I can't do this again...

 Groping around in the pitch darkness, I couldn't find the doorway and wall that I just knew were inches from my face.  I stopped my forward motion, determined to save myself from a painful collision in the early morning moments.  As my hands moved around tentatively, searching for what seemed like empty air, I decided to finally pivot slightly 45 degrees and bam!  There was the doorframe scarce inches from my face.

It had been there the whole time.

I just hadn't seen it because I had gotten turned around in the darkness.

Disoriented.

I sure hope that is what is happening to me right now because, boy, I feel lost in the darkness with potential pain all around.

And I am stopped, paralyzed, fearing the pain.  Groping around in the darkness ahead.

******

Twenty five years ago, I was blessed to give birth to a beautiful baby girl.  Transformative. Magical.

Fast forward twenty five years and here I am with thirteen such magical, treasured experiences as each of my darlings came into this world through me.  Though years of horrid, reportable parenting exist, coupled with those are the good times: the cherished smiles and laughter; the memories; the discussions; the struggles; the growth--so much experiential abundance.

And then it started happening seven years ago...

No.  Actually, it began twenty years ago, twenty years ago last April.

They started leaving.

Isaak's tragic death was painful beyond my previous comprehension, with a soul-blasting pain that dominated my emotional health for nineteen years.  Unable to even process the magnitude of the brutal way he left existence, I was unable to simply grieve and say goodbye to my little boy. 

And then this year enter Leah, my amazing child loss/trauma therapist, who unlocked that place in my soul that lived in terror and self-shame and let me grieve that loss.

Previous to this as my children have "flown the coop," to use that normalized expression, I somehow locked that pain of their departure in that same, blinded place I kept my grief over Isaak's loss and pretty much pushed it aside.  I missed them, wrote to them, celebrated the times when I could rejoice with them and cry with them.  I was still a part of their lives. But their absence?  That was a knot that was too painful to be untied.  When people asked, "Aren't you sad that they are gone?" I would rote reply, "Yes, I miss them.  But I know that they would be unhappy staying with me and am grateful that they are owning their life and doing something with it."

As I have learned how to grieve--or let myself grieve--this year, I was surprised and overwhelmed with the backlash of emotion that came with the deep realization that Drew was gone, as he serves his church mission in Canada.  And I was sad.

And then Lily left. And I was sad.  

At first, it was overwhelming. But with help from my dear Leah, I learned to cry and cope.  Cry and cope.  And cry and cope some more, feeling the rich beauty that does coexist with the loss.

***********

So now I have had five of my darlings leave and rarely (if ever) coming home.  Oh, my heart feels so big and so achy all at the same time, in a drippy kind of way.

(In all this, I am painfully aware of countless scores of people who yearn to have one child, much less thirteen.  I know nothing I can say or do can make that right and my heart aches for them.  I am grateful.  However, sadness and pain still need to be acknowledged to be processed in a healthy way, so here goes...)

My kiddos move away.  They are untouchable. Unhugable.  I am so grateful for modern technology so that we may keep in touch with conversation and video.  But part of my momma heart yearns to hold them and wish that things were as they were.  Everyone together. Memories made. Bread broken. Tears shed. Burdens shared. Work shouldered.

************

And now it's Hyrum's turn.

Going forward into this upcoming separation, with eyes wide open, I feel like I did this morning--anticipating that painful encounter and desperately trying to avoid it.  I am so sad. SOOOOOOO  sad. Happy that he has a plan.  Happier than if he were emotionally stuck in my basement, creating chaos and confusion as he sorts out his inner self...because then I know he would be miserable just as poor Drew was for a while. It is simply so hard to accept that it could be better for my children to be away from me than close to me!

I find myself being angry, separating myself from him emotionally already. Sabotaging the time we have together with my unsettled angst about this upcoming "bonk on the head," as it were.  Piper is also joining him soon, eager to follow her life's path as she deliberately and competently moves toward her future goals at what feels like break-neck speed.

Do they all have to leave like this?  All thirteen?

****************

You know, going back those twenty-five years to that first moment of motherhood, I realize that there was also pain.  Immense pain.  Back labor, misfired epidural, exhaustion.  Somehow the beauty, joy and relief at the end made all the pain worth it.

Maybe that's why, in part, the next life is supposed to be so awesome.  What a reunion that will be!

But also, perhaps, that is part of the reality of life: that with each moment of growth, transition--re-birth as it were--pain and beauty, joy and sorrow are meant to co-exist.

Can that be true?  Can I find beauty in this upcoming loss?

Maybe it's also like labor...you have to focus on getting through the pain by taking deep breaths and shifting your perspective.  The pain does not go away, but is somehow more manageable.

And I guess the only sanity-giving option is to hold onto the belief that like with bringing that new little one into this world, the end result will be worth it? But please forgive me if I scream a little and cry a lot through the current pain.

Man-bashing, a modern addiction

 I love how this article addresses the hunger many of us feel to be able to communicate with God, to feel His love, attention and presence. I also love how the author points out that He reaches out to us in the everyday labor, worries and tragedies of our lives and that we need not travel far to find Him: 

https://www.womeninthescriptures.com/2020/04/god-comes-to-women.html

What I am uncomfortable with is the voice of negativity with which she addresses my brothers, the men of humanity. She alludes to the men of the scriptures "having the time to go up to the mountains." The times I have read of them actually "going up" are few, and normally in times of great duress--like you're trying to lead a nation of unhappy people and this is your first rodeo, as it were. Many times the men are actually taken up in dreams to get greater scope,...and I believe sleeping is something that all of us do at one point or another.  There are countless spiritual men and women both who led lives unrecorded in the scriptures.  I am sure they experienced many of those transformational experiences they craved, and all while they were hard at work doing their best.  Let's just acknowledge that for some reason, it is mainly through the lens of men that we have received our scriptures and move on. If I see myself as a child of God, it makes it easier to relate to any experience shared by a fellow child of God.

I could address the other issues of man-bashing in this article that were unnecessarily joined to the beautiful message of hope the author expressed; however, I will just put it to you: When you read this article, how did you feel that our brothers were portrayed? Did you come away with any sense of "those darn men....always making the women do the dirty work while their out having their spiritual experiences"?

I wasn't looking for it, and I sure did.

It just breaks my heart that as we look back through history we:
#1-take obvious instances of abuse or discrimination and then assume that pretty much everyone was guilty of it...all the men were taking advantage of those hard-working women to have a good time;
#2-use these examples in history to feel justified in showing bigotry and discrimination against "groups" we have identified in the past as being universal "perpetrators": men, whites, wealthy, politicians, etc.

YES. Let's address those issues, be informed about them, and swear that they will never happen on our watch. Wouldn't it be beautiful if we could all look about us and just see others through the lens of fellow traveler on this world or child of God?  I, for one, am grateful for the distinct and different roles that have evolved in my relationship with my husband.  Maybe many of women of the scriptures were grateful, too, that their husbands were out leading armies and churches?  There are some like Deborah who led out...and God certainly didn't stop her.

Please, let's stop attacking all the good men, whites, wealthy, politicians, etc. that did and do exist, lest we be guilty of the very sin of prejudice that we despise.

No one deserves that.

The Foolishness of God: Pinball and Running

 Last night, we had missionaries from our church over for dinner.  They shared a message with us about wisdom. 

"What is wisdom?" they asked.  

We came up with this answer: experience combined with God's perspective on how to apply knowledge.

Pinball!

Thinking some more about wisdom and knowledge this morning, I find that wisdom is like a pinball game.  

You gain knowledge--whether from schooling or experience-- and it's pinging around and around in your head, like a ball in your inner pinball game.  It isn't until God directs it with those levers at the bottom that you score and go anywhere with your knowledge.  

But you have to invite Him to play with you.

Perhaps this analogy resonated with me because that is how it gets for me in challenging situations--ideas, thoughts, scenarios, problems--just ping around in my head, not going anywhere.  Like wearing paths down in the woods, I create mental tracks that become ruts and I just get stuck.

Mental Health

I have found this particularly true with my mental health challenges that I have been confronting this last year.  They are truly the fruits of a lifetime of mental health challenges but they have come to a head.  I have seen time and again points where I will get to a standstill mentally and emotionally and just can't get those pinging balls to connect with a solution to ease the tension.  I currently have a terrific therapist--a specialist in child loss and trauma, which is particularly helpful--and between direct revelation and Heavenly Father acting through her, I've seen a lot of Him directing my thoughts and knowledge in a fruitful path, sometimes completely tearing up the terrain and reconstructing the whole scene.

And, time and again, the truth of the following scripture is apparent:

1 Cor. 1:25--Because the ^afoolishness of God is wiser than men;

I find that when I am stuck in my inner pinball machine, if I submit and let Him guide my thoughts, sooner or later I score.  Then I feel like my son Xai did this morning, when he ran around the house happily announcing, "The power is back on!" after they went off last night.  It was 2 am, but when the lights come on, it's worth a happy dance no matter the time.

Running

About six years ago I was running with my son Kel in Medina NY.  Neither Kel nor I am fond of running, but he made a point that morning.

"Mom, I feel like when I push myself in exercise, it's like there is a box that opens inside of me and lets out some of my harder emotions, helping me release frustrations," he observed.  Piper shows the same reaction after a race.  She said that she feels her emotions more extremely in the time after that ultimate exertion.

Apparently this morning, running created that openness for me.

I had hit a point in a relationship that I just couldn't seem to get past and, after last night's discussion with the Elders, I specifically prayed this morning, "Please, God, help me see the situation with wisdom."  I think in the past I always wanted Him to fix things--take away the pain, change it.  This morning's prayer seemed a little different.  I just wanted Him to help direct the inner pinballs clattering madly in my brain.

So back to running, I headed out in the early hours with my earbuds on and my personal song-list singing in my ears. A little Vivaldi set the stage, followed by Blackbird by Gentri. Pushing myself in my lumbering I felt my inside open up and then a song hit my heart.  I got an answer, and it came right as I hit the bottom of a huge hill, like a huge nudge from a pinball machine lever operated by a Father who loves me...

You're not the only one who feels like this

Feeling like you lose more than you win

Like life is just an endless hill you climb

You try and try, but never arrive...

GO AHEAD AND LIVE LIKE YOU'RE LOVED.

And then it was followed by this one--another ping from the levers-- a song that has always resonated with me.  While it is from the perspective of a father, I find it has been very instructive applied to my roles as wife and mother, roles that God told me in my patriarchal blessing would be the most important thing I ever do in this life; roles that I am finding more and more joy in as I deliberately allow myself to enjoy them.

I was grateful for the reminder of what matters most to me, despite what other relationships may feel like right now. I am grateful I can focus on those and trust God to help me work with the others, just as He has with my family.

The final lever that struck my ever-pinging mental balls was one of deep connection, through a song called, "God Only Knows" from King and Country:

Wide awake while the world is sound asleep and

Too afraid of what might show up while you're dreaming

Nobody, nobody, nobody sees you

Nobody, nobody would believe you

Every day you try to pick up all the pieces

All the memories, they somehow never leave you

Nobody, nobody, nobody sees you

Nobody, nobody would believe you

God only knows what you've been through

God only knows what they say about you

God only knows how it's killing you

But there's a kind of love that God only knows

God only knows what you've been through

God only knows what they say about you

But God only knows the real you

There's a kind of love that God only knows

I know that what appears as "foolishness" of God always trumps the knowledge and perspective of our mortal eyes. I am grateful for the reminder from the Elders to let God guide my inner pinball game to score some great perspective and answers today.  While they may not seem to answer the question and problem I thought I was facing, He helped me to see where I really needed answers and perspective.

Peace.  Love. Score.

The inner pinball machine is quiet for a while. I'll take it. And thanks, running, for unlocking my heart enough to receive it.

Your Grief DOES Compare With Mine

 

I bear witness that when we pledge to follow Him, the path will, one way or another, pass by way of a crown of thorns and a stark Roman cross. No matter how wealthy our young ruler was, he wasn’t wealthy enough to buy his way out of a rendezvous with those symbols, and neither can we.                                                                    --Jeffrey Holland, General Conference 10-21

 

I don't know how many times I've used, thought or heard the phrase, "Wow.  That's crazy and oh so hard.   My grief just doesn't compare with yours."

Then there is the obvious follow-up thought: I can't relate to you, empathize with you or truly know what you're going through.  I can't help as much as I would like to.

I have listened to people who have suffered abuse, experienced years of physical pain, betrayal by spouses and many other trials and thought these things.  Sitting across from them--whether physically or in spirit--I have felt helpless to relate and truly help.

While the exact descriptions of our crowns of thorns or stark Roman crosses are as varied as the DNA combinations of the human genome, the above truth from Elder Holland has helped bring to light something that I am coming to believe is true.  Our suffering, our grief and our crosses are similar in how they hurt.  Whatever the trigger, whatever the cause, whether it looks worse on the surface or not, our crowns and crosses are fundamentally the same.

Each one touches our soul in a unique and oh, so hard way. 

And that we can relate to.

Each trial comes to a person already riddled with personality, issues, weaknesses and heartaches.  I used to believe that I could never possibly hope to understand or pretend to share the burden with someone else.  Yes, I've had and am having my own hard trials but to be betrayed and abandoned by a spouse? To have been sexually abused by a parent and others for years?  How could I possibly compare my grief and sorrows with theirs?  And I step back, figuratively hanging my arms by my side in helplessness instead of wrapping my arms around that fellow soul and say, "I know what pain and hurt feel like.  I am here."

My friend pointed out to me that our humble belief that we cannot truly understand another's pain or suffering prevent us from helping each other as much as we can.

I feel that the color of my cross, the weaving of my thorns, don't make them any more or less painful than anyone else's.  I believe that fundamentally trauma feels the same.  You and I know at the core what it feels like to go through trauma.  God has promised that not one of us is exempt.

Physical suffering can result from natural aging, unexpected diseases, and random accidents; hunger or homelessness; or abuse, violent acts, and war.

Emotional suffering can arise from anxiety or depression; the betrayal of a spouse, parent, or trusted leader; employment or financial reversals; unfair judgment by others; the choices of friends, children, or other family members; abuse in its many forms; unfulfilled dreams of marriage or children; the severe illness or early death of loved ones; or so many other sources.--Anthony Perkins, General Conference 10-21

 We are all going to carry a cross and wear a crown.  Let's reach out to each other and just allow the love to flow.

GETHSEMANE

In golden youth, when seems the earth,

A Summer land for singing mirth,

When souls are glad, and hearts are light,

And not a shadow lurks in sight.

We do not know it, but there lays

Somewhere, veiled under evening skies,

A garden all must sometimes see,

    Gethsemane, Gethsemane,

    Somewhere his own Gethsemane.

With joyous steps we go our ways,

Love lends a halo to our days,

Light sorrows sail like clouds afar,

We laugh and say how strong we are.

We hurry on, and, hurrying, go

Close to the borderland of woe

That waits for you and waits for me;

    Gethsemane, Gethsemane,

    Forever waits Gethsemane.

Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams,

Bridged over by our broken dreams,

Behind the misty caps of years,

Close to the great salt fount of tears

The garden lies ; strive as you may,

You cannot miss it on your way.

    All paths that have been, or shall be

    Pass somewhere through Gethsemane.

All those who journey soon or late,

Must pass within the garden's gate ;

Must kneel alone in darkness there,

And battle with some fierce despair.

God pity those who cannot say :

“Not mine, but thine;” who only pray,

“Let this cup pass;” and cannot see

The purpose in Gethsemane.

    Gethsemane, Gethsemane,

    God help us through Gethsemane.

                        —Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

Better Than Paradise

 As I started to swipe my page to the right, updating to the new week of the "Come Follow Me" program, I stopped.  The art by Kendal Ray Johnson at the top of the page caught my eye...and then my heart.

The title was particularly arresting: "Better than Paradise." I paused.

I thought about the choice of Adam and Eve to make the hard choice to have children and, thus, leave their paradise garden.

I thought about the choices newly married couples make to have children and, thus, leave their "paradise garden" of more carefully structured lives, travel, freedom and finances--replacing it with the chaos and uncertainty that children bring.

I thought about the choices of millions of people to make family and relationships a priority and, thus, leave their "paradise garden" of carefully controlled isolation.  A "paradise" of perceived control.

Relationships and families are messy.  Having children brings SUCH heartache, struggle and disruption of a carefully idealized world.  Sometimes we have to create families or relationships that seem--at first--less than ideal through adoption or foster care or volunteering.  But I've never heard a parent or foster parent or volunteer say that it wasn't worth it to create those relationships.

Family relationships of any kind are completely worth it.  They are BETTER than paradise.

I hear of more and more young people making the choice to delay having children because they want to "finish this" or "experience this" or "get ready this way."  Family sizes are shrinking, often becoming non-existent in people's fear of leaving their personal Gardens to embrace the imperfection, uncertainty and completely real burdens that relationships and families bring into one's life.

But they are missing so much.

My joy, my heartache, my struggle and my sacrifice is so real, but I believe I have found a truer, deeper paradise in the middle of so much uncertainty and perceived imperfection.

And there is truly "no other way."

Better than paradise, indeed.

"Healing" not "broken"

 Ever felt "broken"?  More importantly, ever yearned for healing?

What is "broken"?

First, let's start where we're at.  Officially defined, "broken" means:

1. having been fractured or damaged and no longer in one piece or in working order.

"he had a broken arm"

2. (of a person) having given up all hope; despairing.

"he went to his grave a broken man"

3. having breaks or gaps in continuity.

"a broken white line across the road"

4. (of speech or a language) spoken falteringly, as if overcome by emotion, or with many mistakes, as by a foreigner.

"a young man talking in broken Italian"

5. having an uneven and rough surface.

"broken ground"

We can see ourselves as "broken" in many ways, but generally we recognize it when in relation to others or a feeling of "not quite right."

My son Hyrum's leg was broken. Unknown to us, he has a "bone bar" that was making it so one leg wasn't growing.  At all.  Over time he was becoming more and more knock-kneed but the change was so gradual, we didn't notice.  At one point, his leg started swelling up, his knee kept getting dislocated...we started paying attention. 

Several experts and several surgeries later--one including a deliberate break of his leg bone and inserting the wedge of someone else's bone--our Hyrum was on his path to ultimate healing.

What is "healing"?

Yesterday, speaking with a good friend, I spoke of my yearning to be healed, feeling it was always out of reach.  "It's a journey," she replied.  I instantly thought: a journey to where?

And it hit me. 

To be healed, is to align ourselves with truth.

We are going to constantly be in a state of "healing" until we are ultimately like our Father in Heaven, whose ways and paths are so intimately aligned with the truths of the universe that no "healing" is necessary.

When our bones are healed, they operate more truly.

When our souls are healed, the energies around us flow more truly through us and operate beautifully.

The take-home

I have despaired so many times in my pursuit of "being healed."  I keep thinking that if I can just figure out what is "broken" in my life, then finally I will be able to sit comfortably at peace.  And in a sense, that is true.  I keep arriving a plateaus of peace. But what if I am on an eternal journey of realigning my heart, soul, body and mind with truths?  What if I cannot identify certain truths until preliminary truths are identified?

I have seen myself as "broken," which feels so final.  So dismal.  And I despair.

But to see myself as healing is so much more hopeful!...to know that my healing journey is a discovery of truths that I can align myself with is a beautiful quest and not an absolute acceptance of being "broken."

I KNOW that as we seek to draw nearer to God, the truths that we are not observing will become more apparent.  We will know the next one in our soul--our personal readjustment.  God is the ultimate physician, the ultimate expert, and like the doctors in Hyrum's healing process, sometimes He needs to break us. Sometimes He puts others into our lives. Sometimes it takes several "surgeries."  But the resulting healing is beautiful.

In the end, our healing will include lives full of truth...coursing with truth principles.

And it will be beautiful, for we will be like God.  

For God is truth.