Godly Potatoes

Thought of the day:

Tithing is like a potato. 

Say God gives you a potato. 

The potato represents the various talents and opportunities, and He promises that if you give him a portion of the potato back to him you will be blessed. If you keep the whole potato for yourself, you'll have one potato (until you eat it, or it goes bad). But if you take the eyes and plant 10% of the potato back into the ground, you'll get more potatoes, and before you know it, your blessings will multiply. 

That got me thinking about the parable of the talents, and the law of consecration. Should we not also give a tithing of our gifts back to the Lord? 

If we were to use just 10% of the time spent using our skills to serve Him and bring the spirit back into our homes, if we planted that portion to bear fruit, how much greater would our skills develop? 

Probably a bushel of potatoes worth. 

Spiritual gifts are potatoes.

Everything is potatoes.

Taking the Difficult Path

A few weeks ago I went to go see the bishop. I had been meeting with him weekly-ish for the past several months to resolve a personal matter. A matter of repentance. While my testimony remained sure, my heart had been hardened, and I had to chip away at it with the Lord's help, until all that was left was the truth - raw as it felt at the time. 

As I met with the bishop that day, I was in the Lord's hands. I felt humbled to the dust. I did not know what more I needed to do, but I would do it. I knew it may not be easy, but I knew it would be worth it.

Toward the end of our meeting, after pouring my heart out and promising to do anything else the Lord required, the bishop said I was ready to move forward. I didn't anticipate feeling so emotional about it, but it was all I could do to not fall to "prostrate myself" on the church carpet and praise the Lord. I sobbed and keeled over. I could feel the Lord's mercy pouring over me like a waterfall. Like a baptism of pure love. 

As soon as I had calmed down enough to speak, I asked when I could renew my temple recommend. And he said, "how about right now?" The joy that infused my soul as I answered each question, sure and certain for the first time in over a year that I was worthy and trying my best, brought me to tears once again.

After the meeting was over and I began to drive home, I imagined myself running on a path and remembered a dream I'd once had. It took me a few days, but I finally found it amongst the xml files I had kept from my old xanga account. 

    July 9th, 2011

I had the most interesting dream this morning. Dad, Kevin, and I were running through a forest. We had started off with a few of our acquaintances, but it wasn't long until it was just the three of us. It was a long journey and the trails were hard to see at times. Lush trees sometimes surrounded us, and sometimes we ran through fields over hills, small cliff-like jumps, and sandy or marshy plains. After some time running we came to a less dense forest with a few gullies with a sandy creek on one side. I saw a jump over a narrow part of the gully that led to another path, but it looked scary, and I was hesitant to take the path. I kept running a few feet with Dad and Kevin, but Dad stopped and turned around, telling me that I had to take that path. I told him I wanted to take the path that he and Kevin were taking, but he told me that my journey went down a different path, but they led to the same place.

I said goodbye, and they went on as I stood for a moment between the paths, the creek, and the sandy lake behind me. Courage began to swell within me as I remembered why we were on this long journey, and I hopped the small ditch onto the new path. I ran down the path with bare feet. My clothes were light and I couldn't even feel them, but I wore a light skirt that moved with the wind as I ran, and I remember thinking that I had never felt so free in my life. I continued to run, and I knew that my path would not lead me astray if I kept to it. I had looked to the forest twice, but I had no desire to explore the woods and kept running on my path.

Before long I began to see the entrance of a building. I passed a smoky colored cat that looked like it had never been so bitter when it saw me, but I paid it no heed and ran past it. Joy swelled in my heart, because this is why we had journeyed so long. Standing higher and brighter than all the trees stood the temple. I entered it's white front doors and looked around not knowing which doors to open or where I was allowed, but my dad appeared by my side, and Kevin did soon after, and we went through the two wooden doors I'd been facing together. This is where the best part comes in. Mom had started the journey with us, but for some reason she'd left, and I thought about her many times while running. When we entered the doors I saw Mom robed in white waiting for us, and I felt as though the happiness was flowing through my very veins, and my joy was full. The temple was filled with older people, and I'm fairly certain our other siblings were there too, but they were in other rooms. I had no fear or sorrow for them or for myself but a peace that permeated my entire being. It was amazing!

There's a bit more to the dream that I might be leaving out, but I am sure it's the coolest dream I've had in a long time.

---

Almost 10 years ago I had that dream. And only now do I realize what it meant.

I don't know what dad and Kevin's path was, but mine, it was a path to repentance. A path that took months for my heart to fully soften and realize that true joy cannot be of my own making. It's through the path that leads to the temples of God.

And as for the parts with Mom, I hadn't known what it meant all those years ago. Did it mean she would die before us? That especially plagued my mind when she was in the hospital a few years ago. Only now after all these years do I know that she was waiting for us to join her. I would not be where I am today without her spiritual fortitude. She was so in tune and knew exactly what I needed to hear to get me started on the path in the first place, and I owe her everything.

"yea, they had been taught by their mothers, that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them."

Thank you, mom. Thank you for leading the way and helping me take the difficult path. And thank God that I was able to take it. I will try my best to stay on that path for all of my days.

Hebrews 12:11-13

11 Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.

12 Wherefore lift up the hands which hang down, and the feeble knees;

13 And make straight paths...

I'll Talk With You

I've been trying to be more open about what I feel are issues of morality and ethics. In the wake of the insurrection and attempted coup that resulted in storming the Capitol building on January 6th I felt it was overdue for me to speak my peace on social media. 

Today an old family friend made a comment on a post I had made that immediately resonated as hypocritical to me. It was so ridiculous, that I tapped the laughing emoji reaction. But as I did so, I felt bad. A wave of guilt washed over me, as though the simple click of a button served only to mock this person, and that nothing constructive could come of it. 

Then I heard a line from a song enter my mind:

"If you don't talk as most people do, some people talk and laugh at you, but I won't. I won't."

I removed the laughing emoji reaction and hoped she didn't see, but it made me ponder this new political interpretation of the primary song I loved so much as a child, and I saw so many layers of meaning beyond the surface.

I may choose not to speak or reply to some right now. I may choose to distance myself, but it's not because I hate you. It's because I love you and don't want to say something I may regret later because my perspective is so different from yours.

For now... "That's how I'll show my love for you."

Conversion Disorder and What it Means For Me

I was diagnosed with Conversion Disorder in 2019 after a series of medical tests with no conclusive cause. The doctor who finally told me this was likely the diagnosis was a kind, knowledgeable doctor who is so good at explaining things in a way that I could understand. 

Conversion Disorder is similar to PTSD in its root cause, starting after a physical trauma or intensely stressful situation. For me that was my experience giving birth to my son, George, in 2016. I had lost so much blood that when I tried to scoot upward to eat that I suddenly couldn't breathe. I've written about this experience before and how grateful I was to the team of nurses and doctors who saved me from going into Cardiac Arrest. 

It felt like I had sustained nerve damage in my left arm for over a year after all of the blood transfusions, but when it was confirmed that I have Protein S Deficiency, I realized that it could have been any number of issues from nerves to blood clots. 

I was also bedridden for weeks. Too dizzy and short of breath to do much of anything. This was a painfully long recovery, and likely the physical trauma that led to conversion disorder, although I had no clue what that was at the time.

I had several small bouts of fatigue and weakness that I attributed to being out of shape. I was "weak" and "lazy". I needed to push myself more. And so I did. And then I would be in bed for two weeks recovering each time.

In 2018 I went with Justin to a library conference in New Orleans and completely overtaxed myself physically, but it was amazing, and I had a wonderful time. 

Ten days later I began to feel a tremor in my left hand. Over the next few weeks, the tremor spread to both hands. It felt like my skin was always buzzing. My speech began to suffer, because my mind felt a weight on it. I couldn't speak as fast, and I developed a stutter. 

I began to lose strength in my hands at random times, and I kept dropping things by mistake. Within a month I began to lose coordination in my legs. I needed a cane to keep from falling, and for a short time I borrowed a wheelchair. 

A doctor suggested it might be MS, but by the time I was able to see a neurologist and get an MRI, over three months of this had passed. I was on the tail end of it. I could walk carefully without a cane (though I still felt more confident when I had it with me).

Every test was normal. The neurologist suggested I see a therapist, and I was frustrated at his obvious skepticism. I wasn't faking it. Why would anyone fake this?

Months later I found a new doctor, because I was having pain in my ribs. Turns out I had a few dislocated ribs, but that's neither here nor there. 

When we went over everything that had happened in 2018 and all the little problems I've had with anxiety wearing me out, he said, "It sounds a lot like conversion disorder." I had never heard of that, but as he explained it and we discussed medicines to help treat anxiety, I felt hopeful.

Over the next year I tried to take it easy, being careful not to overtax myself, failing at times, succeeding other times. I do feel the anxiety medicine helped me get back on my feet a lot faster though.

In the early fall of this year I felt stronger out of nowhere. More excited and energetic. It felt like a hypomanic episode, but who was I to deny the gifted surge of energy. And I did a LOT. I worked on several art projects and challenges, wrote stories, moderated twitch streams like a champion. I was supermom, supermod, and I was finally accomplishing personal goals. I felt unstoppable.

Then came Thanksgiving. Our home had suffered in cleanliness during 2020. We agreed to invite my nephew over, and we cleaned like crazy. I had a fool's hope that because I had already been doing so much that I would be okay.

I was not okay. Within a couple weeks I developed a tremor in my left hand, stuttering, began to lose strength at random moments, and I had to intensely focus to walk straight. And all night and through the day it feels like electric coils are buzzing under my skin. I'm upset with myself for not being more careful. Upset that a little stress triggers it so badly that it takes 3 times as long to type a text message because of my shaking hands.

I know this is neurological and that learning to manage stress is the key to keep myself from relapsing. I want to be like John Nash, who with the medicine and sheer force of will was able to manage and rise above his Schizophrenia. I want to be able to utilize my mental acuity to be able to will myself back to normalcy.

But until then, my hands shake every day, my speech is slow, my skin feels electrified, and walking is difficult. All I can do is wait and plan for the future. 

Thanks for listening. 

Dream, Ponder, and Pray

This morning I had a dream so realistic that I could scarcely believe how detailed it was. Justin and I were living in a small townhome. It was white and minimalistic with lots of windows. I wasn’t sure what any of us had done or said, but for some reason each of us were in danger and were trying to escape the city where we were living.

Justin came home from work one day and revealed to me that we were being watched. Sure enough, I could see a few men and a woman through the windows, watching the house from all sides. I accidentally made eye contact with the woman and faked a casual smile.

Justin told me that friends were trying to make arrangements for us to escape, and that we had to be ready to leave at any moment. Family members and friends who either knew about the plan or knew we needed help came over to help offer a distraction to the watchers and babysit while I inconspicuously gathered clothing and essentials.

Justin told me he was taking me to the store to get more supplies, and I left the kids with the friends and family members thinking I would be back soon. After a while of driving we drove near two sets of train tracks, and at that moment the two trains began to intersect from opposite directions. I said that those trains probably would have offered the perfect distraction needed to escape. Justin didn’t say anything, but as the first train passed he suddenly flipped a u-turn, and we were now traveling on a dirt path between the tracks. I think at that point I knew what was happening, but somehow I wasn't worried.

We arrived at a different house, and I was sneaked out through the side to a garage where I was hiding with a couple more people. Justin had to leave again, and I didn’t see him for the rest of the dream.

More watchers appeared around the neighborhood, though they couldn’t see exactly which house we were hiding in.

Several minutes passed, and another car pulled into a connecting garage. My children were immediately ushered out of that car into the one I was in (which I think was a station wagon with tinted windows), and I was filled with simultaneous relief and anxiety for the safety of my children. I remember feeling slightly struck at how small their backpacks were. It could have fit one, maybe two pairs of clothes in all.

From there we drove to an empty school parking lot, where we waited in tense silence for several minutes. Then another vehicle showed up that looked like an old cross between a van and a small SUV, and all of us were ushered into that vehicle by the driver, who looked and sounded Pakistani-American from my guess. Lydia however started crying and squirming when she was put into the back of the car with us, and actually climbed out of the car, and the man began yelling and panicking that if she drew attention she could get us all killed.

I was worried and scared for Lydia, and I didn’t know if we were going to be able to successfully escape. And then… I woke up.


I have a lot of thoughts and experiences I have been meaning to write down here, but this one is something I need to pray about and ponder I think. Maybe it was meant to show me what other people in the world are going through. Maybe it’s to reassure me that it’s okay to entrust my children with others. I don’t know. I have a lot to think about.

Test- RS LESSON 20NOV2016

Start 10:41
End 14:55

A dream I need to pray about

I had a dream this morning. I was 15-20ish in age at this event where I was being honored for something along with three other girls.  I found a seat next to these two boys within the large crowd who appeared to be brothers. I sat next to the older boy who was a little bit younger than me. He had dark to medium brown hair, and he was a special needs boy. When I sat down next to him, and I offered to play thumb war with him. He had previously been having a bit of a reaction or something that made it impossible for him to calm down. But as I played thumb war with him he calmed down, and I felt this instant connection with him. We talked for a while, and George appeared briefly in my arms. The boy asked if it was my son, and I said it was with a smile. After a bit the mother and a case worker appeared so they could take the boy home. I gave him a hug goodbye and told him that I wished I had met him earlier. And this music that I've never heard before was playing in the background the whole time I was saying goodbye to him. I was at this table trying to write my email address down for him, but I kept struggling to write it correctly. Then Justin woke me up to help with George.
This music piano and cello and violin melody was still in my head. I was so sad that he was gone that I started crying. Has anyone else ever had a dream so powerful that it made them cry? Sob even?

What the sleeping mom heard

Okay, so that title is simply a silly reference to What the Deaf Man Heard...which actually has nothing to do with my post, but I am tired, and I'm going to leave it. lol

Today I dozed off upstairs while feeding George but woke up as the girls got home. I knew Lydia was watching Pokemon on the tablet, so I assumed the girls would be entranced by that until I finished feeding George and forced them to do homework.

They did for a while, but when our neighbor's 2nd grade twin boys knocked on the door to ask if the girls could play, Hannah did something I didn't expect.

She told them they couldn't play, because she and Abigail hadn't started their homework. She closed the door and declared to Abigail and Lydia. "Okay, you guys, it's time to turn off the tablet and do homework."

AND THEY DID! George had fallen asleep, but I was too curious to sleep at this point. So I listened. Hannah set the kitchen timer on the microwave to 5 minutes and had Abigail press start so she could do her timed math. Then Hannah picked out a book, went up to her room, and read for twenty minutes. Then, after all of her homework was complete, she politely reported to me and asked if she could play! I was so impressed with her initiative that I didn't even make her do chores.

Abigail was pretty close to being done with her homework as well, so they got to play outside with their friends for a good 2 hours.

I just had to document this. It's the first time I've ever noticed Hannah being so responsible. I hope it continues, because it was awesome!!

For my good

Today began normal. I felt a little dizzy but nothing to give me pause.  I fell asleep during George's nap after making sure Lydia couldn’t get into dangerous things and had a snack.

George woke up for a feeding, but it took several minutes for me to wake all the way up to feed him. It was 10:30 before I made my way downstairs for breakfast. I felt dizzy and a little nauseous but chalked it up to not having eaten. So I cooked my standard sausage biscuits and eggs but the ill feeling did not fade. It got so bad that Justin had to come home, and I was in awful shape. I managed to eat a piece of toast for lunch, but it didn't help.

I tried taking a shower to break my fever, but I almost passed out in the shower. I started praying for help, and had a fleeting thought that this shouldn't be happening because of my blessing that nothing bad would happen while I served my calling. I had the distinct impression that it wasn't bad, and that meant it was for my good.

There was a point when I felt so weak that I'd slumped to the ground and I thought I would black out. I kept hearing a voice saying, "You need to get out now.", but I was so weak that just fell lower on the floor of the tub. I prayed that Justin would come up and help me, but I knew he couldn't hear, and I was too weak to shout or try pounding on the wall.

I started to feel faint when I felt a voice firmly say, "Get up now.". I felt a slight boost of strength and somehow pried myself off the floor.

I got out and was shuddering and shivering so badly that Justin heard me in yhe baby monitor and helped me to the bed. I laid there for several minutes just wrapped in a towel, breathing.

After I managed to get dressed (with Justin's help) I slept for hours, waking up only to feed George and force myself to drink water.

I am still really cold in spurts and nauseous, but it is better. I ate a third of a muffin for dinner and drank more water, and hopefully I feel better tomorrow.

I don't know why I had to go through this on my last day of my twenties, but I felt peace knowing that it was for my good, however that may be.

Catch Up Post

Several days ago I had another dream that felt similar to the one I last posted. It was much shorter, and all I was doing was walking throught my room after "waking up", but I distinctly remember that I wasn't wearing contacts, but somehow I could see everything with perfect clarity. It was cool.

We had a coupon and got KFC for dinner tonight, but I ordered about two times too much. I sat there after we ate, contemplating how the leftovers don't usually taste good the next day and wondering what I should do, when a thought popped into my mind. We have a neighborhood facebook page, and I felt a gentle prompting to post that we had extra food (5 or 6 pieces of chicken, 4 biscuits, an unopened thing of potatoes and gravy, and an extra coleslaw) to anyone who wanted it. Within five minutes our neighbor across the street claimed it.

Yeah, I would've eaten the leftovers, but it wouldn't have been as good, and we were happy to share. My neighbor asked if she could pay us, and I jokingly said she would owe me a favor, but I don't think I'll ever collect on it.

Between that and Womens Session of Conference, it was an uplifting evening. I am excited about General Conference next week...and turning 30 just after that! Woooooooo!

The Time is Now

I was taking an afternoon nap just now, because I haven't been getting a lot of sleep with school starting and the kids having a cold. The dream I had during my nap was...really interesting.

I was in the house and had just woken up (in my dream), and for some reason Lydia and George were the only ones awake in the house. And I heard Justin saying how proud he was of me for cleaning the house while he was gone, but I was so confused, because I had been "sleeping". When I got up (still in the dream), I realized that I didn't feel tired at all, that I really had cleaned, and the whole house had so much light and felt so much brighter.

When I woke up for real from the dream the immediate inundation of tiredness was so different from the feeling of just weightlessness I'd just been feeling. I guess I didn't realize how completely drained and exhausted I've felt lately.

When I was set apart to be a Relief Society Instructor, I was told that I would be able to accomplish the things that I desired more easily as I serve God in the home. That came to my mind just now well as I was pondering this dream. I think that all of the light in my dream - the brightness that was all throughout the house - might not have literally been sunlight.

It feel like it was the Light of Christ in our home taking the weight off of everything. It says in the scriptures that when the people of Alma had burdens too great that the Lord was able to remove their burdens from them, and that they were able to "bear their burdens with ease". I have the feeling that this is the same kind of miracle. I have the opportunity to lighten my burdens by serving the Lord in my home. I want to feel that feeling again - that joyous, weightless brightness. And I think God was telling me that now is the time.

A Church of Love

I have a few friends who are either homosexual or have decided to take up the banner in defending their cause. They ironically claim that the church is exclusive and hateful by lashing out in their own hateful ways.

It makes me so sad. The church is a church of love. Everything it does is because of the pure love of Christ.

But why are the children of a gay person not allowed to get baptized or hold the priesthood?

This is the most recent in a slew of attacks issued by acquaintances. It is my personal belief that the reason is love. It doesn't make sense to them, but take a step back and look at our whole reason for being on this earth: family.

The family unit is the singlemost important unit in this temporal frame. It makes perfect sense to me that God would give instruction to his Prophet to protect it as much as possible in a world that increasingly tries to tear families apart.

In that sense it becomes clear that making a child wait until they're an adult to be baptized or receive the priesthood is not an act of exclusion and hate - but an act meant to protect the wholeness of their family situation. It is meant to strengthen family ties, not ravage them. It is because of love.

This life is such a small part of eternity. It may seem difficult to have to wait for eternal ordinances once a child realizes they are good and true, but if the cost is alienating family...one half of who they are, I understand why God wants them to wait a few years. It's for their protection and the protection of the family.

I wanted to write my thoughts on this subject down before I forget it. I've been forgetting a lot of things lately...

New Calling, New Blessing

Yesterday I was called as a Relief Society Instructor and was also set apart. It was a good blessing. There were a few lines that really stuck out to me.

One part said that as I serve God in the home, I would have more time for my interests and personal hobbies as well as more time to be a good mother and wife.

It also said I touch some people and that my example would help them.

That's all I really remember, but I don't want to forget it, so there it is.

Lashing Out

I'm starting to notice that I am kind of mean to the people closest to me when I'm stressed out or frustrated. How can I get over this? I wasn't always this way...

George is so perfect, and I love him so much. These past couple weeks have been the hardest and worst I've ever felt in my life physically. I am a mess of emotions and both love and hate my life...

Everything is so hard. I can't do anything or go anywhere without using all of my strength and becoming completely exhausted, short of breath, and dizzy. :(

This...is so dumb, and I hate it, but at least George has no problems...

Baby George and Feeling Useless

I never expected a recovery from childbirth to be so difficult. I never expected so many complications.

On Sunday my water broke at 3:35 a.m. when I got up to go to the bathroom. I wasn't sure it had, but then the contractions started within a few minutes and leakage became obvious. I decided to let Justin sleep as long as possible, because the contractions were only 10 minutes apart. I brushed my teeth and started looking for a few last minute things for the hospital bag, but the contractions were getting closer together, about every 7 minutes, and it was difficult.

Justin stumbled out of the bedroom around 4:15 and asked what was going on. I said I was in labor, he asked if he could take a quick shower, and I said yes.

I started gathering clothes for the girls for the week, but contractions were becoming excruciating at every 5 minutes. Hannah woke up, I told her what was going on, and she woke up Abigail...who was very upset and vocal about being woken up from her "good dreams" and "deep sleep".

Justin got out of the shower, called his brother, and we were in the car really quickly, but contractions were awful. Completely horrible.

I called the hospital to let them know we were coming, and couldn’t talk through a contraction. I said they were every five minutes, but it was actually closer to 4. We dropped the kids off at Travis and Christina's and zipped over to the hospital, and contractions were every 3 minutes.

I got in at 5:10, and thank goodness they were expecting us. It's probably the only reason I was allowed to get an epidural. Every contraction was agony while the anesthesiologist prepped me. I got the epidural in just after 5:30, but blah, there was no medicine in it yet. Finally medicine got put in it, and pain slowly started to dissipate. It was barely working, but it took the edge off just enough for active labor to explode forth like a waterfall of fire and lava and boiling water that spatters violently out of a pot and screams against the hot stove top.

I will never say I can do labor without an epidural again. I would have died. Even with it barely starting to work.

Baby George was out after maybe 5 pushes after I insisted on an episiotomy before the fifth one. Placenta came out easily, and I thought that was the end of my pain.

Ha.

Oh how naïve I was.

It took us a while to leave the Labor & Delivery floor. The nurse helped me get cleaned off, put an absorbent mat thing under me and a rectangular diaper pad... thing. I continued to have pain in my uterus but thought it was okay.

The nurse was checking my vitals when she heard a dripping sound. Justin later said it was a puddle of blood on the floor. I didn't realize how big it was since I couldn't see, but I guess I had soaked through the large pad and the mat. Oops...

When we finally made it to the Recovery floor another doctor at my OBGYN place was on staff and came to check in, but I thought everything was normal and said not to worry. I fed George, but within the hour my bleeding and pain got worse, and I had him sent to the nursery and the doctor called back in. Within a minute of his doctorly investigation and kneading, a series of blood clots that looked like a mushed up 2nd placenta came spilling out.

He left after giving some instructions to the nurses, and I thought all was well. Unfortunately all was not well. I lost another few large blood clots and was feeling a bit dizzy but largely ignored it because my pain was manageable, and I assumed that meant I was fine.

Our lunch was brought in, and I wanted to hurry and eat it before I had to feed George at 11:30. The salmon I'd ordered looked pretty good, so I decided to start with that. I inclined the bed upward and started feeling dizzy, but I didn't pay any mind, leaned forward, and took a bite of the fish.

Immediately my ears started to ring. I struggled to chew the bite in my mouth. I couldn't breathe, and the room was spinning. I tried to reach for the phone to call my nurse, but I couldn't focus on it...like my hand didn't know what to do with it.

By this time I think Justin realized something might be off. He stood somewhere around me and asked what was wrong.

I said I couldn't breathe. Justin later said that my skin turned white "like a ghost". A nurse randomly opened the door. I think I said I couldn't breathe again.

I don't remember much of what happened in those next few minutes. I was told later that a rapid response alert was issued to prevent the situation from turning into cardiac arrest. All I remember was that people were around me and I vaguely recognized that I still couldn't breathe, but it no longer seemed important.

In hindsight the most alarming thing about the whole ordeal was realizing how I had no control over my life and couldn't even muster the ability to care or worry about it.

Someone turned on a bright light. Someone else put oxygen tubes up my nose. Someone else hooked an emergency IV in my left arm with something to raised my blood pressure. A doctor held my hand. I recognized his voice as the doctor who had helped me earlier, and I was filled with a feeling of reassurance. Nurses told me later there were at least a dozen people in the room working on me in various ways, and it reminded me of bees bustling and buzzing around a hive. A blood transfusion was ordered for me, and the oxygen tubes were switched with a mask.

As I regained clarity I wished that I had taken a bite of something else besides fish as it's pungent odor permeated the oxygen within the mask, but I also knew that feeling alert enough to want to complain was a good sign.

Then I remembered George. Was he okay? How was he going to eat? What time was it?

I couldn't move my limbs very well, so I knew there wasn't really much that could be done. So after checking with Justin, I gave a nurse permission to feed George formula through a tiny tube attached to her pinky.

Long story short, I got the transfusion, needed another one on Monday, and needed a third one on Tuesday. George is breastfeeding okay in spite of the setbacks, and recovery is way harder than I thought it would be.

I wish I had prepared more. I wish the kids had more clothes laid out and ready for them for school. I wish I had more strength.

When I got home I cried a lot and felt useless and weak. Last night was really hard, and I thought I might have to go to the hospital again, because I was dizzy, short of breath, and my heart felt like it was too fast, but fortunately that did not happen.

I'm still having trouble, but I feel measurably less hopeless. Linda volunteered to come over, and I'm surprised (and grateful...very grateful) she'll be able to drive the distance over and over.

I'm still not sure why this happened. I don't think I'll be able to have any more kids after this. At least...I don't think I would survive it. With Lydia I had the easiest delivery and recovery ever. I was foolish to assume I could bank on something like that again, but still...there's no way I could have expected this. I'm just glad and grateful that George is doing so well, and that I have friends and family here whom I have been able to rely on in this time of need. It's difficult to feel so low...knowing that I need the help, but I'm glad it's there, just the same.

Earnest Prayers

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.

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.

Answered prayers and small miracles

Today after school Hannah came in crying. She had used her class points to buy a silver bracelet from the class store. She let Abigail hold it after they got off of the bus, and somewhere along the walk home Abigail accidentally dropped it in the snow.

I said a quick prayer and immediately put on my coat and snow boots to help Abigail with the search while Hannah stayed inside with Lydia.

Feeling self conscious with cars driving by, I said another quick prayer in my mind and hoped it would be enough, and we retraced Abigail's path from the bus stop.

Abigail walked past me as we crossed the street on the way back, and I remembered the times my dad used prayer to miraculously find car keys on the beach, and on a separate occasion - his glasses in the ocean.

Losing my self-consciousness enough to take off the hat covering my messy hair and kneel on the corner of the street for all the world to see, I prayed. I prayed that I wasn't sure I had the faith of my father, but asked if the Lord would hear me anyway.

I continued to pray as cars passed by, and partway through heard the words in my mind, "The picnic table."

I dismissed the thought, thinking that the picnic table was a distinct landmark of the grassy area between the street and my house, and that I must have subconsciously supplied my own answer. I continued to pray.

After I finished my prayer I mustered up every ounce of humbleness I could and just listened. Again I heard the words in my mind. "Go to the picnic table." Though I still doubted, I decided to follow this train of thought.

I got up, put on my hat, and walked in a slow, straight line through the snow toward the picnic table while Abigail searched where she had walked. Bootprints and tracks of many other children going to and from the bus stop throughout the past few days blurred together on the ground, and I just walked forward.

Hannah came out as I neared the picnic table, declaring that she was going to help us look for the bracelet, and I stopped. Looking down, partly buried in a small patch of fresh powder, lay a silvery bangle right in front of me, right in front of the picnic table.

I picked it up, shaking the snow off, and Hannah exclaimed with what I can only describe as unadulturated euphoria and joy that it was her bracelet. I was floored. Even though I had doubted the answer, even though I was unsure of my faith, Heavenly Father had helped us, heard us, answered our prayers.

Abigail was still sad about losing it in the first place, but Hannah and I both hugged her tightly and reassured her that because of what happened, we were able to witness a miracle. A tiny miracle - but a miracle nonetheless.

Stronger than you think

Post 3/3

Last night I was up most of the night with Lydia. Her cough was terrible, and I kept praying and half-asleep praying that she would stop coughing so that she wouldn't be so miserable. 

I'm not sure what time it was when I hit my breaking point. Lydia was absolutely miserable, and I spoke my mind to the Lord, expressing that I knew the Lord could take away her sickness and there was no good reason for Him not to.

After a few more minutes I said that I wished that I had gotten sick instead of her so that she wouldn't be suffering, and immediately received an answer in my mind: "You said you couldn't handle anymore."

I paused. For months I have constantly voiced my inability to take on anymore trials, praying and praying that I would not get sick, not have any problems, and not have to deal with stressful issues. 

In that middle of the night moment I realized that I have been selfish and lazy, and I remembered my dad telling me many years ago, "You're stronger than you think you are."

I changed my prayer. 'Please help me to be strong...Please help Lydia to bear her burden...Please help us to be strong.'

I chanted it in both aloud and in my mind throughout the rest of the night. Yes, I was still up most of the night taking care of her, and yes, she continued to cough steadily, but she no longer cried miserably, and I no longer melodramatically bewailed the perils of my life. I praised her strength every time she needed help, and I prayed that it would continue, and it did. 

Morning came, and Lydia's bearing her sickness tolerably. I have a renewed sense of vigor I did not expect, and I'm going to chase that feeling and keep praying.

I can be strong.