Of Teacups and Emotions

"It was meant to be that life would be a challenge.  To suffer some anxiety, some depression, some disappointment, even some failure is normal.  Teach our members that if they have a good, miserable day once in a while, or several in a row, to stand steady and face them.  Things will straighten out.  There is great purpose in our struggle in life" (Boyd K. Packer, "That All May Be Edified," [1982], 94).


Throughout my life, I have heard that struggles and hardships and trials are just a part of life.  I have heard that they are not only a part of life, but they are an essential part of life.  They apparently make you stronger.

I would listen to these talks, believing every word.  That yes, I can do hard things.  That yes, Heavenly Father cares about me and will carry me through my trials.  That yes, blessings come after the trial is over.

And I did go through some hard times in my younger years and in high school, but until I actually had to go through a hardcore, deep-down, soul-wrenching, in-the-fire trial, I didn't really understand.

I would listen to the story of Joseph and Emma and how they lost so many of their children.  I would feel sad for them, but nothing more than that.  Being sad for them and then moving on would be as far as I would get.

One Sunday, not too long after Alma had passed away, Jayze and I were watching the Joseph Smith movie.  As I watched the scene where Emma had their first baby who lived only a few hours, and later she's holding the little coffin as Joseph is digging the little grave, I started crying and couldn't stop.  Because for the first time, I knew how they felt.  I knew what it was like to watch my baby be buried in the ground.  I knew what it was like to have so much anticipation and excitement, only to have my heart broken.  I knew what it was like to have a baby and then to not have a baby.

When Jayze and I lost our own baby, the experience felt surreal.  Everything had happened so fast.  One minute everything seemed fine, and then bam! Life changed in an instant.  And even though life changed in an instant, I sure have not changed in an instant.  That moment when I found out my baby died, I didn't really realize that my life was going to be completely different.

Now everything seems different.  Sometimes things still seem the same.  I still go to church, to school, to work, to baby showers, to birthday parties, to the movies, on dates with Jayze, and to the temple.  I still eat dinner, drive my car, do the dishes, and listen to music.  Even though it doesn't seem like it should because something happened that changed my life forever, life still goes on.  The bills still need to be paid, the fish (I say fish instead of dog because our three goldfish will do for now-we'll get a dog someday!) still need to be fed, and the floor still needs to be swept.

 It feels like this push and pull and tug all the time.  I feel happy, then sad, then angry, then panicked, then peaceful, then hopeless...it's amazing how many emotions can be felt in five minutes.  I guess that comes with grief, pregnancy hormones, and girl hormones all trying to make their own statement at the same time.

This week has been especially hard.  I have felt hopeless, depressed, and panicked.  I cry so easily now.  I turn into a watery mess every night when I talk to Jayze about what's going through my head.  I panic every time someone looks at my bulging belly, wondering how I'm going to answer the questions he or she might ask.   

It reminds me of a story my counselor at an EFY told my group that has stuck with me all these years:

There was a couple who used to go to England to shop in the beautiful stores. They both liked antiques and pottery and especially teacups. This was their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

One day in this beautiful shop they saw a beautiful teacup.They said, "May we see that? We've never seen one quite so beautiful."

As the lady handed it to them, suddenly the teacup spoke. "You don't understand," it said. "I haven't always been a teacup.

There was a time when I was red and I was clay. My master took me and rolled me and patted me over and over and I yelled out, "let me alone", but he only smiled, "Not yet."

"Then I was placed on a spinning wheel," the teacup said, "and suddenly I was spun around and around and around.Stop it! I'm getting dizzy! I screamed. But the master only nodded and said, 'Not yet.'

Then he put me in the oven. I never felt such heat. I wondered why he wanted to burn me, and I yelled and knocked at the door. I could see him through the opening and I could read his lips as He shook his head, 'Not yet.'

Finally the door opened, he put me on the shelf, and I began to cool. 'There, that's better,' I said. And he brushed and painted me all over. The fumes were horrible. I thought I would gag. 'Stop it, stop it!' I cried. He only nodded, 'Not yet.'

Then suddenly he put me back into the oven, not like the first one. This was twice as hot and I knew I would suffocate. I begged. I pleaded. I screamed. I cried. All the time I could see him through the opening nodding his head saying, 'Not yet.'

Then I knew there wasn't any hope. I would never make it. I was ready to give up. But the door opened and he took me out and placed me on the shelf. One hour later he handed me a mirror and said, 'Look at yourself. And I did. I said, 'That's not me; that couldn't be me. It's beautiful. I'm beautiful.'

'I want you to remember, then,' he said, 'I know it hurts to be rolled and patted, but if I had left you alone, you'd have dried up.

I know it made you dizzy to spin around on the wheel, but if I had stopped, you would have crumbled. I knew it hurt and was hot and disagreeable in the oven, but if I hadn't put you there, you would have cracked.

I know the fumes were bad when I brushed and painted you all over, but if I hadn't done that, you never would have hardened; you would not have had any color in your life. And if I hadn't put you back in that second oven, you wouldn't survive for very long because the hardness would not have held. Now you are a finished product. You are what I had in mind when I first began with you.

(illustrationstoponder.blogspot.com) 


Right now I am definitely not the finished product.  I think I am still at the spinning wheel part--feeling dizzy and out of control.  This second pregnancy is not easy.  I have had way more emotions than I thought possible and have felt my confidence slowly ebb away.  My heart has failed me, anxiety has filled my soul.  I am still working on trusting in God and keeping His commandments.  But one thing I know is that He loves me.  He wants me to succeed.  He wants me to be molded in His hands and become more like Him because that is where the greatest happiness, peace, and comfort lies.