments of the Lord. We may face persecution; we may endure heartache and separation from loved ones; we may be hungry and cold and forlorn. Yes, before our lives are over we may all be given a little taste of what the prophets faced often in their lives. But the lessons of the winter of 1838–39 teach us that every experience can become a redemptive experience if we remain bonded to our Father in Heaven through that difficulty. These difficult lessons teach us that man’s extremity is God’s opportunity, and if we will be humble and faithful, if we will be believing and not curse God for our problems, He can turn the unfair and inhumane and debilitating prisons of our lives into temples—or at least into a circumstance that can bring comfort and revelation, divine companionship and peace.

The second talk is by Elder Neal A. Maxwell, given more than 30 years ago, also at a CES fireside, Take up the Cross:

Just as no two snowflakes are precisely alike in design, so the configuration of life's challenges differs also. Some of our experiences are not fully shareable with others. Thus, others, try as they may, cannot fully appreciate them. They must trust us, our generalizations and testimonies concerning these experiences. A few of our experiences should not even be shared. But it is useful to ponder the past examples of our partners on the pathway. 

In the midst of some of these individualized challenges, however, we may cry out on our small scale as the Savior did on the cross, or as the Prophet did in Liberty Jail. Being in agony, we will pray more earnestly, for cries of agony are not the same as cries of despair. 

Our individual experiences may not always be unique, but they are always authentic. God will even take into account our perceptions of, as well as our responses to, our trials. For those of us who do not, for instance, find claustrophobia a challenge, it is difficult to measure the terror that comes to those for whom it is such a challenge. Thus, a friend may seem to struggle unnecessarily long before finally prevailing with regard to a particular principle of the gospel. But for that individual, the struggle was real enough! We need, particularly, to understand with kindness those who are asked o go out to do battle again on a familiar field--on the very battleground where they have already suffered defeat several times. Yet some of our most difficult victories will occur on new terrain--like Joseph's in Egypt--when we do not have the equivalent of a "home court" advantage. 

We must remember that, while the Lord reminded the Prophet Joseph Smith that he had not yet suffered as Job, only the Lord can compare crosses!

Finding joy... today

We have fond memories of our childhoods, memories of being surrounded with great love and lots of laughter, and we hope to build these same kinds of memories in our own home. We can't wait to play with trains, swing on swings, chase butterflies, and re-experience the beauty of the world through a child's eyes.

The quote above is taken from our adoption profile. I've decided it needs to be changed... here's why.

Soon after the passing of Elliana and Emmaline, I found myself feeling sad that I had failed to provide a full life of memories for my girls. Even though I knew there wasn't anything more I could have done to save my girls, there was still a feeling of guilt and responsibility weighing on my heart... I should have been able to save them. (There's that banned "should" word from our vocabulary.)

From the moment I found out I was pregnant, my girls became my sole purpose for living. For the better part of five months I literally focused 100% on my girls. I dropped everything during those months - school work, Church responsibilities, even many household chores (thanks to having an amazing husband). I did a lot of laying on the couch, a lot of vomiting, a lot of sleeping... I also did a lot of reading to my girls. We got through most of the Chronicles of Narnia.

Since they've been gone, I've naturally had moments when it has been difficult to find joy or purpose in life again. As weeks have turned into months, I've tried to look at things differently. I've tried instead to live my life as a gift to my girls. I know they want me to find joy in living... and since they aren't able to experience all the joys of life here on earth, I find myself hoping that somehow they can find joy in watching me experience things for them.

Evidenced by the quote at the top, when we were preparing to adopt, I seemed to have the mistaken idea that we had to wait for a child to re-experience the joys of trains and swings and butterflies. I'm realizing we can experience all of those joys with or without children in tow (though I know the joys are probably at least 100 times greater with). I'm grateful that the birth of our twins has re-opened our eyes to the simple beauties and joys of life. Here are a few of the simple blessings that have given me a renewed joy for life:

Mother Nature. Maybe I was just blind to them before, but in the last three months I've seen more rose buds and flowers blooming than ever before... as well as butterflies and hummingbirds. Maybe they are extra special gifts from God. He knows how much they mean to me right now, and I am so grateful. I love the earth. It is such a wondrous gift.

This is the bike I wish I had...

Bike rides. Before three months ago, it had been probably at least 7 years since I'd really been on a bike for any extended period of time. Now, as we make our rides to the cemetery, my favorite thing to do is ride down the big hill with my hands high in the air... well, relatively high, anyway. Nothing takes me back to being 7-years old faster than that. Love it.

Ice cream cones. The newly constructed Rite Aid added an ice cream counter, selling Thrifty brand ice cream, complete with the cylindrical ice cream scoops! We've only been once... but, I was all laughter as half of my double decker melted down to my elbow - it must have been 109 degrees that day! It brought back the joy of so many childhood memories. We need to go back.

Autumntime. Besides all of the vibrant, autumn colors to enjoy, this time of year it's so fun to go on walks and hear the crunching of leaves and acorns.

Meet our maid and butler...

Dancing. With or without music. Lately, I've found myself swept up in Marc's arms much more frequently, swaying and holding on to the moment together. I love it how time seems to stand still in those moments.

Singing. You know, the outloud, completely out-of-tune kind that only occurs in the car all by myself. (Thanks, Mandi, for the awesome CDs you sent me... they have definitely brought moments of dancing in the sun, like you hoped.)

So, when we get back into adoption at some point, it looks like we'll have quite a few things to change in our profile... our perspective of life has changed so much... we have changed. Life is way too short and fragile to not enjoy every moment; whatever moment we are in and whatever the circumstances of that moment consist of. It's silly to put off exploring and enjoying the world around us until a child finally joins our family. We can enjoy it now. And find great joy in what life offers us today.

Time

*Image credit: Salvador Dali, The Persistence of Memory

My life feels like it's in some sort of strange time-warp. I can't keep track of the days... they all just seem to blend together without beginning or end. When I realized today that we were already half way through September, I found myself wondering where August went. It just made me realize how much everything feels like a blur. 

I know there aren't any shortcuts through this pathway of grief... and sometimes the weight of time can become so heavy. I find myself looking ahead to the coming months (and years) and I try to figure out how I'm going to get through them... and since I rarely find anything there but overwhelming fear, in those moments I try to find reasons to want to live right now, in this present moment.

Most of the time my reasons revolve around simple things, even things that surprise me at times in their simplicity. Like, riding my bike without hands, or eating an ice cream cone, or noticing a new flower blossoming, or watching the hummingbirds in our front yard. These moments give me little injections of joy, which I'm grateful for. But, there is still this sort of emptiness in time that I'm trying to learn how to live with. There's a feeling of knowing it's good to embrace the present moment fully, but it's hard to do while feeling a constant pull to heaven. It feels like Tug-o-war of the heart. 

I've been grateful for what others have said about time, and how much their words express so much of how I feel.

Neal A. Maxwell: "Eventually, the veil that now encloses us will be no more. Neither will time. Time is clearly not our natural dimension. Thus it is that we are never really at home in time. Alternately, we find ourselves wishing to hasten the passage of time or to hold back the dawn. We can do neither, of course, but whereas the fish is at home in water, we are clearly not at home in time - because we belong to eternity. Time, as much as any one thing, whispers to us that we are strangers here."

C.S. Lewis: "And grief still feels like fear. Perhaps, more strictly, like suspense. Or like waiting; just hanging about waiting for something to happen. It gives life a permanently provisional feeling. It doesn't seem worth starting anything. I can't settle down. I yawn, I fidget, I smoke too much. Up till this I always had too little time. Now there is nothing but time. Almost pure time, empty successiveness."

It's a challenge to take time right now and transform it into meaningful moments... but, it's a challenge I'm willing to accept, because I don't want to look back on this period in my life and see only "empty successiveness." I want to find purpose and reason to live joyfully even when my heart is in pain.

As my thoughts have been circulating around time, I've been reminded of advice given to me over five years ago... and I'm still finding wisdom in those words of advice that have helped me through so many hard things, and will probably continue to help me as I go through life. I'm pretty sure they will stand the test of time.

Hopefully I will, too.

"Triumph is born out of struggle"

In the last few days I've thought a lot about submission to God's will, and I wanted to clarify that getting to the point of submitting to God's will has not been quick or simple. I suppose it comes as a result of a lifetime of experiences, often experiences that were learned the hard way. And, really, we're still learning how it's done and what it means. We have by no means arrived at our desired destination.

About a year ago we had an experience that ended up being a very painful learning experience in not seeking out or accepting God's will for us. Without going into a lot of detail, we had been chosen to adopt a baby girl and we exhausted ourselves in trying to convince God that we deserved this little girl. In the weeks and months leading up to her due date, my prayers consisted mainly of begging and pleading for this baby to make it to our home. I was too afraid to ask if it was right; too afraid to pray to know God's will for us and for that little baby. Well, the adoption ended up not working out. As a result, I fell. And, I fell hard. 

It was a scary place to be. Fortunately we were able to recover, but we learned a lot from that hard experience. Perhaps the most important thing we learned was that it was much more painful to go through a hard experience without seeking to know the will of the Lord, than it was to put the situation into the Lord's hands. I suppose that was one of our first experiences in learning the difference between "faith in Christ" and "faith in a desired outcome." 

Of course, having faith in Christ requires a trust and assurance that He loves us, He knows us, and He will ultimately bless us in ways we never would be able to imagine. There is a sense of freedom that comes from acknowledging that we are unable to see the entire picture of our lives. When we, then, put everything in the Lord's hands, we're able to find relief from the burden of our short-sightedness.

There is a deleted scene from the movie Bruce Almighty that has always struck me in a powerful way. It's unfortunate that they chose to not include it in the actual movie. I have to admit that I don't agree or approve of every aspect of the movie, but I do appreciate its attempt to bring some moral truths to Hollywood. Anyway, the basic plot of the movie is that the main character (Jim Carey) is given the role of "God" for a week. At one point Jim Carey is answering peoples' prayers and basically gets overwhelmed by the task, and just answers with a "yes" to everyone. Later, "God" (played by Morgan Freeman) shows Jim Carey some of the consequences of those "yes" answers.

They take a look at Filbert Davis in gym class, being bullied by other boys because he can't climb the rope. He prays, "Oh God, please help me." His prayer is answered and he miraculously climbs to the top very quickly.

As a result of Filbert's prayer being answered the way he thought he wanted it answered, and with his sudden increase in confidence, the next scene shows Filbert being the bully, beating up another boy on the playground. And, at this point Morgan Freeman explains: 

Since when does anybody have a clue about what they want. Filbert was a brilliant young man; he was going to be a Greek poet. The soul of his work would have been built around his childhood pain. Now he's headed for a career as a professional wrestler, he will eventually test positive for steroids and end up managing a muffin shop.

Then, Morgan Freeman shows how the trials and challenges given to people were intended to bring about other blessings that couldn't come in any other way. After giving Jim Carey a glimpse of the good that would have come to certain people because of their struggles, Morgan Freeman says this:

Triumph is born out of struggle. Faith is the alchemist. If you want to paint pictures like this you have to use some dark colors.

(Definition of alchemy: process of transforming a common substance, usually of little value, into a substance of great value.)

I love that message that faith transforms us into something of great value... and our faith is best tested in the face of extreme challenges. In the last few months I have come to an awareness that God sees the full picture of my life and knows that "using dark colors" will bring about blessings and knowledge that we couldn't have received in any other way. Like with Filbert's childhood pain having a purpose in his life's mission, I know there are things I'm meant to learn through hard experiences.

It has not been an easy couple of months... there is deep pain that has carved itself deep into my heart. But with that pain there has also come an increased awareness of God's love for me personally. I am profoundly grateful for a loving Father who knows me and loves me, and who has been blessing me with daily evidence of His love for me - through gifts in nature, through the loving arms of a friend, through quiet moments on my knees. I do not know for sure what lies ahead in my life... but I trust in God that He will preserve and provide.

(As a side note, I found it interesting to read a post I made about a year ago, that you can read here. It's amazing how much I didn't know then about how this last year would go... but, I'm grateful for the ways I was being prepared and strengthened to handle these current experiences.)

Furnace of Affliction

"The thermostat on the furnace of affliction will not have been set too high for us - though clearly we may think so at the time. Our God is a refining God who has been tempering soul-steel for a very long time. He knows when the right edge has been put up on our excellence and also when there is more in us than we have yet given. One day we will praise God for taking us near to our limits - as He did His Only Begotten in Gethsemane and Calvary." - Neal A. Maxwell

The following is a little story - perhaps fictional, but still containing truth - that has helped me on many occasions to put things into perspective when in the midst of the "furnace of affliction." In particular, it has helped me through recent heartache and pain.

Years ago, a group of women met together to read the Bible. While reading the third chapter of Malachi they came upon a remarkable expression in the third verse: "And He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver."

Intrigued by this expression, they debated its meaning until one of them proposed to visit a silversmith and report back to her friends what he said on the subject. She went accordingly and found an old silversmith. Without telling him the objective of her errand, she begged to know the process of refining silver. He then proceeded to describe the process to her. "But Sir," she said, "Do you sit while the work of refining is going on?"

"Oh yes, Madam," replied the silversmith, "I must sit with my eye steadily fixed on the furnace, for if the time necessary for refining is exceeded in the slightest degree, the silver will be injured."

The lady at once saw the beauty and comfort of the expression, "He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver." Christ sees it needful to put His children into a furnace; His eye is steadily intent on the work of purifying, and His wisdom and love are both engaged in the best manner for them. Their trials do not come at random; the very hairs of their heads are numbered.

As the woman was about to leave, she thought to ask one more question of the silversmith: "How do you know when the refining process is complete?"

He then replied, "I only know when the process of purifying is complete by seeing my image reflected in the silver."


There is purpose for what we experience. We are known in such personal and intimate ways by a loving Father, who tenderly watches over us as we go through our refiner's fire. I find great comfort in knowing that He knows me and is with me every step of the way.

Memorial Service

July 24, 2008 - Thursday morning

The couple of days prior to the Memorial Service had me feeling nervous and unable to follow through with our plans. I felt relieved that Thursday morning I woke up feeling calm, reassured that we would make it through the events of the day. I know we were being strengthened by the countless prayers being offered for us, as well as being completely surrounded by our families. We were overwhelmed as we found out that more and more of our family members were traveling from long distances to be with us. Between Marc's family and my family, we had 17 family members here with us. We are so blessed to have the most supportive, loving families.

At 8am we held a private viewing with just our families. We sang "Teach Me to Walk in the Light" and had an opening prayer. The feeling in the room was one of the most incredible feelings I've ever felt. It was the most powerful feeling of the purest love. It was sacred. As each member of the family had their moment to say their good-byes to Elliana and Emmaline, there was not a dry eye in the room. The Spirit was strong, feelings were tender. Marc and I were overwhelmed with love for our girls... and with love for our family members who already loved our girls so much. It is a moment we won't ever forget.

At the entrance to the chapel, we had this set up:

At 9am we held the Memorial Service. Again, we were overwhelmed with the response from so many of our friends who took time out of their morning to come mourn with us. Our hearts were deeply touched by the love and support we were receiving. We opened the service with "Be Still my Soul" and an opening prayer by my oldest brother. Then, I shared some of my feelings and the assurance we have felt that we are bound to our little girls forever.

For the special musical number my sisters sang "My Heavenly Father Loves Me"... it was the song I would always sing to Elliana and Emmaline when I was driving in the car alone. It has always felt like it was their song. My sisters sounded like angels! They did a beautiful job!

At the front of the podium, we had this beautiful picture, that we realized later went together so beautifully with the special musical number:

Marc followed the song by sharing his thoughts about the Plan of Salvation and how we've been strengthened every step of the way, because of our testimonies. Our bishop, then, shared some sweet feelings, giving his assurance of the eternal nature of our family. We closed the meeting with "Families Can Be Together Forever" and a prayer by Marc's Mom. 

As we greeted those who came to the service, our hearts were so full. We were hugged and kissed, we were filled with love. So many people were so generous and sweet. We were completely overwhelmed with love. It filled us to overflowing.

Never before in my life have I understood better the power and beauty of the covenant to "bear one another's burdens, that they may be light" and to "mourn with those that mourn" and "comfort those who stand in need of comfort." Being on the receiving end of such pure acts of love softened our hearts and truly filled us with the comfort and the strength we so desperately needed. Our burdens were lifted, our hearts were comforted in a very real way.

We know there were many who weren't able to be there physically, but whose love and support were felt so strongly in our hearts. We are so grateful for their love and prayers for us, even from a distance.

My brothers, Danny and Jamie, carrying the casket from the chapel

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

Living in the present

Last Sunday after church I was telling a friend how I wished there was a "fast forward" button for my life. It had been such a hard day that I wanted to be able to skip ahead to six months from now, maybe even a year. Sundays, in general, are really difficult days for me. I think it's a combination of being around a lot of people, as well as just feeling so hungry for spiritual uplift that even just singing the hymns make me weep uncontrollably. 

Some things have happened this week that have really helped me a lot. At the risk of sounding masochistic, I will admit that in the last couple of days I've even felt like I wish my life had a "pause" button instead of "fast forward." I don't want to fast forward through this period, as painful as it is at times. I don't want to miss out on any learning opportunities that this experience can provide. I want to appreciate and soak up the desires to be better. I want to make sure I have enough time in this moment to really allow it to have a lasting affect on the condition of my heart.

Our perfect little girls are counting on us to learn and grow from this experience. I know I have a lot to learn between now and the time I meet them again, so that I can be more ready and more able to be their mother.

I actually had a dream a few nights ago that I had found out I only had a week to live. In my dream I was aware that my death would mean I'd be reunited with my girls again, but there was part of me that felt unprepared. I was in a panic, trying to figure out how to get myself ready in just a week. It was kind of a strange dream, which is common for me lately. 

The next day I was trying to figure out where that dream came from, why I would be dreaming of my own approaching death. Then, I remembered that just before going to bed that night I had read a quote that my sister, Mandi, had sent me from a book she's been reading. The book is "Grace and Grit: Spirituality and Healing in the Life and Death of Treya Killam Wilber".

The part in the book is just after this woman has had another recurrence of cancer - it's her fifth major recurrence and the cancer is found in her brain, her lungs, and possibly her liver. She's going through more treatments and alternative therapies, but mostly she and her husband are just trying to focus on the present. The second paragraph is an Emerson quote, as quoted in the book:
 
"Friends and family often wondered, is she being unrealistic - shouldn't she be worrying? fretting? unhappy? But the fact is, by living in the present, by refusing to live in the future, she began exactly to live consciously with death. Think about it: death, if anything, is the condition of having no future. By living in the present, as if she had no future, she was not ignoring death, she was living it. And I was trying to do the same. I thought of the beautiful quote from Emerson:
 
These roses under my window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist with God today. There is no time for them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence. But man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with reverted eye laments the past, or heedless of the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time."

This living in the present is exactly how I've been trying to go through my days. I don't want to think about any regrets or guilt from the past. I don't want to worry about what lies ahead. I cannot control either of those things. I just want to enjoy every present moment, whether it comes with sadness or joy, pain or healing. I want to find joy in each step of progression along this journey. 

Angels to Beckon Me...

Thank you doesn't seem adequate to express how grateful we feel for the prayers, the thoughts, and the warm wishes we've benefitted from in the last few days. Please know how much we have been lifted and strengthened by your love and support. We feel strengthened and hopeful because of those thoughts and prayers for us. Thank you so much. 

My parents are on their mission right now in Australia. Even with an expansive ocean dividing us, I am grateful to have felt their closeness and love through all of this. The other day my Dad reminded me of a phrase from one of my favorite Church hymns, which now means even more to me: 

There let the way appear, steps unto heav'n;

All that Thou sendest me, in mercy giv'n;

Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee.

This, we feel, is a very simple message of the purpose of our daughters' brief moments on earth. They, our angels, are now back with Heavenly Father, beckoning us to make it there to be with them. In all our life we have never felt a stronger yearning for heaven, a more pure desire to be whole and clean, a more dedicated heart to all that's good and right. Their brief moments with us have changed our life more profoundly than any other experience or combination of experiences we've ever had. But, all those past experiences have had their purpose in serving as a foundation of faith, making it easier to accept all that's happened in the last week. They've been our reservoir of faith and testimony.

We love our little girls so dearly. They have taught us so much, and we know we will still have many things to learn from them in the coming years. How grateful we feel for the blessing of having them in our family.