I left an organ in Ogden (not San Francisco)

The last week of August my parents were planning a trip to Utah to attend baptisms of two of their grandchildren and at the last minute I decided I'd pack up myself and my three kiddos and go with them. Even though we were just there for our family reunion, I thought the boys would love another trip and I could spend some time with family and we could let Marc have a little quiet time to focus on getting work projects done. All in all it seemed like the perfect scenario for everyone.

Because of my parents' volunteering commitment on Wednesday mornings at the temple, Marc drove us down to meet them there and then drove their little car back home, while we continued on our trip in our van. We started the long drive across the desert at about 1pm.

Everything was going fairly well until a stop for gas in Elko, Nevada at around 10pm. As I was climbing back into the back seat of our van, I felt some pain in the middle of my back. It had been a long day of traveling and I figured I must have just twisted it funny when I got back in the car. But, then the pain seemed to spread around my rib cage to the front of my chest and tightened to the point where I was having a hard time breathing.

Not wanting to freak my parents out, I called Marc and asked him to look up symptoms of a heart attack. From what he read, it sounded like my symptoms were the same. Marc made me promise that if it got worse I'd make my parents stop and that even if the pain went away that I'd get checked out by someone within the next 24 hours.

As the pain got worse, I finally did tell my parents about the pain I was feeling and reassured them that when we stopped for the night I'd just take a warm bath and most likely feel much better. The warm bath did help, but when I was still awake and tossing and turning an hour later at 3am, I took another warm bath. I finally fell asleep sometime around 4am, only to wake up at 6am to feed Lucy again. Then back asleep for another hour before the boys were waking us up.

I felt tired, but the pain I'd been feeling was gone. The rest of the day I just felt a little off and slightly nauseous, but assumed it was from the traveling and lack of sleep. By evening I felt, more or less, back to normal and was enjoying time with my brother and his family in Ogden.

Then, in the middle of the night I found myself running to the bathroom with my body rejecting waste from both ends. Is there a nicer (less gross) way of saying that?? I was in a bedroom with my three little ones and in between my sprints to the bathroom I was up comforting and/or feeding each of my three kiddos at different points during the night. It was a pretty long night and I was feeling pretty miserable by the end of it.

After throwing up around 5am, I felt sharp pains in my chest and abdomen and knew that something wasn't right. Lucy was just waking up, so I fed her quick and then went into the bedroom where my parents were sleeping and told them I needed to go to the ER. Before leaving my brother's house, I was able to receive a blessing from my dad and brother, which seemed to ease the pain just enough to calm my fears just enough.

After a number of tests and an ultrasound, and few hours later, the ER doctor came in to let me know that I was having a gallbladder attack. In addition, there was a gall stone stuck in the duct that connects to the pancreas, and was causing inflammation in the pancreas as well. My condition was serious enough that I would need to go in for surgery right away.

Well, right away wasn't actually right away. But, shortly after noon I was knocked out while my gallbladder was being removed. As it turns out, the surgeon also found that I had an umbilical hernia and fixed that up while she was at it. I woke up to four small incisions in my abdomen, soreness all over my belly, pain in my right shoulder (from the air they filled my abdomen with), sores on the right corner of my mouth from the breathing tube, and lungs that burned as if I'd just run a marathon in Siberia. Plus, I was in a mental fog, struggling to come out of the anesthesia.

It was all very overwhelming and being separated from my babies, particularly my newborn babe, made me extra emotional. I had to "pump and dump" for about 24 hours after the surgery, but luckily Lucy adjusted fairly well to a bottle during that time and then adjusted back even easier to breastfeeding. Those 24 hours were awful. Even though I knew all three were in good hands - the best! - I slept terribly that night, feeling so alone without the breathing sounds and noises of my little ones to softly lull me to sleep. Instead, as fate would have it, there was a lightning storm all night that felt and sounded like it was attacking the hospital.

I survived my only night in the hospital and was released the next afternoon. I spent the next couple of days fighting feelings of discouragement. I had just fully recovered from Lucy's birth and felt like I'd just been knocked down again. I was pretty depressed to be back in recovery mode, which meant keeping the boys at an arm's length away, not being able to play with them, unable to do much rocking of my baby, since the doctor's one admonition was to not lift, pull or push anything over ten pounds for SIX weeks. I clearly haven't been good at following that, but I've tried to be careful.

Now that it has almost been two weeks since the surgery and we're back home, I'm feeling better. My wounds are still healing, both the physical and the emotional. I'm so grateful for the help I had from so many of my family members while we were in Utah, especially for my parents' help there and here.

I'm curious, though, if anyone else has had gallbladder problems. The ER doctor told me there is some connection to gallbladder attacks and pregnancy, but that they don't know why it happens exactly. I was also told that the attack could have been triggered by my sudden change in diet - by cutting out all dairy for Lucy's sake.

I guess whatever the cause, I won't have to worry about it happening again. So far I haven't noticed any change in the way my body functions without a gallbladder... and I'm down six pounds. Still, I definitely don't recommend it for a weight loss plan - there are much easier ways to lose six pounds!

To Be Held

Last night I was at the grocery store picking up a few items. When I turned down the ice cream isle, I found I was sharing it with another woman, her elementary-aged daughter, and their stroller. I glanced quickly at the sleeping baby as I reached for the Double Strawberry ice cream, only to then realize that her stroller was a double, cradling a second sleeping baby behind the first. Twins. My heart skipped a beat as I envied her abundance and wondered if she knew how blessed she was. There was a physical ache that seemed to run from my heart to my arms as I looked at her beautiful babies. I wanted to tell her how beautiful they were, but the way my heart's rhythm had suddenly increased, I knew that forming the words would initiate a total meltdown there among the ice cream. It all happened so fast, I'm sure she wasn't even aware that I was there, let alone the angst that was oozing out of my heart wishing to have my twins here, whose story is so much different than hers. 

I had to be very careful how I worded that last sentence. Our stories are different, this is true. But, I almost wrote "whose stories ended much differently." But, the truth that keeps my heart pumping is that our twins' story has not ended. And, while I clearly feel pain and sadness at how different my story is from this other woman's, there is another side to the bitter pain and heartache that gives our story an enviable sweetness.

Having experienced new depths of disappointment and agony, and having made it through some very dark and lonely nights, I now know things I didn't know before; things I couldn't have known any other way. I have experienced heaven's comfort in such tangible ways that have been burned into the fibers of my soul. There is no doubt in my mind or in my heart that through this nightmare I have been held, I have been carried, I have been understood, I have been loved and cared for by the One person who can truthfully say, "I know, because I have walked the path you're walking now."

I still have moments when shock and panic hit me with such a force that it feels like it all happened yesterday. And, I find myself getting trapped in wondering why things had to take the course they took and how I'm expected to survive living to a ripe old age with this pain of loss plaguing my heart. In some ways time does bring healing, and I have to hope that that'll continue to ring true. But, I have to constantly remind myself that it's only in falling, in losing, in suffering that I can truly learn the lengths the Savior will go to pick me up and make me whole again. And, recognizing that His lows far exceed any lows I have or will ever experience has only deepened my awe and gratitude towards Him.

The last year of my life has made me rich in experience and understanding of His love and atonement on a very personal level. And, though I'm still tempted with thoughts that I was denied a miracle, I am reminded that God has kept His promises to me. He never promised me that I wouldn't fall, that I wouldn't hurt, that I'd be free from disappointment and pain... BUT, He did promise that He would carry my burden, that He would run to me in my hour of need, that He would not leave me comfortless, that He would heal my broken heart. Even in my lowest of moments, not even then have I felt abandoned by Him. And, I know one day I'll get a much clearer glimpse of how much I really have been carried through this period.

Not too long ago I came across a beautiful song that expresses so much of what I've felt lately. I'm grateful for my hardest trials that have taught me what it means to be loved, to be held. Without them, I wouldn't know with the surety I know of the reality of a loving God. If there ever was doubt, there is none now.

Natalie Grant - Held

Two months is too little.
They let him go.
They had no sudden healing.
To think that providence would
Take a child from his mother while she prays
Is appalling.

Who told us we'd be rescued?
What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?
We're asking why this happens
To us who have died to live?
It's unfair.

This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.

This hand is bitterness.
We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow.
The wise hands opens slowly to lilies of the valley and tomorrow.

This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.

If hope is born of suffering.
If this is only the beginning.
Can we not wait for one hour watching for our Savior?

This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we'd be held.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know, that the promise was when everything fell, we'd be held
This is what it means to be held.

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!

Blessings

Given this season of thanksgiving, I've been thinking a lot about the blessings in my life. A few months ago I had a hard time recognizing anything that might be labeled a blessing. Grief has a way of clouding one's vision and obscuring the view of blessings in life still to be appreciated.

Gratefully, I've been having more moments of deep, heartfelt recognition of blessings. I've even been able to start counting blessings that have come as a direct result from the nightmare experiences we've been through this year; blessings that could only have been born out of adversity. Blessings that have come wrapped in the most painful and heart-breaking packages.

I've been reminded of some thoughts I wrote down last October. While the trials of this year are much different than last year, the lesson is still the same. Blessings sometimes come in the most oddly wrapped packages, and the goal is to always have the faith in God to receive His gifts and rejoice in the gifts that He gives, trusting that He knows what and when to give. Today, this Thanksgiving, I am grateful for all of God's blessings to me, maybe even especially the ones that have come wrapped in pain and sorrow.

*******

The Oddly Wrapped Gift - originally posted on October 18, 2007

"For what doth it profit a man if a gift is bestowed upon him, and he receive not the gift? Behold, he rejoices not in that which is given unto him, neither rejoices in him who is the giver of the gift."

The other day I decided to post about some of my more honest feelings about the difficulty of some of our trials. While it felt good to express that raw emotion, I want to be perfectly clear about a few things.

Yes, dealing with infertility has been painful.

Yes, the wait for adoption can be hard.

But, I would be completely ungrateful if I didn't admit that somehow in the midst of going through these trying times, we have found so much beauty. How is it possible that adversity can be a blessing?

I've started to recognize that the most wonderful of life's blessings have usually come to us in the most oddly wrapped packages. To look at something on the surface, it's easy to be deceived into thinking it represents something awful and unattractive.

Have you ever been to a white elephant party where the beautiful box wrapped in gold paper with the perfect red velvet bow on top is coveted by everyone? That is, until the person who finally ends up with it, and no doubt fought hard for it, finds that its contents are totally undesirable... you know, like an old fruit cake or a half burned candle or something.

While, on the other hand, there is a plainly wrapped gift that everyone does everything they can to get rid of it... only to discover at the end that it contained some very desirable gift... like, a large box of See's chocolate. {can you tell what I'm in the mood for right now?}

So, where was I? Oh yeah, packages. When we first found the "infertility package" on our doorstep, we were in denial. "No, no, it wasn't intended for us... we'll just ignore it there in the corner until it goes away." We didn't even want to go near it... it was not a gift... it was most definitely a curse.

Well after a couple of years, either out of desperation or curiosity, we decided to unwrap it. But, we did it very slowly. Just a little bit at a time. We went at our own pace. Even while in the middle of unwrapping it, we were trying desperately to understand how this could be a blessing. We were still deceived by how it came wrapped. We wanted the pretty, gold wrapped package with the big red bow.

After some time, we finally started to recognize little blessings of having received this "gift." We have found the gift of empathy. The gift of bearing each others' burdens. The gift of knowing that everyone has their quiet struggles. The gift of very faithful, supportive family and friends. The gift of knowing how to let each other mourn in the way that works for each of us. The gift of a strengthened marriage. The gift of patience. The gift of faith. The gift of learning what it means to pray intently. The gift of seeing past the awful wrapping of infertility, to find that we had been given a very wonderful gift. Adoption.

We're all given different "gifts"... they come in all different shapes, colors, and sizes, and most importantly they all represent different things for each of us. The key is to "receive the gift" and "rejoice in the giver of the gift" even if it appears at first to be something that we think we don't want.

Because, there is a loving Father in Heaven who knows how to bless us, and always blesses us with "good gifts."

Heart throbs

I had the hardest time choosing a major when I was in college. It actually got to the point that at the beginning of my Junior year I wasn't allowed to register for classes until I declared a major. After a very long process that consisted of all kinds of failed attempts to find my "passion," I finally settled for "eenie, meenie, minie, moe" and ended up with Spanish as my major. 

I had done well in Spanish in high school, and the language had come fairly easy for me, so I figured at least that I could get good grades with Spanish as my major. I progressed quickly through the classes, and soon found myself in classes with students who had been missionaries in Spanish-speaking countries. And, as I thought ahead to the mission that I would serve, I would dream of all the Spanish-speaking countries I could possibly go to.

As you know, my mission call was to Italy. It came as a HUGE surprise to me. I had never once considered Italy as a possibility. In fact, after I first read my mission call, my friends and family who were with me said that I seemed very dazed as I repeated over and over again "I'm going to Italy." 

When I arrived at the Missionary Training Center I was very excited to jump into the language, since I had heard Italian was very similar to Spanish. My foundation of language learning proved to be both a blessing and a curse. Since I didn't want to forget all the Spanish I had learned, whenever I would learn something new in Italian, I would automatically translate it in my mind in Spanish... it shouldn't have been a surprise when in conversations I would use phrases like, "muy bene." That mixing of the two languages was greatly discouraged.

It must have been pretty bad, because after about three weeks at the MTC one of my teachers finally pulled me aside and said, "You have to stop speaking Spanish." I guess she was afraid that no one would understand me when I got to Italy. Go figure.

That was a major turning point for me. It was the first time in those three weeks that I recognized that I was having a really hard time. I had been so focused on staying positive that I finally realized that I was afraid if I admitted I was having a hard time, I would somehow disappoint my family, and more importantly God. But, the truth was that not only was I struggling with the language, I was struggling with homesickness, and with finding my place in this new way of life.

I still remember the moment kneeling in prayer, when I honestly opened up and admitted I was really having a hard time. It all came out... my fears about living in a foreign country with very limited contact with my family, my frustrations with learning a new language, my insecurities about being fit to be a missionary. And, the most incredible thing happened. As I trusted those very vulnerable feelings to God in prayer, I was filled with peace and reassurance that not only did He already know everything I was feeling, but He had been waiting and wanting to help me get through it.

Over the last three months, I've found myself feeling many of the same feelings as I did in those early weeks in the MTC. I've been trying so hard to go through this trial with a clear perspective and a positive attitude, afraid that I might disappoint God in some way if I admit that I'm having a hard time coping and healing, and even accepting this loss.

I've been filled with fears and insecurities and frustrations, and they have added up against me this week. My heart has felt so heavy all week... and I'm trying to re-learn the same lesson I learned almost ten years ago... that admitting it's hard and that I can't bear the burden of this trial on my own doesn't make God disappointed in me, but rather it opens up the way for Him to comfort me and strengthen me.

I have always appreciated James E. Talmage's insight on prayer: 

"It is well to know that prayer is not compounded of words, words that may fail to express what one desires to say, words that so often cloak inconsistencies, words that may have no deeper source than the physical organs of speech, words that may be spoken to impress mortal ears. The dumb may pray, and that too with the eloquence that prevails in heaven. Prayer is made up of heart throbs and the righteous yearnings of the soul, of supplication based on the realization of need, of contrition and pure desire. If there lives a man who has never really prayed, that man is a being apart from the order of the divine in human nature, a stranger in the family of God's children. Prayer is for the uplifting of the suppliant. God without our prayers would be God; but we without prayer cannot be admitted to the kingdom of God. So did Christ instruct: 'Your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask him.'" (Jesus the Christ, pg. 238)

At a time like this when I can't make sense of the feelings in my heart, trying to express them in prayer can be a very overwhelming task... and that's why it brings me such great comfort to know that God already knows what I'm feeling. He already knows that I feel weighed down and discouraged, heart-broken and afraid. When I kneel in prayer, and emotions choke my words, I know He hears my silent pleadings and understands my hidden sorrow. And, I'm so grateful that He is so generous in reassuring me that He is not disappointed in me, but that He loves me with the perfect love of a Father. Not only do I find relief in my honest prayerful moments, I sense there is also a feeling of relief on His end when I fully open my heart to Him.

"Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered." - Romans 8:26

Not on my own

1 Corinthians 10:13 - God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted (tested or proven) above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.

I've always taken great comfort in the promise in the scriptures that we won't be tested or tried above what we can handle. Except there are times (like now) when I've doubted that promise, questioning if God really knows me well enough to know what I can and can't handle. I find it interesting that every hard experience we've been through has been preceded by the thought, "that won't ever happen to us, because I just couldn't handle something like that." (I've since stopped thinking such thoughts... why tempt God to prove me wrong?)  

I've come to the conclusion that I really can't handle this experience. I've tried, believe me. Fortunately there is another part of the equation - the Lord. I really can't get through this, if I don't have the Lord's help. If I leave off that last part, then I am 100% right that I won't make it through this or any other really hard thing that comes in life. But, with God, I can do all things. 

Standing on the outside of the refiner's fire, looking in, it's impossible to know the comfort and peace that will come while being in its midst. As we've entered this particular refiner's fire, and felt the extreme heat and pressure, we've actually experienced some of the most powerful moments, as they have provided us with experiences to feel a greater measure of the Lord's awareness of and love for us.  

I know I can't pray for my daughters to come back to life... this burden is with me to stay. But, I can pray for a stronger back to carry the burden. And, while my weak muscles are going through growing pains, I know the Lord is doing His fair share of shouldering my burden, because He loves me. 

Lately the burden has been heavy, the pain acute... and, I know the fastest way to find relief from that most intense pain is on my knees.

Without fail, He is always there.

The promise isn't that we will be able to handle life's greatest tests on our own... the promise is that with the Lord we will get through these paths that we do not know. It is only through our reliance on and acceptance of the Savior's help, that He will get us through life's hardest moments. Whatever the challenge, whatever the heartache, when we call out for help to make it through, we will find strength beyond our own to overcome.

I have found the Lord has lifted me, He has made up for the strength that I lack. He has soothed my heartache in such dark moments that I know the relief could only come from Him.

Alma 13: 28-29 - But that ye would humble yourselves before the Lord, and call on his holy name, and watch and pray continually, that ye may not be tempted (tested or proven) above that which ye can bear, and thus be led by the Holy Spirit, becoming humble, meek, submissive, patient, full of love and all long-suffering;  Having faith on the Lord; having a hope that ye shall receive eternal life; having the love of God always in your hearts, that ye may be lifted up at the last day and enter into his rest.

Broken

Psalms 147:3 - "He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds."

Isaiah 61:1 - "he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted"

I was looking through some photos from earlier this year and I came across one that reminded me of an experience I had a few months ago. In fact, I had meant to share this back when it happened... but, coming across it now seems so much more appropriate, in light of our recent experiences.

We have two cats - Einstein and Watson. For the most part they are really good cats. Since we keep them inside, though, they sometimes find creative ways to be active. Like, trying to climb the bookshelves and clawing our couch to pieces. We've been somewhat successful in training them, but everyone once in a while we aren't able to keep them completely under control. *Sigh*

So, back in February I came home one day to find this laying on the living room floor:



This is one of my Dad's most beautiful ceramic pots, totally shattered to pieces. It had been sitting on the mantle. One of our cats had apparently jumped up there and knocked it down. I was so devastated... it was my most favorite of his pots.

I gathered up the pieces, not sure what I was going to do with them, and left them on the kitchen counter for a week or so. I went back and forth trying to decide if it was worth it to try to somehow fix it or if I should just throw the pieces away.

Well, a couple of weeks later I was preparing for a seminary lesson when I came across a perfect opportunity to use the broken pot as an object lesson. I brought in the pieces, explained the situation to my students, and asked them if this pot was worth fixing. After getting some mixed responses, we had a really good discussion about how they decide whether or not something is worth fixing, and how this broken pot might relate to their lives.

I shared the following story, related by President Packer, with my students:

"For a number of years I found relaxation in carving and painting songbirds, at times spending a full year on a single carving.... Once, I had a newly finished carving on the back seat of a car driven by Elder A. Theodore Tuttle. He hit the brackes suddenly and the carving was thrown to the floor and damaged.

Elder Tuttle felt terrible, supposing he had ruined a year's work. When I waved aside his apologies, he said, 'You sure don't seem to be upset about it.' To reassure him, I said, 'Don't worry. I made it; I can fix it.' Actually it had been broken and fixed many times while I was working on it.

Later, Brother Tuttle likened that experience to people with lives broken or badly damaged - supposedly ruined with no hope of repair - who do not know that there is a Maker, a Creator, who can fix any of his creations no matter how hopelessly broken they seem to be."

All day I couldn't stop thinking about the pot and Elder Packer's words: "Don't worry. I made it; I can fix it." Finally I decided to glue the pot back together. It ended up being an incredibly overwhelming experience... recognizing that if this pot was worth my time and energy to fix and if I could find such satisfaction in spending time on it, that God must feel that a hundred times more when it comes to His children.

At the time I was going through some things... and I felt as broken as this pot. And, as I was carefully trying to put it back together and make it as perfect and beautiful as it was before, I felt very strongly that God was just as intently and lovingly working with me, wanting to heal my broken heart and make me whole again. Because He made me and loved me, I was worth His time. I sensed that just as I was finding joy in putting this pot back together, so was He finding joy in binding up my broken heart.

Now, I find myself feeling more in pieces than ever in my life. I'm grateful to know there is One who has fixed me many times before, and will also be able to fix me this time around. I know it won't be quite as quick or as simple, but I know my broken heart will be healed. And, I know it will be because of only one thing - because He who created me loves me and finds great worth in my soul.

We all find ourselves at times feeling broken and falling apart, for many different reasons. I know that there is no break that He cannot fix. I know there is no limit to the love and time He will spend on making us whole again. No one is too far or too low that He cannot reach.

Precious Savior, dear Redeemer,
Thou wilt bind the broken heart.
Let not sorrow overwhelm us;
Dry the bitter tears that start.
Curb the winds and calm the billows;
Bid the angry tempest cease.
Precious Savior, dear Redeemer,
Grant us everlasting peace.
(LDS Hymnbook, #103)

Normal

*image courtesy of flickr

In the final days of my mission in Italy I wrote a letter to myself. Basically it included advice to myself about how to return home, back to my old life, without turning back into my old self. I wanted the experiences I'd had to have a lasting effect on my life. I wanted to hang onto the things I had learned, I wanted to be a different person than I was when I had left home. I knew it would be hard, though, when nobody at home knew exactly what I'd experienced in that year and a half. I knew it would be easy to fall back into being the same person I was before I left.

Well, I came home and the adjustment was hard. I felt like a foreigner. I opened up with certain people who seemed genuinely interested in hearing about experiences from my mission. But, even then there was so much more that I felt just couldn't be communicated with words alone. I couldn't look at photos of my mission for the first six months without crying. I really felt like I was in a state of crisis, only nobody knew because I kept it all inside and put on my "happy face." Then, one day I decided to do something drastic with my hair (it was bad!)... and then I felt like it would have been more effective and less painful to wear a sign around my neck - "I'm in a crisis."

I was trying so hard to be "normal" again. I wanted to get back to a normal life. I wanted to function like a normal person. I wanted to feel comfortable in my own skin. I wanted to feel like who I was on the outside was the same as who I was on the inside, or how I felt on the inside. But, because there was so much going on inside my heart that I didn't understand myself, I didn't know how to act. I didn't know anymore what "normal" even meant.

While those feelings about returning home from Italy aren't *exactly* how I feel right now, I've realized that some of the feelings are very similar.

I feel like this experience has been sort of an accelerated course in humility, in faith, in patience, in pain, in heartache, in grieving. I've never been much of an over-achiever. I've always been happy to just do the bare minimum to get by. So, this accelerated course has not been easy.

I feel like a foreigner... even moreso than I did when I first arrived in Italy. I feel like I am completely unable to even attempt to make sense to myself or others what foreign things my heart is experiencing. I feel like my heart and my mind are in constant conflict. My mind tells me everything is going to be okay. But, as quoted in Steel Magnolias, "I wish somebody would explain it to my heart."

I'm trying to get back to a "normal" life, but I don't know what that means anymore. I want to be true to myself. I want to be honest with how I feel. But, the truth is that I'm completely confused by all that I feel. The fact that pain and peace constantly co-exist in my heart in the exact same moment doesn't make sense to me. But, they do. I feel like I should paint my face like one of those mimes where half of the face is painted happy and the other half is painted sad. Then, everyone would be as confused as I am about how I'm doing.

I want to soak up all the lessons I can learn from this, because I want to become a better person than I was before, but also because I don't want to go down this road again.

So, maybe it's already obvious... but I'm going to admit it outloud - I'm completely faking my way through this period right now, because that's all I know how to do. I feel like I'm having to re-learn the basics... even having to remind myself to breathe sometimes.

I know I'll eventually get back into a "normal" life, but it won't ever be whatever "normal" was before July 16th. I guess I'm in the process of reinventing "normal" for my own life... and I get the feeling it's going to take some time.

(And, if I mention to any of you that I'm thinking of changing my hairstyle in the midst of all of this, please convince me to wait at least a few more months... I really don't need a hair crisis like I had before.)

Lesson learned on a Pioneer Trek

Two summers ago Marc and I participated in a "Pioneer Trek" with the youth in our church. It was obviously a much smaller scale trek than what the pioneers experienced in the 1850s. We definitely didn't cover thousands of miles and didn't suffer nearly what they went through. Still, it's amazing the lessons that we learned in just a couple of days of attempting to walk in their shoes.

Marc and I were the "Ma" and "Pa" over a group of 10 youth. Each "family" was provided a handcart, that was packed with all of our supplies for the 3-day trek. As a family, we had to pull our handcart through fields, up hills, across dried riverbeds, down hills, with each member in the family sharing in that duty.

There is one experience from the trek that I've been thinking about a lot today.

As "parents" we were informed in advance of some of the surprises along the way. One of those was a long, steep hill that we would cover on the first night of the trek, at about 10pm. This specific part of the trek was to be done only by the girls in each family. At the base of the hill we were told to quietly ask the boys to stop pushing or pulling the handcart, leaving only the girls in each family to pull the handcart to the top of the hill on their own.

In our family, that meant we had four girls pulling a very full and very heavy cart. At first they did okay. But, as the hill got more steep and their energy more drained, it was clear that they were seriously struggling. At one point they were having such a hard time that the handcart almost started rolling backwards.

It was very painful to watch them struggle. It took everything in me NOT to step in and help push that cart up the hill. When they made it to the top of the hill, though, I wanted to be able to tell them that they did it. I didn't want to take away that feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment from them. I wanted them to learn something about themselves - that they were strong and able to do something really difficult.

That simple experience ended up being a very important learning moment for me. For the first time in my life I understood a very small portion of what it must be like for a loving Father to stand back and watch as we struggle up life's very steep and painful hills. For an Omnipotent God to exercise such restraint from reaching out and saving us from every heartache and challenge in life must be almost unbearable. It isn't that I thought he stood carelessly back, uninterested in my life... it just had never occurred to me the sorrow it would cause Him to not intervene, when it would be so easy for Him to make everything perfect. I'm just grateful that, while he may not remove my steep hills, I am still able to feel His gentle encouragement and loving support that give me the strength to keep on going.

I know He could have worked some miracle in my life on July 16th, that would have made everything work out perfectly the way I wanted it to go. But, there are reasons why things turned out the way they did. And, though I don't have a clear picture or answers to why things happened the way they did, I trust completely in a loving, all-knowing, all-powerful Father in Heaven.

Among other things, these kinds of experiences in life allow God to pull out of us what He already sees within us. As tragic and heart-breaking as the last month has been for us, I'm grateful for the strengthened relationship I've found with God, for the Savior's tangible comfort that has come in dark hours, and for the change all of this is having on my heart. I think I will find myself completely agreeing with Elder Maxwell's assessment:

"In retrospect, we will even see that our most trying years here will often have been our best years, producing large tree rings on our soul, Gethsemanes of growth!"

Hurdles and Angels

We've cleared what feels like the first big hurdle - four weeks.

This week started off okay, and then got progressively harder until it peaked last night. I was sitting in our backyard reading a book, trying so hard to distract myself from the fact that it had been four weeks since we shared our brief moments with Elliana and Emmaline. The harder I tried to avoid the memories from that day, the more heavy the burden became. So many emotions surfaced and I found myself quietly sobbing.

Those sobs reflected sadness at experiences that have been delayed, an aching to be with my girls just one more time, and a fear of not being able to make it through the coming days and weeks. In those intensely painful moments, the road ahead seems impossibly steep and long. Hence, the wisdom in following the good advice to take just a moment at a time becomes a powerful coping tool.

I'm grateful for the comforting words from a friend last night, that gave me strength and courage to hang on, and the assurance that the road ahead isn't impossible to travel since she's already much further ahead of me in getting through it. She has been a blessing in my life, an angel.

And, the truth is we have been surrounded by angels on every side. Last night I had a dream that I had collapsed from carrying a load that was too much for me to handle. (I've had some bizarre dreams lately, but this one wasn't too hard to figure out!) While laying on the ground, I became aware of "angels" lifting things off me, so that I could get up again. I wasn't aware of who they were, but just very aware of their love and concern.

This morning I awoke feeling "light". The burden that had followed me to bed last night was no longer weighing me down. I know that we've survived the last four weeks, in large part, to the angels in our life, who have so lovingly helped carry our burdens. Heaven has sent us angels in so many forms in the last month. I have felt like we have been abundantly blessed with this promise in the scriptures: "I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up."

My sister shared this song with me the other day... and, I must say that for a pop song, it has a rather profound message:

Sometimes I feel like I don't belong anywhere.
And it's gonna take so long for me to get to somewhere.
Sometimes I feel so heavy hearted, but I can't explain cuz I'm so guarded.
But that's a lonely road to travel, and a heavy load to bear.
And it's a long, long way to heaven but I gotta get there.
Can you send an angel?
Can you send me an angel to guide me.

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.

Rainmaker Mountain

* Rainmaker Mountain in American Samoa, photo courtesy of wikipedia.org

I've been wanting to share some of the details of our Memorial and Graveside services. But, it's been hard to know where to start. So, for now, maybe I'll just share things in parts or pieces.

To begin, I thought it'd be appropriate to continue with this topic of perspective. In my talk at the Memorial service for Elliana and Emmaline, I shared a story that was shared with me by my brother-in-law. I LOVE the message of this story and I have appreciated how much it has helped me see the events of the last few weeks in a different way.

The story is attributed to Randy Bott, who was actually my Mission Prep. teacher at BYU:

The next time you're through American Samoa I'd like you to note that there's a mountain down there called the Mapusaga rainmaker, and it's like some angry giant underneath the crust of the earth has taken his fist and thrust it skyward for 1,500 feet straight in the air, including the tabletop. Well, two teenage boys, Christmas vacation, not heavily endowed intellectually, either one of us. We decided that we would climb the mountain. 

I'm not going to tell you about the climbing the mountain, but I will tell you that before that time when I lived in American Samoa years ago, there was one road that went from one end of the island to the other. It was the most miserable thing I had ever traversed in my entire life. It was designed by the devil himself and constructed by his engineers. It was just one jig and jog after another and where there wasn't a jig or a jog there was a big pothole. 

Well, on top of the mountain, because there is no pollution in Samoa, on a clear day you can see forever. And for the first time in my life, I received one of the great revelations in my life--there was no 5,000 watt light bulb. No voice; no vision. But from 1,500 feet in the air I could see what I could not see from down there on the road, that there was purpose in the jigs and the jogs. The bush in Samoa is so thick you can't see a dozen feet off the road, and so you couldn't see that there was a huge boulder that the road had to weave around, or there was a bog hole over here that would have swallowed up the bus, or there was a village, or there was an ocean, and it just made perfect sense from 1,500 feet in the air. And brothers and sisters, from 1,500 feet in the air you couldn't see the potholes.  

I am convinced that just as sure as God lives the day will come when each of us, individually, will have the chance to stand atop the Mapusaga Rainmaker of our lives and with the Savior, be able to review all of the jigs and the jogs all the way through. And then, if not before, you will be constrained to admit that he has done admirably well your test of mortality and exaltation. Nothing is frivolous. God does not do things serendipitously. 

Gardens

When I told a close friend about the early delivery and sudden parting of our little girls, her advice was, "surround yourself with reminders of life."

With that advice I've spent some time outside, cultivating some plants in terrible need of attention. One day I worked on a tree - digging around the base of the tree, taking out rocks that were affecting its growth, and then adding some rich soil instead. Another day I nurtured our indoor plants, pulling off the dead leaves, and adding more good soil to each plant. 

While spending time with my hands in the dirt, I've been reminded of some important things:

1. I love the smell of soil... and I love getting my hands in it.

2. Rocks are rarely good for plants.

3. Good soil is always good for plants. 

4. If you leave your garden without planting "good" plants, then it'll most likely be overrun with "undesirable" plants, like weeds.

I know these are really basic facts to even the least experienced gardener. But, I've been struck with how they relate to my life right now. 

I've always found joy in working in our garden, whether with vegetables or flowers or other plants. But, lately digging in the dirt has also been a source of healing for me. While pulling out rocks, I find myself wondering - are there "rocks" in my life affecting my ability to grow?

And, while adding in fresh, new soil, I question - what is the nature of the soil in my heart? Am I softened enough to accept the good seeds that are being planted? Or will hardness and bitterness keep those good seeds from bringing continued growth and goodness to my life?

I have to be honest, over the last couple of weeks it has been really easy to entertain the thoughts of "why me?" and "what if..." and "if only..."  As I've chosen to push those thoughts out, I've realized that's only the first step. It isn't enough to avoid the bad thoughts, just like it isn't enough to pull out the weeds... they'll just keep coming back. The mind is like a garden, where good thoughts must be planted, so that there is no place for the unwelcome thoughts to find a home. 

So, rather than allowing those destructive questions to fill the garden of my mind, I have been focusing on planting thoughts that inspire gratitude for the blessings we've received. Right now, in these early stages, it's still a battle to push those tempting questions aside, but as we do we become more aware of and grateful for the blessings in our life... and dare I say even the blessings of this trial. 

I love the words of the Savior, in the parable of the sower (Matthew 13):

  3 And he spake many things unto them in parables, saying, Behold, a sower went forth to sow; 
  4 And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the way side, and the fowls came and devoured them up: 
  5 Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth: 
  6 And when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away. 
  7 And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up, and choked them: 
  8 But other fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit, some an hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold. 
  9 Who hath ears to hear, let him hear.

I hope we always choose to have softened hearts, ready to receive the hundredfold of blessings the Lord is anxiously waiting to give.

With all these thoughts in mind we decided to plant a new rose bush in our front yard, in honor of Elliana and Emmaline. It serves as a reminder to fill the gardens of our minds with thoughts as beautiful as our peach-colored roses. And, another reminder that there really are many blessings to be found... even amongst the thorns. 

A Trip to Australia

This last week has been a little bit of a whirlwind, and I really wish I had some clear thoughts to put out there. But, I don't. So, for now, I will leave you with this little analogy.

I tend to be very careful and selective about using analogies, because sometimes they aren't necessarily true from every perspective or angle. But there is an analogy that I've come across a number of times in the last year that for the most part reflects many of our feelings through this infertility/adoption journey.

The thing I like about it is that the feelings expressed are probably very similar to any other challenge or trial that one might feel while in the midst of the trial. So, to those of you who read this, I hope that whatever challenges you might be facing you'll find something in it that may bring some peace and hope of good things to come. Because of the law of opposition, the underlying truth to every trial is that it is followed by something good. Perhaps the deeper the heartache and pain we experience, the deeper the joy and beauty we will find at the end.

By Diane Armitage printed in the April 21, 1995 "Dear Abby" column:

Deciding to have a baby is like planning a trip to Australia. You've heard it's a wonderful place, you've read many guidebooks and feel certain you're ready to go. Everyone you know has traveled there by plane. They say it can be a turbulent flight with occasional rough landings, but you can look forward to being pampered on the trip.

So you go to the airport and ask the ticket agent for a ticket to Australia. All around you, excited people are boarding planes for Australia. It seems there is no seat for you; you'll have to wait for the next flight. Impatient, but anticipating a wonderful trip, you wait--and wait--and wait.

Flights to Australia continue to come and go. People say silly things like, "Relax. You'll get on a flight soon." Other people actually get on a plane and then cancel their trip, to which you cry, "It's not fair!"

After a long time the ticket agent tells you, "I'm sorry, we're not going to be able to get you on a plane to Australia. Perhaps you should think about going by boat."

"By BOAT!" you say. "Going by boat will take a very long time and it costs a great deal of money. I really had my heart set on going by plane." So you go home and think about not going to Australia at all. You wonder if Australia will be as beautiful if you approach it by sea rather than air. But you have long dreamed of this wonderful place, and finally you decide to travel by boat.

It is a long trip, many months over many rough seas. No one pampers you. (Isn't that the truth!) You wonder if you will ever see Australia. Meanwhile, your friends have flown back and forth to Australia two or three more times, marveling about each trip.

Then one glorious day, the boat docks in Australia. It is more exquisite than you ever imagined, and the beauty is magnified by your long days at sea. You have made many wonderful friends during your voyage, and you find yourself comparing stories with others who also traveled by sea rather than by air.

People continue to fly to Australia as often as they like, but you are about to travel only once, perhaps twice. Some say things like, "Oh, be glad you didn't fly. My flight was horrible; traveling by sea is so easy."

You will always wonder what it would have been like to fly to Australia. Still, you know God blessed you with a special appreciation of Australia, and the beauty of Australia is not in the way you get there, but in the place itself.

First Aid

About a year ago when Marc and I first started our adoption paperwork, one of the things we had to do was go through a First Aid certification class. So, one weekend in February we took the class together. It was great - we learned so much! One of the biggest things I learned was that First Aid, is exactly what it says it is... First Aid, not Final Aid or Only Aid or Professional Aid or Medical Aid. It's the first aid that's given before trained professionals can take over and actually doing the life-saving.

The most important thing we learned was how to most effectively respond in the first few minutes during an emergency, since those first minutes are so crucial. I won't get into the details, but there were some basic steps we were taught that can apply in just about any emergency. They are the 3 A's - Assess the scene and the victim(s), Alert Emergency Medical Services, and Attend to the victim(s).

Probably the most important step in there is the "Alert" part. The best thing for a victim is to receive professional help ASAP. Of course, assessing the situation and attending to the victim while waiting for help to arrive is important, but those are just meant to be ways of assisting the professionally trained medical people. Being first aid certified really means that it qualifies us with the knowledge that we may not know what we're doing and we need to get someone who does and FAST.

The last couple of days I've been thinking about what sort of protocols I follow when I need first aid for wounds that aren't physical. For those wounds you can't really call 911. That would be nice though. Please send emergency help to heal a broken heart. But, I've found that a lot of the steps are the same as what we learned in our First Aid class. Assess, Alert, and Attend... with the most important step being to get the best help from the best "doctor" as fast as possible.

But, while waiting for that help, there are ways we can "attend" to those wounds. Different things will work for different people, but things like running 10 miles, eating ice cream, or doing a Tarzan-like yell usually work pretty well for me. Well, at least initially... then, when I have to seriously attend to those non-physical wounds, I turn to things like calming music, writing, reading, prayer, or just simply sitting on my bed and looking out the window.

I would consider these things the "ambulance" that transports us to "The Doctor." As much as we try to bind our own wounds or dry our own tears by doing these simple things, the true healing comes only from He who has felt the depths of our wounds and knows how to take away the sting.

As the psalm goes: "[The Lord] healeth the broken heart, and bindeth up their wounds." And, Isaiah said, "the Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces."

With all these thoughts on my mind, I taught a lesson in seminary this morning that goes along so well. We were reading in Numbers about the fiery serpents that were biting and killing the Israelites. To provide a way for the people to be healed from the serpents, Moses was instructed to make a serpent out of brass and put it on a pole. Anyone who was bitten by the serpents would be healed if they just looked up at the brass serpent on the pole. But, we learn that "because of the simpleness of the way, or the easiness of it, there were many who perished."

(I find it interesting that The American Medical Association has actually used this serpeant on a pole as their symbol. Kind of cool.)

Anyway, the reason why some of them wouldn't look was because "they did not believe that it would heal them." It was such an easy thing to do, though, that I would think it wouldn't hurt for them to just try it and see. But, at the same time I've had moments when I haven't immediately "looked." My excuses always seemed valid at the time. I need to go through this hard thing on my own, so I can learn what I need to learn. Or, I'll just wait and ask for help when I'm more deserving of it. Or, my pain is much too deep for anyone to reach. Or, I'm strong enough to handle this on my own - I don't need anyone's help.

When a person is physically ill, how ridiculous would it sound if they said, "Well, I don't want to burden the doctor with my sickness, so I'll just wait until I get better and then I'll make an appointment." Waiting to ask God for help until we're "healthy" is missing the whole point. "They that are whole have no need of the physician, but they that are sick."

I've come to a realization that perhaps the most important thing I'm meant to learn from non-physical wounds is that not only am I unable to completely help myself, I'm not meant to do it all on my own. I am grateful for He who "rises with healing in his wings" and offers to carry my burdens and give rest to my soul. I'm grateful to know that I'm not ever alone, there is always One who knows how to run to me in my time of need.

"They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up on wings of eagles."

"Fix the roof while the sun shines"

So, we've been having non-stop rain and very strong winds for what seems like weeks... but, really it's just been two days. I've been bracing for the rain to come ever since August when Marc had already started to pray for rain. Yeah, I was so surprised by his plea for rain that I'm pretty sure I giggled slightly. My "Seattle-boy" doesn't do well with too many consecutive days of hot weather.

One interesting bit of information - Marc's childhood hometown (near Seattle) gets an annual rainfall average of 38 inches, while my childhood hometown (in California) gets an annual average rainfall of 36 inches. You can file that away in your "Random-who-cares?-facts" file in your brain.

Yesterday it was raining so hard, and I was sitting at my desk working on a paper for one of my classes. I paused for a while, turned off the computer, leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, pulled my blanket up around my neck, and just listened to the sound of the rain on the skylight. It was so soothing and relaxing.

I was thinking through different common "rain" phrases. You know, like "when it rains, it pours," and "fix the roof while the sun shines," and "rain, rain go away..." Are there any I'm missing?

But, the one that has been on my mind the last few days is the "fix the roof while the sun shines" quote. I was thinking of a specific winter when the rains really came down and there was a weak area on our roof that was affected by the buckets of rain that year, causing a headache of a mess. It was just this one little spot, but it was quickly escalating to a bigger mess. (Just ask my Dad, I'm sure he'll confirm that since he was the one fixing it.)

In the midst of a terrible storm, it's very difficult to fix a roof problem. You can try to manage it by catching the leaky water dripping through, but other than that you will probably have to wait until the rain has stopped and you can climb up on the house and fix the leaky area. I don't really know from personal experience, but I can imagine that it wouldn't be very fun to fix a roof leak while rain is pouring down. Just a guess.

But, I couldn't help but think about how life is like that. You know, when life's storms come, it's harder to fix the problems within yourself when everything else is falling apart all around you. But, if while "the sun is shining" we are building up and preparing ourselves to get through the storms, then when those rains come down we'll make it through without as much difficulty.

Now, that's not to say that there won't be any damage or that storms are fun. Sometimes we may prepare and do everything we can to face life's storms, and they're just plain hard. And, I think that's okay. Storms are just sometimes rotten, but they are an important part of life. Isn't the sun so much more beautiful after a good, long rain? And, what about rainbows? We wouldn't be able to enjoy their beauty if we didn't have a little rain to mix with the sun.

As unenjoyable as they might be, storms do help us see things more clearly... calling our attention to problem areas that we've neglected to notice. We may not even know we have a leaky roof until a good, hard rain has fallen. And, while it's no fun to realize you have one more thing to add to the "to do" list, there is great peace of mind that comes from working towards repairing a problem area in your life and knowing you've done your part to be prepared for whatever comes next.

Whatever storms you may be experiencing or whatever storms may come your way, know this one thing - there is always an end. And, with that end will come a great calm. We will not be abandoned in those most crucial moments of life, when we need peace more than anything. We will be strengthened through those storms we just can't face on our own.

"...a very large ship is benefited very much by a very small helm in the time of a storm, by being kept workways with the wind and the waves.... let us cheerfully do all things that lie in our power; and then may we stand still, with the utmost assurance, to see the salvation of God, and for his arm to be revealed."

And just to share my more favorite "rain" quote:

"May the sun bring you new energies by day, may the moon softly restore you by night, may the rain wash away any worries you may have. May gentle breezes refresh your soul and all the days of your life, may you walk gently through the world and know its beauty." —Unknown

Marathon Madness

I came across this video the other day and it made me laugh so hard! It's title is: The Day after the Marathon. Those runners out there will really appreciate this:



My good friend, Camille, first introduced me to the idea of running a marathon while we were out running early one morning down the cobblestone streets in Mestre (just outside of Venice). She had run quite a few marathons before coming to Italy and assured me I could definitely do it, too. So, we decided when we were both back in the States the following year, we'd run the St. George marathon together. And, we did. And, then we did it again the next year. And... then... I got married.

I stopped running marathons for a couple of different reasons, but have always had the urge to pick it up again. The whole experience is so cleansing - physically, emotionally, and mentally. The months leading up to it require discipline in eating healthy and getting out to build up stamina and distance. And, then comes the day to run all 26.2 miles at the same time. The adrenaline is high, the excitement unmatched.

I don't know how it is for others, but I know for me there comes a point when the excitement wears off and the running is no longer about physical strength... it becomes completely mental. That's about the point when I start singing the chorus of this song (please enjoy this flashback to the retro 80s):



And, then before you know it you're coming down the last stretch... that ".2" that some people leave off when they talk about marathons, that ".2" that almost seems like ".2" more than what you can do after completing the 26. When I crossed the finish line in 2001, I was giddy with laughter. I had actually completed my first marathon and had accomplished my goal of running the entire time. Success!

2002 was a different story. I hadn't trained as hard, partly out of thinking I didn't need to since "I had already run a marathon," and partly because I had been too busy planning my wedding to run 10-15 miles a day. So, when I reached mile SEVEN I was in so much pain I told myself, "at the next mile marker, you can give up and be escorted down the rest of the way." Well, I got to mile 8 and thought, "okay, I'll just go to the next one, then I'll quit." Those thoughts literally went through my mind for the entire remaining 19 miles. My physical abilities helped me to only get through the first seven miles, after that it had to come from somewhere else. The moment I crossed the finish line, I burst into tears. Marc was waiting there for me and I collapsed into his arms with jelly-belly size tears gushing down my cheeks. The second marathon was much more emotional for me than the first.

Somehow I had finished. Somewhere deep inside I had found something to keep me moving forward. And, on that marathon course I learned a lot about the strength of the human mind and spirit. While my body was telling me, "you can't do this, you didn't train as hard as you should have, you don't have it in you to finish," my mind was telling me a different story - "don't give in yet, just go a little bit further, just one more mile." Those thoughts literally carried me to the finish line.

Sometimes life throws hard experiences our way, and sometimes in the midst of those hard things we are overwhelmed with negative thoughts that try to convince us to throw in the towel - "just give up now", "it isn't worth it", "you're not good enough", "you're not strong enough", "you'll never make it, so don't bother trying." Those are the moments we need to turn up the volume from deep within, relying on strength that surpasses all physical strength to get us through. Sometimes that is simply breaking down the challenge into more manageable pieces - just tackling it one piece at a time, or one day at a time, or even one hour at a time. And, before long, the challenge has been overcome and we have crossed the finish line.

There might be giant tears and achy muscles, but there will also be deeper joy than we would have ever imagined when we learn how strong we really are. And, the only way to really learn that is by going all the way through those hard things and then coming out on top and seeing how far we've come and how deep we had to dig to get there. And, the thing I'm learning is that the joy waiting at the finish line is always worth it. Always.

Trials and Faith

I have a friend who once shared a story with me about one of her friends. So, this is the story of a friend of a friend. We'll call her Ann. Soon after getting married Ann discovered some difficulty getting pregnant, and later was told by her doctor that it would never happen. I don't know the details of why her doctor was led to believe that.

But, Ann had started to pray, telling God that she knew He could work a miracle in her life. She placed her faith in God, that He could make it happen. Well, it did. Her faith and prayers worked. There's no doubt in my mind that she finally got pregnant because her prayers were answered by God. When my friend shared this story with me, I was very touched by it. I would have moments myself in prayer where I would tell God that I knew He could make it happen for me, too, if He wanted it to.

Then, I would have questions like, why would he not want it to happen? Is there some reason I'm not supposed to have this desired blessing? Or do I not have enough faith? Is there something wrong with me? Am I not living worthy of those blessings? How low do I have to go before my faith will be sufficient?

I've since learned that having faith doesn't necessarily mean that everything will work out exactly the way I think it should. I don't want to discount the times when faith produced the miraculous results that were sought, because those really are moments of great faith. But sometimes the greatest faith comes when things continue to go wrong, and the person is able to still find reasons to keep on fighting.

I've felt some deep feelings of empathy for a couple of dear friends in my life who are struggling through some hard things right now. I watch as they continue to fight, to believe, to hope, even when all seems to be lost. Their struggles are different than mine, but I know they feel a lot of the same feelings... wanting to know where the end of their pain is, longing for the day they can find relief from the heavy-heart feeling. They may even be wondering if there ever will be an end to the pain and if it's worth it to keep on going.

I just want them to know that I love them. And that it is worth it to keep on fighting. Whatever price we are asked to pay will always be worth it in the end. The God I know is a God of mercy and great compassion. He knows the struggles of life, He knows the pain and frustration, He hears the quiet pleas in your heart... and He will bless you for the faith you show in those very dark moments.

I'm reminded of a story in the New Testament of a blind man. The disciples asked Jesus, "who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?" And, the response was "Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him." (See St. John 9:1-3.)

Sometimes we're given trials and challenges not because we've done something wrong, but so that we can be instruments for God to show His goodness. If there were no blind people, then there would be no way for God to show He can give sight. If there were no struggling people, there would be no way for God to show He can bring peace and comfort.

I am inspired by my friends who are currently at their lowest... and yet they keep getting up. They are fighting. They are digging deep for that little bit of faith that is left in them. I know it is hard. But, I know as they dig down they will find faith and strength they didn't even know they had.

When I was going through a low moment, my Dad shared this quote with me:

“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.'"

Keep on going. Keep on trying. You have people pulling for you. Your life and response to your trials strengthens my faith and inspires me to want to keep on fighting.

"the dark threads were as needful"

I got a poem the other day from another seminary teacher I work with. I'm not sure of its title or of its author, but here's the poem:

My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me.
I let him choose the colors
He worketh steadily.

Ofttimes He worketh sorrow
And I, within my heart,
Forget He sees the pattern
While I see only part.

The dark threads were as needful
In the Weaver's skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He had planned.

Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reasons why.

There was an oil painting I did a couple of years ago, where I intentionally worked with only a couple of different colors, to be able to focus on the contrast of light and dark values. In a very compelling way, the darks made the lights stand out and vice versa.

Every time I look at the painting, I am reminded that in life, as in art, there is beauty found in contrast and opposition. Dark times make the good times more beautiful. There is purpose in pain. It plays an important role. When coupled with moments of joy and peace, it makes the masterpiece of our lives rich and deep and more beautiful than it would be if we only experienced one or the other. How could I fully appreciate the joys of life if I felt no pain along the way? Pain deepens our joys, and perhaps joy also deepens our pains.

So, today I'm grateful for the role of trials and challenges, and the way they add to the beauty of life.