A Survivor of Abuse: My First Round of Counseling and a Few Years of Peace

I didn't know who to trust with this new pile of garbage I'd been forced to remember. Fortunately my parents knew of a semi-retired counselor in their church. Mom gave them a call and he agreed to see me, to see if we'd be a good fit.

I saw him on a semi-weekly basis for a few months. The first thing he told me was he believed me. I was honestly shocked. It had never occurred to me that someone wouldn't believe. I was telling the truth. I WAS TELLING THE TRUTH!!! While it was reassuring to know he believed me, it made me wonder if anyone around me didn't. 

Those first few months were not easy. I had a handful of memories return that were awful when they came, but the really hard part were the constant panic attacks. I hadn't really known much about panic attacks until my oldest started going through them. My attacks were different than hers, so at first I didn't recognize them for what they really were. I thought they were a form of "muscle memory", as if I was some how going through moments of my abuse from the past.

When the doctor told me they were simply panic attacks I made them stop. I know that sounds weird and probably not real, but looking back at it I think it was a way of "stuffing" that abused and frightened part of myself back down into the recesses of my mind. I put a lock back on that door and it would be years before it opened back up.

One of the things the doctor had me do was write a letter to my abuser, telling him what his actions had done to me over the years. No one should ever have to write a letter like that. Still, it felt good to finally put the thoughts down on paper. It was nice to say in writing exactly what I'd been thinking. I hated this man. I loved this man. I wanted him to be happy and despised him for using me in such a way that I would believe in my core I would never deserve to be happy. How do you put those feelings and more into mere words? And was I a bad person for wanting him to hurt?

Another day the doctor asked me to sit in my chair while he placed another chair right in front of me and imagine my abuser was sitting there. All of a sudden that chair was way too close. Did he have to be so close, even if it was only in my mind? I was supposed to talk to my abuser, to tell him what I wanted to say right to his imagined face. I went from the gut. I spoke as if he really was in front of me. It was terrifying, obviously worse than writing the letter. My doctor would occasionally prompt me by saying, "Tell him how you're feeling right now" or asking "What did that one action cause to happen in your life?"

Then I was asked to do the impossible. I was asked to sit in his chair and speak in his voice. While I hated every moment of it - never did I want to understand this man - it was a good thing. Not because I gained empathy for the man, but because trying to see things from that side of the situation helped me to understand on some level that no matter what I did or didn't do to or for my abuser, he was never going to be happy. He would never be satisfied. All of this really was his problem, not mine.

Too bad it didn't mean I would or could suddenly forgive and forget. I did gain a measure of peace for a few years. Little did I know what was brewing under the surface, frantically trying to scrape its way out from that locked door. I would get indications of it here and there, like sudden dizzy spells that in the past would mean a panic attack was trying to come on or a sudden vision of his face hovering over mine as he yelled and yelled at me. Like the moment I realized I didn't have to give in to those panic attacks, I would simply deny it all from happening, in essence putting a cork in a volcano.

In a few years time that volcano began showing signs it was ready to erupt.

A Survivor of Abuse: Remembering

Years ago there was a commercial for a fast food restaurant that supposedly had such a good deal a person was willing to break open an adorable piggy bank just to get that food. There was a moment when the little piggy was hiding in a closet and the shadow of it's owner would come through the wooden slats, a hammer in hand, ready to destroy the precious little being in order to obtain some sort of wealth inside.

I hated that commercial.

Why did I hate that commercial?

As I look back over my life there have been obvious clues that there was something deep within the recesses of my mind I was so afraid of letting out. Of course it's so much easier to look back and see the pattern unfolding, than to try and make sense of it as it's happening.

About five years ago I was coming to a crossroads. Things were simply not right with me. Though my depression was a bit more under control, I felt more attacked mentally, emotionally and spiritually than ever before. I knew I need help, but not the usual doctor/counselor/therapist/medication sort of help. Everything in my mind kept screaming at me that I was nothing. Yet this didn't make sense because all I had been taught in church said I was of so much value.

A few months previous my parents had been introduced to energy work. This wasn't my own first experience with it as I had been using it to get rid of many of my allergies through NAET. What my mom and dad had found, however, was a whole different line of energy work. My mom had offered more than once to introduce me to Sue, and had offered to pay for my first visit as well. One afternoon I was so desperate for the inner voices to go away I finally called my mom and asked her to make me an appointment.

It was awesome. It was difficult. I felt like a little child in her hands, something delicate and afraid and hopeful and trusting. Near the end of our second session she was deeply concerned that I had so many doubts of being worthy of happiness. She could sense that deep down I absolutely did not believe I deserved a happy life. In another session she stopped me once and said, "What happened when you were three?" I thought this particularly odd because only two years before my NAET doctor had asked me the same thing when realizing there was something that happened to me at the age of three that was keeping me from healing. 

"We moved to a new house," I told her. 

"Did you ever suffer any abuse?" she asked.

I answered with full confidence, "No." She sat there and stared at me, a subtle notion of I'm so sorry for what you're about to go through on her face.

Two different people asking me the same thing. What happened when I was three? I had no memory of anything bad happening. We had moved to a new house close to where I live now. We were there until I was about eight and we moved again. My best friend lived across the street, and my older brother's best friend lived two houses down (I always thought of him as my boyfriend).

One night as I had been pondering on so much I was in bed and a thought came out of absolutely nowhere. "I wonder if the reason I can't lay on my back is because he was so heavy." I've never been able to lay down on my back. I would get dizzy and disoriented and unable to breathe. I always thought it had to do with a nerve in my back that would somehow pinch. Not anymore.

I began to sob, gut wrenching, soul crushing sobs. I was afraid of waking up my husband so I went into our living room. I sat on the floor in front of our couch and pressed my face into the cushion to muffle the crying. 

I had to be making this up.

No way could this be real.

How could I have forgotten?????

After an hour I went to Facebook and not so subtly asked if it was possible to have forgotten something so horrible for so many years. The answers were a resounding YES! Many brave women came forward and told me they too had repressed those memories. I was grateful for their courage, but I hated the truth forced on me.

Still I didn't believe. The next morning was Sunday. The moment I saw my bishop and my husband I asked for a priesthood blessing. We went into the bishop's office where he asked what was going on. I told them, so afraid to look my spouse in the eyes. What if he didn't believe me? 

They placed their hands on my head and gave me a blessing from my Heavenly Father. I immediately felt peace, and was told in no uncertain terms that it was real, and it was time to start healing.

I have no doubt there is a time for everything, and in that moment I knew my body and my mind were ready to begin dealing with the horrors forced on me when I was too weak to fight back. That was when I realized why I hated that fast food commercial so much. For too long I was the little piggy bank, hiding in the closet, terrified of the shadow outside the door just waiting to take my wealth.

Feeling Adequate at Best

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines adequate as "enough for some need or requirement: good enough: of a quality that is good or acceptable."

Lately I feel less than adequate. Doesn't matter what part of my life we're discussing. Could be work. Could be home. Could be Mom. Could be Wife. Could be daughter of God. Could be grocery shopper. Could be nail trimmer. Doesn't matter.

Certainly my role as blog-writer has suffered as I've tried to stretch myself to play a bazillion different roles. The only problem is a person can only be stretched so far. My brain feels like a giant ball of mush these days. Trying to put connecting sentences together to create a post longer than a status update via Facebook makes my head hurt. Literally. I go into a fog and the next thing I know I've deleted the blog post because I just can't do it. Which breaks my heart as being a writer has been a dream of mine since I was a little girl.

Yet I continue to fight that word: adequate. Good enough. But nothing to cheer about. I read of how families are going to Disneyland (seemingly every one's favorite way to spend their tax return). How people are having their next book published. How they are able to do this and that and this and that and I...am adequate.

Okay so I really do know I'm more than adequate. In many ways I'm so stinking awesome you could hardly stand to be around me. Except you wouldn't want to walk away from my awesomeness regardless of how stinking I might prove to be.

It's so easy to sit and compare ourselves to others. We've never been able to take our kids to Disneyland, but we've always had enough to keep ourselves going. We find ways of having fun times that don't include long lines and going into debt. Though we still would like to try and take the kids one day. I may not have published anything officially, but my writings have blessed the lives of the young women for whom I've put stories together for their girls camps. 

The most extraordinary thing I have done with my life can be seen in the walls of my home. I have four beautiful children who, despite my best efforts, are turning out to be fairly normal and moderately happy. I have a husband whom I adore and, regardless of how crazy or adequate I am, seems to love me right back. Best of all there is a spirit of love in this home that cannot be denied by any who enter in. This home is a little slice of heaven on earth. Well, at times it's more earthy than heavenly, but there really is no place I'd rather be.

I had to remind myself that there are times my "best" is going to be awesome. I'm talking awesomely awesome. Like I could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Other days my "best" is going to be crawling over ant hills (minuscule ant hills) and then taking a nap because that took all my energy. Either way my "best" is the best I can give, and both are okay.

I've struggled this last month. More than I thought I would. My oldest son would have been 14 this year - it's a key age in my church. It hurt, so much. And then four - yes, FOUR - people I loved with all my heart died within a week. I shattered, and trying to glue myself back together has been impossible. 

Yes, I know death is not the end. Yes, I know I will see them and hug them all again. Yes, I know the Atonement of Christ means He knows exactly how I'm feeling and will help me through it all. I know He is my glue. I know He is my carpenter, my Healer, my Brother. But the ache that's left behind when I can't hold them here and now remains.

I received a priesthood blessing tonight from my husband and my daddy. How grateful I am that they are always ready and willing to do so for me. And that my Heavenly Father loves me despite my inaccurate feelings of being less than adequate.

My shoulders feel lighter. Nothing has changed, except my attitude. Which is the most important and most effective change. Especially when it comes as a blessing from up above. And while life may still find me feeling adequate while my Brother and I continue to put me back together, at least I know my best is my best and that's okay.

When it Comes to Forgiveness, Seek First to Understand

I'm not certain why it caught my attention, nor do I recall where I saw the words, but it has remained with me for several days now:

Seek first to understand, then to be understood.

The meaning behind such simple words has been indelibly marked into my soul over most of my life, at first like an etching made with a pocketknife into a piece of wood, only growing deeper with the passing years. The desire to be understood by others is a hallmark of humanity, of our individuality. To know someone cares enough about who we are and why we think the way we do can be marvelously affirming. It gives substance to the inner thoughts and ideas we constantly carry around in our heads. Indeed these ideas, beliefs, or whatever else may be roaming around in the confines of our minds, when validated or dismissed by someone other than our self, will form so much of who we become as more years go by.

One little act by another person, to put aside one's own ego long enough to discover what makes another person tick, can change lives. While we appreciate the effort someone takes in understanding us, we must strive to do the same for them. Do not ask someone to do for you, what you are not willing to do for them.

It seems like such a simple task, doesn't it? The recent election for president of the United States would certainly not lend toward such thinking. Instead it shows what too many of us are apt to do - assert our own beliefs, citing our reasons for insisting our way is the best way, but not taking the time to listen to the beliefs of others when those beliefs contradict our own. Nor do we want to hear why they think the way they do.

It's not only in politics that we see this happen. It can occur within any relationship we experience. Sometimes we are at fault, not taking the time to understand where others are coming from. Other times we are the ones who suffer because someone else refuses to understand.

This was me just a few days ago. What I am about to share with you is not done in the hopes of wanting to hurt another person - I won't share any specific details, nor is it to find validation for my own side in this, but rather my hope it to share why the above quote seemed to have been given to me as a reminder of why I should, and can, forgive this woman. Because I understand where she is coming from.

My friendship with this woman has never been an easy one. It is, for the most part, one sided. I have had to put up barriers once before, but as she appeared to have many good things happening and had a much happier countenance I thought we could give being friends another try. For a while it went well. We attended the temple a couple of times together. We chatted at church as well as online. From my point of view life for her appeared to be a happy one.

I got sick over this last weekend. It's just a cold, but one that refuses to go away. While I'd been a bit better on Monday, Tuesday I was miserably exhausted. Around 11:30 in the morning I fell back to sleep and didn't wake up until around three in the afternoon. I received a message from this woman saying she showed up around 2, knocked and knocked and knocked but I never answered, tried calling but I didn't answer, and she was clearly upset with me.

The thing is, I had no idea we were supposed to get together. I looked back over our messages and saw that she had, indeed, asked to drop by at 2, but her words indicated she was just going to drop something off. I wrote back, apologizing, explaining that I was sick, and asked why she didn't leave the item inside the screen door.

Her answer the next morning floored me. She accused me of several things, all of which were simply not true. I was hurt in ways that are impossible to describe, especially when she had never indicated anything was wrong. I spent the rest of the day crying, contemplating, and praying. By the end of the day a few things had come to my mind.

First, the Lord helped me to understand why she said everything she said. In every accusation, in every word of reproach, I saw where she was coming from. In her mind the things she said were just and true.

Second, though we may see some of what is going on in the lives of others, we do not know everything. This woman has fantasized what my life must be like, and has somehow made herself believe I can make her life better. She does not know my joys and heartaches, my daily triumphs and struggles, nor my priorities. She cannot comprehend why I place certain people at the forefront, while others must take a back seat.

At the same time I do not know all of what she struggles with. I am not in her head, nor her heart. I cannot begin to comprehend what hardships caused her to feel as though taking it out on me was okay. And that's something I simply need to understand, even if I don't always like it.

Third, forgiving someone their trespasses against you comes from seeking first to understand where they are coming from. When we can do that, we release their tight grip on our conscience, and allow the Lord to step in and replace the hurt.

And fourth, forgiving someone does not have to mean lying back down to be a door mat for them again. I don't know what it'll be like to see this woman on Sunday. I haven't decided if I'll talk to her on the off chance she approaches me. Though I understand enough to forgive her, I know for my own sake I need to keep her at more of a distance, at least until my heart has healed enough to know where to go from here.

Seek first to understand, then to be understood. Eight words given to me this week by my Lord to help me through a difficult situation. I am grateful for His loving hand in my life.

"Our" Flood

Saturday morning my kids came running into my room. "Mom! Mom! A pipe burst and now our back yard is flooded!" Um...uh...huh? I am not exactly known as the world's brightest coin first thing in the morning, and that day was no exception. It took a few minutes for my fuzzy, sleep-induced brain to wake up and figure out something might be wrong.

Sure enough, the faucets wouldn't turn on, and in the back yard I could see a giant swamp attempting to take over the back portion by the fence. Not until going outside to really assess the damage did I come to realize this wasn't just out house. A pipe down the street had burst, causing a river of water to course through a portion of our neighborhood.

Just outside my house a few firefighters and city workers collected in a circle, trying to figure out what was going on and what to do next. After making arrangements for me and the kids to go potty elsewhere, we began to assess the damage to our own home. We weren't too concerned until word that a few of the homes' crawl spaces were beginning to fill with water. Sure enough, so was ours. I think with the rising sun and warming of the land, the water began to find places to go besides six inches above ground.

Here's a picture of our crawl space. We didn't have too much water at the hole itself, but it had gathered several inches in one particular corner. My hubby set up a water pump where we attached our blue hose and threaded it through the kitchen, into the living room and out the front door.

Here we are coming out the front door, with little Miss A's mildly muddy shoes. She couldn't seem to stop wanting to come out into the action. While with daddy she got to sit in the front of a fire truck! Good times. Too bad on the way back to the house she slipped and landed in mud - and with all the water sitting outside the house, rather than inside the pipes, getting her cleaned up wasn't the funnest activity ever.
Turned out the blue hose wasn't long enough, so we had to bring in the green one too. This managed to make it out to the gutter, where we lovingly added to the all ready gushing stream.

Here's a small sampling of our 'almost swamp.' I kept thinking, if it froze, we'd have an awesome ice skating rink! But if you think this is bad, wait until the next picture.

My next door neighbor is an avid gardner. What you're seeing here should actually be the recently cleaned up and immaculate garden area. Instead, I could have sent the kids in for a pretty awesome mud bath. Those from the city working to help with the damage had to bring in a big pump to get rid of this water into the park behind our houses. As this water diminished, so did ours. Ah well. No ice rink this year.

I wanted to take loads more pictures of everything, but when a worker came up to me asking if everything was okay and that they hadn't personally done any damage to our home, I realized I was making everyone nervous. But I still got two cool shots out of it. This first one is the little 'waves' of mud running up the length of our driveway. It still makes me sad to think of the awesome pictures I could have taken while it was "fresh."

Here's the muddy mess at the end of our driveway. I think it looks amazing! Granted, I'm not looking forward to cleaning it up, but hey, I know an awesome display of the force of nature when I see one.

All in all it wasn't the best way to begin what was supposed to be a relaxing Saturday, but I do have to give props out to those who worked so hard to fix it all. The pipes were fixed and water returned to homes by early afternoon. Some of the men stayed until after the sun set in an effort to help make sure certain homes were properly cared for. Thanks guys!

Lessons in Faith, Trust, Humility, and ... More Faith

A few months ago I received an e-mail from our Stake Young Women's president asking me to be a part of a very small group put together for the purpose of coming up with a spiritual activity for our Girl's Camp, which was to be held on the stake level this year.

(Allow me to pause and explain for those who may not understand. Think of a collection of local church congregations - which we call "ward", and then those wards being placed in a group under the leadership of a presidency. That group is known as a stake. Any "stake" leaders mentioned are members of wards called to help lead and direct different Church programs like Young Women's, who are girls from 12-18 years of age.)

I felt honored to be asked, but little did I know how much of myself would be put into this one particular project. What was supposed to be a twenty-minute story to help illustrate how each young woman is a beloved princess who must make choices in this life, choices that will either keep her on God's path back to His kingdom, or lead her off the path, well, let's just say it's now a good 40 pages long.

I have felt beyond inspired while writing this story. I have felt words flow through my mind that were not my own. The main character made choices I ached over until tears could not be stopped. Were it my choice, she would have never fallen off the path, but that is why this is not my story.

Things were going well in the planning of this camp. Though not a part of the planning committee I certainly felt an avid interest in all that was going on. I was fully aware of the major concern behind our crazy weather this year, and the fact that getting up to the camp site was looking almost impossible, as rain and melting snow had washed out many of the roads.

What I had not seen coming was the decision of our stake presidency to cancel camp at a stake level and ask the wards to take over. After all the planning, praying, and trust that things would work out, it was simply...done.

My husband and our stake YW's pres. had to remind me this morning that these men are inspired of God. They did what they thought was necessary. It was not done on a whim. There was much prayer going into it. But, I cannot help asking, where does that leave us?

The truth is we don't know. So many of the leaders I've spoken to over the last few months have all agreed: something amazing is being prepared for these girls. I have felt more than once if we don't reach many of these girls on a spiritual level this year, we may lose them to the influences of the world.

I have had many thoughts running through my head today. Some I wonder if they are my own stubborn need to fix everything. Or is there any chance they are thoughts being given to me by my Savior, though I haven't figured out how to make them all fit into this gigantic puzzle placed in my path.

It has only been in the last few minutes, and after many e-mails with our beloved stake yw's president, that enough of the puzzle pieces have been put into place to allow us peace. The first piece is my reminder that I do not need to fix everything. Actually, let's make that a whole lot of pieces to my puzzle. I don't have to fix it all. I do not have all the answers. I have not been put in charge. It's time to humble myself once more and keep in mind the Lord is ultimately over this, and that brings us to the next few pieces of the puzzle.

Trust. We must trust that even though it looks as though everything is falling apart, this may not be the case. Who knows what the Lord has in mind at this time? Who knows what he has helped us prepare for, even though we may not be able to see how this puzzle will, in fact, come together?

How much do I trust in my stake leaders? How much do I trust we on the ward level are every bit as inspired and deserving of inspiration when it comes to the lives of these young women placed in our care? How much do I trust in the Lord's ability to make a frustrating situation turn into a wonderful blessing? How much do I trust? And that brings us to our last handful of pieces.

Faith. Oh that one little word. It is not something we automatically have. It is something we do. Now is the time for all of us who are leaders to put faith into action. We will place our faith in the Lord, he who directs this wonderful Church, who inspires all who are willing to listen, right down to the leaders of the ward, and see what blessings will come.

We will be humble, we will trust, and we will show faith. And at the end, when we have proven ourselves worthy to take on and accomplish this challenge, we will be blessed. Our story, the one we are living at this moment, will have a happy ending.

A Learning Experience

Little did I know only a few hours after I put up my Sunday Inspiration post I'd be trying so hard to practice what I'd just preached. There's nothing like being given the choice to show the things I put in here aren't just ideas, but a blessing handed down from up above to help give me a happier life.

After completing Sunday's post, I made certain the kids had their lunch and I went in to lay down. I was "sorely afflicted" with a nasty cold and my body ached from head to toe. I read for a few minutes before succombing to a fidgety and rather restless sleep. Regardless, I stayed in bed so long my sweet hubby, who didn't make it home from his church duties until about five in the evening, awoke me to ask, "Do you want some dinner?" I shook my head, looked at the time, and moaned. I'd been in and out of sleep for close to two and a half hours. It took another fifteen minutes, but I finally dragged myself out of bed.

I tell you all this to give you an idea of my mindset: I was drowsy, foggy in the head, still under the weather, and likely to choose the glass-half-empty attitude towards life. When at last dinner was over my honey and I had some time to talk. He'd had quite a rough day dealing with hoards of problems and ornery people. One in particular had to do with a friend of a ward member who'd called earlier last week, looking for help from our employment specialist. I had no idea who our employment specialist was (turns out there is none). At the time she'd called I was counselling with a struggling mom online, my oldest was begging to do something together, my youngest wanted Mom to take her to the potty, and I was babysitting for another ward member. To explain my mindset when this woman called, I can only say overwhelmed!

So yes, when the caller refused to take "I don't know" for an answer, I got terse. I couldn't stop it from coming out sounding mean. I had no idea when my husband would be home to talk with her as he had meetings and responsibilities for several days. Still, as I looked back on the conversation later that day, I felt bad.

Little did I realize word would be brought back to my husband. Little did I realize that instead of coming to me and asking what had happened to make me behave so uncharacteristically, this friend of the woman would rather believe the worst in me. I admitted to my husband I was terse with her, but he knew me well enough to realize I'm not rude to people unless something is very wrong.

Too bad it didn't stop there. Due to another set of circumstances someone who was very angry with my husband dragged both of us into the dirt. When he was told I would no longer babysit for him, he basically said I did absolutely nothing all day long and should have no problem to watch his kids whenever he asked. Never mind I'd set aside many an outing with my children so I could be there for him and his wife countless times before. Never mind I was often overwhelmed and suffering from depression, yet still agreed to watch his kids so he or his wife could get to doctor appts. It was this one that hurt me more deeply than anything else. He had such a low opinion of me, yet had no problem using me when the purpose suited him.

Needless to say I cried for a good long while. I imagined myself more than once bringing both of my attackers (for I did feel attacked) to their knees with my own rantings and justifications. Of course, once I calmed down, the words I'd felt inspired to include in a post I'd written just hours before came back to my mind.

When we pray for others, our hearts change. Even when it comes to those we don't plan to ever think kindly of we can see a change. For some individuals this can be a process done over years and years. For others the change can be almost immediate. Though we may never find ourselves loving with all of our souls those who have done us mountains of wrong, we can at least feel a softening of our hearts and a remembrance of who they are; that like us, they are children of our Heavenly Father.

That night I got down on my knees and I prayed. I prayed hard, and I prayed long. I first asked for forgiveness regarding my own harsh feelings. Then I prayed for understanding, both on my part and theirs. Then I simply prayed for those I felt had wronged me, that peace might find their own souls and help change their own hearts toward me, just as I desired a change of heart toward them. I ended my prayer with one last request, to help me know if any action should be taken, or if it was something I could simply let go.

The most remarkable feeling infused me the next morning. I was happier than I'd felt in days. Sure I was still sick, but my heart felt so light. I knew one incident should simply be left alone, as I had no desire to give any sort of energy to it, but the other I could easily do something about. I wrote the first individual a quick letter, explaining my mindset the day his friend called, and asked him to let the woman know how sorry I was, as well as requesting if it were to ever happen again for him to come to me. It was easily written, and came out sweetly, rather than sounding accusing.

Another day later and I feel as though things are right with the world. I was able to live precisely what I preached, and now I am a witness as to the truthfulness of those words! What a wonderful Father and Brother I have, to allow me the chance to see their words working in my own life.

Sunday Inspirations October 25, 2009

I wish to dedicate today's post to my brothers. There are two of them, one older, one younger. While we didn't exactly get along the greatest during our growing up years, they have been and will always be among those I love with all my heart. Perhaps even they cannot comprehend exactly how much I love them.


Over the last few weeks my younger brother has been desperately ill. Let me type the words "kidney stones" and you can spend a minute writhing in agony just as he's done for weeks. He began to lose weight, according to his sweet wife, and was, in a word, miserable. And no one is allowed to say he shouldn't be. During this time our family rallied together. My children, my husband, and I all prayed for Uncle T, in the hopes things would work out quickly. Several times a day my youngest would ask if "Ucwe has a stone? Ohhh." He ended up going in for surgery, which turned out to be the best choice as the stone had stuck and was simply spinning in place. My kids were all overjoyed to find out the stone was gone! I truly hope uncle T knows how much our family loves him.

This is a celebration month for my older brother. Not only do we celebrate his birth (Happy Birthday!!!), but five years ago he was given the gift of life. It was on a Sunday, like today, that a certain buzzer went off during church, signalling a miracle was about to occur: a kidney was ready for him. He'd suffered for many years from a kidney disease, had been on dialysis for so long, and barely able to function doing the most basic things. Our whole family aches to know someone died in order to help him live, but oh how grateful we are for the individual who marked "donor" on his driver's license. Because of this anonymous person, my brother had been given several more years of healthy life.

I'm thoroughly convinced our loved ones are given times of trial to allow others in the family to draw closer to them. When we pray for others, our hearts change. Even when it comes to those we don't plan to ever think kindly of we can see a change. For some individuals this can be a process done over years and years. For others the change can be almost immediate. Though we may never find ourselves loving with all of our souls those who have done us mountains of wrong, we can at least feel a softening of our hearts and a remembrance of who they are; that like us, they are children of our Heavenly Father.


Another blessing is simply the ability to feel close to those we are praying for, even if it's only in spirit. My younger brother is not just a short drive away, while my older brother lives several states to the east. I don't get to see either of them very often. We don't spend hours chatting on the phone or writing long, newsy e-mails back and forth. This does not, however, keep me from feeling distant from them, for they are as close as a prayer.

Yep, I love my brothers, even on days like the one in this picture, where they're both pulling on the back of my wedding dress just to be funny ♥

Making the Hard Decisions

I was so excited when my kids started self-defense karate a little more than a year ago. It's been fun for them, and most definitely fun for me. J has been making an awful lot of noise lately about not wanting to continue, though. Of course, half way through testing he suddenly changes his mind.

Here's the thing. Money is tight. Really tight. We're looking at having to tighten our belts like never before. We've had a few unexpected events happen this summer - like the fridge fiasco and needing new tires for the front of the car - and our savings ended up quite drained in the process.

By no means are we destitute. I certainly don't mean to leave that impression. But I find myself needing to make some tough choices, ones that will probably upset and frustrate the kiddies. One of those choices is whether or not to continue with karate.

M is involved in a lot right now. She's taking piano lessons, will begin orchestra again at school, and is doing a few other programs there. Having her miss taking karate won't be such a trauma as she has plenty of other things to take it's place.

B is the one I could see continuing in karate. When he's not being distracted by his older brother he's really quite good. Impressive for someone so young.

It's J I worry about. He's not as musical as his sister, nor as coordinated as his brother, and being a part of this - no matter how much he complained - gave him a sense of accomplishment. If I take him out, what do we turn to? I don't want him to be the only one not involved in something, yet I can't afford to do the things he'd like.

So do I take them all out of karate just to placate one child? I'm more than just a bit torn, yet I know a decision needs to be made soon. Their latest session of karate ends in two weeks. My hubby has no problem simply taking them all out, but I hesitate as I know how the activities we participate in, especially as children, go far in developing our self images.

J has a long way to go before we figure out where his talents lie. Would he really be happy watching his sister and brother remain involved in things he's not a part of? And if he finds something he's not only interested in doing but really go at, will the money be there?

Ugh. I hate making the hard decisions.

Thanks for letting me think out loud today, my friends. I'll be doing a lot of praying over the next few weeks.

Sending Out a Birthday Wish

I struggled with whether or not I should blog about this today. One danger about putting oneself into cyberworld is you never know who might be reading. That's one of the major reasons I don't share my children's names and work hard to only give out vague information on where we live.

Today is a day when I'd like to share a bit about one of my favorite people. I knew him in this life for just over an hour, and really didn't get to see much of him even during the time he lived. I was there, however, when he crossed from this life into the next. I'm talking about my son. You'll see him listed to the side as my second born.

D would have turned nine this month. I say 'would have' because he died just an hour and twelve minutes after he was born. I've blogged about this experience before in posting a talk I gave several months ago (Sunday Inspirations Oct. 26, 2008). You're welcome to click on the link and read the full talk if you haven't done so before. Today I want to share my son with the rest of you, and so will copy a large part of the talk here.

I went into labor in the early morning hours of the baby’s due date. M, who was only two at the time, was sent over to Grandma W’s house around nine or ten when we determined it was time to head into the hospital (i.e., I couldn't take the pain!!!). I remember hoping they wouldn’t tell me it was indigestion and send me back home. Fortunately they didn’t.

In no time at all I was appropriately dressed in one of those becoming hospital gowns, all the right sensors in place, watching the little heartbeat of our son on the monitor to my left. I was a little distressed as my regular doctor would be in meetings all morning long, but his partner would be available when the time came.

As my labor progressed the nurses began to worry. With each contraction the heartbeat of my baby would dip. This had happened as well with M so I didn’t think too much of it. There were other concerns as well, but in my agony and excitement I didn’t pay them much heed. The hours went by in this manner, my parents and older brother in attendance, all our attitudes happy and anxious.

Things went slowly enough for my regular doctor to finish his last meeting and he was able to attend me, much to my relief. I eventually felt it was time for the baby to come, my family exited, and I began to push. It didn’t take too long before this tiny, scrawny baby was placed on my chest. Two things jumped out to me at once.

First was the color of our child. All babies don’t exactly come out looking pretty. Our son was too gray, too dark. The second thing was when he tried to cry. I can still hear his fervent attempts to take in a breath, to make a noise, and all that came out was this tiny squeak. As I tried to take all this in the nurse whipped the oxygen mask off my face and placed it over his, but his skin wasn’t pinking up. She grabbed him, towel and all, told my husband to follow, and rushed out of the room.

I was left alone to wonder and wait for word that all was well, though a part of me knew this was not so. The nurses and my doctor were busy all around me, but I was hardly aware of their presence. I went through many silent prayers, hoping against hope all would be well. Into my mind a quiet voice broke through.

“Everything will be okay,” it said.

I heaved a sigh of relief. “Everything will be okay,” I thought. “My son will be fine. We’ll get to take him home. M will get to see her baby brother. Everything will be fine.”

“No,” came the voice again. So gentle. So quiet. Yet so firm. “No. But everything will be okay.”

My doctor went to check on what was going on, and my mother came in to sit with me. Neither of us said a word. We really didn't need to. Only the occasional thank you to those who kept us in the loop. At last I was told I needed to come with the doctor to visit my son, that it just didn’t look good.

During this time my husband watched with an aching father’s heart all that the paramedics did to try and help our son live. What he witnessed I cannot imagine, but I am grateful that since his own father couldn’t stand there with him, that my own father and older brother were able to be there in his stead.

It wasn’t long before my mother and I joined them. When I first witnessed D's tiny body being worked on, my immediate thoughts were, "Please, just stop. Don't hurt him any more." As my husband and I talked later, he told me his thoughts echoed my own.

Dr. Jung, the physician taking care of my baby, knelt by my wheelchair and told me the 'little guy' just wasn’t going to make it. I nodded, knowing this already, but not able to stop my heart from breaking nor a brief sob from escaping. They took the wires off his body and the tube from his throat, wrapped him in a blanket, and placed him in my arms.

At that moment my husband, my father, and my older brother laid their hands on this little baby’s head, gave him a name and sealed him to our family. For several seconds after not a sound was heard in that room besides gentle weeping. Dr. Jung finally knelt down beside me, took out his stethoscope to place it on my son's chest, and declared what we already knew: he had died.

Several minutes later we were all back in the delivery room taking turns holding this precious little one. I distinctly remember the moment I no longer needed to hold him any more. I firmly believe that was the same moment his spirit left the room.

This sort of experience can scar a person, even destroy their faith in God and His plan for us. For myself, it has been the single most faith-building experience of my life thus far. I have been beyond blessed by this extraordinary spirit encased in a boy for now lost to me. I know more now than ever before the beautiful blessings that come from being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and the knowledge I have been given of the eternal nature of families.

I know I will have the opportunity to raise this special child in the next life. I know he is promised to us so long as we live our lives in accordance to the gospel. I know peace. I know love, not just the love of my Heavenly Father and Brother, but that of my earthly family, friends, and church members.

This is not to say I stood strong the entire time. Countless tears were shed. There were moments I found myself crumpled on the floor in agony. I went on depression medication for several months just so I wouldn't burst into tears every time I saw a little boy. And March is a most dificult month for me to get through. Yet I am also grateful for the time of year he came to us, for just after we celebrate his birthday, we celebrate the Atonement and Resurrection of our Savior. Easter has more meaning for me, thanks to my little boy.

This is my story to share. He is my little missionary, my way of helping to strengthen the faith and testimony of others who may have experienced something similar. He is my testimony that we can come out of the harshest moments of our lives stronger, more blessed, and at our most able to bless the lives of those around us.

Feeling Helpless in Trials

I'm struggling this morning, as my status on Facebook openly states. It's hard when you're enduring trials, whether they be physical, emotional, or spiritual. Yet rarely seen, but just as harsh, are the hearts breaking because there's nothing they can do to help those enduring the pain.

My younger son, B, has had headaches for close to four months now. At times these aches are fairly mild, to the point he rarely says a word, even though they never actually go away. Other times, such as these last two weeks, the pain is bad. He can barely sleep at night. His tummy feels upset most of the day long. He keeps to activities that don't require a lot of action, like playing on the computer or having Mom read to him.

Yet through it all he rarely complains. He seems to contain a giant of a man, one who is courageous and perservering and strong, placed into a little boy's body. He's everything tender and loving, always giving hugs and kisses, cuddling, and telling me how much he loves me.

So when he looks up at me with those big, blue eyes, and says, "Mom, my head really hurts," my heart absolutely breaks. I know for him to utter those words the pain has to be pretty bad, and I feel utterly unable to help. Normal pain meds don't take away the pain. I've tried the same methods we used on his big sister when she started getting headaches, but it doesn't do a thing.

I know it's only through great pain that we learn the greatest lessons. But it's never easy to watch it happen in someone so innocent. This little man, this beautiful example of what it means to submit to the Father's will, is my hero.

An Odd Anniversary

New Years Day of 200_ I awoke to the sound of laughter in the kitchen. What didn't have me jumping right up was a sound I didn't hear - that of a newborn baby crying. This particular child was only three weeks old and it hadn't been an easy time (anyone who's given birth for the third time in three years and did the last one around Christmastime might possibly understand where I'm coming from). I'd actually ended up back in the hospital shortly after the birth because a portion of my right lung had collapsed due to how big the baby was, and a tendency of tiny feet to press upon the aforementioned portion of my body.

Like I said, not the easiest time.

Realizing I might have the chance to catch a few extra minutes of precious sleep I turned onto my side, closed my eyes, and tried to recapture any sort of pleasant dreams that had escaped me. The only problem was my left eye didn't close. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get it to close. I began to notice other oddities: the skin on the left side of my face felt odd - like the feeling one gets as the Novocaine wears off after a dental appointment, my tongue also felt a bit numb, and the whole side felt sluggish.

I immediately got up and dressed, then went to the bathroom where I brushed my teeth and took a good look at my face. There was no doubt about it, something was wrong. Even as I watched for those few minutes, the symptoms grew worse. I walked into the kitchen, tried to act nonchalant, and told my husband I think we needed to head to the local Insta-Care.

He went straight into action, and before long my mother was watching the kids while we headed off. I distinctly recall trying to remember if I'd suffered a stroke during the night. I didn't think so (I laugh at myself now, but it was quite traumatic at the time!), but how was I to know.

Just a note - I'm much more familiar with the actual signs of a stroke now.

The doctor reassured me first thing that I hadn't suffered a stroke, then told me I had something called Bell's Palsy. I had never heard of it before in my life, and to be honest the doctor wasn't able to tell me a whole lot. Because it's not a life threatening disease there hasn't been a whole lot of research put into it.

Basically "they" (don't ask me to define who they are, please) believe BP is related to the Herpes Virus (which produces things like cold sores and Shingles), though no one can tell just what will trigger the condition. There is no rhyme nor reason to it - it attacks all ages, all races, both genders. It can appear on either side of the face, or even on both in extreme cases. People have been known to experience partial paralysis which disappears within a few days, will have complete paralysis which heals completely over time, while few will have permanent lasting effects. While most who experience this only get it once, there are others who have had it more times.

For myself, I had the complete paralysis. The doctor gave me a choice at the office. Odds were much of the paralysis might leave if I took a heavy dose of steroids and a viral medication, but I would have to stop nursing during that time. I simply wasn't willing to do so. I'd had the experience of not nursing with my first child due to extreme problems and didn't want to risk not being able to continue to do so even after the meds were out of my system.

For the first three months I endured an awful lot. I had to put a medicine on my eye at night at tape it shut, the effects of which I still struggle with as the eyelid retrained itself not to close without pulling up my cheek. Another side effect was the inability of my eardrum to work correctly, so everything came across as loud. I took to wearing an earplug every time I went outside, and a lot of the time when I held the baby. I still occasionally have problems with loud sounds. My eye began to water a lot, especially every time I ate. It's a bit ridiculous to have to hold a tissue in my hand so I can wipe away the tears so they wouldn't drip into my spaghetti. And yes, I still have a problem with the occasional watering eye, in particular when it's cold and windy outside.

There was a lot of pain as well, specifically on an area behind and below the ear, sort of right underneath the jaw. That side of my face became extremely sensitive, at times so bad I couldn't sleep on it at night. My sweet baby (whom we lovingly and laughingly referred to as our "Bobble-head Baby") would frequently bang his head on my face.

The psychological aftereffects were just as bad. I found myself developing defensive gestures, and recognized it even as I was doing it. For example, when I laughed or smiled my hand would automatically rise to cover up that side of my mouth. My hair parts naturally on the right side, and I began to wear my hair down more often so it would cover the left side of my face. I took to placing my finger on the corner of my mouth and pulling slightly so I could be understood better (one of the greatest ironies of Bell's Palsy - because there is no control of lip muscles you can't really say the letters "B", "P", "F", and "M").

I hated being introduced to new people, not knowing if I wanted them to ask about it, or just ignore it altogether. It put people off, and I can't say I blame them. I remember one morning just before we were heading off to church, I found some pictures in a bag I hadn't had a chance to look at yet. I'd tried to smile, and the effect was horrid. I began crying. It couldn't be helped. My first instinct was to rip the picture up, but I think it's still lurking around the house somewhere. I never wanted to have another picture taken of me again. I felt beyond ugly. Smiling no longer happened naturally, which was particularly heartbreaking as I love to smile.

The first ray of hope occurred almost exactly three months to the day. I was in the bathroom looking in the mirror, and tried to smile. And for the first time in three months I made a movement on purpose: there was a tiny move at the corner of my mouth! I'd experienced a lot of involuntary muscle spasms, but this was the first thing that happened because I wanted it to happen!

Healing was slow going, and has never been complete. You can mostly tell when I take a picture, especially when I'm not aware it's being taken and smiling wide. I still hate having pictures taken, and try to be the one behind the camera. But I have hope.

That first day my husband gave me a priesthood blessing, where I was promised a full recovery. I've received enough blessings and promises over the years to know it doesn't always happen in the ways and times we expect, but I have faith that one day I'll be able to smile without feeling self-conscious about it. I was given an extra special booster the same day I saw the picture of myself - mere minutes after I'd stopped crying my oldest came into the kitchen and told me I was beautiful. You have no idea how much that was needed.

Almost two years later I got BP again, but this time I knew the warning signs, wasn't nursing or pregnant, and was able to take the meds. There was no paralysis that time.

In the hopes I can help someone else who might possibly experience this same thing, here are some of the symptoms you might experience before the paralysis hits in the hopes you can get into the doctor:

I'd begun to get a cold in my neck. In particular there was a pain in the area towards the front, sort of next to the throat. It felt like a stiff neck I couldn't get rid of, not even with pain relievers. Food and liquids tasted weird on that side of my tongue at least a day beforehand. I was excessively tired (but blamed it on the baby. Others I've talked to have said they were tired as well). Remember to keep an eye on the other symptoms I mentioned above: drooling, sensitive ear, numbness in the face, sluggishness of the facial muscles, and a watery eye.

Getting Good at Faking Happy

These last two months have been difficult for me on an emotional level. I've been slipping slowly into a depressive state, though it has not been as bad as many people I know who suffer from it. This last week has been especially difficult, made more so as we receive more and more bad news from those around us.

For most of the year I do really well. I have no problem handling life, and can do it with a sincere smile. Twice during the year, however, I find myself having to fake happy. I put the smile on my face, but if someone looks close enough, they'll see it doesn't stretch quite far enough. For the sake of my husband, for the sake of my children, I push myself to appear normal, but all too soon my neatly stitched quilt of sanity begins to unravel.

My wonderful husband is always the first to recognize the signs. I can tell he's seeing cracks in the carefully crafted glass wall I start to put up when life becomes too overwhelming. He begins to ask me if I'm okay...a lot. He notices my hesitation to leave the house, my inability to laugh at simple things, and the need to spend endless hours losing myself in books where I'm taken away from my own life for a little while. He begins to volunteer to do my own self-imposed chores around the house, as I have no energy nor desire to do them myself. Then he asks me more what he can do to help.

I don't know if I'm your typical depressive, if that's a word. Instead of withdrawing completely, as is my natural instinct, I push myself to seem okay. I'll do things with the kids I normally wouldn't think about doing during my normal days just because I'm worried they'll feel neglected. I end up placing so much pressure on myself to "shake it off" and throw myself into doing more, more, more so that no one will worry. This, of course, is out of character and so people worry regardless.

Another thing that's hard to cope with is the fatigue. I could sleep nine hours and still wake up exhausted. I could go for a few hours during the morning and need to take a nap during the afternoon. I hate naps. When I take one several days in a row, something's not quite right.

This last week I had a pretty big break down. I spent most of the week weeping with occasional sobs flying through the day. My poor children don't know what to think during these episodes. My darling husband is at a loss to know how to help me feel better. Heck, I don' t even know how to help me feel better. But talking about it helps.

I've talked with several people about it over the last few days, and I feel my mood lifting. Is it because I'm finally acknowledging what I've spent so much time hiding? Does it have to do with allowing others to take a small portion of the emotional load off my shoulders? I don't know. Though I'm feeling pretty good right now, I'm fully aware that tomorrow I could break down all over again. I can feel how hard I'm working to hold it all in right now. But it is better today.

I do find, during these times, my Heavenly Father knows how to help me in little ways. I get phone calls from friends and family I don't normally hear from. I get surprise visits like I did this last Sunday from a good friend, who was visiting from California (it was so good to see you Brent! you have no idea what a blessing you were to me that day. And we missed seeing LaDawn and Brook!). My husband comes home from Sunday meetings with compliments from church members, who say they love to sit next to me when I sing, or some kind words from a former youth who asks if I'm still writing amazing letters as I wrote to her during some difficult times.

At the same time I recognize Satan is working hard to keep me down, as he did when my oldest had a horrific experience because of the choice of three girls who were just "having fun" at the swimming pool. Just when I think I'm at my lowest, he finds a way to bring me lower, to snatch the brief moments of genuine happy I have grasped in my white-knuckled fists.

All through it, though, I'm ever aware there is something more to look forward to. There is joy I know will be given to me in spades. Every time I go through these awful spurts of despair, there is something more to be gained when it finally passes. It is written that "Men are that they might have joy." Happiness, pleasure, these can be fleeting. Joy - the joy promised to those who remain faithful even through the horrific parts of life - is what helps me cling to the end of my rope and swing.

I have no doubt in my heart, my mind, or my soul that one day soon I will experience great joy. If it means I have to deal with periodic depression, the sort that leaves me recovering for weeks when it finally lifts, then so be it. I also realize I'm blessed to be able to help others who may suffer from this same affliction. There's nothing like knowing someone's going through something similar to your own experiences.

It certainly won't stop me from appreciating all the prayers you can send my way.