God Loves Broken Things

Guys, I broke this week.

I found out some information on Monday that broke me.

Shattered me completely.

I collapsed on the floor in a pile of rubble as my heart broke into a million little tiny pieces--so many wounds stabbed directly into my heart.

This week has been HELL.

No other word can suffice for what I experienced on Monday, on Tuesday, on Wednesday morning, as I felt so much pain that I genuinely thought that anything--ANYTHING--would be preferable to what I'd experienced....the feeling of waking up after a brief respite from the pain as you temporarily forget in sleep, then having reality rush back to you full force--that is a sorrow I have only experienced once before, at my nephew's death.

This was worse.

I watched my parents, my sister, my children, my husband's hearts all break as they watched me go through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.

And I prayed to God.

Even in the midst of my pain, I felt His hand.  I felt His love, I felt His purpose for me, for my husband, for my marriage, and although I was devastated--shattered--I clung to that tiny shred of belief that maybe--MAYBE there was a reason for this Hell.

Wednesday--yesterday--I found out that reason as I watched my husband have his own Alma the Younger experience--a miraculous conversion that has changed him completely and absolutely.  

I saw it happen.  I saw the change, I felt the Spirit's witness to my heart, and I experienced heavenly joy just hours after the worst hell I could have possibly imagined.

Since that moment with my husband, I have understood the reason, the purpose behind the hell I experienced.  With the understanding comes peace, but the sorrow--the sorrow is still there.

Today, that sorrow came back full force and threatened to drown me, to overwhelm me with its power.

I prayed to God and asked Him what I should do, and He told me in one word: "Rest."

I rested.

I rested in Him, I trusted Him to care for me, and after a morning of snuggling with my children, I turned their care over to my husband and slept for hours--a deep, restful sleep.

I woke, and the sorrow hit full force yet again.

I asked God what to do, and He told me, "I know I've asked you to go through something hard.  I know this is difficult--that it is taking everything you have to go through this--but it will be worth it."

He then gave me such a powerful experience of peace and love that it got me through the next few hours of sorrow.

Tonight, as my husband and I prepared to go to our counseling session, a package from Amazon arrived on our front porch.

"Did you order something?" My husband asked curiously, as he handed me the package in the midst of my getting dressed for the day (it was a day that required pajamas until 6:00 in the evening, okay?)

I shook my head.  "Does it say who it's from?"

He looked at the label--"Nothing.  Just a gift."

I finished dressing, took the package to the kitchen, and opened it, pulling out a mug, several packages of hot chocolate, and a multitude of candy bars.

At the bottom of the box was a note with a name on it that I didn't recognize, but a message that immediately brought tears to my eyes and gratitude to my heart.

"You are ENOUGH.  You are a beautiful daughter of God.  He loves you.  You will survive this!!"

There, in black and white, was God's personal message to me from someone in Alabama that I had never met personally.

I tried to rub the goosebumps off my arms as I read through the note again and again, feeling love and peace and gratitude uplift me in ways that I could never have imagined mere moments before.

I hadn't told anyone outside of my parents, a sister, and my sponsor what had happened this week, and yet here was a gift from Kari in Alabama, giving me the message I needed so desperately at exactly the moment I needed to hear it.

God loves His children, and He gives them miracles--MIRACLES--when they need them most.

He loves me, broken and shattered and weak as I am, He loves me.

Broken heart and all.

How grateful I am that my God loves broken things.

So Many Voices

I know--I haven't written for a long time.  I'm sure both of the people who read this blog are super broken up about it (insert snarky laugh here).  Fact is, I'm still not at liberty to share the full and complete truth of the struggles I'm dealing with in my marriage and life for the whole Internet to see (even if it is through a semi-anonymous blog that can pretty easily be traced back to me).

That time is coming, and I can feel that it is, but until then, it's hard for me to be truthful and vulnerable without being entirely truthful and vulnerable.  Holding oneself back during a confession is awkward.  It doesn't come naturally for me to write that way, and so it's been easier for me to just do my writing in a place that I know is completely safe and private until I can start sharing more details in a completely open way.

So I've been avoiding you.  Sorry about that.

But tonight, I felt driven to write on here--for the first time in months, I knew I needed to share my voice again.

I've been keeping my voice mainly to myself and a few people who know me in person--which I think is what I needed to do.

But tonight--tonight is about me sharing my voice.

Tonight started out rough.  Let's face it--since last Saturday, when my husband and I had a confrontation that ended up with me feeling completely crazy, there have been a lot of rough nights that have been numbed mainly through lots of ice cream and binge-watching "The Office."

Tonight started out no different--due to a perfect storm of too many panic-inducing influences to even begin to name, all converging on me tonight, I was feeling a LOT of fear and sadness and anger coming up, and it all just kind of took advantage of the fact that I was home alone with a messy house and threatened to completely overwhelm me.

And for a while, I nearly let it.

I stress-cleaned and over-thought and snapped at the kids and took a break to be a good mom and read/pray/sing with the kids before sending them to bed and shamed myself about the dust on my piano and the gunk in my sink and worried about whether my husband was mad at me and then started stress-cleaning again, trying not to panic with the thoughts that were coming towards me with the speed and intensity of so many semi trucks barreling towards me at 115 miles per hour.

I called my sponsor--she didn't answer, but texted back to let me know that she was with family (Duh--I'm pretty sure I'm the only person in the country not with family on the night before Thanksgiving), and I felt inspired to text her back and let her know that I was feeling some fear and anxiety, but would work through it on my own.

I was surprised by my own answer--usually when I'm having such a panic attack, I feel drawn to call someone to help me through it, but tonight, I was feeling pulled in a completely different direction.

I have had so many voices in my life lately--Facebook voices, blog voices, family voices, friend voices, support group voices, loud voices, angry voices, quiet voices, shameful voices, peaceful voices, all of them from time to time helping me, hurting me, telling me what to do and what not to do, and while I know that my sponsor and several other members of my support system (including my husband at times), have been inspired of God before, tonight, I could feel Him telling me that He didn't want me listening to any other voices.  He wanted tonight to be about Him and me (and, apparently, you).

So, I let Him know that I wanted to finish cleaning/packing (we have an early morning tomorrow), and He patiently waited until I was done.  Then, after I finally stopped rushing around like a chicken with its head cut off and put down my to-do list, I listened while He spoke to me.

"Do some yoga," He said.  "On your own.  Don't use a video.  I want you listening only to your voice and My voice, not to the voice of an instructor."

So, I slathered myself in my essential oils that help me calm down, turned on a relaxing music station on my phone, and started a yoga workout.

He stopped me.  "Turn off the music.  I want you listening only to your voice and My voice, not the voices of whoever is singing."

So I did.  I turned off the music, took off my glasses so I wouldn't be appalled by the ridiculous amounts of dog hair embedded in my bedroom carpet (being legally blind has its perks), and started moving from pose to pose as I felt my body and my instinct telling me what I needed--Sun Salutation, Warrior Pose, Child's Pose, Happy Baby.

As I did so, I could feel myself calming, my instinct taking over and the voices of fear, guilt, shame, anger, bitterness--quieting in the background as I listened to myself breathing, moving, thinking.

At the end, Heavenly Father told me, "Now.  Be still."

So I was.  I was still, lying in Savasana, on my back, hands open to receive the revelation and knowledge my Heavenly Father wanted to give me, when thoughts started coming to my mind, unbidden and powerful in their truth.

"I am strong.

I am inspired.

I am beautiful.

I am enough.

I am enough!

I AM ENOUGH."

Of all the truths and voices and statements out there, that is the one that I needed to feel, hear, and know and that I feel compelled to share with you.  I am enough.  YOU are enough.  If you're reading this, that's God's number one message for you tonight.

Don't listen to the voices that tell you otherwise--that you need to be thinner, prettier, a better housekeeper/mother/wife/cook/runner/visiting teacher/crafter/seamstress/family historian.

You--as you are--are enough.

And so am I.

But if Not

Faith is such an interesting topic to me.

As I've been trying to pull myself out of the depression, bitterness and anger I spent this summer feeling, I've been studying a lot about faith and gratitude.  The interesting thing about faith is that we often hear about faith producing miracles--sickness and injuries healing, peoples' hearts changing, finding jobs when it seemed impossible, etc., etc... but for me, one of the most fascinating examples of faith is the one of Amulek.

In Alma 14 (you might recall this story), Alma and Amulek have been teaching among the people of Ammonihah.  While they were able to have some success among the poorer class of people, they hadn't had any with the wealthier people; at this point in the story, the judges and lawyers have taken the believers and driven out the men with stones, and then thrown the women and children into a fire, which they forced Alma and Amulek to watch.

If you'll recall, this is Amulek's home, so many of these believers are probably people he knew--neighbors, cousins, friends; so, as it says in verse 9, it says that when he "saw the pains of the women and children who were consuming in the fire, he also was pained;" At this point, he had the faith to turn to Alma, someone he KNEW as a prophet of God, and ask, "How can we witness this awful scene?  Therefore let us stretch forth our hands, and exercise the power of God which is in us, and save them from the flames."

I want to point out that he did the right thing here!  His request wasn't a wrong one or a bad one--He exercised faith and turned to the prophet and asked him to use the power of the priesthood for this admirable cause--to save these innocent people from suffering at the hands of wicked men...but Alma's answer wasn't the one he wanted to hear; in verse 11, Alma responds: "The Spirit constraineth me that I must not stretch forth mine hand;" and explains why--that the blood of the innocent must stand as a witness against the wicked.

If I were Amulek and I were in that place, I would probably be angry.  WHAT?  How is asking for such a good and worthy thing in any way wrong?  I would have my doubts--how could a prophet of the God of Love sit by and coldheartedly view such a scene without using the power he has to change the outcome?

But Amulek's response inspires me.  After asking if they, too, will be required to sacrifice their lives (in itself another show of faith), Alma answers in verse 13, "Be it according to the will of the Lord.  But behold, our work is not finished; therefore they burn us not."

After going through more torment and finally receiving the miracle to deliver themselves three days after the martyrdom of the people Amulek loved, Alma and Amulek are freed, and in chapter 15, verse 18, it says that Alma "took Amulek...to his own house, and did administer unto him in his tribulations, and strengthened him in the Lord."

Later on, Alma and Amulek went on to serve many more missions and have many other miraculous experiences together, showing to me that Amulek, despite this HUGE trial of his faith, continued faithful until the end of his story.

So many times in my life, I feel as though I'm pleading for good things--worthy things--honorable things.  I want nothing more than my friends who are struggling with infertility to be able to have children; for my brother who has been unemployed for years to find a job; for my father who has struggled with pornography issues for more than 40 years to be able to overcome his addictions; for my marriage with my husband to be a celestial marriage full of trust and honesty; for my sister who is doubting her testimony and acting out in rebellion against our family to gain a testimony and have a desire to choose the path that will truly bring her happiness.

And as I've spent time on my knees in prayer, crying to the Lord in supplication for these and other blessings that I desire with all of my heart, I've had experience after experience where the answer hasn't been the one that I've wanted.  People have gone on as before, and on the surface, everything seems unchanged in many of these situations.

But--over this journey I've been taking to try to truly trust in God, I've learned that I desire to cultivate faith like Amulek.  I want to have the faith to trust not only in the Lord's power to cause miracles, but also in His wisdom to let burdens go unlifted and trials to go unchanged.  I want to truly be able to say, with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego, "If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us...But if not...we will not serve (other) gods."  (Dan. 3:17-18)

I want for my husband to be faithful and true to his covenants.  But if not, I will remain faithful and true to mine.

I want for my father to overcome his addictions and give my mother the honesty she deserves.  But if not, I will work to overcome my own imperfections.

I want for God to make his hand known in the lives of my family.  But if not, I will still look for and acknowledge His hand in my life.

I want to be happy in my marriage.  But if not, I will learn to be happy on my own.

As I'm learning to cultivate this trust in God, I'm seeing a difference--perhaps not in my outward situations, but definitely in my inward heart.  The situations around me may or may not be changing, but I am changing.  I am becoming more peaceful, more focused on what I can and should work to change, and more able to let go of things outside my control.  I am becoming closer to my Heavenly Father, and, I hope, becoming more like Him in my capacity to feel, to endure, and to love.

Have any of you had times where unanswered prayers have turned to your good?

Clean Out Your Own Fridge

Yesterday, I happened to look at my bank accounts.  I wasn't trying to snoop on my husband (that's happened before, but it wasn't the motivation this time), I had a deposit to make--but--I happened to see how much he had been spending on junk food in the past little while.  I added up all the expenses just from the weekend, and although I won't tell you the grand total, I will tell you that it totaled up to roughly one fourth of our entire month's food budget.

You know that scene when a cartoon character gets mad or freaks out and their head turns red and steam comes out of their ears while a train whistle sounds?  That's about how I felt.

I felt furious, terrified, unsafe, and angry, to say the least.  I texted my sponsor and let her know what was going on, and then I started panicking....and the thoughts started multiplying.  I can't be married to a guy who does this kind of thing.  When I'm scrimping and saving just to get by, he goes out to eat for every single meal!  It shows what an addict he really is, to behave so selfishly.  I should go in and wake him up and tell him just what I think and let him really have it!  It's not fair!  I didn't sign up for this!

Etc, etc, etc.

Thankfully, I didn't actually act on my panic (other than digging through my husband's car for junk food and devouring as much as I could handle in five minutes, that is).  I remembered, just in time, what I've been learning in my 12 steps, and so I tried to act on Step One and turn it over to God.  I went into the front room, knelt by my couch, and poured my heart out to my wise and oh-so-loving Heavenly Father.

"Father, I'm SO mad.  I'm scared and mad and furious that my husband would spend so much money on junk food when we're trying so hard to get by.  I'm afraid of what this behavior means and I don't know what to do.  I want to wake him up and yell at him--I'm panicking right now--"

Then I got to the important part: "What would Thou have me do?"

The thought came to my mind, clear as day, and completely unexpected: "Clean out the fridge."

I was surprised.  I'd had clean the fridge on my to-do list for days weeks months now (it was really disgusting), but at a time like this?  I was sure my answer would be something like "Write a rant on your blog" or "Sit and read the scriptures" or "call someone and vent to them," but something as prosaic and, I don't know--non-spiritual--as "clean the fridge?"

So I asked again.  "Are you sure?"

And the answer came again, this time with a little clarification: "Clean out the fridge and tally up the amount of food you've wasted by not being more organized."

Ah.

I understood.  It's so easy to point out all of the things my husband does wrong. I've been doing that for months now--and the awareness of his behaviors had to be a part of my healing, yes.  But part of being meek, part of healing--part of becoming like the Savior, in fact--is learning how to focus on my own fridge.  Focusing on my own responsibilities.  Focusing on my own stewardship and not worrying so much about what other people out of my control--my husband, in this case--are doing.

So, I cleaned out my fridge, I estimated and wrote down a total price on the worth of the food I had let go bad by not using a menu or checking my fridge before buying/making food, and even though it wasn't near the same amount my husband had spent, the lesson had been taught.  I was humbled to realize that even though Heavenly Father has been patient with me and what I've let go as I've tried to survive this rocky past few months, even though He loves me no matter what and has let me know that in a multitude of ways, He still expects me to be patient, meek, and humble.  And once in a while, the only way He can get me to be that way is by forcing me to look in my own fridge.

"None is acceptable before God, save the meek and lowly in heart."  ~Moroni 7:44

After my husband woke up that evening, I was able to approach him--in a humble, meek way, rather than the accusatory one I had planned earlier that day, and let him know that we had a problem.  I told him the ways I was planning on doing better, and then I asked him to give me his debit card and start using a cash allowance (a boundary we had decided months ago to help with his shopping habits and discontinued).

I do feel the need to enforce boundaries with my husband; those boundaries are what keep me safe and us out of debt--however, I don't have to do so in anger or self-righteous judgment.  All I have to do is remember that fridge full of moldy, disgusting food, and it reminds me:

Clean out your own fridge first.

Trust Thou In God...and Thyself

Lately, I've been getting a message from my Heavenly Father, over and over and over again: "Trust Me."

It's actually pretty simple, until you start getting messages from friends, family, spouses, and random people on the internet that drown out the sweet, quiet messages Heavenly Father gives.  Luckily, He loves me a whole lot, so he's put this message on repeat for me, first through a poem that my friend shared, then through promptings as I prayed or spoke or acted, and finally, yesterday, it was pretty blatant--in Sunday School, the teacher read a quote that brought tears to my eyes.

"When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives.  Our love of the Lord will govern the claims for our affection, the demands on our time, the interests we pursue, and the order of our priorities." ~Ezra Taft Benson.

God wants me to put Him first, and when I do, He gives me peace.

Yesterday, I found out that my mother-in-law is coming up to visit and will be staying with us for four days.  I'll tell the truth--I love my mother-in-law, but she is best in small doses, and when I'm emotionally fragile already, I genuinely don't know if I can handle her.  Four days is not a small dose, and when I heard how long she'd be staying (and that she was staying in our home), I panicked a bit.  I did some stress-cleaning this morning (and the kids' rooms are now spotless, as is the guest bathroom), but this afternoon, I felt prompted to take some self-care time.  I colored, I ate lunch (something I skip on far too often), and now I'm writing...and I don't plan to clean anymore today.

There's still a massive pile of laundry to be washed, the kitchen floor is still sticky, and I haven't dusted my front room in weeks...and those are all things that are mighty important to my mother-in-law, but I don't need to do them just now.  And that's okay.

It will be okay.  I will be okay.  I just have to trust in God.

The Human Experience

Lately, I've been reading in Mormon (you know, from the Book of Mormon), a part of the BoM that's usually pretty depressing/pointless for me.  If you haven't read this book (I highly recommend you do--it's very good), this is the part where the Nephites (the main people in the book) all fall away from the truth and get destroyed.  It's sad and depressing and very dark, and when I'm usually in my sunshine-y phase of life, I tend to kind of skim over it without getting much out of it other than the message to stay strong like Mormon (the prophet at the time) did, and that's about it.

However, today, I was reading Mormon's lament, where he talks about the mourning and the sorrow he's experienced as the Nephites continue in their wickedness, and I was touched.

It's okay to be sad.  It's okay to have sorrow when people you love aren't choosing what you'd like for them to choose.  It's okay that I'm sad that my husband doesn't have much of a relationship with God; it's okay that it breaks my heart that my sister is rebelling; it's okay that I'm mourning the fact that my dad is an addict who has put his marriage in jeopardy....experiencing this heartbreak and sorrow and sadness doesn't make me bad, unhealthy, or even necessarily codependent.  It makes me human.  It makes me compassionate.  Mormon was a prophet, for crying out loud, and yet he genuinely sorrowed and mourned the downfall of his people.

However, when I start to worry or fix or try to rescue or plan for these people in my life--THAT'S where the unhealthiness comes in.  Mormon agreed to be a general over the Nephite armies twice--once in his younger years, and then again when they begged him to come back; but he didn't take responsibility for their choices, and when he was allowed to preach, he did so knowing that they weren't going to change....and the entire time he is writing about his sorrow, he continues to use phrases that show that he still trusts God and HIS plan, despite the pain he is experiencing.

That's what I'm wanting and trying to do.  It's okay for me to feel pain, sorrow, hurt, and even abandonment and trauma.  That's part of my human experience and part of God's plan for me....and I'm not weak or deficient in some way for feeling these things.  But I have to trust God through all of it.  That's the part that can be hard, but it's the part I'm gaining the most from.

Anyways.  Just a thought. 

I'm NOT Crazy...Right?

I hate it when I have conversations with people where I end up feeling like I'm going crazy.

My husband is one of the culprits, but I've had these kinds of conversations with several people lately.  Conversations with people who say things like, "Well, at least..." or "Have you thought about going on antidepressants?"  or "Maybe it would help if you just tried cleaning the house/showering/exercising/fill-in-the-blank-here-with-something-I-already-feel-guilty-for-not-doing-enough."

Any time I have a conversation like that with someone, it leaves me wanting to scream.  And I usually go into my room and cry in my pillow and talk to God and ask Him if I'm crazy, if I should go on antidepressants, if I should just suck it up and fake it till I make it.

And usually, God tells me that as long as I focus on Him, I'm doing exactly what He wants me to do.

In fact, the other night during a conversation with God, He let me know that I was enough.  That I'm doing enough, that I'm trying enough, and that I'm handling enough.  That was helpful, let me tell you.

And then the next day I had another person tell me something that once again made me feel crazy.

I called my sponsor the other day after one of these crazy-making conversations, and she said something that helped me so very much that I thought I'd share it with you:

"Right now, you are doing the hard stuff.  It would be so much easier to go back into denial, pretend this stuff isn't happening, and clean your house, stay busy, and numb yourself until it's over.  This is much harder than cleaning your house and putting makeup on would be."

I'm not being lazy.  I'm not being dramatic.  And I'm NOT crazy.  I am a human with human frailties and weaknesses dealing with some pretty intense burdens right now.  And for me to focus on the priorities that really, truly matter--well, it means my floor isn't getting mopped for a while, I'll tell you that.  

But it does mean that I'm seeking--truly seeking--to do exactly what my Heavenly Father wants me to do, on a daily, hourly, sometimes minute-by-minute basis.  And, surprisingly enough, sticky floors aren't nearly as important to Him as they seem to be to other people.

The Details of our Lives

President Thomas S. Monson once said, "Heavenly Father is in the details of our lives."
I have never been more aware of that fact than at this time.
He is with me when I wake.
He is with me as I teach my children, as I play with them, as I watch them.
He was with me this weekend when I fielded trigger after trigger with peace and serenity as I could literally feel the prayers of my sponsor and my mom lifting me through three solid days with my husband's family (usually trigger central for me).
He is with me as I deal with the grief of losing someone while trying to maintain boundaries with my husband.
He is with my family members and friends--the ones I worry about and lose sleep over and shed tears for while praying on my knees.
He is in the details.
And I have been noticing.
My heart is full.

Control Freak

I've learned that I like being in control.
I like being in control of my emotions, of maintaining my yard, of the choices I make, of how my household is run, of how I feel and think and react to things.
Problem is, I've never been in control--I've only had the illusion of control as I've shoved emotions down through cake and binge TV-watching (curse you, Netflix) and as I've swept, mopped, folded laundry, taught piano lessons, made dinners, and cleaned, cleaned, cleaned, all while resenting what was going on inside of me and pretending that I was being Christlike by never (heaven forbid!) actually SAYING what I was feeling.
And then my husband went out of town in February, during the same week that I was scheduled to teach 27 piano lessons, my three children all had a nasty mix of Strep Throat, fevers over 104 degrees, bronchial infections, and ear infections, right after I had to put on a HUGE, incredibly stressful dance for the members of my local community, and I was expected to take care of it all.
And that week was when I lost any sense of control that I might have had.  I pretty much had a complete nervous breakdown, which I'm now grateful for, because it lead me to needing the Twelve Steps.
I've learned about the Steps before, you know--when my husband admitted to me that he'd been struggling with pornography three years ago, I got the pamphlet and like the dutiful returned missionary I was, I studied and took notes.
And then my husband got on antidepressants and felt better, so I felt better, so I stopped with the steps.  I didn't "need" them anymore, because, after all, the problem was "under control."
But this time--it's different.  Six years of me shoving down emotions without ever actually admitting to them or feeling them or letting myself actually say anything about the way I felt when I was left alone to deal with hard things--that's added up.  And I can't pretend to have control anymore.
Step One was incredibly empowering and enlightening to me--Honesty.  Honestly admitting to yourself that your life has become unmanageable, and voluntarily surrendering all control to God... nothing is more empowering than realizing that we aren't MEANT to control it all.  We have Someone who is more than willing to take control of the reins, so long as we quit clinging to them blindly and hand them over to Him.
Last night I was reminded of the need to surrender.  I got myself into a situation where I was told that I would be contributing a specific need to a particular occasion (I was on the judge's panel to cast a local children's production of Annie).  I was told that since I didn't have any children trying out for this play, that I would be an important, unbiased part of the panel, and I went into last night with a definite illusion of the control I would have over the choices made.
However, due to some other judges who had differing opinions from mine, the cast list went out last night, and three of the main leads are the daughters of one of the judges, while another main lead is the daughter of another judge, while yet another lead is the daughter of yet another judge.
So much for being unbiased.
I genuinely felt sick when I got home at 3:00 this morning.  I had tried to defend my personal casting choices, but been outvoted nearly every time, and knowing that my name was going to be on that casting list, showing decisions that weren't mine to make, makes me feel angry, fearful of dealing with upset parents, victimized, betrayed, and a host of other emotions that I realize probably aren't proportionate to the situation I was in.
I thought I would have control over what decisions were made last night, and after the first fifteen minutes of hearing one of the judges trying to convince me why his daughter would be the best Annie, I realized that whatever control I thought I had was definitely an illusion, and I resented that fact.
However, after some good venting to my sponsor and an out-loud, kneeling-down prayer (something I'm trying to do on a daily basis after being in the habit of praying silently for the past many years), not to mention lots of "help-me-surrender-this" prayers as I've gone about my business this morning, I'm feeling better now.
These are good parents who want their children involved in something wonderful.  They are positive, optimistic people, and I genuinely look forward to working with them and their children.  If last night didn't go how I had planned or imagined it going, I can still feel confident about the fact that I didn't tacitly go along with something I disagreed with, and if the cast ended up the way it did, it did so with my full honesty about being uncomfortable with it.  I don't have to victimize myself or vilify the other people involved in this project--all I have to do is surrender, to do my best to ensure that the kids under my stewardship have a good experience, and to know that God will take care of those poor broken-hearted 11-year-old girls who will cry themselves to sleep tonight, and that He has a plan for them that makes whether or not they got the lead role in Annie an incredibly insignificant part of their lives.
And knowing that little fact will help me sleep better at night.

All of Us?

How in the world does Heavenly Father manage to love EVERY single one of his children?
How does he love screwed-up me and my husband the same as he loves the prophet the same as he loves the drug-dealer on the street or Hitler or any other evil, horrible human being who also happens to be a child of God?
How?!?!
The truth is, I don't think our finite minds can begin to comprehend how He manages to have perfect, never ending love for all of His children.
Being a parent has helped me start to understand--in the smallest miniscule way--how perfect and all-encompassing a parent's love for a child can be, as well as how love can be powerful but different for each individual--I don't love my hyperactive, energetic, eager 5-year-old son the exact same way as I love my obedient, easygoing, happy, stubborn 2-year-old daughter, but I love them both beyond comprehension.  That parental bond is a very real and powerful emotion.
Which is a good thing, because otherwise, I think we'd hear of a lot more parents devouring their young.
But the other day, my kind and wise Heavenly Father gave me just a glimpse into how His love works.
I had run a quick trip into Super-Walmart with my slightly self-absorbed seventeen-year-old sister and my three tantrum-throwing toddlers, and as part of the deal, I had stooped to bribery and bought a baker's dozen worth of donuts to feed the children.  We had finally loaded all of the kids in the car, and I was looking forward desperately to a well-earned naptime once we traveled the 30 minutes home, when I happened to glance over towards the bus stop that is on the way out of the parking lot, and noticed a youngish woman sitting on the curb with her face in her hands.
Instantly, the thought came to me: "She needs someone to check on her.  Go do it."
It didn't come again, but because I'm learning to follow thoughts that I know aren't mine, I flipped an extremely dangerous U-turn in the middle of the parking lot while trying to explain to my sister what I was doing (she looked at me as if I was crazy), and put the car in park right next to the woman sitting on the curb. I grabbed a donut with a napkin and climbed out of the car and walked over to her nervously, then tapped her on her tattooed arm.  She looked up, startled, tears still streaming down her face.
"Hey, um--you looked like you were having a hard time, and I thought...would you like a donut?"  I stammered awkwardly, holding the donut out to her.  "I know it won't fix anything, but maybe it'll make you feel a little better?"
She looked at me a little strangely (I don't blame her), then took the donut hesitantly.  "Thanks, I guess."  She began wiping her eyes, embarrassed.
"Is everything okay?  Do you want to talk about it?"  I asked gently, as I sat down on the curb beside her.
Her face crumpled and she began to cry again.  "I can't get my meds!"
I'll admit, my first thought was Oh, crap--I just stopped to help a druggie! 
But I didn't say anything, and she continued to tell me how her insurance company had elected to stop covering her seizure medications--the ones that cost $500 per month--and she didn't know how she could hold down a job or take care of her children without those medications--and how hopeless and scared she felt.
I didn't say anything beyond a murmured "That sounds so hard," or "I'm sorry it's so hard for you right now," because I had absolutely no advice, no solutions--nothing beyond a listening ear to offer. She vented for about five minutes (I had to keep myself from continually glancing over at my car where my hyperactive children were literally licking the windows), and as she began to calm down and get quieter, I had another distinct thought: "She needs to know that her Heavenly Father loves her.  Tell her that."
As she paused for a moment, I patted her knee awkwardly.  "I'm so sorry that things are hard.  And I know it may not feel like it right now, but I want you to know that God loves you, and I know that everything will turn out all right.  He sent me here to tell you that."
She gave me another strange look--I couldn't tell what she might have been thinking--but I knew that my job was done at that moment.  I asked her if I could give her a hug, and she let me, and then I got back in my car and drove away.
I don't know what she got out of that, and I probably will never know in this life what it may have meant to her, but I do know that I once again was reminded that my Heavenly Father knows us each on a more individual and personal basis than we can possibly comprehend.
And He loves us and sends us exactly what we need, exactly when we need it.
And that's something to think about, now, isn't it?