For most of last week I was pretty angry. I felt abandoned. My sense of justice was outraged. As an optimist, it was really hard to wrap my head around the fact that the outcome most likely will not be a happy ending. That is very hard for me to accept. And alot of people talk about the rewards we will receive in the next life. I know I am being really bratty when I think I don't care about what's next. I want some reward here. Why does it have to be so hard?
I found this quote last week and I wasn't really ready to hear the message it sent but it stayed with me.
I don't like to be angry. It's a heavy load to carry around. So I decided that whether I wanted to or not I needed to get to the temple. I knew that if I could find peace I had the best chance there.
When I was really sick with the my ear inner troubles we had just bought our first house that bordered the temple grounds in Lake Oswego. I remember that in the middle of the night when my 2 little babies were sleeping I would feel despair creeping in. How will I take care of these kids? Will I ever get better? Will I get worse? How can this be happening? I would look out the window in my kitchen and I could see the temple spire, glowing bright in the dark night and I would feel a physical calmness.
We went to the temple Friday night. When I sat down in the celestial room I was still wondering if I would find the peace I was searching for. And as I sat in this armchair, this overwhelming sense of love came over me. And I was reminded again of my own father. He would watch as I suffered with the overpowering vertigo, feeling helpless. And he said, If I could do this for you, I would. How that has strengthened my testimony of how much my Heavenly Father loves me. And even though it was hard to get through to me, I realized once again that this is something that I have to go through. That it's for my own good. That if it could be taken from me and there was some other way for me to be refined and come to Christ with a broken heart that it would be different. I'm sure that my Heavenly Father and Jesus are sharing in my sorrows. I remember the quote from the New Testament. Jesus wept. He shares our grief. There is so much more to this life than losing a little baby whose body would never sustain life. If I cannot be open to the experience then this will all be for naught.
So the feeling that I was abandoned by my Heavenly Father was lifted and I knew that I was loved. And that brought peace but I still had the helpless wondering of what is all this for?
I have always been a huge Captain Moroni fan. I have always loved his courage and his absolute dedication to his cause. I love the image of him waving his banner and giving his people something to fight for. I feel like this experience has allowed my to wave my banner. I hope that my daughter and my sons and my grandchildren to come with always know that I have faith in Christ. That I will be obedient. That I will bend my will to the Lord's, regardless of the consequences. I did know that losing the baby was the likely ending. Oh, I did hope it was otherwise. I hoped that if I did lose it, that it would be early. Because truly the sight of the little body haunts me and I can't bear to open the little box containing the hand and feet molds and the little blanket that someone hand made that is now bloodstained. But I did it anyways. And I would do it again. And when I told Travis about how I hoped that my children would be strengthened in the gospel and that I hope that now they would always know what our testimony is and where we stand. He said if that's the case and it makes their journey easier he would do it 100 times over.
On our way to the deliver the baby Travis said I wonder if this is an Ephraim Hanks moment. I have loved Ephraim Hanks' story since I read it years ago. I has stuck with me. When he said I will go. That has affected me. Trav said maybe this is like when Brigham Young asked him to shave his beard just to see if he would be obedient.
Abraham took Isaac, who went willingly to be sacrificed. He fully intended to kill his son. He was saved from this act in the final seconds but his determination was real. And while me losing this 6th pregnancy really cannot compare to Abraham's willingness to sacrifice I can only hope that somehow this experience will buoy my children. That they can see that their parents are willing to do what small act of obedience that we can if it means that we are bending to the Lord's will and coming forward with a broken heart and a contrite spirit. Oh, how I wish that I were meek and mild, how I wish that it weren't so hard for my heart to be broken. I wonder if I would have learned how to bend earlier if I would have had to go through these experiences but I cannot go back. I can only move forward.
I often think about what a warrior my own father is. I get physical pain in my body when I think of losing him to the 6 year battle with cancer that he has been fighting. The fortitude of spirit that he possesses to me is unmatched. That he was able overcome the severe abuse and the horrors of his childhood to me is miraculous. He was a wonderful, loving, devoted father who worked physically, daily for his family. He became this way on his own because I am sure that he never modeled his father's behavior. My dad was everything that a father could be to his children. He was a hero. I feel certain that in the counsels of heaven before we came down to Earth that my father stepped up and said he would come before my siblings and I and he would make our pathway easier. Isn't that what every parent wants for their children? I don't know if he had any doubts but I feel sure that I didn't doubt that he could do it. I hope that my struggles and sorrows will make the pathway easier for my children. I hope that they won't ever doubt my testimony and my faith.
This story from Elder Bednar has stuck with me about not shrinking.
"Earlier in that same year, Elder Maxwell underwent 46 days and nights of debilitating chemotherapy for leukemia. Shortly after completing his treatments and being released from the hospital, he spoke briefly in the April general conference of the Church. His rehabilitation and continued therapy progressed positively through the spring and summer months, but Elder Maxwell’s physical strength and stamina were nonetheless limited when he traveled to Rexburg. After greeting Elder and Sister Maxwell at the airport, Susan and I drove them to our home for rest and a light lunch before the devotional.During the course of our conversations that day, I asked Elder Maxwell what lessons he had learned through his illness. I will remember always the precise and penetrating answer he gave. “Dave,” he said, “I have learned that not shrinking is more important than surviving.”His response to my inquiry was a principle with which he had gained extensive personal experience during his chemotherapy. As Elder Maxwell and his wife were driving to the hospital in January of 1997, on the day he was scheduled to begin his first round of treatment, they pulled into the parking lot and paused for a private moment together. Elder Maxwell “breathed a deep sigh and looked at [his wife]. He reached for her hand and said … , ‘I just don’t want to shrink’”
I wanted to express what had brought me peace to my daughter and we had a little chat Saturday night. I explained to her what I thought we could learn from all of these miscarriages. I explained that I never want her to doubt that I will do whatever I can in my own little world to show my faith in Christ. Like Ephraim Hanks that I will be ready to say I will go. That I don't want to shrink. And she asked if you received revelation again that you were supposed to try again to have a baby, would you? I can answer honestly, quickly and definitively, yes.
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