I have always been a daddy's girl. When my dad was in the navy and would go out to sea for months at a time. I would spend hours singing songs about how much I missed and loved my daddy. The older I got, the more I felt the desire to be by his side, helping him, letting him know how much I loved him, and making sure he never felt lonely. I didn't have a specific reason for feeling that way as a child, but as I have gotten older I have realized that some part of my young self knew that my daddy wasn't completely whole, and I wanted to try to fix that. My dad has manic depression, bipolar disorder, and anxiety. It wasn't until I was in middle school that I even realized my dad was depressed.And it wasn't until I was a sophomore in high school that I began to truly understand what that means and how difficult the challenges he faces really are. My high school years happened to be a very difficult time for my dad. He had dealt with break downs before, but this was by far the worst he had endured. The pain and struggle was obvious on his face. No only was it hard for him to just get up in the morning, but to function throughout the day, find joy, and see a purpose to his life. With manic depression and bipolar disorder, a person swings from incredibly low lows, to even higher highs. It was just as scary when he would be on a really high high, because that meant the low was not far behind, and it was going to be really bad. My two older siblings were married or at college at this time, so it was me and my two younger brothers at home. They were young enough that they were completely unaware of our dad's struggles, and my older sisters were busy and unaware of how much our dad was suffering. The burden of my dads mental illness was a lot for my mom to bear, so she would share with me just how bad things really were. I would often hide on the stairs at night and listen as my parents would talk in the kitchen. I remember one specific night listening as my dad outlined for my mom the very detailed plan he had come up with for taking his life. Hearing that shook me to the core! I loved my dad so much and couldn't imagine how he could ever want to voluntarily leave our family behind. I remember crying with my mom and struggling to understand why my dad and our family had to endure this type of pain. Fear began to consume me, and my days were filled with worry. I remember coming home from school one day to find both my parents home, when they should have been at work. I learned that my mom had been called out of work to pick up my dad, who was sitting on the curb outside his office, sobbing like a child. My heart broke for my dad and the pain he was experiencing. I wanted so badly to heal what was broken inside of him. In my desire to be there for him, and heal or fix this mental illness that was literally breaking him, I felt empathy like never before. While it was a great learning experience, it was also more than I could bear. At this time, I felt a desire more than ever before to study and understand the Atonement of Jesus Christ. I was blessed with a wonderful seminary teacher who gave me talk after talk to read and study, not knowing the challenges I was experiencing at home. The more I studied, the more I understood that I could not fix, heal, or take the pain from my dad. That was not my role. We have a Savior who has already endured all, literally feeling the exact pain and burden my dad lives with because of his mental illnesses. I also learned that just like my dad needs the Savior, I also needed His Atonement to bring me peace and healing. That was the only way I could press forward with peace, hope, and joy. I couldn't let fear and worry consume me. That is what Satan wanted. He wanted me to feel hopeless and sorrowful. My Savior was reaching out to me and calling for me to allow His Atonement to bring me peace. Music has always been a very powerful way the spirit speaks to me. On days when the fear and worry would fight to consume me again, the song "Be Still My Soul" would come to my mind. The words brought me peace in a way nothing else could. I know it was a tender mercy of the Lord that came to me. He knew through His Atoning sacrifice that it was the way to succor me and heal my heavy heart. I came to know that although these mental illnesses were not going away in this life, my dad would be made whole in the next life. I was literally enabled to press forward, trusting in God's plan, and knowing that my dad was loved and cared for by so many more than I could comprehend. My dad still struggles daily with these mental illnesses. There have been a lot of really bad days, but there have also been a lot of really good ones. I still make it a point to make sure he knows how loved and needed he is, and I am still a daddy's girl. I am so thankful for the examples of faith my parents have set for me, even in the face of this difficult trial, and I am eternally grateful for the Atoning sacrifice of my Savior, Jesus Christ and the enabling power it is in my life.
I am an addict. As I’ve worked to understand the parts of my life that led to the development of my addiction, I’ve learned that it started from traumatic childhood abuse that never got professional help in order to process through it and reach a healthy outcome. I grew up with an extremely angry and emotionally and mentally abusive father. And I always felt inadequate and insecure. I was shy and desperately needed people to tell me that I was enough. That I was doing a good job. That I was loved and valued and had worth. As I grew up, I learned how to get those things in ways, I've since learned, were very unhealthy.
I am not your typical substance abuse addict. My addiction falls under the category of an Intimacy Disorder. An Intimacy Disorder is defined, in part, as "a struggle to form connections with others in healthy ways. Intimacy refers to the ability to form friendships and close personal relationships with others. Individuals dealing with intimacy disorders are unable to create and/or maintain relationships in which healthy, appropriate levels of intimacy are possible. In some cases this may manifest through a lack of openness and honesty with people the individual considers their closest relationships. In other cases, it may go to the opposite extreme and be shown through excessive and inappropriate interactions with others." I have been married for over a decade, and I love my husband. I don't want to be married to anyone but him. When we got married, many years ago, I was young and had these pictures in my head that my life was now going to be full of happiness with fun and exciting, memory making, joy filled experiences with my eternal companion. And, there would be no struggle or trial so big that it would shake our faith in each other. We would be each other’s biggest supporter. I believed that loving someone and feeling loved in return would now be a part of my daily life. Not to many years into our happy marriage, there came an enormous tragedy that shook our very souls. It sent us both spiraling into unknown territory. It brought on an enormous depression and a hopeless inability to know how to get through these new life consuming emotions. It felt like, from one day to the next, there was a complete and absolute disconnect in our relationship which left us both floundering and drowning and utterly alone. That connected, "we will help each other through everything", feeling was gone. We both felt overwhelmed and hopeless. We both felt abandoned by the other one and had absolutely no idea how to communicate that to each other. Once some of the smoke cleared we just started trying to live life again, but our marriage had now been through a torturous experience and we were truly broken. As the years went by, my husband and I started to feel like our life was "back to normal." We weren't noticing the disconnect anymore. We were having what we considered fun times together again. Life kept going, and so did we. What we didn't see was the broken, emotional mess, that we didn't process properly, was still very much a part of our lives. It was like a thick fog had surrounded us and we just got used to it. We still weren't emotionally or very romantically connected and as life got busy and stressful, I fell back into my old childhood learned behaviors and started needing and looking for something to validate me, to make me feel desired and sexy and wanted and worthy and fun and whole again. Throughout my life, I always considered myself a romantic. I have always craved love songs and romance novels. Before I got married I loved dating and I was great at flirting. I got a rush seeing men want me. Before getting married, I was unaware that my behaviors were unhealthy and could be classified as an addiction. I was able to justify what I was doing as just harmless single life fun. When I was single my addictive actions only really affected me. I assumed that once I got married, I would no longer feel the need to do those things, because I would then have a husband to love me. As every addict that has been able to stop and look at their addiction knows, and most people understand, as time goes on, and as you use your "drug of choice" to mask your pain and fill your needs, it takes more and more and more of that drug to get the same effects that just a little bit once gave you. Once I was no longer able to feel that rush of happiness from just singing along to my favorite love songs or diving into a "guy gets girl" novel or watching a romantic movie, I started needing more. I then found chat rooms and porn, and eventually online relationships with other men. I was so consumed with "feeling high" every day that I didn't even consider my husband's feelings at all. At my lowest I was unintentionally and unknowingly destroying the self esteem and self worth of the man I loved most, and since it was giving me a high when I did those things that were actually destroying him, I was under the addicts allusion that I was actually happy. One day it hit me. What the Hell was I doing?!! I was so far gone I wasn't even feeling guilty anymore. Neal A. Maxwell said, "The moment of gravest danger is when there is so little light that darkness seems normal." I went to the Bishop. I opened up my life to him and through tears I explained everything. My temple recommend was taken away and I began the sincerely dedicated and gut wrenchingly painful repentance process. My husband and I started marriage counseling. I started seeing an Addiction Recovery Therapist, and I joined a support group. There is an excruciating, searing, unbearable, soul crushing pain and Godly sorrow that comes with Addiction Recovery. I spent hours upon hours on my knees, pouring out my soul to my Heavenly Father, sobbing with shame and torturous physical pain. The withdrawals from addiction, substance abuse or otherwise, can and will leave you sick and shaking and begging for mercy. I would find myself curled in a ball on the bathroom floor, literally surrounded by demons from Hell, fighting my thoughts and my desires, fighting for my very life. The chains that Satan had around me were all too real, and they were overwhelmingly heavy. The pain was so horrific that I would pray for even a moment’s break in where I wouldn’t have to feel the anguish that racked not only my mind, but my body and soul as well. I pleaded to be forgiven, I begged to be made whole again, to be worthy of the blessings of the temple again. I begged to be rid of the cravings and desires of my addiction. I begged God to help me save my life and save my marriage. Along with the things I was learning in my group and personal therapy sessions, I also dove into the scriptures and teachings of the prophets to guide me through my repentance and recovery process. And, through months and months of tears and sorrow and desperate prayers, I began to heal. I felt the pain lift and the withdrawals subside. I felt the desires of my heart change. I felt my body and my soul become stronger and my testimony build. I felt the darkness lift and the light of Christ enter my life again. I felt the angels of heaven surround me and fight off my demons with me. I found other women who had been through similar experiences and understood me. I felt supported and loved and empowered. I love the scripture found in D&C 121: 7-9 "My son (and daughter), peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes. Thy friends do stand by thee, and they shall hail thee again with warm hearts and friendly hands." I received my temple recommend again and I knew that through Christ's atonement, I had been forgiven. I also gained a testimony of the power of prayer, and I knew that God heard and would answer my prayers. I found strength in uplifting quotes and daily affirmations that helped me stay focused on my goals. These are some of my favorites. There are certain paths we can not take. I know because I came from there. - Ellie Wiesel At any given moment you have the power to say 'this is not how my story is going to end." "Recovery didn't open the gates of Heaven and let me in. Recovery opened the gates of Hell, and let me out." Marvin J. Ashton said, "If we could look into each other's hearts and understand the unique challenges each of us faces, I think we would treat each other much more gently, with more love, patience, tolerance and care." I have been in therapy for years and I now consider myself in strong recovery. But just this last weekend I experienced something that triggered me and pulled my addiction to the front of my mind again making me very aware of the daily choices I make to stay sober. One of the most amazing things I’ve learned about myself is that I’m not worthless – there’s something important inside of me. I’ve been like this my whole life, but just called it rebellion, then just dating experiences, then I just felt bad about the thoughts I had, like I was a bad person for thinking them. Once I heard there was a title to my experiences and a category that I actually fit in and symptoms that I actually had, it made me feel like I was not a bad or rebellious person with twisted sexual thoughts. I finally knew there was something I could work on to be healthier and happier. And that I could finally learn what healthy connections feel like and how to work on having them. I finally had some value and I wasn’t just a twisted mess of impure thoughts and actions.You always hear that the boys/men are the addicts. I was just an impure pervert for wanting and thinking what I did. Now I’m not. I’m an addict. And, I’m working hard to be healthier. And that feels important to me. “You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, ‘I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.” Eleanor Roosevelt My life of course isn’t perfect. My husband and I still have fights and disagreements. I still feel the need to make a conscious effort to maintain the connections I’ve built with others and to maintain the recovery I’ve worked so hard for. But I never would have imagined that the level of healing I’ve experienced would have been possible for me. “One of God’s greatest gifts to us is the joy of trying again, for no failure ever need be final.” Thomas S. Monson I know that Heavenly Father loves me. I know he loves each of you. I am so grateful for the atonement. And the sacrifice that Christ made so that we can be healed, so that when we make mistakes we can try again. No matter how far we feel we’ve fallen, there is hope and help. It is possible to heal and feel peace and joy again. - Anonymous
When was a child, I could not wait to become a mom. I loved babysitting, and my friends and sisters would call me a "baby hog". I had it all planned out. I would get married and we would have four kids; two boys and two girls. However, when I was 16 I had a few tests done because my body was not growing at the rate it should have been. The doctor told me that my ovaries were very small and I could never get pregnant on my own. I didn't see it as a big deal. I mean, I was 16 and family planning was not my priority at that moment.
I was 24 when I got married and that is when it hit me! I will never be a mom! Of course I cried hysterically and was so angry. My dream of being a mom and having that “picket fence” family would never happen. I prayed so hard for peace and understanding. I mean, aren't we supposed to replenish the earth?! Have eternal families of our own?! I prayed and went to the temple often and alone. I kept having these overwhelming feelings we needed to adopt. However, my husband felt IVF was the way to go. We tried one unsuccessful IVF cycle. I knew in my heart we would not get a positive pregnancy test back. This was not the way we were to have our family. One day after a temple session, I found myself contacting LDS Family Services. It was then that I started to feel peace again. It was November of 2000 when we finally completed all of the necessary paperwork, and the required home study. It was now in the Lord's hands, and only he knew when the time was right. In February 2001, I kept feeling the Spirit so strongly that it would move me to tears. Of course I figured it was probably just my hormones causing me to be emotional. However, in April 2001, I was overcome by so much emotion that I had to leave work. As I walked to my car, I felt the Spirit so strongly again. I had this overwhelming feeling that LDS Family Services had called. I walked into the house and I immediately looked at the caller ID. Sure enough, LDS Family Service had called! They told us we were chosen back in February, but the birth mom wanted to wait to make if official a few weeks before the baby was born. This explained those feelings I had in February. Our son was born a few weeks later in May 2001. His birth mom wanted closure and no contact after a few months. We respected that, and are forever grateful for her selfless sacrifice that allowed me to fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming a mother. A year and a half after our son was born, I again had feelings that we needed to apply for adoption again and grow our family. Six months after completing all the necessary paperwork, we got a phone call notifying us that we were selected! This time the birth mom wanted to meet us before the baby was born. I was so nervous! Every crazy thought was going through my mind. "What if she doesn't like me?" or “what if she decides to pick someone else?” As we all met in the conference room at LDS Family Services, it was like my own family sitting there across the table. The birth mom felt like my own sister, and not a stranger. The presence of Holy Ghost was undeniable; I knew he was in that room. I knew the Holy Ghost guided us to each other. Our daughter was born a few weeks later. We were able to go into the hospital room and meet her, and be with the birth mom and her family. We all laughed, talked and allowed our son to play with his new sister. On the day of placement, I hugged the birth mom and wiped away her tears. I reassured her "this isn't goodbye, but that this is the beginning. We both gained a new family. You gained us, and we gained you.” I promised both my son and daughter’s birthparents that I would love their child and give them the blessings of the gospel. I promised to help them grow in every aspect of their lives, and to be the very best example I could be. I am so grateful that the Spirit guided me towards adoption. I am grateful for my children's birthparents selfless and hard sacrifices they made so I could be a mother. I have no doubt that Heavenly Father had his hand in both of my children’s adoptions. Throughout this life we are given various earthly challenges which at times can be difficult to bear. I testify that the only way we can overcome all things is through reliance on the Savior. No one knows fully the weight of what our Savior bore. However, the words of our sacrament hymn remind us of that gift: We may not know, we cannot tell, What pains he had to bear, But we believe it was for us, He hung and suffered there. Regardless of the heartache or the struggle, the Lord awaits the chance to bless our lives, if we are faithful. Sometimes, as was in my case, those blessings come through others. I was blessed by two sets of birth parents that trusted me to raise two of Heavenly Father’s choice children. For that blessing of becoming a Mother, I am grateful now and eternally. - Tammy
You have trials. I have trials. Some years it feels like a natural sprinkling of struggles to work through, and other years it seems like the windows of heaven on the “other side” opened - pouring out so many storms there is not room to receive them.
When asked to share how the Atonement has been an anchor of strength and source of healing in my life, my mind naturally went to the remarkable number of difficulties experienced in the last several years. Like so many people, those trials have included infertility, a severe car accident, loss of children and loved ones, financial hardship, house disasters, car problems, chronic pain, mourning the loss of health and quality of life, being affected by the dishonest choices of others, the rollercoaster of starting a business, moving literally a dozen times in about as many years, all in addition to dealing with regular life. Needless to say I was surprised when my mind skipped over all of those and kept going back to a single experience from over 10 years ago. I have learned trials have the greatest meaning, purpose, and feel more like blessings when they can be used to have compassion for or help someone else; I hope with the following account it can be so. My husband was a graduate student working on his Masters and Doctoral degrees simultaneously. Consequently our student debt was through the roof and seemingly to the heavens. Loans typically covered the student, not a student’s family. We paid our tithing, budgeted, accounted, watched every penny and didn’t do or buy anything extra. (I remember dreaming of a $4.99 watch at Wal-Mart). We had 1 child, rent, bills, and a car payment. I was teaching a class once a week to earn a little extra for diapers. Still, we found ourselves needing financial assistance for a short time. Despite not wanting to, we needed to; I filed all the documents and took the required course to receive a little help to put food on the table. It definitely wasn’t “living the dream” so to speak, but it was what it was. We chose to live by Elder Wirthlin’s counsel – “Come what may and love it.” And we did. Those years of sacrifice and stretching were some of the sweetest - both at the time and looking back. Over time, through garage sales, babysitting, gifts, etc. we had saved enough money to visit our families during a holiday break. After we arrived I spent a lot of time helping my mom, which also allowed aunts and uncles to get to know our child. While grocery shopping with my mom for the holiday feast, she kept talking about what a burden the cost would be, how they couldn’t afford so much food for so many people for just one meal, and how lucky we were to receive assistance. (My parents were not severely struggling financially, but it has always been an insecurity my mom has). She suggested I use the “extra” we receive to help pay for the groceries, as we would be eating as well. I was torn – wanting to help my mom but knowing it was not “extra,” and that by using it we wouldn’t have sufficient groceries when we returned to school. Though nervous, I paid our significant-to-us yet meager month stipend for the groceries. I kept reassuring myself with thoughts of hope – it would work out; I was honoring my mother; I was helping her and relieving her fears. Whether it was paying for food, cleaning, cooking, or helping in the yard, I felt confident I was doing all I could to help lighten the load my mom seemed to feel in having everyone home, despite this being her one proclaimed dream. All of that is what made the following encounter even more painful. I had noticed since arriving “home” that my sister seemed a little on edge. After a couple days, I was visiting with my mom while she did her make-up. I thought it was safe to share, “It seems [sister’s name] is tired, often flustered or that something is bothering her. Is there anything I can do to help her?” My mom didn’t have any specific ideas (in fact I am not sure she had even noticed) but I felt better knowing she was aware – of the situation, that I cared, and that if a volcano erupted I might escape any wrath. Later that day, I was in the pink floral bedroom I had known from birth until I left for college. I was kneeling on the floor with my little one on my lap, her cute piggy toes over my garbage can so I could clip her toenails. My sister walked by my open door and made it known she was upset that I would clip toenails in my room over mom’s carpet, and not the bathroom. Totally caught off guard, I gave a simple apology, noted the trashcan and my desire to care for mom’s house. I finished clipping with the door closed. My heart pounded and I tried to calm down. I focused on my little one and reminded myself this was just a poor response from my sister’s bad mood. If I could shake it off before I went downstairs all would resume as normal. Apparently my apology was not enough. I have no clue what my sister said to my mom after she left my doorway, or what could possibly have warranted what happened next. My daughter and I went downstairs to visit and ended up in the backyard to play. While there, my mom stormed out and angrily shared some words – some of which included how I hadn’t done anything to help, was being selfish, unkind, and making more work for everyone. ?!!! My chin must have hit my toes, though my heart may have made it down there first. Where was this coming from? I felt hurt, confused, and betrayed. Even if I had hung around lazily the past few days those things still wouldn’t have been true. To rub lemon juice in a so-called paper cut, I had been happy, buying groceries, and was actively trying to help and go the extra mile – not for any praise, but just to keep things calm (within myself and in the home). I’m sure the neighbors in every direction heard my mother lecture me. As tears filled my eyes, I said, “I’m sorry; that is not true.” With her harsh response that followed, I shouldn’t have, but gave way to a moment of hurt and anger; I regret to say I told her “Then you can buy your own darn groceries!!!” (I may have said a similar word for darn). I can’t even remember if I got slapped or if she just screamed at me and walked inside. Coming right out as if on cue, my angry, offended sister also expressed her disgust with me and with what I had just said to my mother (yes, I shouldn’t have). She, along with everyone else, was unaware I had purchased the groceries, as my mom still had the nerve to complain about the financial burden of the food. It hurt - every time, especially knowing we would be struggling after this not so happy, sacrificed for, long-awaited holiday. After my sister finished giving me a piece of her mind, she stormed inside and locked the door. I stood there for a moment completely shocked. I walked around to the front door – also locked. As I went to the garage, it was closing. Yep. My own family had just locked me out. As far as I knew, the only thing I could and would have done differently was not fall into talking back and of course my word selection. The whole scenario spun in my mind like a crazy, confusing dream. I quickly thought of what seemed the only rational option to escape the madness; I hollered to the upstairs window for my husband to let me in, or, if I wasn’t allowed - to pack our things. I simply stated we were leaving and would start our drive to his parents’ house earlier than anticipated. He let me in, and we went upstairs to “my bedroom.” (I have no idea where my child was or what was put in her mouth and mind during the next few hours). I fell to my knees at the side of “my” bed, a place of personal prayer for much of my life. My husband followed and the emotion of days came pouring out my tear ducts. I explained my perspective or “side” as that is the only thing I truly understood; he had heard the rest from upstairs. I pleaded with him to tell me if there was ANYTHING he could think of – from that incident or during the past few days, that I should have done differently and could apologize for (aside from what I already knew). Clearly I was missing something; yet, there was an underlying feeling of reassurance and personal peace. My husband sat quiet listening, but did counsel me to apologize only for things that were true. This would include swearing and clipping toes in the bedroom, but then what? Whether I had actually done anything else or not, they had somehow felt hurt by me. Wrong or ridiculous, their feelings were real, and so I would sincerely do all I could to make it right. Sadly, I knew there was a risk of being the target in another game of emotional darts. How would I walk into the lion’s den downstairs and offer my apology without starting an entirely new circus? I wondered what falsehoods were shared about the ordeal as they all happily reconvened to play a game around the kitchen table, while I struggled, cried, and prayed upstairs. I was hurt – the deep kind of hurt and betrayal that is hard to forget and inevitably puts a guard up for a really long time. My husband and I discussed what Jesus would do, and came to the simple conclusion that although He hadn’t done anything wrong He stood there. He took it. He loved them anyway. So after another prayer, I went down. I excused myself for interrupting their game. Facing them felt humiliating, and embarrassing. I kept the mental picture of the Savior in my mind for strength – not comparison. I chose my words very slowly and carefully. Someone at the table said “thank you” in acceptance of my apology but the rest just nodded as if they deserved every word and more. No one apologized to me; no one considered his/her own part. No one ever thanked us for the groceries. My help cleaning and cooking was now expected and taken as efforts to make restitution rather than being genuinely helpful. After I apologized for everything I truly could, I went back up stairs. More tears flowed, mostly of relief this time, though adding to my massive headache. I again fell to my knees next to my husband who was sitting on my bed waiting. I thanked him for listening and for his guidance. I prayed in gratitude for the stability, peace, and tangible strength gifted to me through the Atonement, and requested more help, healing, and strength to move forward as I felt was right. I had words of a prophet fill my mind – reminding me that Heavenly Father loves us because He is good, not because we are always good. Likewise, I wanted to be good, love, and forgive because that is who I want to be, not because they were “good” to me. Yet during that very prayer, my eyes of understanding opened and my heart broke all over again – deeply but for a different reason. I realized in the most painful, heart-wrenching hypocrisy that the way I had been treated was probably not completely different from how I might have reacted in past situations with my husband. I stopped my prayer, weeping and shaking my head, my hand covering my mouth in painful recognition and self-disapproval. I shared my realization with my husband and asked with my whole soul for forgiveness. I knew there had been times when he probably had done nothing wrong, and in my bad mood or frustration had wrongly accused him, gotten angry, or yelled. A specific instance didn’t need to come to mind; I was sure it had happened and I knew the hurt on a level I wish I hadn’t. He likely did what Jesus would do – stood there and took it, loving and forgiving me anyway. Not only did I have a Savior who understood my suffering that day, but to some extent my husband also. That repentant moment brought healing, cleansing, and hope for doing better in the future. The opportunity to recognize and apologize for that error meant more to me than I could express, and made the ridiculously wrong exchanges that had transpired with my family a little worth it. Today, I wish I could say I have responded perfectly ever since. I wish there weren’t emotional scars and fears created that day. There are still often eggshells to walk on, unfair accusations, and gobs of guilt. But through the Savior’s peace – that only He can give, and through His help – in yoking myself with Him, my burdens are truly made easier. I had previously wondered, “Do I even want to be with my family forever?” Because of Him, I can see my family through eyes of compassion; I know that someday we won’t have our mortal weaknesses, and will be able to interact and love more perfectly like our Savior. In the meantime, I am often on my knees in prayer, repenting for my many mistakes and in gratitude for the promised blessings and cleansing that come. Thankfully, we have unlimited access to His help, strength, perfect love, and forgiveness. Because the peace and literal power His Atonement provides are so real – sometimes almost tangible, I increasingly learn to see my trials through a different, enduring, and eternal perspective (even when they unfortunately pour out simultaneously). I fully trust that somehow each will be consecrated for my good and that through the Atonement, everything will be made right some day – for me, for them, for you. - Anonymous
Scenes flash back through my mind like snapshots. Being in love with the most charming returned missionary in my BYU ward. A beautiful wedding in the Manti temple. A new condo, a new car and fancy clothes.
"In the quiet heart is hidden Sorrow that the eye can't see." (LDS Hymns, 220) More snapshots. A husband unable to get out of bed. Bipolar... what is that? Bill collectors calling. Pornography. Fights over religion. Crying for hours in the Celestial Room of the temple. Separations. Reunifications. A phone call from a man telling me that my husband has been having an affair with his wife. Then again. And again. But this time I was pregnant. Feeling afraid for my life. Him backing me into a closet while trying to take away my baby. The Spirit saying "Go now!" Escaping to the airport with my baby, a police escort, and a small bag. Divorce court. Feeling like I had been buried alive, 6 feet under the ground. "Where, when my aching grows, Where, when I languish, Where, in my need to know, where can I run? Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish? Who, who can understand? He, only One." (LDS Hymns, 129) Those were very cold and dark days. Seven years of them. But just as nature's winter is symbolic of the death of Christ, spring is symbolic of resurrection, rebirth, renewal, and restoration. And through Christ my spring came. The scriptures often refer to Jesus Christ as the great deliverer. And He had delivered me from a very destructive and painful marriage. But perhaps I was even more in need of deliverance from the scars of emotional abuse, inability to trust, low self esteem, and a broken heart. Elder Richard G. Scott said, "Complete healing will come through your faith in Jesus Christ and His power and capacity, through His Atonement, to heal the scars of that which is unjust and undeserved." It didn't happen over night. It was a slow and steady process over the next few years. But I testify that through Jesus Christ the healing and strength did come! The pain is gone. The scars only remain as a witness of the Great Physician's ability to heal. Again, only snapshots remain in my memory. Loving and supportive family. Joy of mothering a charming and beautiful little daughter. New fulfilling job. Gaining strength. Finishing my degree at BYU. Frequent temple worship. A loving Relief Society president. Prayer, prayer, and more prayer. Forgiveness. Serving in Young Women. Dating again. Falling in love. Learning to trust. Deeper faith in and love for my Savior. A beautiful marriage. More wonderful children. And opportunities to help others going through what I had once suffered. Just as the Savior. Jesus Christ knew exactly how to help me heal because in His suffering He had felt all my pains. He had descended below all so he could lift me up. And for that I will be eternally grateful! "I think of his hands pierced and bleeding to pay the debt! Such mercy, such love and devotion can I forget? No, no, I will praise and adore at the mercy seat, Until at the glorified throne I kneel at his feet. Oh, it is wonderful to me!" (LDS Hymns, 193)
“Because there is a plan; there are no coincidences.” These words were spoken by Elder Raymond S. Heyman to the many adults who filled a chapel on April 30th, 2016 for the Saturday night session of stake conference. I was one of those adults. I remember the moment I heard those words; it was as if Elder Heyman were speaking directly to me.
I had been experiencing an increasingly difficult couple of weeks, months, and years. My husband, who is not a member of the church and who does not believe there is a God, was simply not understanding, nor respecting, my desire for a Christ-centered home. I begged and pleaded through prayer for guidance to find a middle ground, for understanding, and for strength to keep pushing forward in a righteous direction. It was a miracle my husband had agreed to attend the adult session of stake conference on April 30th, 2016. As we drove home from conference I felt prompted to discuss Elder Heyman’s words. I bore my testimony to my husband. I testified there is a plan for each of us, even him. The following morning on the way to stake conference, my mom missed a familiar turn. After a U-turn we started to cross what appeared to be a clear highway. We were surprised to see an SUV headed straight for the front passenger’s side; where I was sitting. I can recall every sound, smell, and sight of the long seconds following the impact. Within seconds we had each safely climbed out of the driver’s side of the vehicle. As we walked away from the smoking SUV my thoughts raced with an emergency plan of action; “call 911, call my husband, call my home teacher”. I looked up to the intersection and could see my dear home teacher turning the corner. Directly behind him was a truck I quickly recognized; it was a good family friend. Now of course, there were probably 100 families driving to stake conference that morning. The odds were great we would see someone we knew. Coincidence? Both SUV’s were totaled. All airbags deployed. All passengers walked away from the accident. This was certainly not a typical accident. One of my daughters had been sitting directly behind when the SUV hit our side. Her door and window were untouched. Not a bend, ding, scrape or crack. I am confident there were guardian angels inside and outside the SUV protecting my daughter from harm. This is one miracle my family will never forget. For many weeks following the accident I struggled with symptoms of a severe concussion. It was exhausting and painful to speak, hear, see, read, memory, walk, concentrate or do anything requiring the effort of my brain. There is nothing to do when you have a concussion. Nothing. Many times I would be home alone, in a dark and quiet room doing nothing. I started to wonder "Why me? Why is this happening? What did I do?" I did not let these thoughts consume me for very long. I prayed. My brain could not concentrate and pray for too long, so I prayed often. Prayer was my lifeline. It was through prayer I was comforted on long days of solitude. It was through prayer I was provided immediate peace at times of confusion and worry (it is a terrifying feeling to not be able to remember where your children are). It was through prayer I would express my deepest gratitude for the many friends and families who loved, served, and blessed my family during this trial. I experienced many tender and sacred moments; each the direct result of prayer. In many ways my family had been prepared for the long journey to recovery after the car accident. Too many pieces have fit together like a puzzle…rather a plan. It was no coincidence my home teacher and family friend had left their homes at a precise time in order to arrive simultaneously just moments behind the car accident. If their families are anything like mine; Sunday mornings can be hectic. These two families managed to allow these men to leave exactly when the Lord needed them to. I am grateful for the events that must have taken place in their homes that morning. It was no coincidence that my visiting teacher had visited me regularly for over two years. She knew me. She knew my family and knew our needs. She was able to quickly arrange meals, play-dates, and rides to and from doctor appointments for weeks. I will never forget the comfort I felt as this sweet sister, who had became my friend over the years, held my hand and put her arm around me during an overwhelming doctor appointment. It was no coincidence that two months prior to the accident I was prompted to seek medical treatment from a new physician in our area. It was because of my confidence in this professional that I felt comfortable to trust and move forward with an advanced treatment plan for concussions. It was no coincidence that nine months prior to the accident I was prompted to move forward with the 12 month preparations for a medically necessary surgery my oldest daughter would need. This took great faith. The five hour surgery was offered only by a surgeon who was out of network with any insurance. Payment in full was required prior to surgery. Our family would never have the means to pay for the surgery. But I could not deny the direct prompting to prepare for the surgery. It was no coincidence that the insurance settlement from the accident would meet these needs. My journey to physical recovery has been long; full of pain, inconveniences, and sacrifices. But it has been accompanied by a personal journey which has been rewarding, joyful, and full of miracles. I believe the trials we face are for our benefit. I am grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who loves me enough to provide me with challenging circumstances. I am grateful for trials and for the opportunity they offer me to become stronger spiritually and grow closer to my Savior, Jesus Christ. Like you, I am child of God. These miracles do not suggest I am His favorite. Miracles happen for each and every one of God’s children. The Lord’s tender mercies can be found in each of our daily lives. It is through this personal trial I have been able to recognize we have each been given a choice to seek and recognize these personal and individual blessings. “Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.”1 What a blessing it is to have the Comforter and our Savior with us during our trials. He lives. He heals. He comforts. He strengthens. It is ironic; the event I consider to be one of the greatest and personal miracles in my life is referred to as an “accident”. This couldn’t be further from the truth. The truth is in Elder Heyman’s words heard the night before. “Because there is a plan, there are no coincidences.” To his words, I add my testimony: Because He lives, I believe in miracles, not accidents. ~ Shawna
Space. Make space. I'm quite good at making space. Clear the clutter, purge the unwanted, organize it just so, I was born to do that. Little did I know, that one small word would impact my life in unimaginable ways.
At the age of 33, I naively thought I had sorted life out. After years of struggle, the light at the end of the tunnel was shining bright, beckoning me forth. The elusive dream of building a home was becoming a reality; a place to settle down, grow roots and watch our boys grow into young men. My life was neat and organized and falling right into place. My plan was coming to fruition. I had it all mapped out, ready to fit it into nice little folders called : build a home, move into the home, decorate, host the family for holidays, settle into a rhythm. I thrived on certainty and my plan gave me that. I didn't feel like I was asking for much. We had worked hard, overcome our fair share of challenges and it felt good to finally slow down, to breath and enjoy the fruits of our labor. And so, my plan carried on. We went through the whole process of picking out the floor plan, finding the perfect lot and meticulously choosing all the design details. We knew there would be one slight hiccup though; we had to be out of our rental at the end of May (of 2016) and the house wasn't projected to be finished until late July. A new plan emerged. Owning an Airstream had always been on my bucket list. I desperately wanted to make that dream come true and now felt like the perfect time. Financially we could make it happen and logistically we could make it work with our current lifestyle (business owner and homeschooler). It just made sense! Traveling for a few months during the summer sounded dreamy and soul enriching and a little bit crazy, so basically, completely us. After a little cajoling, I convinced my husband to jump on board with my scheming and we took the plunge My plan started unraveling as soon as we hit the open road. Concerns on the quality of construction of the home started popping up, which brought to the forefront a feeling my husband and I had been experiencing but never shared with one another. Through the whole process of building the house, we both had been questioning it. Was it the right thing to do? We knew it was at the onset of this journey but now we weren't so sure. We wrestled all summer with this decision. What if we backed out of the house? What then? Where would we go? What would we do? Besides the Airstream, we had no house, no place to go to after the supposedly dreamy summer travels. My husband seemed to roll with the punches, while I on the other hand felt like I had been sucker-punched. I felt alone. Everywhere we went people would profess that we were living their dream, living the life, doing what others only thought about doing but never did. But you know what, this wasn't my dream! My dream was to settle down in that gorgeous house we were suppose to build. I was grieving the loss of what I envisioned life was going to look like and I felt guilt, extreme, bone crushing guilt. Who was I to be sad? I didn't lose a loved one, I wasn't terminally ill, my husband didn't lose a job. It was a house, a life I had painted in my dreams and now, it wasn't happening. Even now as I type this it sounds silly to me but you know what I've come to learn? Grief is grief and if given the space, it will occupy every ounce of it. This pain was real to me and ignoring it only made it worse. Coming to the realization that my plan wasn't His plan was hard. So where did we go from there? My testimony has grown and stretched and become more full as a result of turning to Him. I have studied my scriptures, attended the temple and pleaded for answers. I have prayed continually to know the path that we should take. There were so many times I wanted to rewind to a time when I knew what the next step was. The uncertainty felt overwhelming. But one thing we did know, we needed to back out of the house and make the giant unknown leap into full time travel. We didn't have the why but we had the how. We would do it on faith and complete blind trust in the Lord. Even the Savior had moments of struggle in His final days and He was perfect. How could I think I would be immune to that? I feel there are moments I have been falsely lulled into a belief that if the Lord asks us to do something, He can, and perhaps, will make it easy. Unfortunately or maybe fortunately, that's not the case. He will always provide a way but that way isn't guaranteed to be a walk in the park. I think Nephi had the right idea when he said, "...I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded...save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commanded them." (1Nephi 3:7) Blindly trusting in Him has been hard. I wanted answers. I had an idea of how I thought things should go and I felt if I prayed hard enough and patiently waited, he would slip the answers into my open folders. I started to believe that had to be it, maybe I'm suppose to be patient. Isn't that what we hear? Be patient and the answer will come on His time table, not ours. And so I practiced my patience and patted myself on the back for doing a good job. Then one day, it hit me. He's the patient one. He's waiting on me, not the other way around. His plan is so much bigger than mine. He's willing to give me so much more than what I need and more than what I ever thought I wanted. But He can't. I've given Him no space. I can't receive until I let go. I need to let go of everything I thought my life should be like and embrace all that He has given me and still has in store. I have to move on from what I wanted, what I've been told and shown life should be and walk head-on into the unknown. The Atonement provided the way for me to let go of the hurt, the pain and the uncertainty. As soon as I can release my will, I can be filled up with His. I will finally be ready to receive. He is gracious and merciful and so much more patient than I will ever be. His plan is infinitely better than mine, it always is and always will be. When I felt alone, I wasn't. The Savior descended below all men, so that He could succor each one of us. No matter the trial, big or small, He has felt our pain, acutely and intimately. He is always there, we just need to be willing to make the space to receive. "He built a depth of beauty into my story that a life without suffering would never have known." Kara Tippetts The Hardest Peace : Expecting Grace in the Midst of Life's Hard ❤ Molly
He lives to comfort me when faint.
He lives to hear my soul’s complaint. He lives to silence all my fears. He lives to wipe away my tears. He lives to calm my troubled heart. He lives all blessings to impart. He lives, my kind, wise heav’nly Friend. He lives and loves me to the end. He lives, and while he lives, I’ll sing. He lives, my Prophet, Priest, and King. Samuel Medley, “I Know that My Redeemer Lives” Sacrament Meeting, July 2014, New York City. My husband and I had brought our 18-year-old daughter on a trip to do some sightseeing for a few days and we wanted to make sure we attended church as part of our Sunday activities. It was a Fast Sunday and thus we were privileged to hear members of the local congregation bear their testimonies. This meeting was a bit unlike any other testimony meeting I had attended; it had been a spring and summer of turmoil among some members of the Church, and many of the testimonies borne referred to these events in some way. Several members spoke of the pain they were experiencing as they tried to understand the doctrines and revelations of the Restoration. One sister’s testimony particularly resonated with me. She had a professional demeanor and was articulate and sophisticated; but it was her simple statement near the beginning of her remarks that stayed with me: “I know that Jesus Christ is my Savior. And sometimes that’s the only thing that I know.” Some months later, as we sang a beloved and familiar hymn in sacrament meeting, my thoughts returned as they had many times before to the struggle we all have to keep our testimonies burning bright, to “work out our own salvation with fear and trembling” despite the philosophies of the day and the trials we may experience. I have been especially distressed to see some of our own family members’ convictions grow weak. But as we sang, the Spirit whispered these truths to me: just because we have the fullness of the gospel on the earth today, restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith by God and Jesus Christ, it doesn’t mean anyone has all the answers. We are all expected to live by faith, including those of us who have knowledge of the restored gospel. As we strive to live by faith, it helps to remember that we are a people who believe in continuing and personal revelation, who believe in asking questions and seeking answers. But in the asking, we need to be careful. When we ask, are we that “truly penitent and humble seeker of happiness” (Alma 27:18)? Or do we ask because we want to be the first ones to figure out a certain thorny issue, to be the ones who can tell others that “this is the way it is,” even when those others are local Church leaders or the prophet? Are we seeking to know things to be more “learned,” or are we seeking to build our testimony and increase our faith? Additionally, when we ask, are we prepared to take no for an answer, or—sometimes worse—the answer: “Behold, ye are little children and ye cannot bear all things now; ye must grow in grace and in the knowledge of the truth” (D&C 50:40). Strangely enough, we can’t increase our faith and humility by knowing all of the answers right now. Having faith and knowing something are really two different things. As Alma explained, “And now, behold, is your knowledge perfect? Yea, your knowledge is perfect in that thing, and your faith is dormant; and this because you know” (Alma 32:34). As I continued to sing the hymn that Sunday, I felt again the weight and meaning of the simple testimony given in New York City: “I know that Jesus Christ is my Savior.” Sometimes knowing that Jesus Christ is the Savior is the only thing we know. Sometimes nothing else makes sense in the moment. Sometimes we don’t understand; our souls complain; our fears grow; and our hearts are troubled. But it’s the most important thing to know. I feel that every day. I know He is there. I know He gave each of us the gift of the Atonement to help us on our earthly journey, even when we see through a glass darkly and when our steps are faltering. He is my kind, wise, heavenly Friend. He hears my complaints. He silences my fears and soothes my troubled heart. He knows our needs, our questions, and our seeking, even when we ourselves aren’t sure what we are looking for. He knows. I certainly don’t know everything myself. But I walk by faith. And “I believe in Christ so come what may.” --Kara
A little over a year after my son was born, I suffered severe post-partum depression. I struggled with intense social anxieties as I tried to fulfill my duties as a mother, a wife, a position on the school PTA board, and I had also taken on the responsibility of caring for my seven-year- old nephew who had come to live with us.
Adding to all of the chaos, I had other health issues, and my one-year- old son had chronic ear infections one after another. I had a calling as Young Women Secretary, but my bishop felt that due to my many challenges, both emotional and physical, that maybe another calling would be better at that time. I was soon called to be a Family History Consultant. Although the experiences I had during this time were some of the hardest, most challenging times in my life, I will forever be grateful for the lessons that strengthened my testimony of my Savior and the Atonement. Three brethren were called to head a special project for an upcoming Ward Temple Day. Brother Gray, Brother White and Brother Black (names have been changed for anonymity) were called to help myself, a newly set apart Family History Consultant, and a group of others with the same calling, to teach members of our ward how to use the new familysearch.org program. Essentially the goal was to find enough names to endow the equivalent of another ward on our upcoming Ward Temple Day. To say that I struggled in my calling would be a gross understatement. I did not know the first thing about family history, nor did I know how to use the online program, and I definitely did not feel confident in trying to teach it to someone else. My son’s constant illness often kept me from attending church, and even on the Sundays he was well, I had very little desire to go because I knew I would be overcome with anxiety and guilt for not doing all that was expected of me. Although we were supposed to be working together as a group, I felt like an outsider who wasn’t doing my share of the work. I purposely chose only close friends in the ward to ask if I could teach them the new program each week. Many times conflicts arose, and there were several weeks where I was unable to teach anyone. As months passed, I still had not had much success. Brother White called me one evening, and asked about my progress. I told him of my struggles and that I was doing my best, but I still felt guilty. He encouraged me to keep trying, and asked if I would please send an email to Brother Black, so that he would have record of what I had done. After the phone conversation, I felt good. I felt that although I struggled, I was doing my best, so I quickly wrote up an email and sent it to Brother Black. The next day, I received an email address to me, from Brother Black. I noticed that it had been copied to both Brother White and Brother Gray. As I read the email, my heart sank and my jaw dropped. I was stunned, hurt and ashamed. I walked into my husband and without saying much, asked him to read the email for himself. I wanted to make sure that I was not overreacting to what had been written. My husband was shocked as well. Brother Gray had basically told me that my efforts were not good enough, and that if I could not do my calling, that they would need to find someone who could and that I should be ashamed of the lack of progress that I had made. I felt as if every self-doubt I had, every weakness, every one of my failures, were not only confirmed, but were written in black and white, and also shared with two other men. I was mortified. Before this incident, I prided myself in always choosing not to take offense. However, this – this was inexcusable! I was offended and I was furious! I quickly said a prayer and sat and clicked “respond to all”. My fingers could not move fast enough as I typed frantically, a very long-winded and very unkind response of “how dare you?” Several paragraphs later, I stopped. I knew this wasn’t the response I should send. I highlighted it all, then pressed delete. I said another prayer and began again. This time, I wrote the complete opposite. I typed how I would do better, that I knew my progress had not been good enough. I gushed about all the things I would correct; I would get more people in to the family history center, I would go to their homes during the week, I would do more, I would be better. Once again, the spirit prompted me to stop. This wasn’t the right response either. I highlighted once again and pressed delete. I said one more prayer and begged to know how I should respond. A peaceful calm washed over me as I pressed, “Respond to all” and typed, “I’m sorry that you don’t feel that my progress is sufficient, however it is the best that I can do at this time. If my progress is not good enough, that is not my problem. I feel that Heavenly Father is pleased with what I have done.” Then, I pressed send. I knew Sunday would be extremely awkward so I called a close friend and begged her to come in the FHC with me. Saturday night I received an email from Brother Gray addressed to all the consultants asking us to cancel all appointments for a special meeting. I arrived to church, nervous, anxious, and very emotional. I sat down in the pew with my family and opened the Sacrament Program to distract me from my own thoughts and emotions. There inside was an insert that read, “Special Ward Temple Day” with the date and upcoming information. It then read, “If you need help finding your ancestors names, please contact one of the following Family History Consultants” and then proceeded to list all of their names and phone numbers of everyone in the group, except mine. My heart sank, again. I wanted to believe it was just a mistake but I could only see it as proof of my failure. It was just another thing that caused me to feel excluded. During the history consultant meeting, I was determined to keep my emotions in check. I strategically sat in a chair where I would not have to make eye contact with any of the men, who, in my mind, knew all my faults. I had no idea what would be said, but I assumed it would have something to do with my need to repent and do better. After the opening prayer, Brother Gray stood at the head of the table, opened his scriptures and read Mosiah 4:27, “And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength. And again, it is expedient that he should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize; therefore, all things must be done in order.” He then proceeded to ask questions about all the roadblocks we were all encountering. I was even able to give my input about my needing training with the program, without breaking out in tears. That is until he turned to me and said, “So Sister, do you feel better now, about your progress, than you did before this meeting?” and then the tears flowed. I knew he had read the emails. And I knew he had used the spirit to comfort my doubts. Over the next several weeks, although I knew I had done my best, I was still extremely hurt and angry with Brother Black. I could not hear his name or be in a room with him without feel immense anger. I prayed often to be able to forgive him, but didn’t know how to forgive someone who never asked for forgiveness. The anger and hate was eating away at me and it was painful. I prayed for answers, but none readily came. Sunday came, and once again I stayed home with my sick son. When my husband returned home, he told me that Brother White had asked how I was doing and if I was still hurt and offended? My husband had told him that I was fine. I was not fine, and I wanted Brother White to know that I was NOT FINE! I sent Brother White an email and told him that I was still very offended and that I didn’t know how to forgive someone who was not seeking forgiveness. All that week, I waited for a reply but it never came. The following Sunday, all three church blocks went by without incident and I wondered if Brother White had even received my email. As I stood in the foyer after church, waiting for my family, Brother White approached me. He stood before me and said that he was sorry that I felt so hurt. He said, “On behalf of Brother Black, please forgive me. I don’t think he even knows that he offended you, but please will you forgive me.” Standing before me was an innocent man, who had done nothing to offend me. He was taking the responsibility for someone else’s actions, and asking me to forgive him. There was nothing he had done to require my forgiveness, yet here he was asking for it anyway. When all of a sudden, I did not see Brother White before me, but my Savior, Jesus Christ. Christ was an innocent and perfect man, who suffered not only for my sins, but also for my weaknesses and misdeeds, the mistakes we make, and the mistakes others make against us. He only asks that we follow His example and forgive others. In an instant, the Atonement had all new meaning. Christ loved me so perfectly that he suffered, bled and died for me, but also for Brother Black. I knew then, that forgiveness was the only way of more fully accepting the Atonement in my life. My hurt and pain were immediately washed away. I don’t know if Brother White ever knew of the deep and lasting impact he had on my testimony of the Atonement that day, or if he ever will. But I am grateful for a man, who taught me such a valuable lesson. I am even more grateful for my Savior, who although my many faults, saw fit to send an earthly angel and the Holy Ghost to deliver such a message to me. I know that the Savior lives. I know that He loves me, with all of my imperfections. The Atonement doesn’t just give us each the opportunity to repent of our sins, it also washes clean all of our pains, our sorrows, our weaknesses, as well as other’s who might offend us, as long as we let it. - Anonymous |
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