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.

Distractions

Tonight, as I sat after dinner, pounding away on the piano and trying to do something--anything--to kill time/keep my mind occupied, my 5-year-old came and laid his hand on my arm.

"Mom, I think it's time you should come play with us."  He said it softly, kindly, without the whiny tone that usually accompanies this kind of request, and for once, I actually listened to my child.  I didn't finish my song, I didn't shrug him off--I listened and followed him.

We ended up turning off all the lights in the house, taking a lit candle into the kids' room, and telling funny stories--some true, some not, but with just the four of us, all gathered around our mini campfire and listening.

It was wonderful.  After the kids went to bed (amazingly easily and early for this lot), I started getting busy--distracted--again.  I found myself checking my phone far too often, I did the dishes, I painted a shelf, I watched some TV (although I chose some uplifting shows rather than the often-inappropriate shows I tend to choose when wanting to numb myself), and then, after exhausting every other numbing technique I usually use, I finally decided to get out my 12-Steps pamphlet.

I've been stuck on Step 9--making amends--for a while now.  I had a hard time finding the difference between making amends and going back into doormat mode, which was hard for me.  For so long, I've allowed myself to be treated like a doormat by people in my life because I thought it was the "charitable" thing to do, and so going to people and finding ways to make amends for ways I might have harmed them was hard for me to do without automatically going to guilt mode.  By the time I finished with all the amends needed on my very-long list, I was so emotionally and spiritually spent that I just decided to stay away from the 12 Steps for a while and focus instead on just the absolute, bare-bones basics of my spiritual survival.

It was just too hard for a while.  Recovery, group, all of it--was TOO HARD.  And so I went into survival mode, where I just depended on God alone, with only the scriptures and prayer to keep me close to him....spiritual crackers and water.

It's been a few weeks now since I've read Recovery, and I've been feeling for a couple of days now that I needed to open my pamphlet again--that I would be ready for it and blessed if I did.  So, after all the stalling techniques that I mentioned, when I finally started studying about and working on Step 10--oh, it was like a breath of fresh air.  As I read the questions in Step 10 asking about being present and staying accountable, my mind flew to tonight's experience.

As humans, we don't want to feel pain.  It's a natural survival instinct to want to numb pain, and for me, oh, the past few months have been nothing but pain.  And so naturally, I've taken to numbing that pain.  Facebook, emails, TV, reading blogs, staying busybusybusy, EATING--these have all been techniques I've found myself turning to, sometimes unwillingly, but always turning to.  And this has given me so very much compassion for addicts whose addictions aren't the kind that allow you to stay temple-worthy...as I look at the clock in disgust after realizing that I've wasted hours on Facebook when I should have been sleeping...I understand the shame that comes from that.

And so tonight--tonight is a fresh start yet again.  Tonight, I went without distractions for a couple of hours with my children, and those two hours were blissful.  The ability to be present is a gift, and I hope to seek that gift more often as I once again recommit to being accountable, being present, and being thankful for progress rather than shaming myself over imperfection.

Not Fair

I remember the first time I thought, "I could marry that guy."

My then-future husband and I had been dating for a couple of weeks at the time; I had really liked his fun personality, sharp wit, and good looks, but I had definitely gone into the relationship thinking that it was going to be a fleeting thing.  After all, I was due to leave on a mission in four months and he was planning on moving after the semester ended.

However, as a friend of mine (who was admittedly a little odd) approached me and asked me if I would ask my boyfriend to give her a Priesthood blessing, I watched my boyfriend's reaction as she asked him.  He was gentle and kind, despite her rather bizarre antics, and graciously agreed to find someone else to help him give her a blessing.

The blessing was beautiful--he blessed her with health, comfort, and a host of other very personal things that I'm sure were quite a strength to her.  And that was when I realized--I could marry this guy.  He is something special.

My relationship with God has always been a priority for me in my life, and so when I think about it, it should come as no surprise that the first time I was willing to commit to my future husband was when I saw him in such a spiritually powerful way.

As I left on my mission and read the letters he wrote to me, I was even more attracted to that side of him as he sent me letters that described temple attendance, service in the church, and scripture study--all in a humble, matter-of-fact way that alone bore testimony of simple but powerful habits cultivated over a long period of time.

Once I got home from my mission, we were engaged and married shortly afterwards, and from the first, I was surprised to see that his spiritual habits were nothing like what I'd expected them to be.  We'd sit in bed for hours at night together, me wanting and hoping for him to lead us in couples prayer before we fell asleep, and him knowing that I wanted him to lead out and stubbornly refusing to do it--this awful, silent, passive-aggressive struggle.  Every single night, after waiting uncomfortably and stalling for hours at a time, I would end up being the one to give in and ask if he wanted to pray.  To his credit, he always said yes, but it was rare, if ever, that he brought it up on his own.

This one particular example seemed to be his attitude towards a lot of spiritual things throughout our marriage; if I wanted something church-oriented or spiritual to happen in our family, I either had to remind/ask him about it, or it didn't happen, whether it be home teaching, scripture study, Family Home Evenings, or temple attendance.

This is not fair.  It's not what I signed up for--the very thing that made me most attracted to my husband was his spirituality, and to see him now, sleeping through church and forgetting or not caring about the majority of his church service--it makes me terrified, actually.  Why would someone so strong choose to change so much?

My mom often talks about "campaign promises," you know, someone's behavior before marriage becoming something completely different after the rings are on, but I don't think he was faking it when he married me.  I genuinely think he had a strong, close relationship with his Heavenly Father at the time; and to hear the stories he tells from his mission, I know he has had a testimony in the past.  And I think he still has remnants of a testimony--when I asked him about it in tears a week ago, telling him of my deepest fears that we had different priorities and were going in different directions, he insisted he knew the truth--of God's reality and the power of the Atonement.  Once in a while he'll volunteer a story about following the Spirit, but those stories are few and far between.  And it's been years since I've heard him bear testimony without being prompted.

I know I sound judgmental.  I probably also sound immature and hypercritical, which I guess I am.  It's true that I shouldn't pass judgment on my husband's spirituality; a person's relationship with God isn't something that can be accurately determined from outside actions, no matter how closely watched.

It's just hard to believe that my husband is putting God first when I don't see much evidence in his life, I guess.

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.