Hope

I can't shake the feeling this morning. I love my church. I love my ward. I love the gospel.

My heart has been heavy this week due to the sudden and tragic loss of a friend from our ward. We feel the pain of loss, and our hearts are breaking for his wife. His children are grown, but their grief has been profound. And yet, they are buoyed up by their faith. The power of prayer is real, and they are finding solace through the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

I spoke with a friend this morning about the incident on Tuesday. Kevin and I were were two of seven people over at Carolyn's house that evening. She found out about the helicopter crash on the news that afternoon. She had a bad feeling and tried to text and call Gregg, because it looked like his helicopter. When she received no response she decided to drive down there. God only knows how long it would have really taken for her to be notified had she not taken initiative.

So we sat with her, held her hand, hugged her, listened (and sat in silence), as she tried to grasp the reality of what seemed a surreal experience. Her brain was in a fog, and she traveled between periods of shock and despair.

At one point her oldest daughter called, and both wept. I could hear her daughter cry that she felt awful her mom was all alone, since she and her siblings were all out of state. Then Carolyn looked around the room, smiled, and said, "I'm not alone! I have a room full of people!"

That. That is the blessing of the Church. The blessing of the gospel.

And in that moment I couldn't help but be reminded of what Alma taught it means to be baptized and take upon ourselves the name of Christ-- "to mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort..." Truly we all have mourned with Carolyn, even the children. She may have not had her family here at that moment, but her ward family was there immediately. She didn't even sleep alone that night. We have all brought love and sustenance, and have lifted our voices in prayer for her and with her.

And I come away from this tragic experience overwhelmed by the beauty of hope and faith. The beauty of charity. The beauty and reality of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. He hears her, and He grieves with her. And He gives her the peace that she needs to carry on, knowing that this life is not the end. Gregg's spirit went home to "that God to gave him life," and we are all positive he has been put to work.

Truly, this life is not the end. 

Only a few times have I been to a viewing before a funeral. And every time I couldn't help but feel that the body lying still in the coffin was not the person. Not only had life been removed, but light as well. And I say "removed" purposefully. Not "diminished" or "extinguished." Removed. Moved elsewhere. That life and light still exist. I think most people on earth can feel that, even if they don't understand it. There has to be more.

And so I cherish my knowledge of the The Plan of Happiness and Salvation. I cherish my association with my brothers and sisters in the Gospel. I cherish my testimony of Jesus Christ. And I cherish the time I have with my loves ones in mortality, finding comfort in the knowledge that our family is eternal.

Gregg's parting with Carolyn and his children is temporary. While it may feel like an eternity till they meet again, it is fleeting when compared to an eternity together. Their marriage was sealed on earth and in heaven, and death cannot sever it. And until they meet again, their family will be working on both sides of the veil to build the Kingdom. Talk about influence!

Tragedy is turning into triumph... It's just stunning.

She's 12

It has already been over a week since her 12th birthday. I had tried to write about it last weekend, and had meant to post about it on Facebook, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't find the right words. Honestly, this milestone for Allie (and our entire family) seemed almost sacred-- like the sentiments that went through my head just seemed trite compared to how I was feeling.

My emotions were taking me on a roller coaster-- nostalgia, relief, pride, fear, excitement, sadness. I couldn't ever just settle on one. All very real, and all valid. 

Our firstborn-- she who blessed our lives after one of our darkest hours-- is a young lady. She is tall and lovely, with braces, glasses, and dangly earrings. She and I can share shoes, and I have even given her some of my shirts. 

Last Sunday was her first day with the Young Women at church, and the day before they "kidnapped" her for breakfast to welcome her into the fold with the "older" girls. There are so few of them, but I think she fits right in. She loves them. And two of them have even been our babysitters before. 

And now Allie is our babysitter..., which, truthfully, is pretty fantastic. She is responsible and cheap. Plus, she stresses little and is slightly over-confident, so she has never had any fear of being left alone. 

She has been a great sport as I have "forced" her to try new activities. Choir, dance, piano, tennis, orchestra, soccer, Youth Leadership Team. She came to love and pursue some, leaving others behind. But as her talents develop I can see the amazing woman she is growing to be. 

This sweet girl has truly blessed my life. She has made me proud. She has stolen my heart. 

I do miss the days from when she was little, but, truthfully, she is much more cooperative now. Plus, she doesn't scream at me from the confines of her room anymore. She's actually fairly amiable. When I assign her a task she'll do it. It may take her a few hours to get to it, due to a good book that "happens" to get in the way, but at least she will do it without objection. And she doesn't laugh at me when I cry anymore. On the contrary, she will put her arms around me and hug me. 

How on earth did I get the privilege of raising such a choice spirit? I certainly don't deserve her. But I am humbled and thankful. Eternally and infinitely grateful.

3 mos.

13 mos.

2 yrs.

2 yrs.

Change

I have a natural aversion to change. I hate it, actually. Maybe not completely... But I hate change when it comes to something I care about, I guess.

And today change smacked me in the face again. I knew it was coming, but (for some stupid reason) didn't anticipate it being this hard.

Being the Young Women's president has been really, really hard for me. Of course, it's a challenge for anyone. But for me, I struggled with feelings of doubt and inadequacy constantly, second-guessing every decision I made, worrying that it was the "wrong" one, worrying that I was letting down the ward.

Right from the get-go I made major changes. Not that the previous president was doing her job wrong-- not in the least! But because, from some counsel our stake received from Elder Bednar back in June, I knew we needed to make our program "youth led"-- they plan, they lead, they execute. And making those changes was hard for us and it was hard for the girls. Although, the girls embraced their new-found leadership opportunities better than I thought they would.

We stressed missionary work, and we shared testimonies. We grew together.

And, yet, I never once felt like I was doing a good job. Adequate, maybe, but not nearly good enough. And honestly, I don't even know what "good enough" really means. In my mind, it means anything better than what I'm already doing.

Then a change in January. Kevin was no longer the bishop leading Ward Council and BYC. I couldn't attend mutual with him anymore, because he was no longer required to go. His new calling took him away from the ward, and I wouldn't see him anymore throughout the day, even for a brief moment. It has been like he disappeared on Sundays. I am just the lady up in the front of the chapel with no husband, the kids with no father.

And as of today, I have no calling. No responsibility. I was released from being the Young Women president, after only seven short months. We all wept as we met during the third hour today. I love my girls-- Alicia, Meredith, Bregan, Sydney, and Amy-- and now I have lost my weekly connection with them. I knew it was coming, though. It needed to happen.

And now I feel... completely unneeded.

There, I said it. Unneeded. No place to serve, no place to go. Feeling like no one knows me and like I don't "belong."

I watched the new presidency come together and smile and laugh after church, and I hung my head and my eyes filled with tears. What a wonderful friendship they will develop. Stefani stayed with them, and I will miss her. Cathy was called in the Relief Society as the secretary. Dear friends called off to new, great work.

And here I stand.

I just picture myself out on a plain-- a muted-brown, barren plain. Alone. Looking around for something, someone that needs me. And finding none.

And then... Over the horizon come four people. Four people that do need me. They giggle and run to me, throwing their little arms around me, smothering my face with their kisses.The oldest puts her head on my shoulder, the next wraps her arms around my waist, and the two younger ones grab my legs. And I weep... "Are you okay, Mom?" "We love you, Mom." "Mom, you are beautiful."

How I love my children.

Oh, "change"... It is just hard. And I only know I have much more of this to endure throughout my life. But, as for right now, at this very moment, I don't know how much more my fragile heart can take. All I can do is pray, really.

And I can focus on those little ones clinging to me in that open field. More than anyone else on this earth they need me.

They. Need. Me.

They need me to take them to church, to help them with their talks, to work with them through Faith in God (and soon, Personal Progress), to read the scriptures with them, to teach them what the gospel means for them. They need me to keep our home a safe place-- where they can find refuge from the world. I must provide consistency when change abounds all around them. And in that sense, I am their rock.

If I am not mistaken, I can't think of a greater responsibility.

For the first time today, actually, I am feeling some glimmer of hope-- like just maybe there really is an important place for me, for which there is no quick replacement.

Maybe I could even come to like change...

... Nah.

Sunday Ramblings

So. Kevin left for the Sebring this chilly morning. It's a two-hour drive southwest of here-- pretty much in the middle of nowhere. I know this because the kids and I went and visited the members there three weeks ago.

And, yes, it has been chilly today, for Floridians. Within the past three Sundays I have had to wear tights and boots to church twice! I NEVER wear tights. But when it's cloudy, windy, and in the 40's, you do what you have to do to stay warm. Sami was whining this morning about her clothes not matching. I said, "Hey, it's Florida... Nobody has matching winter Sunday clothes. You throw on what you have, and nobody's gonna judge!"

So, anyway, Kevin visited the Sebring ward at 10:00, and then stayed to visit the Lake Placid branch at 1:00, which means they should be finishing up their Sacrament Meeting right about now. From there he will drive to Vero Beach to take care of some interviews there, and he probably won't be home till the kids are getting ready for bed.

Since it's Fast Sunday, I just pray he will be all right traveling without sustenance. But the Lord will bless him... I'm sure he will be fine.

I'm wondering what is going to happen with my own calling now as Young Women President. I have only had this calling since July, but Kevin told be it is very likely that I will be released. I think the Lord is carrying some of my weight right now. I thought I would feel more burdened, and some ward members have expressed their concern for me, but I'm doing okay. I'm actually doing a bit better mentally than I was when Kevin was the bishop. In thinking through the demands of our callings, from a logical standpoint, then, yes, this is too much for our family. But through Divine intervention, I think, I am actually still sane!

I mentioned to Allie this morning on our drive to church of the likelihood of me being released before she turns twelve in March and joins the Young Women. She sank down in her seat and hung her head. She nodded when I asked if that made her sad. "I really wanted you to go to camp with me..."

I'm glad she not only loves me, but still wants me around! (Of course, when we walk to school, she makes it a point to walk ten feet behind me.)

But I do realize how much the kids need their mom around, especially with Dad being gone.

On the upside, though, he no longer has to go to mutual on Wednesdays! This past week was the first time he hasn't had to go in well-over ten years! It was a little lonely for me driving over to the church alone, but I was sure able to get home faster! When 8:15 hit, I picked up my stuff... and just... left. Woah...

I have really enjoyed my time with the young women, in spite of my many inadequacies. They have been good to me-- very forgiving of my weaknesses. Their faith has strengthened mine.

No More Plans

I didn't anticipate the sadness I would feel as Kevin read his own name in Sacrament meeting. I forgot that, as the new stake president of the Vero Beach Stake, he would need to release himself as bishop. He choked on his own words, as he fought back the tears. 

The calling as bishop has been, to this point of our lives, the most challenging and yet rewarding calling. Of course, I hardly know of anything he actually did-- he kept so much of it away from me, so as to not burden me. But I can't even count the number of times a member has called or stopped me in the hall or sent me an email thanking me for giving him to the ward. He listened, he counseled, he loved. And I appreciated that these thoughtful members took even a brief moment to share that with me, especially since, for me, it just meant his absence. 

He loves talking with people, and ministering is his gift. He just knows how to talk with people, and for many of them, his listening ear and compassionate heart is what they needed the most. 

So as he cried as he read his name, I cried with him. I know how much this calling has meant to him. It has been exhausting-- physically, emotionally, and spiritually-- and yet our whole family has gained strength in each of those aspects. That's how the Lord works, really. As we put ourselves in His hands, He stretches and molds and puts us in the fire, almost to the point of breaking. We cry. We pray. We don't fight back or resist. And then He lets go for a moment. We breathe and find ourselves stronger than before. 

And then He takes hold and stretches us again. And again.

Kevin and I talked the other night. I spoke about how in the first five years of our life in Florida, I was frustrated. We had planned to live here five to ten years, but then then the housing market took a heavy hit and our home value decreased significantly. The financial loss we would have taken to sell our home and purchase another would have been devastating. I felt trapped, like I had lost my agency. I wondered why the Lord hadn't stopped us from buying our home, why we both had good feelings about buying our home in the first place if it was going to put us in such a position.

Then he was called as the bishop, and I thought, Oh. This is why... It was humbling.

Over the past five years while he has been bishop, when people have asked us if we are planning to stay in Florida, I have always responded the same way, with a smile and a chuckle. "I have no idea. I have learned not to make plans anymore."

And as Kevin was called to be the new stake president, I realized that it's really no longer about my plans, but the Lord's. He is stretching and molding and putting us through the fire again. I can either fight back with my own plans and desires, or I can allow Him to make us grow into whatever He would have us to be. That is the Law of Consecration. 

I must admit that it was I was a bit sad to walk by the bishop's office after church today, knowing that it was no longer his-- knowing that he wouldn't be standing there near the door, waiting to say goodbye to us as we walked out to the car. Instead he sat in the sacrament meeting of the 2nd ward. 

But I am thankful to Doug Markos for accepting the call. He will be a wonderful bishop. 

Once again, I am in tears. Sad, yes. But so grateful. So humbled. 

I am so thankful to all of Kevin's wonderful counselors through the years-- Mike Watson, Doug Samuels, Rick Turner, Bro. Vonn, Mike Weatherspoon, and Russell Flamm. The wisdom and guidance and support they have given to Kevin has been invaluable. 

President Humphreys and President Fowler were wonderful mentors and friends to him. 

These changes are going to take some getting use to.

But I hold fast to my testimony. I know that this gospel is true. I know that Jesus Christ is at the head of this Church. I know that we are led by a prophet of God. I know that the power of the priesthood is real. I know that my Savior lives and loves and knows me. He knows my weaknesses and struggles, and He knows my strengths and triumphs. Through it all He is with me as much as I allow Him to be. 

The plain and precious truths of the gospel will sustain us.