I had a good talk with Hannah about how hard it can be to be humble enough to seek and receive answers to prayers. She'd been missing a take-home library book for over 2 weeks. When Lydia "borrowed" the book I had a vague feeling that I shouldn't let her have it, but she loved the book so much, and it wasn't a battle I felt willing to fight at the time.
So yeah, it was my fault the book was missing. I had prayed nearly every day to find it, but I was pretty nonchalant about it, because I knew it was in a localized area and that I should search as hard as I could before asking God to solve my problems for me. It wasn't until last week that I really started looking and getting desperate to find it.
Well, Friday morning I woke up early and couldn't sleep, and amidst my sleep-deprived stupor I really talked out my heart via a sleepy prayer about how I was worried about late fines, and how I felt like I had failed Hannah for not listening to promptings in the first place, and I asked God to please help me find the book before school. Well, for what I think is the first (maybe second) time in my life, I actually saw an image of the answer in my mind, and it was a little brown box in the living room that was filled with toys.
I fell back asleep for an hour, eventually woke up and helped Hannah get ready for school. When I walked downstairs to make sure she had her coat, snowpants, backpack, etc. I saw the box and dumped it out, and right there, laying flat near the bottom of the box, was Hannah's missing library book.
How humbling, how amazing. I am blown away every time Heavenly Father sees fit to show myself and my children that there is no miracle too small. Hannah and Abigail I feel are beginning to understand why I have such a firm testimony of prayer, and I hope it's helping them get one too.
Monday, February 15, 2016
Deeper emotions beyond the veil
I wasn't sure if I felt comfortable enough typing this on a public blog, but I don't want to forget it, and this is my current journal for all intents and purposes.
There have been times in my life when my joy was so full, when I felt so filled with spiritual happiness, maybe even glory, that I felt like I'd gotten a glimpse of something more than I should be able to in this temporal frame.
I bring this up, because I had a dream about a month ago that was the complete opposite, which I will get to in a moment.
This pregnancy has been really hard for me emotionally. Though I did my darndest not to show it, I have been either depressed or manically irritable throughout most of it. Even when family was visiting for Christmas I felt inundated with emptiness and had to pretend it was all okay. That seems to have leveled off, but unfortunately Justin received the brunt of my callousness, crying, despair, and just plain meanness at times.
There was a point when he wasn't handling this swimmingly, and I in my depression and overemotional, erratic state wished that I had never had any children and could just leave. When this feeling peaked, I had a dream that I cannot forget.
In the dream I had chosen to leave Justin and the kids and seek my own vain path through life. We were in the spirit world, and I saw Justin and the kids with both of our families. I was separated from them. I couldn't reach them. No one could even hear me.
The emptiness I felt was beyond any feeling I'd ever had before in my temporal memory. It went beyond the pit of my stomach into an abyss of crushing nothingness.
It transcended any despair and sadness I had ever felt, and I not even sure there are words in the English language that can really describe it. It was feeling so empty and alone that gravity felt heavier, pushing on every part of me so much that I felt sickened with a thick weight of bitter hollowness.
It seems to be an oxymoron, but I'd never felt so miserable and alone, and I woke up feeling sickened with myself.
There are parts of our brain we never use, and I always figured we'd be able to after this life. Perhaps that goes for some emotions. There is eternal happiness greater than anything we have the capacity to feel in this short life. It makes sense that it's the same on the opposite side of the spectrum.
I can't really explain in an accurate way how truly awful it was. It's a perspective I never want to lose, but I hope to God that I never feel that way again.
There have been times in my life when my joy was so full, when I felt so filled with spiritual happiness, maybe even glory, that I felt like I'd gotten a glimpse of something more than I should be able to in this temporal frame.
I bring this up, because I had a dream about a month ago that was the complete opposite, which I will get to in a moment.
This pregnancy has been really hard for me emotionally. Though I did my darndest not to show it, I have been either depressed or manically irritable throughout most of it. Even when family was visiting for Christmas I felt inundated with emptiness and had to pretend it was all okay. That seems to have leveled off, but unfortunately Justin received the brunt of my callousness, crying, despair, and just plain meanness at times.
There was a point when he wasn't handling this swimmingly, and I in my depression and overemotional, erratic state wished that I had never had any children and could just leave. When this feeling peaked, I had a dream that I cannot forget.
In the dream I had chosen to leave Justin and the kids and seek my own vain path through life. We were in the spirit world, and I saw Justin and the kids with both of our families. I was separated from them. I couldn't reach them. No one could even hear me.
The emptiness I felt was beyond any feeling I'd ever had before in my temporal memory. It went beyond the pit of my stomach into an abyss of crushing nothingness.
It transcended any despair and sadness I had ever felt, and I not even sure there are words in the English language that can really describe it. It was feeling so empty and alone that gravity felt heavier, pushing on every part of me so much that I felt sickened with a thick weight of bitter hollowness.
It seems to be an oxymoron, but I'd never felt so miserable and alone, and I woke up feeling sickened with myself.
There are parts of our brain we never use, and I always figured we'd be able to after this life. Perhaps that goes for some emotions. There is eternal happiness greater than anything we have the capacity to feel in this short life. It makes sense that it's the same on the opposite side of the spectrum.
I can't really explain in an accurate way how truly awful it was. It's a perspective I never want to lose, but I hope to God that I never feel that way again.
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