Book Review: Delivering Hope

I am so excited to share an awesome read with you guys! 

I actually was contacted about this book several months ago and was waiting on pins and needles to get my hands on a copy.  I was finally able to read it for the first time yesterday and it did not disappoint.  This book was beautiful.  Meaningful.  Uplifting.  Inspiring.  I read the whole thing in one sitting. 

I don’t want to give too much away, but here’s the synopsis:

Olivia Spencer wants to be a mom more than anything else in the whole world, but years of infertility have wounded her soul and placed a strain on her marriage to Michael.  Now, Olivia finds herself wondering if the life she has built will even survive.

Allison Campbell is a recent high school graduate who discovers that a moment of excitement has led to an unplanned pregnancy and an overwhelming heartache.

As the lives of these two women touch, we see that deep love can pave the way for sacrifice, and we all learn the true source of hope and healing.

I loved the parallels between characters and the beautiful way in which each woman's story intertwined.  Olivia’s character resonated with me so strongly that at times it felt like I was reading about my own life.  The characters may be fictional, but the emotion behind this book is very real.  I truly connected with the characters through their heartache and rejoiced in their triumph.   

I actually had the opportunity to meet the author at last years FSA.  Jennifer Ann Holt is as sweet as they come.  She is giving away a signed copy of the book to two individuals, and a singed bookmark and Delivering Hope magnet to five individuals.  There are a few ways to enter:’

1. Become a follower of Jennifer’s blog:  www.jenshopefulwriting.blogspot.com and leave a comment letting her know you stopped by!
2. “Like” the Delivering Hope facebook fan page:  www.facebook.com/DeliveringHopeNovel
3. Watch the book trailer:  www.bit.ly/peCixw and post a comment on the facebook page telling what you liked about it.

The winners will be randomly chosen at the conclusion of the blog tour and posted on both Jen’s blog and the Facebook fan page by 10:00 am on Saturday, February 11th. 

Delivering Hope will be officially released on February 8th.  I’m dying for you guys to read it so we can discuss!    

Nature Walk

I went for a walk in the canyon today, and the view was too lovely not to share.

The colors are breathtaking this time of year.  No matter how many photos I snapped, I could just not quite do justice to the real thing…

…Not that it stopped me from trying. 

And I got to thinking about my favorite talk from conference, by Elder Cook, “It Is Better To Look Up.”  I loved that talk.  So much.  I love the concept of up.  I love that things can look up, people can cheer up, and hopes can rise up. 

When I was walking through the canyon with my eyes downcast this was all I could see:

Not much of a view is it?  When I was looking down all I could focus on was the shadows.  And look what I would have missed out on if I wouldn’t have looked up:

My walk caused me to come to the following realization: when I’m feeling downcast and only focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, I totally miss out on the beauty of the world (and even more importantly, the people) around me.  Looking down leads to self absorption.  How many opportunities I miss to reach out to those around me when I’m too busy looking at my feet. 

It really is better to look up. 

Uplifted

 

I have been reflecting on how sometimes I feel so small.  My intent is good, but often I have felt like my efforts alone don’t make enough of a difference.  I do my best, but I haven’t done anything earth shattering or world changing.  I enjoy reaching out to others, but my reach doesn’t seem to extend as far as I would like. 

Have you ever felt that way? 

It is easy to think that our influence is small.  But I have been so grateful for each contribution made on our behalf, no matter how simple.  The little things our dear friends and family members have done for us have literally meant the world.

I was recently re-reading Elder Ballard’s talk “The Atonement and the Worth of One Soul.”  He said something that has really resonated with me:

“Sadly, in today’s world, a person’s importance is often judged by the size of the audience before which he or she performs. That is how media and sports programs are rated, how corporate prominence is sometimes determined, and often how governmental rank is obtained. That may be why roles such as father, mother, and missionary seldom receive standing ovations. Fathers, mothers, and missionaries “play” before very small audiences. Yet, in the eyes of the Lord, there may be only one size of audience that is of lasting importance—and that is just one, each one, you and me, and each one of the children of God. The irony of the Atonement is that it is infinite and eternal, yet it is applied individually, one person at a time.”

I know I have fell into the habit of measuring my worth.  The number of blog followers.  The dress size.  The amount of money you make.  The number of children you have.  It is tempting to try and quantify your worth.  Everything in this world is measured by numbers.  But not the worth of souls.  The worth of souls is GREAT.  So great that no number or measurement could begin to capture the value. 

Every time someone reaches out to me I am reminded that simple acts of service are often the most meaningful and powerful.  I begin to realize anew that our influence is greater than we give ourselves credit for.

Thank you dearest friends for your support yesterday! 

 

Don’t forget to hop on over to our adoption blog and enter our giveaway. 

Silver Lining

It maybe didn’t start out as the best day.  Spencer’s computer bit the dust.  Not so convenient.  We’ve been praying all week for a very important phone call.  Still haven’t heard.  Lots of nail biting and hair pulling going on around our house today.
I FINALLY finished my very second quilt.  I am so proud.  I spent lots of the day looking forward to this outdoor photo shoot I had planned to showcase my latest creation.  Spencer got home from work.  He grabbed the quilt and I grabbed my camera.  We stepped outside. 
Raining. 
But the rain made me so very very happy.     

I’m sure you’ve heard about all the fires going on in Texas.  1.5 million acres of charred land.  Homes lost.  Lives lost.  Our governor Rick Perry called on Texans to pray for rain.  So we’ve been asking Heavenly Father to bless our state with the moisture it so desperately needs. 
He listened.
We could certainly use more, but I have a feeling more is on the way.  We’ll take what we can get.

For now, I’m so grateful for what we have.  

Life is Hard and Then You Die

That is one of my dad’s favorite expressions.  He is not a negative person, I promise.  Mostly, he just used to tell us this when we would whine about having to do things were were supposed to do, like help clean up the kitchen. 
I don’t know why, but Sundays are the hardest day of the week.  For some reason they are really discouraging. 
Yesterday I was crying for no good reason and Spencer asked me what was wrong.  For some reason I have a hard time saying what is really bothering me so Spencer has to coax it out of me.
The thing is, I didn’t know exactly what was bothering me.  It was a lot of things.  I have been stressed over job hunting.  I am anxious to move forward in life.  I am worried about finances.  I am frustrated that my fibromyalgia has really flared up lately, and I haven’t felt well.  I am annoyed that even though I try to manage my stress in healthy ways, my body is really reacting to the strain it’s under.  I am tired because I can’t sleep.  I am emotional because the clomid is messing with my system and my hormones are really out of whack. 
Eventually, I burst out yelling, “I AM JUST SO SICK OF THINGS NEVER WORKING OUT FOR US!!!  I DON’T THINK THINGS ARE EVER GOING TO WORK OUT!!!” I probably looked like a two year old.  I even pounded my fist on the bed while my face was buried in my pillow.
Spencer didn’t tell me to grow up (that’s what I would have told me, I think).  Instead, he calmly suggested, “You don’t really think that, you know things will get better.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.  Then after a long pause, “After we die…maybe.”  Then I laughed because my extreme pessimism was so ridiculous.  Spencer laughed too because suddenly the situation seemed a little funnier. 
A good nights sleep and a fresh day can do wonders for a bad attitude.  I’m a little embarrassed by yesterdays tantrum.  Today I feel much better and have spent a little bit of time this morning happily typing away at my laptop.

There is a most lovely blog that makes me want to get out my camera and play:

{via farmgirl in flipflops}

{via Simplyhue}

{via Simplyhue}

I am just so in love with everything she does.  Her work is too dang beautiful.  :: sigh:: Go take a look!  And I am now on the hunt for a yellow and white striped umbrella. 

It Was Worth It

There are a few books that I try to read every year.  The ones that teach me something.  One Tattered Angel by Blaine M. Yorgason is one of them.  This is one of my top three favorite books of all time, and that is saying something.  Every time I read it, I am filled with a spirit of gratitude and humility.  Without giving too much away, it is the true story about the family of a baby girl with lots of major health problems.  Here’s a quick excerpt from one of my favorite parts.
 
           “And suddenly I knew, if I could have spoken with my tiny daughter- if I could have talked with her for just five minutes about her seemingly unfair pain and suffering- she would have told me [one thing].  ‘It was worth it!’ she would have said.  ‘It was worth every agonizing moment’.”
 
Life is so hard sometimes.  As I reflect on the challenges I have faced in my short life, I have different feelings towards each struggle.  Some I am grateful for.  Others, I am learning to be grateful for.  But I am certain that the day will come when each of us will look back on our lives and say, “It was worth it!”  Even if we don’t feel that way now, I believe we one day will. 

I have spent a lot of time lately pondering on the challenges of those I love.  It seems like I have many dear friends and beloved family members who are facing very real struggles right now.  Sometimes I just feel like throwing my hands up in the air and shouting, “Why does life have to be so hard!”  I look at my sweet family who has suffered so much this past year and think, “Haven’t they suffered enough? How much longer do we have to trudge on until there’s some kind of relief?” 

I don’t know.  I am not sure how long they will have to wait.  I’m not sure how long I will have to wait.  I do know that everything will be all right in the end.  Even if we all have to wait a really long time.  I know it.

2011 Theme

Every year I try and pick a theme for myself.  I am TOTALLY one of those nerds who sets new years resolutions.  I love a fresh start.  I love a new beginning.  I love a blank canvas.  I love an empty notebook.  I love the endless possibilities of a new year. 
Usually my theme for the year comes quite easily.  Our family has a special Family Home Evening where we set goals for the year and talk about what we want to focus on. 
As I have pondered what I want to focus on in 2011, I have struggled to pin down my specific desires, since I am not in the place I thought I would be.  What do I want for myself in 2011… I’m not entirely sure yet! 
I do know, that through the challenges ahead I want to maintain a positive attitude.  I want to recognize my blessings.  I want to look forward with faith.  I want to look beyond myself and focus on those around me. 
Therefore, my little motto for the year is this: “The best is yet to be.”  It is a saying I have loved for a long time, taken from Robert Browning.  It is something I say to remind myself when going through hard times, that things will get better.  When I am experiencing good times, I am comforted in knowing that there are even better years to come.  No one wants to have enjoyed the best years of their life already!  Then what could we possibly have to look forward to?  The future holds so much joy. 
The best is ALWAYS yet to be. 

Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With String

Do you know what the five love languages are?  I really won’t go into all of them, but the theory is that people like to show and receive love in different ways.  For example, I might really like to receive love by just hearing the words “I love you,” but I might like to show love by writing little love notes.  The point is, we all have different ways of expressing how much we care about each other. 
My family is big on expressing love through gifts.  Not in a materialistic  superficial way, we just get really into  selecting presents the others will love.  When we were little, and the time came to visit our grandparents,  my sisters and I  would spend weeks before hand making them drawings and knick knacks to give to them upon our arrival.  Our little tokens were obviously of no monetary value, they just showed Grandma and Grandpa how much they meant to us.  We STILL make many of our own Christmas presents to give away.     
We spend a lot of time thinking about what to give each other for birthdays, and other gift-giving holidays (i.e. Christmas, mothers & fathers day, etc…) because a generic gift doesn’t say, “I love you” like a thoughtful gift does.  We love wrapping the presents and sneakily hiding them somewhere in the house.  We love surprises more than most people, I think.  It’s not about how much money was spent, just how much thought and care went into the gift.  I’m sure we’re not the only ones who feel this way, we ALL want to share meaningful gifts don’t we?
I found this story that shared a really great idea for meaningful gift giving.  Perhaps it can become a new tradition in our house. 
Here it is:
It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas---oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it-overspending...the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma---the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black.
These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears.
It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them."
Mike loved kids-all kids-and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came.
That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church.
On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me.
His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years.
For each Christmas, I followed the tradition---one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.
The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal it's contents.
As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there.
You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad.
The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.
May we all remember each other, and the Real reason for the season, and His true spirit this year and always. God bless---pass this along to your friends and loved ones.
--- Copyright © 1982 Nancy W. Gavin
--- Submitted by Edwin G. Whiting
The story first appeared in Woman's Day magazine in 1982. My mom had sent the story in as a contest entry in which she subsequently won first place. Unfortunately, she passed away from cancer two years after the story was published. Our family still keeps the tradition started by her and my father and we have passed it on to our children. Feel free to use the story. It gives me and my sisters great joy to know that it lives on and has hopefully inspired others to reach out in a way that truly honors the spirit of Christmas. --- Kevin Gavin

Enough is Enough

All or nothing.  Do you ever feel that way too?  Like, if you are going to do something then it has to be done PERFECTLY or it’s not worth doing at all.  Or is that just me? 
I am striving to adopt a new motto, “Good enough is good enough.” 
Enough is such an interesting word. 
How do we know when we have reached the elusive state of “enough?”  How do you find that sweet spot of being comfortable with who you are and your stage in life, but nevertheless always trying to improve?  The line between acceptance and growth is a wiggly one. 
Today, I re-read a favorite scripture that has changed the way I think about enough. 
Mosiah Chapter 14:
3He is ^adespised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.
4Surely he has ^aborne our ^bgriefs, and carried our sorrows; yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.
5But he was ^awounded for our ^btransgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are ^chealed.
I had always thought that use of “we” meant us, as in, everyone one of us who is imperfect and has had to rely upon the atonement.  But today I was thinking about “we” as in my Savior and myself. 
Alone, I can never be enough.  If I reach as far as I can, and do as much as I can, I had always thought that the Savior would just make up the difference.  But now, I think it is so much more than that.  It’s not about what I can do plus what He can do; it’s really about what WE can do together. 
Whew, kind of heavy for a blog post.  But that is what I was thinking about today, so I wanted to share. 

Name Them One By One

What are you thankful for?

A Small Discovery

Have you ever heard of this blog?:

I love hearing people’s stories.  I love recording/collecting/sharing stories.  I find inspiration in the world around me, but most especially in people.  Doesn’t it inspire you to be a witness to someone's kindness?  Doesn’t it inspire you to see people connecting with other people?  Sharing.  Teaching.  Loving.  Doesn’t it inspire you to see someone who is living life with hope, despite obvious challenges? 
When I hear stories about people who can see the good in the world, and have a desire to contribute to it, I feel more motivated to be a better person myself.  So, I add Kelle Hampton to my ever-growing list of such people. 
I am always interested to hear a good story, so feel free to share any inspiring finds you have had lately!
P.S. I LOVE that quilt.  I am making a scrappy quilt myself right now.  Never mind that I haven’t QUITE finished my last quilt.  I am mostly obsessed with making quilt tops, that’s the fun part.  I really need to buckle down and finish them though because it’s getting out of hand I tell you. 

This Is My Shari:

Today, I wanted to share a little bit about one of my favorite people ever… my sister, Shari.  We have definitely had our share of sibling rivalry (when we were little we once concocted a plan to smear peanut butter all over the counter to see who mom would blame, so we could subsequently discover which daughter she loved most, the idea being that she wouldn’t blame her favorite daughter, I realize this is a run-on sentence but just go with it), but we are now the best of friends and wish that we didn’t live several states apart from each other.
Aside from being cute and funny and really fun to shop with, Shari is a very kind and giving person.  I hope she won’t mind if I share a story about her. 
Shari and her husband, Mike went out to eat for Shari’s birthday.  They noticed a couple with a baby sitting a few tables over.  The baby had obvious health problems, and it looked as though the family probably spent a lot of time in the hospital.  Shari asked Mike if they could pay for this couple’s meal, as her birthday present.  They asked the waitress if they could cover the couple’s meal anonymously and left before the little family was notified that their meal had been paid for. 
Wow.  I find her sweet act of generosity so inspiring.  That is just how she is. 
When Shari was in elementary school, she was good friends with a little girl with some obvious mental handicaps.  She would play with her on the playground, and help her make sand cakes in the sandbox.  I’m not sure how many other friends this little girl had.  But I do know that Shari reached out to her when may others didn’t.  Shari didn’t care if others viewed her as different, she just wanted to be a friend to someone in need. 
I could go on and on sharing story after story of the times that Shari has been an example to me.  I am so grateful that she is my sister.  I’m pretty lucky to have her in my life, I tell you what.  

A Better Plan

I’m the kind of girl that likes to have a plan.  I carry my planner with me ALWAYS.  I like to plan each day.  I make copious to-do lists and find satisfaction in checking each item off.  I like to organize my week and month.  I like knowing what is going to happen when.  Even if there aren’t any monumental tasks for the day, I like to schedule the small things like doing laundry, painting my toenails, or even taking a nap.  Some might call it obsession; I call it organization. 
I am consistently amazed, however, at how many things in life don’t go according to plan, even when I have a meticulous schedule in place.  It can be frustrating sometimes.  But what I am grateful for today is that I have a Heavenly Father whose plan for me is better than the plan I have for myself.  I can’t wait to see what He has in store for me. 

A Lesson From Heather

I taught Young Women's yesterday, and shared the following story.  It is quite long, but it is one of my absolute favorites, and has weighed heavily on my mind lately. 

“It has been several years and I am still deeply touched how in one fleeting moment, with great power, the Spirit was manifest to me through two bright blue eyes. The eyes belong to Heather; a nine year old girl with a keen mind, infectious giggle, and a determined spirit housed in a very physically restricted frame. Due to the nature of her handicaps, the simplest of life’s activities, if at all possible, are a major task. Unable to verbalize, Heather sends messages, quite efficiently, with her eyes; a direct gaze indicating “yes” and a blink meaning “no”. So through a series of questions, gazes, blinks, giggles, facial expressions, more questions and more gazes and blinks, Heather has shared her vibrant spirit and brought incredible amounts of joy into the lives of those who know her and take the time to interact with her.
As Heather’s therapist and teacher, I have sensed on many occasions that for Heather, as with other handicapped children, the veil seems to be very thin. How often I have wondered what she could teach me about the things of the Spirit if only the expression were granted.
Heather is proud of her membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and is a great little missionary in her own right as she struggles to share with others that which is of most value to her.
Summer school is a fun time for special students and teachers alike. The atmosphere is relaxed and the days are short. Its purpose is to maintain basic living skills during the long break between school years.
Monday morning, as usual, Heather arrived at school with a countenance as bright as the sun in the sky. As she was wheeled off the bus, we visited about the previous weekend. When we arrived at the classroom, Heather indicated to me that she had attended Primary so I began singing some of the Primary songs, looking for an indication of familiarity on Heather’s face. A smile broke across her face in immediate recognition. Between songs I talked to Heather briefly and she responded in her usual manner. I asked Heather if I could sing my favorite Primary song “I Wonder When He Comes Again”. She responded positively and so I proceeded. At the conclusion of that song I asked Heather if she had a favorite song. Immediately her eyes focused on mine but then I faced the challenge of determining which song she loved above all others and to satisfy my own curiosity - why? Through a series of questions I discovered that it was a song she had heard in Primary. She wasn’t sure which song book it was in and most importantly, it was a song about Jesus. As I went through every possible song I could think of, to my dismay and Heather’s disappointment, none of them was the right one. I didn’t understand and concluded that Heather was confused. I had spent eight years collectively as Junior Primary Chorister and felt certain that I had not forgotten any of the songs about Jesus. But Heather refused to let the issue die. It was as if she needed for some reason for the two of us to share her favorite song. Finally I agreed that I would bring my Primary song books to school the following day and promised her that we would go through them together.
Tuesday morning Heather arrived and was wheeled into the classroom. Visually she was on the prowl for the song books. As her eyes fixed on the books across the room, she gave me a squeal and a look to let me know in no uncertain terms that she wanted to find the song—now! So we took a minute and went through the books but to no avail. She liked all of the songs but none of them were THE song.
Wednesday dawned a beautiful day. It was as if the day were created to reflect the beauty of what lay in store. Heather came to school more determined than ever that we find her song. Tucked in Heather’s wheelchair was the new hymn book. I took Heather out of her wheelchair and situated her comfortably on her stomach in a beanbag. I positioned myself on the floor at her side. Page by page we made our way through the hymn book. With each page I sang the first phrase of the song and with each page Heather’s eyes closed in a definite no. We were more than halfway through the book and I’m afraid I began to doubt the possibility of any success in the adventure but I continued. As a matter of routine I turned to the next page and began:
“There is sunshine in my soul today...”
It was as if someone had stuck her with a pin. Heather jumped and smiled; her bright eyes looking directly my way. Together we laughed and reveled in the moment of completing a three-day search. With the search ended it was time to get back to business…. Once she was situated in her chair with her head resting comfortably on my arm I said, “OK, now we can finally sing your favorite song.” With a smile on her face she listened as I began:
“There is sunshine in my soul today
More glorious and bright
Than glows in any earthly sky
For Jesus is my light...”
As I began the chorus Heather mustered all the effort she could and joined in with occasional sounds only slightly more audible than a sigh but booming with spirit to sing with me...
“Oh there’s sunshine,
Blessed sunshine
Where the peaceful, happy moments roll.
When Jesus shows His smiling face
There is sunshine in my soul.”
As I sang the words to the last line she looked at me steadily, as if to say, “I like that part.” I felt so grateful that we had found the song. Heather was so happy that it was worth the effort and then some. Little did I realize that the real message was yet to be discovered. I asked if she wanted the rest of the verses. She, of course, responded with a firm, “Yes”. I expressed my insecurity about remembering all the words since we had left the hymn book in the classroom, but decided to give it a shot anyway, so I continued:
“There is music in my soul today;
A carol to my king
And Jesus, listening can hear
The songs I cannot sing...”
“And Jesus, listening can hear the songs I cannot sing.” Heather seemed to really come to life at that line in the song. Her reaction was so strong that I stopped. I looked at her as the reality and significance of the moment pressed on my mind. I queried, “Heather, is that it? Is that what you like about the song? Is it what you want me to know? That Jesus is listening and He can near the songs you cannot sing:” She lifted her head and looked me straight in the eyes with excitement and yet almost relief evident on her face. The testimony had been borne.
I felt a great reverence at what was taking place. Feeling guided by the Spirit myself I ventured on to ask, “Heather, does Jesus talk to you in your mind and in your heart?” Immediately her little head again came up and her look was penetrating.
Knowing her close relationship with the Savior and feeling surely an answer awaited, there was one more thing I wanted to know. So with reverent anticipation I whispered, “Heather, what does He say?” My heart pounded as I viewed the clear look in her eyes as she awaited my questions so she could in fact share with me her insight. I feel that the Lord gave me the right questions to ask as I took a deep breath and proceeded. “Does He say, ‘Heather, I love you?” Her eyes were simply radiant as she confirmed that statement. I paused, swallowed and continued, “Does He say, ‘Heather, you’re special’?” With a new found energy source her arms began to wave with excitement and her eyes were as big as quarters as she looked into my face. I paused again with a lump in my throat and then followed with, “Does He say, ‘Heather, be patient, I have great things in store for you’?”
What I next witnessed, I will never forget. Heather’s head became erect, every fiber of her being seemed to be electrified as her eyes penetrated my own soul. She knew she was loved. She knew she was special. She knew she needed only be patient for great things are in store.
The moment was too sacred for further words. I leaned forward and pressed her cheek against my own. Without any words, but with bright blue eyes as windows to a valiant soul, the truth was made known.
Yes, Heather, Jesus, listening, can hear.”
(from When Life Doesn’t Seem Fair by Bruce and Joyce Erickson)
What more could you possibly add to a testimony like that?  What a sweet reminder that our Savior knows our hearts.  He loves us and I am so grateful that I never have to face hard times alone. 

Hope

Well, no baby this month.  Darn.  Yesterday was really difficult.  I cried in Spencer's lap.  I cried to my mom on the phone.  But, that was yesterday.

Today.  Today I am more hopeful.  I don't know why.  Because it didn't work.  I still don't know why it won't work.  I still don't know when it will work.  And, most of my friends still have babies/are pregnant.  But, I feel hopeful today, even though I am doubled over with cramps and have been taking pain pills like crazy (but not overdosing, mind you). 

I am hopeful because I have felt Heavenly Fathers love for me a lot the past few days.  I know that he is mindful of me and our little family.  I know he has a plan for me.  I know that I will get to be a mom... someday.  I am grateful that he has given me hope to get me through the hard times.  So though no answers have come, I have a good feeling in my heart.  I am going to do all I can to hold on to it.

A Lesson From C.S. Lewis

It is sometimes difficult to understand why we have to go through the trials we are given.  But I think I can confidently say that EVERY trial we ever have to pass through can be used to help someone else.  If you reflect on the difficult circumstances of others, I suspect you have a special place in your heart for, and even a particular desire to reach out to, those who have experienced challenges similar to your own.  Empathy has power that sympathy simply cannot duplicate. 
Further, sometimes our trials lead us down a path that we might not have otherwise gone down.    
I am currently reading C.S. Lewis’ autobiography (Surprised by Joy).  It always fascinates me to learn about the lives of influential people.  I have recently been reflecting on this excerpt:
What drove me to write was the extreme manual clumsiness from which I have always suffered.  I attribute it to a physical  defect which my brother and I both inherit from our father; we have only one joint in the thumb.  the upper joint (that furthest from the nail) is visible, but it is a mere sham; we cannot bend it.  But whatever the cause, nature laid on me form birth an utter incapacity to make anything…. It was this that forced me to write.  I longed to make things, ships, houses, engines.  Many sheets of cardboard and pairs of scissors I spoiled, only to turn from my hopeless failures in tears.  As a last resource, I was driven to write stories instead; little dreaming to what a would of happiness I was being admitted. You can do more with a castle in a story than with the best cardboard castle that ever stood on a nursery table.
I think it is interesting that one of C.S. Lewis’ greatest blessings (his ability to influence people through the written word) sprang from his trial of being born with partially crippled hands.  And just think, his literature went on to change the world! 
Sometimes it is so hard not to ask why.  That is the most pressing question on our minds while we go through adversity, yet is almost always the most mysterious.  But I have been learning and re-learning lately that I should try to focus on asking myself what I can do to reach out to others instead of mulling over why something is happening to me.  It is SUCH a hard lesson to learn, but I appreciate the examples (like C.S. Lewis) who brighten the path. 

Appreciate The Sunset

  My freshman year of college, I was sitting on the bus after a particularly cold day and looking mournfully out the window at the snow covered ground while contemplating my yet unfinished homework. At each stop I would dream of the day when I would have my own car and not have to rely on public transportation. The bus stopped and a young man got on the bus taking the seat in front of me.
It was obvious that he had many struggles in life, including a mental and physical handicap. He chattered merrily with the bus driver for a little while, and then looking out the window exclaimed, “Look at that!.”
I turned to see what he was looking at and caught a glimpse of the most breathtaking sunset. The kind that you can take picture after picture of but never really capture how pretty it really was.
The young man in front of me then said, “I’m sure glad I was alive to see that!” and resumed his conversation with the driver.
It was a humbling moment. How often do I stop and look at the sunset, or the moon, or my home, or my husbands smile, or any number of beautiful gifts that surround me and say, “I’m sure glad I was alive to see that.” I have never looked at sunsets the same way since. Now when I see the sky aglow, bathed in pink and purple I can’t help but think about the many blessings I enjoyed that day. No matter how bad the day was, I’m sure glad I was alive to see the sunset.