"A Little Child Shall Lead Them"

Last night, as I hurried home from a long day at work, I decided to prepare myself for the next morning, when I would do it all over again, by filling up with a tank of gas. Typically, when I notice that there are lines at all of the pumps, I will hold off or go to another gas station, especially being as tired as I was feeling, but I decided to make the stop anyway. I pulled into the pumping lane behind another crossover or SUV type vehicle. It appeared that the gentleman pumping gas would soon be finished as I put my vehicle in park and waited. Just then, I noticed that there was a homeless gentleman digging in the garbage can at that very pump. It looked like he was intent on finding something, but oddly enough, he was not begging for money or anything from anyone. Typically that is what we find; people going from pump to pump looking for loose change or anything to help out. Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young man jump out of the passenger side door of the car in front of me. He scurried up to his father who was finishing up with pumping the fuel still, and verbalized something with a bit of enthusiasm. There was an inquisition of some sort. The father acknowledged the child's question, hesitated ever so slightly, and then affirmed the child's desire to do what he had requested. The young teenage boy then opened the rear passenger door of the vehicle and dug around for a few seconds. A moment later he popped his head out of the car with something else in his grasp. It was a burrito or taco. Perhaps they had just stopped for food for themselves on the way home. But that young man, then eagerly walked up to the homeless gentleman and offered him the food. The man accepted! The child walked away filled with pride and joy; filled with the spirit of Christ! Both the father and son then drove off after hopping in their car and I pulled forward to take their place and begin fueling. I asked the homeless gentleman what he was looking for, to which he showed me a garbage bag and stated "cans". He said they were worth a fair amount and he was willing to put in the work to look for them and collect them, so more power to him! I asked if he had anything to drink, as I had no cash to offer, and he had just gotten that burrito, so a beverage seemed fitting. But, the man told me he had something to drink. Later, the pump attendant kicked him off the property which I protested as he was causing no harm and not even pestering any of the patrons. The attendant agreed but said his boss told him he had to make him leave the property. How unfortunate!

The picture of that young man, happily and excitedly going up to his father and asking permission to be charitable is still seared in my mind! The words from Isaiah come to my mind as I ponder the magnitude of such an act. They read: "And a little child shall lead them." (Isaiah 11:6) The reference, though not specifically pointing towards such things, does give one pause. Children are precious in the sight of God, and in the Last Days they will work many miracles and even teach us the way at times, I believe.

In a talk given by President Monson a few years ago, he tells a story of a family who had become less active in the LDS church, but decided to go visit Temple Square in Salt Lake City, Utah…

Last summer I received a letter from a woman who has emerged from a long period of Church inactivity. She is ever so anxious for her husband, who as yet is not a member of the Church, to share the joy she now feels.

She wrote of a trip which she, her husband, and their three sons made from the family home to Grandmother’s home in Idaho. While driving through Salt Lake City, they were attracted by the message which appeared on a billboard. The message invited them to visit Temple Square. Bob, the nonmember husband, made the suggestion that a visit would be pleasant. The family entered the visitors’ center, and Father took two sons up a ramp that one called “the ramp to heaven.” Mother and three-year-old Tyler were a bit behind the others, they having paused to appreciate the beautiful paintings which adorned the walls. As they walked toward the magnificent sculpture of Thorvaldsen’s Christus, tiny Tyler bolted from his mother and ran to the base of the Christus, while exclaiming, “It’s Jesus! It’s Jesus!” As Mother attempted to restrain her son, Tyler looked back toward her and his father and said, “Don’t worry. He likes children.”

After departing the center and again making their way along the freeway toward Grandmother’s, Tyler moved to the front seat next to his father. Dad asked him what he liked best about their adventure on Temple Square. Tyler smiled up at him and said, “Jesus.”

“How do you know that Jesus likes you, Tyler?”

Tyler, with a most serious expression on his face, looked up at his father’s eyes and answered, “Dad, didn’t you see his face?” Nothing else needed to be said.

President Monson continues:

As I read this account, I thought of the statement from the book of Isaiah: “And a little child shall lead them.” (Isa. 11:6.)

The words of a Primary hymn express the feelings of a child’s heart:

Tell me the stories of Jesus I love to hear,

Things I would ask him to tell me if he were here.

Scenes by the wayside, tales of the sea,

Stories of Jesus, tell them to me.

Oh, let me hear how the children stood round his knee.

I shall imagine his blessings resting on me;

Words full of kindness, deeds full of grace,

All in the lovelight of Jesus’ face.

I know of no more touching passage in scripture than the account of the Savior blessing the children, as recorded in 3 Nephi. The Master spoke movingly to the vast multitude of men, women, and children. Then, responding to their faith and the desire that He tarry longer, He invited them to bring to Him their lame, their blind, and their sick, that He might heal them. With joy they accepted His invitation. The record reveals that “he did heal them every one.” (3 Ne. 17:9.) There followed His mighty prayer to His Father. The multitude bore record: “The eye hath never seen, neither hath the ear heard, before, so great and marvelous things as we saw and heard Jesus speak unto the Father.” (3 Ne. 17:16.)

Concluding this magnificent event, Jesus “wept, … and he took their little children, one by one, and blessed them, and prayed unto the Father for them.…“And he spake unto the multitude, and said unto them: Behold your little ones.

“And as they looked to behold they cast their eyes towards heaven, and they saw the heavens open, and they saw angels descending out of heaven … ; and they came down and encircled those little ones … ; and the angels did minister unto them.” (3 Ne. 17:21, 23–24.)

Children are a blessing! They are here to learn and to grow. They are here to fulfill their duties to their God. And they are most certainly here to teach us, as much as they are here to learn from us. We are all here to help each other make our way back to our heavenly home. Jesus Christ showed us all the way in which we ought to live, in order to return to live with our Father in Heaven, and receive all that He has. The child, whom I witnessed displaying such love and kindness towards the homeless gentleman also gave me something to model and a memory to hold dear in my heart. If we were to become like so many children, all around us, we would be perfect and Christlike in every way!

In the spirit of the season, I hope that we may all feel the love of Jesus Christ, our Savior, fill our hearts and homes! May it be something that brings great peace, warmth, and light! May it enliven within each of us, the desire to share that same love with another. The love of Jesus Christ is a gift which continues forever! There is no beginning and there will be no end of days to its power. It is my prayer that I may become more like the littlest among us, those of whom the prophets said would lead us, even our children!

Celebrating an Angel

What would a beautiful 9 year old boy do on his Birthday? In his Momma's thoughts, he would enjoy a day off from school, go see The Peanuts Movie, laugh with his brothers through the fun and innocent entertainment, pick up pizza for dinner, and of course, make it a Charlie Brown day with Snoopy Cupcakes. Beautiful boy, tiny babe, though I know I will spend that time with you one day, I couldn't help but shed a few tears as I stared out into the dark night sky on our way home from the celebration we had in honor of you. I miss you more every year. You were the most beautiful 4 months I have ever had. 

I'm overhearing a talk that is on in the next room over.  It is speaking about death, and specifically the death of our sweet children.  It referenced the feelings of looking back at that lonely casket, as we lay them to rest, wondering if our hearts would break.  I can say, yes, they do...for years...they break.  He went on to testify that one day that pain will be swallowed up, because the Savior will make all that has been done whole again.  When I hear words of such truth, I am comforted knowing that it's not wrong for the separation from you, my infant son, to get harder, as the time draws further from the last time I held you and kissed your face.  It's okay to not be whole through this life.  It's okay to miss you, to long for you, to love you deeper every year.  In all those things....I do...

Beautiful son, I miss you so much...

But I love you so much more than the depths of my pain, and that is why I fight daily for our reunion. 

I love you...SUPER much....to the moon and back...and beyond...

Mommy

To Share, or Not to Share....

First off, HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!  We celebrated as a small family this year, trying to find a moment in time when we weren't running to and fro.  It was a great decision!!!

Second, I've been thinking a lot, and where there is a crystalized thought, there is depth, and where there is depth, there is a desire to share.  I know, people aren't sharing as much as they once use to. I understand, believe me I do.  We live in a very hard and overwhelming world.  With social media, you must make a decision to live off the grid or to be a scroller, a coversationalist, or a sharer. The word choices aren't rocking it tonight, but I'm working my third night shift this weekend, off of little sleep between church meetings and The Messiah rehearsals, and I'm just gonna write how I want tonight, with no regards to grammar, to make up for the dragging body and mind I'm striving to sustain. 

So, with the social media stance, what are you? 

I'm not opposed to throwing it all away and saying goodbye to it, but let's face it, the world is evolving.  I choose to adapt and strengthen myself by exercising the restraint that you must when you choose to be a scroller, a coversationalist, or a sharer.  

Whether we agree or not, all three types of people require some kinda restraint, and I prefer to call it self control.  Life is about tempering ourselves, finding power over the natural habits that tear us down. Those habits can be related to money, food, desires towards anything, emotional outbursts, laziness....and the list goes on.  

I asked what you are, though I mean it to be more of a self reflection.  I, myself, am a sharer--though I've oscillated between being a coversationalist and sharer.  Rarely do I simply scroll.  If I'm on social media, I want to share something good and beautiful, or I'd like to find myself edified by speaking with others.  No, it's not the same as face to face contact, but YES, we do make a difference in each other's lives.  I think of my relatives and friends far away--most of which I spend decades without.  I love them, I miss them, and life has not allowed us to be face to face.  Yet, they inspire me, and I'm able to learn about who they are, and how they live, even through the few posts they offer through social media.  Friends and family all over the world, even those in my own hometown, have me thinking about how I can better myself constantly.  They have made a difference in my life.  

So, what's the point, right? 

Well, at church today, there was a scripture that hit me and left me feeling that my way, the path I choose to walk, is right for me.  I only know it because of the confirmations I'm given through prayer and priesthood promises particular to me, from God.  Nothing in this world can confirm it for me.  As a matter of fact, if I continued to listen to the world, I'd be doing quite the opposite of what I currently do.  

Currently, I share.  

I share what I find in life that is beautiful. I share my trials, though not all; I've found that we really do become more realistic when people know some of our struggles. I'm FAR from where I want to be, but I'm making my way there.  Some trials have befallen me by my own stupidity, or imperfection, and some have been given by God.  They are both hard to bear.   I share my heartaches, just a portion.  I share my beliefs, my faith, and my deep reflective thoughts.  I share my voice, my skills and talents, and when I do that, I feel like I never should have because of that shaky hand and quivering fear that consumes me.  Yet, once in awhile, the Lord gives me an abundance of gifts and an increase in skill when I share those talents for Him. Tonight, as I sang at our Messiah rehearsal, I was next to another Krystle (different spelling, same beautiful name). She has the voice of an angel, but as sopranos understand, when you are singing your "over the staff A's", you can lose your voice after dozens of run throughs.  We did a sixteenth note run up to a high A, and my voice squeaked and cracked that A out LOUDLY!!!  Both of us couldn't continue singing, we just giggled for the rest of the song. She was so sweet, praising me for even trying to hit it!  When I left, I felt like being near her gave me an increased ability to sing the soprano part more lovely than before, minus that A note blunder.  As we come together and share, we all are strengthened and edified.  

Here's the issue with sharing--it can hurt.  

When I'm being myself, and seeing the light and goodness that has been given to me, I'm not hurting, of course not.  When I'm singing, and the notes are actually coming out right, I don't feel pain or embarrassment.  When my heartfelt words have been placed on paper, or in cyber space, and my intent is to share the goodness of my perspective, I don't feel engulfed by opposition.   When I give a compliment, joy swells in me, not sorrow.  

However, sometimes being yourself is scorned, even when all you're striving to do is the right thing--there are critics at every corner, and we are all hurt innocently at times.  When I slip up on a note while singing, because of nerves, embarrassment floods, and when my heartfelt words aren't reciprocated or even acknowledged by the recipient, pain and disappointment are my companions.  The pain that comes from unmet expectations, such as the courtesy of response when you have shared your soul with someone, can be remedied by lowering your expectation, and then cautioning yourself against those who will take your pearls and cast them away instead of holding them dear.  I'm very tolerant in that matter, however, it takes many experiences with someone to take a stance of extreme caution, merely because I understand how we are all human, unable to do everything that comes our way, and in need of many chances.  

What it boils down to is vulnerability.  My favorite people are those who aren't afraid to be vulnerable.  It shows me that there is softness, pure love, and wisdom within them.  

I'm a very vulnerable person--and there are times when I share things and then feel a massive dark cloud looming over me--not as a consequence for anything done wrongfully, but as an attack.  The truth is, the powers of dark and light are at war, even more now than ever before.    If you take the risk to share the light within you, you are guaranteed one thing, some kind of battle, and then you can choose the next thing, the win.  Light always overpowers darkness, always, but we must continually choose that light, and choose to share it.  Like the scriptures say, it profits us not to hide our lights, but when we share them, others will see the good works which we do and they will glorify God....not the being who transmits the light, which is us, but the world will glorify God.  

The hard path in life is usually the right path, but it is also made easy by the blessings which come from walking it.  While we live in a world where darkness abounds, and even creeps into our own minds at times, there will be some aching and distress when we are vulnerable.    Yet, I have no regrets over standing for goodness and truth.  My regrets come when I allow other people, and their opinions of me, to drive my actions.

I haven't quite mastered the "shake it off" concept, but I probably never will.  In 35 years, I've found that the naive girl from my childhood still believes that most people are kind, loving, and don't want to see you in anguish.  I have a strong desire to hold onto that naive thinking, even though experience has taught me that some people do intentionally hurt you--some have hurt me.   My hope is that whatever may be causing the ill behavior towards me will be put to rest in their lives, because most people act unkindly out of personal unresolved pain in themselves.    

The scripture from church today that has guided my thoughts is in Romans chapter 5.  It reads:

"....we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience;

4 And patience, experience; and experience, hope:

5 And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.

6 For when we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly.

7 For scarcely for a righteous man will one die: yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die.

8 But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us."

If you've spent a good part of your time sharing your goodness, and it just seems that life gets harder, thank God.  If you endure well, you will be given patience, that patience will give you experience, the experience gives you hope, and hope will leave you without shame.  

I am not ashamed for who I am.  I am not ashamed for how I share myself with the world.  I may feel weary and heartbroken, but at the end of the day, I know that I have sought to give some of the light within me to others, instead of smothering it behind closed doors.  

And what do we hope in at days end?  Of what are we not ashamed?  

I hope in the knowledge that because I have a Savior, all the aching will one day fade, the tribulation will cease, the looming storm clouds will dissipate and allow the light to shine down on me.  Light finds light, and dwells with it. Personally, I know that when children are drawn to me, I'm doing something right.  They are pure beacons of light, and to have their gaze, their loving arms around you, and their sweet adoration, is to have a piece of heaven.  I was blessed with the gaze of many children today, my favorites were a little toddler boy that mimicked my funny faces I made at him during church lessons, and the other was the sweet over the shoulder glances a young girl singing in The Messiah continued to give me--her smile and attentiveness to the kindness I was offering her was so warm upon my own heart.  

Vulnerability is the new brave, kindness is the greatest strength, and love is the power tool that wins wars--amongst quarreling nations and quarreling hearts.  

From a tired Mommy-nurse who put 110% into the day, which should've been my night, and awaits the dawn with great anticipation, 

Goodnight, to you at least!

Cover-ups

Too often, our sweet Facebook posts stay there, and the ancient blogging is ignored.  Only, the blogging is a family keepsake for me.  I'm gonna start recalling, reposting,  and incorporating some fb memories on my blog; they happen to bring joy to many of my friends, why not let the few blog readers find joy therein too?   This one happened to be just yesterday. 

We were on our way home from church when I heard a story about a glued purple sticky note on the wall.  Maya immediately broke out in tears, to which I said, "I'm not at all mad Maya, I just want to hear the story!"   Lydia became defensive, stating that she tried to pull the glued purple (Maya's favorite color) sticky note off the wall, but it wouldn't come off.  The boys then interrupted and said that the girls decided to color the paper "brown", in an attempt to match the wall.  I chuckled and said I wanted to see this when I got home, as I had been working the night prior when it happened!  What I didn't expect was the note that was "hiding" the accident!  Lydia, in an attempt to save her sister from punishment, used her best spelling and hung a note in the wall, begging us, out of love, to not remove the note!  The boys, being boys, crossed out her sweet words.  I found the experience very humorous! 

 How precious, the "cover-up" they engaged in.  We all seem to do that, cover our sins.  In reality though, to our loving Father in Heaven, most things were small to start, and our efforts to make it right are always sufficient to Him.  I've tried to cover my mistakes, my sins, my shortcomings....and they only bring me sorrow in the end.  (I feel a family home evening coming on!!!!). Repentance....it's the grand key to happiness.  

I also had to document a sweet little series of notes I found on Lydia's wall yesterday.  She has taken to Dr.Seuss.  She reads his books like a champ.  Can you tell she was picking up on his lingo here? 

Voir dire

Went through the "voir dire" process yesterday.  Take note:  Voir dire (/ˈvwɑr ˌdiər/) is a legal phrase that refers to a variety of procedures connected with jury trials. It originally referred to an oath taken by jurors to tell the truth (Latin: verum dicere), i.e., to say what is true, what is objectively accurate or subjectively honest, or both. 

I found that in the truth which each juror was asked to publicly state, or privately if needs be, that we are all very busy and experienced individuals.  Most people believe in second chances, well I didn't hear a single person say they didn't.  About a third of the people I was amongst found their schedules to bee too full for jury service, and gave every reason why.  I empathized, but thought of how blessed we are to be taken from our busy lives and sit for a moment to think about how we, citizens of the USA, are capable of showing how our country remains free.  Freedom comes with a cost, and ours was only to sacrifice some of our time as we held the balance of mercy and justice in our hands; other sacrifices require life.  

As the judge came upon me, he found I am a nurse by night, and then he recognized that I care for "a child!"  I giggled and said, "I care for many, but would be honored to serve if needs be."  There is no greater responsibility than the rearing of children, but I stated my willingness to set aside my task to other trusted individuals so that we can maintain our freedoms.  The judge was endearing and kind--grateful for everyone who was willing.  

It reminded me of my lesson with Connor last week about the great Cinncinatus from the Roman Republic.  He was a good, humble, hard working man.  The Romans found themselves in harms way because the dictator (a man who took power in times of war and raised an army to fight for Rome)  had been tricked and led into a valley, encircled by their captors on all sides.  They would fight until they perished if Rome hadn't sought to save their army.  Cinncinatus left his field, his little family, for a time, to serve his nation when they called upon him.  He took the power of a dictator, strategically planned how to save his fellow men, and then, in a shocking move, surrounded the enemy in the fashion they had encircled the first Roman army that was now stuck in a valley.  The enemy was now the middle ring between the  Romans who acted from the center and outer ring.  Cincinnatus was hailed for his victory, asked to remain in office, but kindly declined and went straight back to his plough, because he knew 2 things to be true: 1. His treasured life was a humble one, but it was with his family, doing his job as provider and protector. 2. The power does not belong to a single man, it belongs to the people.  For those who don't know, George Washington is known as the American Cinncinatus, because he held power for the length of time necessary...never any longer.  

When your call comes, remember why you are going to serve on a jury.  Maintain our country's freedom in the ways you can by abiding by your responsibilities.  

"Total Eclipse of the...."

I use this photo solely to communicate a line I am cracking up at, from a video you may watch below for your pleasure!  I do so because pictures always make posts more enjoyable, and this was a "bright eye" day for me as I am in the process of "turning around"!  Nothing in that statement was related to abstract thought, just look at my bright eyes turning around to see what's behind me--purely concrete writing there!

With that said, never, ever, underestimate the power of good friends and the sense of humor we all have access to when our lives are in a total eclipse! (Now that was abstract!)  Yes, even the darkest part of that eclipse can include humor, laughter, and smiles.  

(I also find this important enough to document, for memories of the smiles through the storms.  I am only able to do it by tapping each letter out with a phone. I'd much rather use a computer, believe me, but writing in some way is better than none at all.)

My friend, her name is Rachel, and she is a must have friend in life.  I don't think she would even mind that I used her full name, because she's just that friendly, but we will call her Rachel for now.  She has been influential in my life for many reasons.  She was always good, always kind, and never too serious that a hard day couldn't be soothed with a funny 80's tune, a Richard Simmons work out preview (by her of course), or a good old treat (recently it was orange cream cake)!   Everyone needs a friend like Rachel.  Little does she know, I happen to have an ear for many tunes that play in the most unexpected places, at the most unexpected times, and I break out in a lip syncing performance for many, or as many who will watch, to enjoy.  I'm okay with the fact that most people look away, but if you get me one on one, you'll hear the tune from my own voice, watch the scary dance moves, and life will feel light for just a moment....or few.  

Rachel posted the few lines of a song as her status on FB yesterday, "turn around bright eyes"!  I immediately knew what it was about, the "total eclipse"!  You have to be educated in "important" matters, like 80's music, to understand Rachel's awesome sense of humor...the song is called "total eclipse of the heart"!  While the blood moon was indeed a total eclipse this evening, it was not of the heart.  Well, for some it may have been.  I find it ironic what I experienced today before "happenstancing" upon the eclipse this evening.  Life is full of challenges, and my one VERY serious comment in this post will be here: do not for an instant believe that lives are happy and fine because there are smiles, good fb posts, and no word of trouble.  People everywhere are hurting for many reasons, myself included.  Let's be receptive and help each other through these "dark" phases so we can make it through to see the light hinting a glimmer of hope again. Not only did Rachel perfect my funny incident this evening by a simple fb post, she complimented me on a very hard day.  She knew nothing of my trial, but she spoke a word of kindness, and it made all the difference.   So, as I browsed posts about the eclipse I found nothing similar to my experience tonight.  I thought I would combine my two scary stories here!

I found myself alone on the reservation tonight before coming to work.  As I stopped my car along the side of the road at the back of a dark and desolate gas station, to take pictures of the eclipse of course, I found that I was rather quickly, not alone.  A car came speeding around the opposite side of the lot towards me.  It was small, dark, and held an older petite framed Native American  woman.  She was insisting that she deliver a message to me immediately, as was evidenced by her rapid and fearful tone of speech.  She looked opposite from where I did, as I stared at the blood red moon, and she shielded her eyes in fear, "shouspering" (the mix between a shout and a whisper),  in pressured fear, "You're not supposed to look.  You're not supposed to look!"  

I smiled, was my kind naive self, and said, "Oh I didn't know that!"

She continued, "No, you are not supposed to look, it's not good, it's a rebir---" She then paused suddenly and shielded her face more as the word "rebirth" stopped, mid vocalization.    

I asked in innocence, "What does it mean if I look?"

She looked at me as though I had gone too far, then sealed our conversation with, "I can't speak about it.  We Natives cannot speak about it. Don't look," and she drove speedily away. 

I was in the pitch dark lot, taking pictures of a blood red moon when I was summoned to fear by a story I don't know about--ummm, I actually got scared!!!!

Note: I respect and admire all cultures and belief systems, and I am only uneducated as to what she was referring to.  I happen to respect her beliefs and say nothing of what should or shouldn't be done in this situation.  

For me, I looked.  I thought, "hmmm, I wonder if I should just turn around..."  But, I continued taking pictures and admiring what I see as God's almighty beauty.  

When I logged on fb and saw Rachel's post, "Turn around bright eyes," I giggled.  This bright eyed girl, me of course, did not turn around.  

The post took me back into the lyrics, and my mind swayed with the ballad. The guys voice is singing the turn around phrases while Bonnie Tyler sings her pleas of "every now and thens".   And it goes....."Turn around. Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you never come around.  Turn around. Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears.  (Higher now) Turn around.  Every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by. (Me too girl!)  Turn around. Every now and then I get a little bit terrified and then I see the look in your eyes.  Turn around bright eyes!!!!  Every now and then I fall apart. Turn around bright eyes!!!  Every now and then I fall apart...."  It gets better, I promise.  

To listen and watch this comically scary video that is sure to make you laugh, just click below.  I'm certain you need the humor as much as I do.  Oh dear 80's, how you tried to get it right!  You could have used a different sense of "bright eyes", like mine maybe?  And those scenes, whoa, whose idea was that?

http://youtu.be/lcOxhH8N3Bo

In memory of this blood red moon, this total eclipse, I leave you a pitiful phone pic of mine documenting this event....

And I say to all those hearts that are eclipsing, or coming out of the eclipse, sweet dreams.  May tomorrow's light shine through.  

I will stay up, tending to my duties as a nurse.  

But you, sleep.... 😉

Home

I had a dream last night...
Well, my son would stop me and tell me, "Mom, you had two dreams last night remember?"
He would be, and is usually always, right!  My dream about him was in regards to a book we just got for the kindle that he needs to have read and done a book report on by Next Wednesday.  We spent three weeks brainstorming what person he would write a book report on for the American Revolution.  Yes, three weeks of procrastination  brainstorming....just to come up with....Paul Revere!  Connor was notably stressed about the book report on Wednesday, so I pulled out my phone and told myself that the first name which comes to my mind is the person it will be....and then I searched for a book about Paul Revere!  I found a book that is, I believe, 105 pages.  I looked at him, gave him knuckles, did my sly eyed, "we're good" look, and I told him, "anything you and I have to tackle, we will tackle it together and make sure it gets done!"  In my dream last night, I walked into his room and saw him reading the book.  I smiled and asked him what page he was on.  He grinned his grin of "awesomeness" and told me that he was on page 104.  It was at this point in the dream that I realized the book was 105 pages, or I think it is, because I said, "Wow, the book is only 105 pages...you read 104 of 105 pages in a day!!!"

Tonight, my son told me that he just may make my dream come true...

The other son came into my room on 4 separate occasions to give me pictures of a "mad scientist", "mad man mustard", "disco dancing alien", and all the creations of his 10 year old mind which I am gladly placing in a book to haunt him with one day!

My first dream last night did not have the humor I just made you giggle with....it was on the more serious side, the side I have been on lately.

I was in my sisters home.  I had just waken from a night of very well rested sleep, walked down through her narrow staircase.  The house was empty, all except for us two, as it had felt on the last day of my stay in her home.  I sat at her dinning room table across from her, had a prepared cup of hot tea that I sipped from, and I just sat...happy as ever...in her presence.  I felt the peace I had been longing for all week long in this dream.  It almost felt like the Lord gave me a break from the days of sadness and grief I had been feeling here, along with the nights of dreaded fearful dreams.  She looked back at me, and in such a surreal sense, it felt like heaven was meeting earth.  We didn't say a word, but just through looking into her eyes, I felt like she understood all I had been feeling lately; I felt that I had been understood in the pain that has been my companion for the course of this week.  I didn't have to vocalize a single sorrow and allow another tear to fall down my face, because the necessity of feeling understood in my darkest hours was there, though I still can't say I feel anyone comes close to understanding me in my honest, tangible, wakeful life.  The feeling which immediately followed was "you're okay, and there is no reason to feel pain, misperception, and heartache".  I sat in my pajamas, my cotton robe warming my body, the tea warming my little nose as the steam drifted up from the cup that hoovered in front of my face, and the presence of my twin sister warming, understanding, and loving my soul.  The wooden floors, sunlight dining room, and tranquility made me feel like I was home.

I recently took a trip to her home in PA; it was the first time in my life that I have had the ability and courage to do something this monumental for myself.  (Yes, when you are a young mother to four children who depend on you for their very existence, this is a very courageous move.  When you have never thought to do something for yourself in the years you have been a mother--12--this is a move that looks more like a leap than a step.)

Her home brings memories to me of my Great Grandma Maymie.  There is just something there that is almost tranquilizing.  I slept better there, I relaxed better...or in all honesty, I actually did relax!  I found myself laughing and smiling my days away, and even falling asleep randomly--in part because I was sick with a respiratory bug, and in part because it was just too easy to take care of myself.

I tried to take pictures to document every step pf my journey, and I will gladly post the funny, sad, and in between.  For now, I post the ones that give me glimpses into her home--the one I woke longing for when my eyes opened this morning.

The walls all have the beautiful chair molding around the bottom third of the walls, creating an old Victorian style we have all but forgotten in out advancements with the new age sophistication.  She decorates in a very simple fashion.  Her curtains are hand made by her, a professionally taught curtain maker (if that's what they are called). They are a white background with a black damask print.  Actually, if you pull elements of my home into hers, you can see we are indeed twins.  I have cream colored canvas totes with a dark grey damask upon them.  They are a perfect match for her style.  

The bathrooms are old and quaint with their small mint colored tiles, the color everyone craves these days.  The stand alone sink and medicine cabinets are reminders of a smaller, simpler life.

You can see the damask curtains here...and the quilt I had helped her create years ago.  I love the colors she chose for her quilt.  The one I did was blues with blacks and browns and it was given as a gift--I always thought hers was better!

Here, you can see the light...the beautiful natural light that creates natural warmth and peace.

Here is a glimpse of the far wall of the dining room I entered upon walking downstairs in my dream.  The quilt on the piano  bench was one I made Sara a decade ago--for our 25th Birthday.

And this is the wall that would stand off to my right upon entering the room.  This was a special experience for me in my stay at Sara's home.

Can you see why this was the perfect place for me to sit in her home?  The peace, the hope, and the light--which allows all truth to be seen clearly--is reflected here.  I spent a week there over the course of our Birthday, and last night I was ever so lucky to be there once more.  

Heaven

I went to bed last night far before anyone else did in my home.  It's the easiest way to make time pass.  I woke this morning and found myself trying to recall things from the very recent past, within the last 3 years, that I couldn't recall.  I had a conversation with Connor that went much like this:

Me: I use to drive this route to school for you and Aiden almost every day. (as we were in the car on the way to school)

Connor: (nods head--much like a teenager does!)

Me: Wait....I did use to drive you to this school right? (He has attended 7 different schools now, not including home school)

Connor: (nods head)

Me: No, you use to ride the bus.  Connor, when we moved into this house, didn't you ride the bus?

Connor: (nods head...absent mindedly???)

Me: Oh Connor, I can't remember if I drove you or if you rode the bus, but I'm pretty sure this route looks familiar...but I also remember you riding the bus.  I don't know....

In the end, I believe we did both...if my memory serves me right.  I believe I drove them to school their first year there, and I think they rode the bus their second year there.  Good thing they only went there 2 years, because a third year would make me insane if I tried to recall it all!

I pulled out a scrapbook that only has three pages done in it so far after I got home from taking Connor to school.  Looks like I have been having memory problems longer than I realize.  (I guess memory problems become something we can't place a date and time on, because we can't remember!) First of all, there are only 3 pages done because every time I tried to start scrap-booking, I stopped.  Nothing was good enough for me.  I wanted the book to be perfect, because my son, who I only had for 4 months, was perfect.  I didn't want a single flaw to adorn these pages...and in not wanting it to be flawed, I ended up never really finishing it.  I hope to someday.  Upon inspection, I saw that there was one major flaw....Shane wasn't born on the 4th of December.  Well, after I looked at it today, I thought, "Wait, was he born on the 4th?" and I almost texted somebody to find out.  I'm going to stick with my instinct on this one because I don't want to sound like an idiot to anyone, and I'm going to say he was DUE on the 4th, but he was born on the 2nd of December.  This sound right...to anyone who still believes in reading blogs...and who would know?

Heaven help me, my memory is going.....

It is all too fitting though, that I even pulled this book out.  I hadn't forgotten about these three pages, but I was thinking of putting my letters from my children into a book, and I pulled this one down, knowing it only had a few pages started anyhow.  When I opened it. I couldn't find it in me to use this particular book for anything but Shane.  It reminded me of what came to me as I slept the 13.5 hours I did last night.  Ridiculous huh?  I'm really not liking life lately.

I held a little baby boy in this dream.  Actually, I was left in a place where I didn't feel that I would have  a place to reside.  I didn't have much, nor need much.  I had a little baby boy, and he was so new.  I needed a place for me and him to stay.  A father figure and his family said they had space in their home for me.  I felt bad, but I also felt that it was the right thing to do.  I have always taken care of myself, and now I was in a position to rely on this man and his family to care for me, as I cared for...and did the critical task of raising my little boy.  I recall the father in this family being very stout in figure, very protective you could say.  The mother was nurturing, as the first thing she did when we entered their home was go to a room upstairs to prepare a comfortable place for me and my son.  I was in a beautiful room; there was a twin size bed against a wall in the room that looks much like I would have a room look like for a guest, cozily decorated with a colorful hand stitched quilt.  At the foot of the bed, there was a place for my little son to lay and sleep, as I slept with him...just above him.  I remember holding him, feeding him, and placing him down in the cradle at my feet to sleep. He looked exactly like the image I have of Shane above.

Interestingly enough, when I enter my final rest for the space of time upon this earth, I will lay in a place within the cemetery where Shane already lays...and he will be at my feet.  That bed waits for me.  I'd be lying if I didn't say it didn't sound appealing at this phase in life.

As I always do, I woke this morning and left that dream to the stirrings of my mind.  All I could say when I rose was that it felt as though I was in Heaven last night...holding him, feeding him, and knowing he was with me still...waiting for me.

Mum

Dear Self--

Of my said incident which took place in the wee hours of Monday morning, literally taking all of the very little energy I was reserving to start the week, and swallowing it whole....it is time to move on.  How many times do I have to tell you that?  In every circumstance or position you may be in, you have to move on when unintending  sources attack.

Yes, when your good intentions are seen as flaws, you should move on.
When your flaws are seen as mountains, and proclaimed on the mountain tops (or behind closed doors where you can hear the whispers), you must move on.
When you are sick...again...and all you can do is grind your teeth and get through another fever, another ache, and another day, you have to move on.
When you think not for what someone else does with their lives because you are so consumed with trying to fix all the crap holes you created in your own life, but your crap holes look more interesting to talk about to the world than theirs...yes, I guess it's still time to move on.

But what about the times when you can hardly look a person in the eye for fear they are going to ask you that question no one really wants to know the answer to anyhow?  You know, the three worded reflex we have when people come around--"How are you?"  Be honest, you start to cringe because if the honest you was answering that question, you would be stuck in a three hour therapy session about how well you are NOT!

And what about the moment you wake, and it's been the 4th day in a row now that you wake and can hardly keep the tears from drenching your face because....here we go again.  The trials are still there, working away in the very front of your mind trying to make you believe you are the real problem in your life, and if you went away, it would all be okay.

What if you walk around the house doing the basics to survive...another lunch made, another dish washed, and another load of laundry sits waiting to be folded on the living room chair...and all you can think about is, SLEEP...one more hour, maybe even a full day, of sleep.  You count down the hours as though your home life is the most awful dreaded job you have been forcefully working for years.  This isn't my job though--this is my calling, the thing that once brought me an incredible amount of joy.  Yet, when sleep comes, the pain is gone, and so you count to those hours by the second at times.  Then you find yourself in that illusive state of being and of course, the nightmares invade that beloved dimension, and you wake every few hours wondering how to escape each hell you are oscillating between--life and the pseudo death we call sleep. Your nightmares most likely mimic things you have suffered through, or things that haunt you in "what if" scenarios every day.... and I guess mine do too--often, I am too late to save my child who has just fallen onto the tracks of a moving train and I am left screaming in agony, falling to my knees after I have sprinted to the very place she fell at.  Sometimes, I am alone, to travel on foot with the five children that I have born, alone, without food, money, or a place to lay our heads in the dreary hot desert--feeling hopeless.

And then, what if this nightmare of a life continued for months at a time. (Thankfully it doesn't.) What if you suddenly stop recognizing the beautiful confident person you stood in front of the mirror and groomed because she now looks like a train wreck from nights of tears...swelling eyes shut...to nights of wakefulness, creating lonely voids where the eyes of happiness and hope once resided.

Is is easy then to say....you must move on?  It's not easy, but indeed necessary.  

I walked through my home after becoming very ill on Saturday morning.  I had been working so hard in the last several weeks, filling shift after shift for the nurses who were on their nice long vacations--and trying to take care of myself, but that only goes so far when you are left to maintain school routines, meals, transportation, and so on.  My only night off between shift stretches was Friday, and fate would have me come down with a respiratory illness that has become common to my existence--unpleasant, but common.  On Saturday morning, I woke aspirating.  I had come close to aspirating many times after my long stretches without sleep, but I had always avoided that dreadful feeling of completely topping off your bronchi with fluid.  This time, I did it...the exhaustion was too much, the sickness was there already, and it happened....my entire airway filled with fluid that had crept up my esophagus, and the natural healthy reflexes we usually have to protect our airways came a little too late.  I found myself running to my bathroom to hack out my lungs, literally.  In the process, I gathered my nursing assessment bag and listened to my lungs and breath sounds...they were tight and there was awful raspy fluid that filled every exhale....the type I hear on some of my worst pneumonia or cystic fibrosis patients.  I knew I had done some damage, but I continued to cough until I was left with little energy, took cold medications, and retired to bed again.  I spent the entire day in bed.  I had made several attempts to get up, but my body felt like it was shutting down.  I slept through the entire day, woke feeling so delirious and confused, angry and frustrated all at once.  I didn't realize it until I got a shower before heading to work that I was in a full blown respiratory illness, aching body, chills to indicate a rising fever, and a lethargic feeling i haven't felt in years.  I laid in bed for a few final moments before going to work, and after walking to and fro where my children and husband were happy, laughing, and enjoying life, I literally felt that for the first time in my life I could disappear, and it wouldn't make a difference.  Honestly, I felt that if I were gone, everyone would be happier because they wouldn't have to deal with my draining presence,   I thought of how I could just leave...relieve them of the burden I feel I create at times through my trials.  This is called "life" and it's molding process, and this phase has been full of intense heat.  Don't worry, it comes to all of us who live a good number of years.  

But then...I had an image of how the happy family in the living room wouldn't be quite so happy anymore...because somewhere, even in the places nobody can see, I hold this little family together.  Even when I feel I am the explosion about to ruin it's existence, there always seems to be something that says "mom".

It's in these moments that I recall that after long months of suffering, I will have these smiles with the kids again....it is me who plans the dates and tells them of how amazing they are, even when I believe I am nothing but a failure.

Someday, very soon, I will gain the irresistible urge to sing to this little dude and make him grin like he is the center of my universe...because he is.

Someday, these girls will grab hold to me and try to look like me in every way, just to say that they too will be exactly like me one day...even though I desire them to be so much more.

But they still want to be me, in every sense possible.

And it is only this "Mum" who will be able to truly kneel at her sons grave and cry tears of grief that truly reflect a Mom's genuine loss...and as long as the Lord would have me do it, I am honored to do so.

Days like today are a dime a dozen, they come far too often and in ways I cannot even describe. Yet, days like those pictures above are worth waiting for...they are my pearls that will one day be strung into a necklace fit for a queen.  I just need to get to that day when it will be given to me.

Godspeed to all Mums wading through the pain.

To all sufferers of heartache and pain.

Therefore, to all.

Bullying at every age

There are days in life where I feel like no matter what happens, I can't be deterred from the path I'm on--the one that's full of doing all the good things I need to in order to raise a family up to God, the one that is very hard, but still full of far too much joy to allow anyone's criticisms to create a detour that distracts.  Truly, all that  critique from unknowing people do to us is distract; I call them "unknowing" because it's a kinder way to say ignorant--and ignorant sounds far too harsh for me.  I wish that phrase was easier to say, but when the critics are people who's critique you may respect, it hurts beyond the superficial layer of resilience.  It doesn't have to be that they have any large realm of influence over you, but the love you naturally have for them is such that you would never assume they had feelings towards you that were of any nature but good; after-all, your feelings for them have been kind and given them the benefit of the doubt.  We all deserve the benefit of the doubt.

I'll start by merely making mention of why this hurts even more than it could.  I will not give any name or hint to the nature of my relationship with anyone involved in this story, except to say that each person is someone I know or would love to know on a deeper level than I already do.  Each person holds a place of reverence in my heart, not only because of their natural relationship to me, but because when I choose to think about how I have made acquaintance with them, I have never chosen anything but seeing them for their good qualities.  I'd be stupid, by now, if I believed that same respect could be paid towards me, but it's that stupid naive nature I have that caused so much pain to be stirred in the wee hours of the morning, as I cared for my patient at work.

I have had few physical contacts with this person before, but every one I did, I enjoyed them.  There was always a desire within me to be noticeable to this person, and as hard as I tried, I think I was just made to look a fool.  Childlike adoration can do that to us, make us look like admiring fools.  I never sought myself to be a comparison to her, however, because within myself, I felt I was still worthy enough to be beautiful in my own regards.  The many adults who surrounded us at this time in my life, well, they seemed to favor this beautiful blossoming princess that I made no comparison to; still, I didn't really care...I honestly thought my time would come when I would be admired someday too.  In thus doing, I created a happiness for myself that wasn't there by another persons opinion of who I was, it was only there by my knowledge of who I believed I could be,  I wish I was still so young and innocently believing in that little girls potential.

Time passed, envy for this woman grew amongst others.  I saw it, heard it, and I even participated in some of the conversations at one time, but it never felt right--and so, I chose to not be a part of the green eyed monsters goal.  Jealousy tries relentlessly to capture us in a fit of "it's not fair", "I wish I had", and "but you don't" statements that only do one thing--destroy.  As quickly as I caught myself falling into that awful degrading behavior, I stopped.  What had this person ever done to me to be so deserving of such judgement and rebuke from my lips?  Nothing.

At work last night, I received a message from this person.  To my surprise there were statements of disappointment in something I had failed to do while I visited an area recently--it was something we all probably do to someone at one time or another, we fail to make contact, we fail to write that short note that could dispel people's worries that our failure to send that note was not about them in the end, but it was only about the situation and inability for connection on such shot notice.  Life is full of commitments, time restraints, energy drainers, and unpredictable happenings which keep all of us from our desired outcomes.  It is actually a normal part of existence, if you think about it.  We all have expectations of what life should look like, and then we have the reality of what life really does look like,  The gap between expectation and reality is called disappointment.  We are able to influence how big that gap is for us in our personal conduct and our personal goals that do not require another person for fulfillment, but we can never force or expect someone else to live up to the standards that prevent disappointment unless we are allowing our personal happiness to be swayed by another individual in the end.  Of course, there are times when it is necessary to hold others in your life to a standard of conduct.  Our spouses, children, employees--all of these people should know what their expectations for our healthy relationships should be.  When they don't reach those levels of conduct we desire, we can choose to be disappointed, or we can assess whether we have been too critical in our expectation of their action.  Even if we find that we haven't been too demanding, we can still choose to be disappointed to the point of it effecting us and causing resentment or we can choose to simply allow the consequences of unfulfilled expectations to be enacted; a decrease in trust, less happiness in the relationship, and a longer road to a trusting and fulfilling relationship for both people.

To continue, this message had a purpose, but I believe the purpose was dug too deep by the distracting feelings which caused the damage that created a very hard day for me.  The purpose was to let me know that my lack of action in sending a courtesy note to advise this woman that I wasn't going to see her in the course of my short trip was hurtful.  I can understand that.  That could've been communicated very kindly in a number of ways, and I am not ridiculous enough to assume that even a less than polite manner of addressing that topic would warrant hurt on my part.  Instead of stopping there, the message continued....

This is where the dagger of feeling misunderstood and misperceived dug into my heart, bypassing those superficial layers of my skin that can easily be healed.  It always hurts to know people think we are doing things wrong, but it kills me to know that people believe my character is flawed...while all along I have innocently believed the best of these people when others have torn them down.  To me, it is always right to assume the best of people until there is evidence that they truly have no good to give--until there is evidence, I believe people are just that, good.  Here is where the naive Crystal gets in the way--people don't believe the same things about me.

I was told that, from what she sees in me, I appear to have a desire for empathizing, nonjudgmental relationships, but I am only willing to reciprocate those relationships with my immediate family or members of my church.  I was left in shock as I read her words because I have such a deep love for many, a great tolerance for all faiths, and all I did that communicated "failure" was forget to send a note to say I wouldn't be able to see her...I never even gave her or anyone else the hope that I would be seeing them on this very short trip.

I can easily say that this is exactly what I described above--a persons choice to be disappointed in what she thought my actions should be.  She had every right to tell me how she felt, it is not her sorrow in not seeing me or not getting a note from me that hurts.  We all navigate, at times, with forgetful patterns and mindless mistakes.  I am okay with a criticism that tells me I am of the sort, and if it ended there, I would have very kindly apologized for being absent minded.   The greatest way we can hurt someone is by picking apart their character and judging them from afar, it is exactly what we are striving to teach our children not to do, it is bullying.   When we take to appease our sense of pain by tearing down another person's character, we have hurt a part of them that is very hard to repair, we have hurt their heart.

Today was hard.  I cried many tears and wished I could run away to a far corner of the world to be alone.  I still desire to do that.  Instead, however, I made lunches, brushed hair, chauffeured children, and in the quiet moments when I was alone, I cried.

Let's be less critical of people's character.  Let us resolve our differences, but in no way by belittling people with reflections of the type of people they appear to be in our narrow minded vision.  Let us all try to give each other the benefit of the doubt and take less offense to people's innocent actions, or inaction.  Hold back the character bashing and leave it to never be said or written--you never know when the person you are criticizing is moments away from feeling like their existence can end today...and it wouldn't make a difference.

Bullying is real.
Suicide is real.
At all ages, and in all forms--they are real.

Love is real, as well.
Choose love.

My Son, My Heart

A glimpse into the beauty I call my son....

He was ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood on July 5, 2015...his birthday.  I am honored he is mine.  I will write more and give more insight to this beautiful child of mine when time permits.  For now, I need to rest my tired body. Goodness, I love this child...he gives me hope!

The miracle of grief...

Update:  Healing physically has been horrendous.  The fluid and inflammation got worse day by day, and I woke daily feeling like I wasn't myself.  My face felt like it was someone elses, my hands and feet were not mine--kinda, and my body was so sluggish and delayed in thought and movement that I felt there were permanent deficits.  I feared sleep, because I wanted to know I would wake up...i feared the shift in potassium that would hit my heart next.  I felt alone, which is a normal feeling to have in such trauma.  Being alone helps us understand that we aren't in the end, because the Savior descended to our lowest of lows and is there to hear our silent cries.  I became afraid of the landmark date, that one week into the experience...my Satuday night shift.  PTSD hit me hard and I began to feel angry and fearful, desirous to avoid everything that would bring me back into a position of staying up all night and wearing myself thin.  But guess what?  I did it!!!  I wish I could say I got a good doctor in line this week, but that still hasn't happened.  I have done a ton of research though...and I know one thing is certain--this very real and serious condition has been a side effect of a life full of stress and strain.  I will not succumb to believing that I could have controlled it, however.  I believe that because I walked through it a week ago, God knew very well that I would have to experience it.  I believe that a priesthood blessing I received in January gave me foresight--and looking back, God had warned me very clearly that "even harder times" were coming ahead, experiences that I wouldn't be certain I would get through were around the corner.    He also told me of how He viewed me, however, in that same blessing--and that alone gives me the hope and courage to know that He has designed me to do one thing alone as I walk though this world...and if I do that, I will gain my reward; He desires that in all the grief and trauma, I allow myself to turn to Him...even if it means submitting to a plan that appears confusing and unfair, yet He doesn't ask us to be blind and naive--we are meant to study things out and come to a knowledge of His will.  This is what He desires each of us to do...and it's for the benefit of all mankind that He asks it, however.  If we can show our faith in God by submitting to His will, however unfair it seems, then we may be able to influence others to whom they should turn to in their distress and grief.

Grief is a feeling that is not only associated with death--I know this fully because of experience.  We all have to suffer grief in one degree or another, and chances are, we all must face a critical moment when we decide where our peace will be.  I've never found peace in TV, nor does anything that temporarily gives happiness bring peace enough to overcome death, loss, disappointment, and heartache.  Shopping is fun, food is delightful, and healthy distraction is good most of the time, but true and lasting peace can only come through the restoration and hope of all things which have been taken from us.

I have no doubt that no matter how hard our lives seem, or how easy someone else's life may be in their perspective (because I have heard of people humbly admitting to having been richly blessed in their earthly sojourn), we all must face at least one thing--and maybe more--to test us to our core.  I am also just as convinced that it happens for several reasons--maybe we need to find that unmovable support over and over until we trust that we are going to be cared for, maybe we need to find it once and then we are good...we can live the rest of our lives in a quiet reverence, knowing that through the road is hard but we will be okay, perhaps our minds won't let go of the impossible in order to see that even though earthly experiences deny the possibility of happiness, we can still be happy (stuff does not equate to happiness--attitude and character bring it so much faster than possession), and then maybe we are placed in trial and circumstance in order to show others what our determined course of hope is--because it doesn't waiver.

When Shane died, I had one thought come to me first, "The Lord giveth, and The Lord taketh, blessed be the name of the Lord"...and it was soon followed by my pleadings to God to give me peace, and give me a witness of my son's continued life.  My pure and lasting hope has been in listening to the many truths conveyed to me in my studies, in my thoughts, and in my dreams.  There is a connection that a mother shares with her children that I cannot deny.  I feel that my children are who I was born to ultimately hand over my life for.  It was a shock to have one of them taken so young in life--I was only 26 years old.  However, I found myself ever so determined to continue fighting for the remaining children of mine, and they sure do know that I love and live for them day by day.  The Lord is merciful enough to hear us in our deep anguish and give us knowledge, but I know as well that we must be quiet and still in order to receive it.  It was on my knees and in the still dark quiet night that I received insight.  It was in the funeral home when I listened to the directors words, while I pleaded to God to give me witnesses of my son, that I found God reaching out and showing me His Hand.  As I took time to take care of myself after my baby died, God gave me the clarity to have a mind still enough to see him and hear him in my dreams.  Taking care of myself was simple--it was allowing myself to lay in bed, or on the couch, and sleep through the grief.  It was then that I learned by experience that it is when we are the stillest that God can reach us the easiest.

I've been able to be still a few times since last Sunday--I'll admit that it is much harder to do when you are 34 verses 26...when you have 5 kids verses 3.  In the stillness, I have had dreams and thoughts come to my mind from the last several years.  Though I thought I understood them in part back then, I can say that I am beginning to understand them with more clarity now.  I have had promptings and desires come to me that have been hanging upon me for a few years now, but  I haven't been well enough to follow through with them because of circumstance and health.  I am now at a cross roads where I feel that the Lord will give me space to do them, I just need to do them...regardless of what time holds in it's fateful hand.  I am not saying in any way that I believe the promptings come because of impending death, because I have no idea why they come...but I do know that I must put my trust in the Lord to see anything out to it's end.  I will strive to do what I feel the need to do, and hopefully He will give me the peace of mind to know that listening to His will was all I needed to do--hopefully.

Being still also leaves room for us to grieve.  Grief is natural, is is not always pretty, but it is necessary.  The faster we let go of our desires, the faster we can cling to the Lord and His desires for us.  When I push my agenda too hard, I end up unhappy in the end, but when I give my will over to God, I always end up happy....always.  If I could wish one thing for everyone, it would be this; I would wish you the ability to see past the ache and fear, and I would wish you the courage to let go of trying to control any situation in the manner you believe it should go, but the faith to put all your good hard work into it while trusting God to work your life as a masterpiece for Him.

Grieve indeed, but trust that God is working a miracle in that grief, so much deeper than you can currently comprehend,