Heartbeat

Seven years ago today I heard the words, "I'm sorry, but there's no heartbeat." 

It was a morning appointment, and for some reason I was so nervous for it. I hadn't felt the baby move that morning yet, but I had just the evening before so I expected everything to be okay. 

I remember leaving work and driving to the appointment, expecting to go back to work afterwards. Jayze was at his work, too, so I was all by myself. When the nurse practitioner couldn't find the heartbeat on the heart doppler, she told me to call my husband so he could be there for the ultrasound. Even then I still had hope. Maybe the heart doppler had malfunctioned, maybe the baby was turned in a certain way to where the heartbeat was hidden, maybe everything would be okay after all, maybe, maybe, maybe...

I walked through the doorway into the dark ultrasound room and laid down on the bed. They started the ultrasound, and Jayze arrived just in time for us to see the ultrasound tech look at the nurse practitioner and shake her head. Just like that, our baby was gone. 

Today I woke up, fed our kids breakfast, helped Aidan with his kindergarten classes and homework, played "Spot-It" with Kimball and Lincoln, and snuggled with Ryah before her morning nap. Usually after Aidan's school, I send him off to play by himself or with Kimball and Lincoln. With the two moves and all the changes, I've given in to the temptation too many times to retreat inward and push them aside. To just go through the motions with them and do my own thing. But I've been feeling the urge to change that. To find joy in the simple moments like I used to. 

Today I wanted them to feel joy, and I wanted to treat them like I always imagined I would treat Alma if he were here. I wanted to treat them like I've preached about so many times on here before I had any kids with me. I wanted them to know through my actions that they're important to me. I wanted to not just be there, but actually be present with them. 

So instead of retreating by myself after Aidan's school, I made popcorn and played with them instead.  

I chased them around the living room, wrapping them up in blankets and plopping them on the couch, pretending to be a "blanket monster." I tickled their cute faces and bellies as laughter erupted from them over and over and over. As we ran around, I could almost imagine hearing their hearts beating like crazy from all the playing. They are still here, and so am I.

When things get hard...when triggers come up...when hard memories surface...when my heart hurts and my courage disappears and the anxiety comes...I like to stop and take a minute. Sit or stand up straight, take a deep breath, and look around. Where have I lived a little? Where have the kids been? Where is the joy?

This morning I found it. 

-A naked baby from a blow out.

-Remnants from a snack after a morning of kindergarten.

-A toy rocket on the floor landed there from a child with a huge imagination.

-Natural light coming in to keep me sane (AZ is amazing).

-An almost empty fruit basket from the kids eating all the oranges and bananas (and no time to go to the store.)

-Country music playing in the background while Ry girl and I bob our heads.

-Little boys in the other room building a city with their mega blocks and cars.

Seven years ago I was beyond heartbroken hearing that my baby didn't have a heartbeat. It felt like our home's heartbeat had stopped too. BUT now, this home has a heartbeat. It is so full of life and beauty and mess-ups and little boy giggles and baby girl squeals and imperfections and love and forgiveness. It's full of healing and hard work, and I'm grateful to be here for it.  

And I'm grateful that one day I will get to hold Alma and see him alive and well and hear his beautiful heartbeat again. 

Armor of God

***I wrote this post a few weeks ago and then didn't make time to post it. I've been feeling prompted to write in my blog more and felt really strongly this one needed to be shared this morning. So I cleaned it up, and here you go. :) We're all going through hard things, and just like I've always said in the past, if it helps even one person (even if it's just me), it's worth it.***

I could write pages of everything I'm going through, of everything my kids are going through, of everything my family is going through, and of everything still ahead of us. But the worst part that's happened in 2020 so far has been my dad's death.

Even writing that doesn't feel real. Something doesn't feel right. I never thought it would happen. In a similar (but also different) way, just like I never thought I would lose a baby. In my moments of despair and hardship, I've asked the questions: Why is God putting me through so much grief? Why do I have to endure even more pain? Why does it feel like my soul is being wracked over hot coals, drug through gritty sand, worn down and wet and cold in dark and stormy weather, and tied up so tightly in ropes so thick I can't breathe. My soul is in shreds, broken into a million pieces, and cracked seemingly beyond repair.

"Our Heavenly Father, referring to His Beloved Son, said, "Hear Him!" As you act on those words and listen to Him, remember, joyfully and reverently, that the Savior loves to restore what you cannot restore; He loves to heal wounds you cannot heal; He loves to fix what has been irreparably borken; He compensates for any unfairness inflicted on you; and He loves to permanently mend even 

shattered hearts."

(Dale G. Renlund, April 2020, "Consider the Goodness and Greatness of God")

I read something today that finally described grief in a way that made sense to me in just a few words: "Grief is like being extremely homesick without ever being able to go home."

C.S. Lewis also explains it like this (maybe not grief, but this unsatisfied need, kind of like homesickness):"If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world."

That grief, that homesickness, that ache, that deep down sorrow can be subtle and rear up at any moment. 

A few weeks ago we were still living at my mom and dad's house, and my husband's family had planned a "diving off cliffs and swimming" trip. I was hurrying to pack and get everything ready before Jayze got off work. The towels were one of the last things I grabbed, and those ended up taking the longest. I stood in front of the open linen closet, trying to make sure I had the right amount of towels. "Okay, let's see, we have five kids, so I need seven towels, but we only have four kids here, so I actually just need six towels..." Then I grabbed seven towels anyway, had to put one back, then tried counting again. I just couldn't wrap my mind around it. I finally put all of the towels back and tried again. I counted as I grabbed the towels one by one, "Aidan, Kimball, Lincoln, Ryah, Jayze, Me." But even then, as I stuffed them in the bag, I kept counting over and over, thinking I was missing one. Which was true, I was missing one. We're always missing one. Simple moments like that can become complex in an instant. 

Right after my dad passed away, I remember setting the table. I reached into the cupboard and mentally counted the plates we'd need. Then I realized we needed one less this time because my dad wasn't there anymore. It was a heartbreaking moment putting that plate back in the cupboard and seeing the empty seat at the table as we ate dinner. 

To deal with the grief, I've been diving into my scriptures more. I've been on my knees. I pray all day long as I go throughout the day. I pray while laying in my bed at night even after praying on my knees by my bed. I read and listen to conference talks. I try to serve others. I've been exercising like crazy to keep my anxiety at bay. I've been doing all of these things, and I've still felt sad. I've still felt this aching and tightness in my chest that won't go away. I've still felt the realness of the fact that my dad isn't coming back. And I've thought, why? Why, if I'm doing everything right, why do I still feel this way? This grief is hard. I'm in the valley of sorrow right now, and I don't want to be here.

I was sifting through my old journal entries the other night and came across this beautiful and powerful image. I had forgotten about it, and I'm glad I wrote it down because I needed that image again. I edited some things out, but the core of it is there. God is here. God is near. God is with me.

1/10/18 - Today was rough. I've had a hard time wanting to get out of bed lately. Winter and dark, cloudy days do that to me. Or even sunny, but cold days do that too. Cold where it seems like I can't ever get warm... 

And today wasn't even that rough - it just felt rough inside of me. I feel this heaviness and sadness. I had the thought today while I was driving the kids and myself to meet [our friends] for a walk that why? Why do I feel this way if I truly feel like I'm putting on the armor of God? Why do I still feel heavy and hurt? 

I had an image come to my mind of me dressed in armor in battle. Arrows, swords, and stones came at me. And even though I was able to withstand them because of my armor, my armor still got dented. Those hits still hurt. I still got out of breath from the effort. IT WASN'T EASY. The thought came, "It's the way it's supposed to be. It's okay that it's hard. I'VE GOT YOU. YOU ARE OKAY." 

I couldn't help the tears from falling. Heavenly Father has me. I am in His loving, protecting, sacred hands. I am His. It's going to be okay. I'm going to be okay. And it's okay to have hard days. Everything won't be perfect or easy just because I have my armor on - it just means I can face my battles in the strength of the Lord. And I am grateful for that. 

I couldn't stop thinking about that journal entry for days after I read it. About how my armor is a pretty hot mess right now. Satan and grief and life are throwing all they have at me, and I'm doing all I can to hold them back. I can feel the dents digging into the skin of my soul, the massive bruises forming, and the dirt and sweat stinging my eyes. I can feel myself getting more and more tired from the pain and the seemingly relentless power from the other side.

Yet, I cannot deny the peace that's buried deep down in my very soul. The flashes of joy I catch that help me bear the weight of sorrow. The trust I have in my higher power, even Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. The hope I have in better days ahead.

"I speak to those who are facing personal trials and family struggles, those who endure conflicts fought in the lonely foxholes of the heart, those trying to hold back floodwaters of despair that sometimes wash over us like a tsunami of the soul. I wish to speak particularly to you who feel your lives are broken, seemingly beyond repair. 

To all such I offer the surest and sweetest remedy that I know. It is found in the clarion call the Savior of the world Himself gave. He said it in the beginning of His ministry, and He said it in the end. He said it to believers, and He said it to those who were not so sure. He said to everyone, whatever their personal problems might be:

'Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.'"

(Jeffrey R. Holland, April 2006, "Broken Things to Mend")

The really beautiful thing is that as I keep reading my scriptures and praying and doing everything I can to be on the Lord's side, I can give him my whole heart, my whole soul, and He can heal me. He can heal my armor and make it even stronger. He can mend the rips, the shreds, the holes, the cracks, the pieces, the cuts, and the bruises grief has left on my soul. He can clean off the dirt and sweat, give me newer and stronger armor, and with a smile and loving nod of his head send me back to the battle with the sweet assurance I'm not alone. He is in this WITH me. And He can make this light if I just keep coming unto Him.

"And it came to pass that the voice of the Lord came to them in their afflictions, saying: Lift up your heads and be of good comfort, for I know of the covenant which ye have made unto me; and I will covenant with my people and deliver them out of bondage.

And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs, even while you are in bondage; and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter, and that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions.

And now it came to pass that the burdens which were laid upon Alma and his brethren were made light; yea, the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord."

(Mosiah 24:13-15)

I'm trying not to let this opportunity to come closer to God go wasted. I'm trying not just to get through, but to thrive while doing it. My husband and I were talking about Nephi last night. I love how even though they had left their home and were traveling in the wilderness and it was hard, as long as they kept the commandments, God led them to the more fertile parts of the wilderness (1 Nephi 16:16). They still had to work for their own food and work to walk. I'm sure they got tired. It was still the wilderness - not the promised land. But it was also the best parts of the wilderness. God can, and is, doing that for me as I keep coming unto Him. 

I know He can do that for anyone who comes unto Him. 

"Armies of Heaven"

This week (Saturday) is Alma's birthday. I've thought about it many times throughout the month, but it hasn't been like in the past where August 1-August 31 is hard. We've just been so busy with moving, Jayze starting law school, Aidan starting kindergarten, and so many other things that I hadn't had time to really sit down and think about Alma's birthday until this past weekend. I knew his birthday was coming up, and I hate waiting last minute, so I wanted a plan for Saturday so I would be prepared.

We talked about it with Aidan and Kimball yesterday during dinner, and decided that we're going to make a cake, maybe drive to the temple, and of course, serve someone (we always try to do some sort of service on Alma's birthday). I also might snag a candle from the store, and that will be that, I thought. It's going to be a great birthday.

Initially when we moved to Snowflake, the thought crossed my mind that we would actually be close to Alma's grave for his birthday this year. Then a couple of months later when we were accepted to law school and I saw the starting date, I realized that we actually weren't going to be there for Alma's birthday, and I was sad about it. "Aw well," I thought. "We can still celebrate from afar like we've always done." And that was that again.

But I woke up this morning, walked to the bathroom, saw that Jayze had written a beautiful quote by Jeffrey R. Holland on our bathroom mirror, and I lost it. 

 "In the gospel of Jesus Christ you have help from both sides of the veil, and you must never forget that. When disappointment and discouragement strike—and they will—you remember and never forget that if our eyes could be opened we would see horses and chariots of fire as far as the eye can see riding at reckless speed to come to our protection. They will always be there, these armies of heaven, in defense of Abraham's seed."

~Jeffrey R. Holland~

As I read that quote - When disappointment and discouragement strike - with tears burning my eyes and a sob caught in my throat, I thought about holding Alma. I thought about having to say goodbye SO many times and hating it. I thought about seeing the autopsy stitches all over his tiny body and feeling so badly for him, feeling like I failed as a mom. I thought about how I should have a 7-year-old going to school this year. I thought about having to explain to my kids that they have a brother in heaven, and since I haven't had the heart to show them pictures yet - I haven't felt like it's the right time yet - they don't quite understand the concept. I thought about how we just had to bury their Papa this year and Alma being gone is just another reminder that another person we love isn't here. The concept of how anyone can die at any moment has been a struggle for me, let alone teaching it to my kids and having them see it firsthand. 

I guess I just didn't realize how much I was struggling. "I'm beautiful. I'm strong. I can do this," I've been telling myself since our last couple of weeks in Kansas. And this past weekend regarding Alma's birthday, "It's okay. I feel a little bit sad, but I'm strong. I got this."

It's important to say that to myself - it helps me get through. But in reality, it's also important to say, "This is hard, and I'm struggling. I'm sad and discouraged and feel defeated, but God's got this. God is strong. God's got me." With God, I can do anything. 

"...you have help from both sides of the veil, and you must never forget that...you remember and never forget that if our eyes could be opened we would see horses and chariots of fire as far as the eye can see riding at reckless speed to come to our protection. They will always be there, these armies of heaven, in defense of Abraham's seed."

My dad is a part of the ones "riding at reckless speed to come to [my] protection" now, and so is Alma. I imagine them up there cracking jokes, having joy in the paradise they enjoy, anxiously waiting for our turn, and wanting to help us in any way they can. I'm grateful for them. I'm grateful I'm not alone.

If there's anything I could say to anyone is that we really are NOT alone. Satan tries his best to isolate us, whether it's from us feeling shame about a sin or us feeling lonely in our grief, but that's not truth. God never leaves His children alone. Work hard to come unto Him, and He'll be there. I haven't been able to do any of this without him. And I won't be able to do this week without Him - at least not with true peace and joy. 

So I'm entering this week with courage. Courage to cry when I need to and then stand back up again and keep moving forward. Courage to be happy AND sad. Courage to find peace and healing amidst this ocean of grief. Courage to remember. YOU can have courage too, no matter what you're going through. Trying matters, and you WITH God got this. Keep moving forward one step at a time - there really is joy to be found in the journey.