Thursday, April 25, 2013
I said "I'm not defined by my illness." But I kind of defined myself with my illness. And I wonder if things will ever be like they were or if people can ever look at me the same. I wonder if I know how to function with my weird truth "out there." I guess I kind of feel watched, like very thing I do will have this thing attached to it, this sign, "She has OCD..." And that it's distracting now and my life can't be lived pure and uninhibited as I try to ignore my illness and live despite of it b
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
credit where credit is due.
My mom has been giving me some groundbreaking advice ever since the intensity of this trial started.
She said, "Don't forget to give the devil credit."
We know the devil is very clever. Maybe the second most clever of all of God's children. And when it comes to those who are striving to be righteous, there are only so many ways he can get a handle on them.
One of the ways I believe he does this the most with the "righteous" is to twist truth. He disguises things, twists things, and we're trapped before we even know he was involved.
So many times I was tempted to say, "I feel this way cause of the depression." "I have to do that because of the OCD." I can't escape. I'm trapped.
And while I have major depression and clinical OCD, and that in fact is true in many cases, how true is it? Is it 50% true that we are trapped and can't escape some of the hold these illnesses have on our mind? Is it 100% true? Is it 10% true?
Perhaps, for example, it is 50% true that I can't escape a tendency or mood I am having. But perhaps the devil exacerbates the problem and lies to me. Perhaps Satan tells me it is 100% true.
If I can't escape, don't have a choice, am trapped, then I will likely give up. Giving up means a life of zero progress. No productivity. No joy. Only pain. No fulfillment. No giving of love. No service. No personal revelation. No progress. And that is what he wants.
So my mom will say, "Don't forget, we sometimes don't give the devil enough credit."
Doesn't it make sense that the devil will play on our weaknesses. He will play on our vulnerabilities. And when we are mentally ill, we are super weak. We are the most vulnerable of all time.
If he can lie to us when we're down and tell us we are trapped, then he wins.
So I've tried to see the line of what is the illness responsible for, what is my agency responsible for (like am I trying with all the might I have), and what of this frustration and situation is the devil responsible for. I believe it helps. A lot.
Thanks Mom. She is probably the wisest person I know on this earth.
And that's not a lie.
She said, "Don't forget to give the devil credit."
We know the devil is very clever. Maybe the second most clever of all of God's children. And when it comes to those who are striving to be righteous, there are only so many ways he can get a handle on them.
One of the ways I believe he does this the most with the "righteous" is to twist truth. He disguises things, twists things, and we're trapped before we even know he was involved.
So many times I was tempted to say, "I feel this way cause of the depression." "I have to do that because of the OCD." I can't escape. I'm trapped.
And while I have major depression and clinical OCD, and that in fact is true in many cases, how true is it? Is it 50% true that we are trapped and can't escape some of the hold these illnesses have on our mind? Is it 100% true? Is it 10% true?
Perhaps, for example, it is 50% true that I can't escape a tendency or mood I am having. But perhaps the devil exacerbates the problem and lies to me. Perhaps Satan tells me it is 100% true.
If I can't escape, don't have a choice, am trapped, then I will likely give up. Giving up means a life of zero progress. No productivity. No joy. Only pain. No fulfillment. No giving of love. No service. No personal revelation. No progress. And that is what he wants.
So my mom will say, "Don't forget, we sometimes don't give the devil enough credit."
Doesn't it make sense that the devil will play on our weaknesses. He will play on our vulnerabilities. And when we are mentally ill, we are super weak. We are the most vulnerable of all time.
If he can lie to us when we're down and tell us we are trapped, then he wins.
So I've tried to see the line of what is the illness responsible for, what is my agency responsible for (like am I trying with all the might I have), and what of this frustration and situation is the devil responsible for. I believe it helps. A lot.
Thanks Mom. She is probably the wisest person I know on this earth.
And that's not a lie.
Monday, March 25, 2013
good morning.
Today I went to yoga and I cried. I felt so much emotion, blank emotion, that I cried. And I loved it.
On the ride home in the car, this is the song that came on:
I came up out of the waterRaise my hands up to the FatherGave it all to Him that dayFelt a new wind kiss my faceWalked away, eyes wide openCould finally see where I was goin'It didn’t matter where I beenI’m not the same man I was then.
I got off track, I made mistakesBack slid my way into that place where souls get lostLines get crossedAnd the pain won’t go awayI hit my knees, now here I standThere I was, now here I amHere I amChanged
I got a lot of “hey I’m sorry's”The things I’ve done, man that was not meI wish that I could take it all backI just want to tell 'em thatTell 'em that
I got off track, I made mistakesBack slid my way into that place where souls get lostLines get crossedAnd the pain won’t go awayI hit my knees, now here I standThere I was, now here I amHere I am
I’ve changed for the betterMore smiles, less bitterI even started to forgive myself
I hit my knees, I’m here, I standThere I was, now here I amHere I am, here I amI'm changedYes, I amI’m changed for the better
Thank God, I'm changed.
Changed, by Rascal Flatts.
I hadn't heard this song before, so when I heard these words, "felt a new wind kiss my face, gave it all to Him, walked away, could finally see, it didn't matter when I've been I'm not the same man I was then, i got off track, i made mistakes, souls get lost, the pain won't go away, I hit my knees now here I stand, there I was now here I am. More smiles. Changed."
My application to the song is different than a repentant and born again man, but the words touched me deeply.
I feel I am starting life as a newly rebuilt person. I hope I don't fall apart again soon, or ever. But 'I felt a new wind kiss my face.' I felt in this trial I had to 'give it all to him'. I've now walked away and can finally see somewhat. I'm not the same person I was before this trial. I made mistakes in it. I felt my soul was lost. The pain wouldn't go away most of the time. I hit my knees now here I stand. THere I was now here I am. More smiles. Changed."
I was touched.
Then as I pulled into the neighborhood, I saw this:
Sunday, March 24, 2013
home again, i hope.
I feel the Spirit again. That connection that has been gone, it is back. I again feel close to my Heavenly Father and the ability to receive spiritually enhancing insights into my understanding of the plan of salvation and the gospel.
Even as I say this, I am afraid and don't want this to go away. I never really know.
But for a week now, I have felt the Spirit the same way I used to. And it feels so good to be home.
Lately I have been remembering a saying from the WB show, Felicity, that I used to watch with my mom. Felicity's academic advisor, at the end of one show, in her wise and personally credible voice, remarked:
Today in sacrament meeting, the speaker pointed out, "After a trial, after seeing how you grew through that trial, would you want to go back and be the person you were before the trial? If Heavenly Father said to you, 'I could have taken that trial away. I could go back and take that trial away but then you would have remained the same person you were before the trial, would you want me to take the trial away?'"
She remarked that looking back, we would never want to go back to who we were before the trial. We would want the growth that came, and we would accept that trial as having been worth the growth we received.
It's just so hard to see that when we're in the middle of the trial, cause we don't yet have proof we are going to "survive" it, and everything is going to be okay.
How many times do we wish we could go back and tell ourselves, while in the middle of the trial, "It will be okay. It will all work out. Have faith. Cut yourself some slack. Go easy on yourself. You just had a baby. Or you just lost your mom. Or you have never been in this territory before. Take it easy, don't expect perfection, and have faith. It will always workout." So can I convince myself to do that during the trials that come? Rather than looking back?
I do have a clinical problem with perfectionism. It is inescapable when my mind is in control. I break down. I cannot function. That is different than being too hard on yourself and I have journaled about that before. But still, I think I still make a good point, that we wish we would try harder to believe it will be okay and to take it easy.
Today in Sunday School, I was so touched by my Grandma Calder look-alike holding my little girl. She is the grandma I have adopted for my children here.
Then as the instructor bore his testimony, I pictured in my mind the spirits that must have been present. I felt I was standing on holy ground.
Again the feeling of Holy Ground was evident to me in third hour during Young Womens. Only five people were in the room today, for that moment, and perhaps the teacher could have felt disappointed more would not hear her lesson. But usually that is when the special things happen.
First we watched this. And the Spirit poured onto me like a brick wall.
I wish I was stronger and could say that I have not wondered "why" in my trials. Watching this girl, I imagined I would have been saying, "Why? Why can I not have a stomach that functions like all these thousands people I see walking circles around me throughout my day. Why can't I just be "normal"?"
So many times in this trial, as I've felt out of control, like I couldn't feel the Spirit, like I couldn't decide how I wanted to act or react, how I was going to respond emotionally, how I was going to remember or forget things. Like someone else was controlling me. I have wondered, "Why? Why can't I just be in control of my mind? Why can't I just be 'whole' like these other people I see in the world around me? Why?! I just want to have a normal brain!"
I'm not really sure the lesson in that, but I guess it is to say, we all have trials, huge trials, and we rejoiced and cheered in the pre mortal life when God presented His plan for us to come here and have trials. He knew this girl would have a paralyzed digestive system. He knew I would have x, y, and z. He knew you would have a, b, and c. And we cheered. We rejoiced. Because we wanted to return to Him different than when we left Him. And we look around rooms and we think, "Why does she not have any hard trials? Her hardest trial is if she doesn't curl her hair that day."
Why do we do that?
Everyone, every single person we see, is dealing with something or somethings, big things, big things for them. And I'm serious when I say, that someone not curling their hard that day might be a humungous trial for them. Maybe they weren't built with the ability to accept less than perfection, clinically, and chemically, and it destroys them.
Everyone has trials. Everyone has pain. Everyone has stuff.
After watching this Mormon Message video, the special moment came. A young women, one that might not always share, shared a personal experience of how she asked for help in a trial. Again, I felt there must have been many spirits with us today in that class and we were standing on holy ground.
And I felt I was back. Not that I always feel I'm on holy ground, for then I would never appreciate being there. But the opportunity and ability to feel there again that has been gone for so long. To receive insight and revelation and feel my soul is a sponge again. It felt so good to be home.
Even as I say this, I am afraid and don't want this to go away. I never really know.
But for a week now, I have felt the Spirit the same way I used to. And it feels so good to be home.
Lately I have been remembering a saying from the WB show, Felicity, that I used to watch with my mom. Felicity's academic advisor, at the end of one show, in her wise and personally credible voice, remarked:
"Maybe what happened to you, actually happened for you."
Today in sacrament meeting, the speaker pointed out, "After a trial, after seeing how you grew through that trial, would you want to go back and be the person you were before the trial? If Heavenly Father said to you, 'I could have taken that trial away. I could go back and take that trial away but then you would have remained the same person you were before the trial, would you want me to take the trial away?'"
She remarked that looking back, we would never want to go back to who we were before the trial. We would want the growth that came, and we would accept that trial as having been worth the growth we received.
It's just so hard to see that when we're in the middle of the trial, cause we don't yet have proof we are going to "survive" it, and everything is going to be okay.
How many times do we wish we could go back and tell ourselves, while in the middle of the trial, "It will be okay. It will all work out. Have faith. Cut yourself some slack. Go easy on yourself. You just had a baby. Or you just lost your mom. Or you have never been in this territory before. Take it easy, don't expect perfection, and have faith. It will always workout." So can I convince myself to do that during the trials that come? Rather than looking back?
I do have a clinical problem with perfectionism. It is inescapable when my mind is in control. I break down. I cannot function. That is different than being too hard on yourself and I have journaled about that before. But still, I think I still make a good point, that we wish we would try harder to believe it will be okay and to take it easy.
Today in Sunday School, I was so touched by my Grandma Calder look-alike holding my little girl. She is the grandma I have adopted for my children here.
Then as the instructor bore his testimony, I pictured in my mind the spirits that must have been present. I felt I was standing on holy ground.
Again the feeling of Holy Ground was evident to me in third hour during Young Womens. Only five people were in the room today, for that moment, and perhaps the teacher could have felt disappointed more would not hear her lesson. But usually that is when the special things happen.
First we watched this. And the Spirit poured onto me like a brick wall.
I wish I was stronger and could say that I have not wondered "why" in my trials. Watching this girl, I imagined I would have been saying, "Why? Why can I not have a stomach that functions like all these thousands people I see walking circles around me throughout my day. Why can't I just be "normal"?"
So many times in this trial, as I've felt out of control, like I couldn't feel the Spirit, like I couldn't decide how I wanted to act or react, how I was going to respond emotionally, how I was going to remember or forget things. Like someone else was controlling me. I have wondered, "Why? Why can't I just be in control of my mind? Why can't I just be 'whole' like these other people I see in the world around me? Why?! I just want to have a normal brain!"
I'm not really sure the lesson in that, but I guess it is to say, we all have trials, huge trials, and we rejoiced and cheered in the pre mortal life when God presented His plan for us to come here and have trials. He knew this girl would have a paralyzed digestive system. He knew I would have x, y, and z. He knew you would have a, b, and c. And we cheered. We rejoiced. Because we wanted to return to Him different than when we left Him. And we look around rooms and we think, "Why does she not have any hard trials? Her hardest trial is if she doesn't curl her hair that day."
Why do we do that?
Everyone, every single person we see, is dealing with something or somethings, big things, big things for them. And I'm serious when I say, that someone not curling their hard that day might be a humungous trial for them. Maybe they weren't built with the ability to accept less than perfection, clinically, and chemically, and it destroys them.
Everyone has trials. Everyone has pain. Everyone has stuff.
After watching this Mormon Message video, the special moment came. A young women, one that might not always share, shared a personal experience of how she asked for help in a trial. Again, I felt there must have been many spirits with us today in that class and we were standing on holy ground.
And I felt I was back. Not that I always feel I'm on holy ground, for then I would never appreciate being there. But the opportunity and ability to feel there again that has been gone for so long. To receive insight and revelation and feel my soul is a sponge again. It felt so good to be home.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Understanding Depression Videos
I am a visual learner…and this series of videos is absolutely amazing and exactly what I have been looking for. I hope it helps you too!
Even more so I am able to accept how depression is an illness just like heart disease, and see why, rather than a mood I can simply will away.
I am so thankful I found these and wanted to share!
http://depression.emedtv.com/depression-video/the-brain-and-its-chemicals-video.html
Even more so I am able to accept how depression is an illness just like heart disease, and see why, rather than a mood I can simply will away.
I am so thankful I found these and wanted to share!
http://depression.emedtv.com/depression-video/the-brain-and-its-chemicals-video.html
I have been doing so well lately. I still feel very sensitive to the magnet of the adversary that wants to pull me down. For example, if someone corrects me or I feel I have made a mistake or someone disapproves, I am far more sensitive than I used to be, I get more disappointed in myself and quickly feel intensely discouraged. It's like the lowest point I have been at wants me back. Wants me back so bad! And even tiny things open the door to its magnetic pull. In those magnetizing moments, I remember just how sensitive I am. I remember just how recent my trial is and that I am not out of the woods. That I must keep guard and take care of myself. I can't try to run too fast. I can't expect too much from myself quite yet. For that magnet is strong!
Clearly I do not journal my specific experiences and most personal pain on this online journal, as those are for my closed book journal just for me. But I hope others can benefit from these entries I put out there that are still very personal but are more about things I'm realizing about myself, lessons I'm learning. And I share them in hopes that others who might relate won't feel so alone and might benefit from hearing the personal thoughts of another. The thoughts on this blog are the ones I feel may be useful to others.
Friday, March 8, 2013
light.
I prayed for a mountain to climb.
"You are stronger than the tops of the mountains."
The tops of mountain face the wind and storms yet stand strong and immovable.
Thank you today to Elder Eyring, Elder Martino (a member of the seventy and also my dear friend and mission president), and the Book of Mormon where my reading today was 2 Nephi 2 about opposition in all things.
Do I want to return to my Heavenly Father just the way I left Him?
No.
"You are stronger than the tops of the mountains."
The tops of mountain face the wind and storms yet stand strong and immovable.
“And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my [daughter], that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.
“The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?
“Therefore, hold on thy way, and the priesthood shall remain with thee; for their bounds are set, they cannot pass. Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever.”2D&C 122:7-9
Hold on thy way. "One foot in front of the other."
For their bounds are set, they cannot pass:
1 Corinthians 10:13
13 There hath no temptationI have felt that the very jaws of hell have been gaping after me. I have had those moments. The very jaws of hell.a taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to beb tempted above that ye are able; but will with thec temptationalso make a way tod escape, that ye may be able toe bear it.
“all things work together for good to them that love God". Romans 8:28
Elder Martino, We may never know in this life why we face what we do, but we can feel confident that we can grow from the experience.Now, I realize that it is much easier to look back when a trial is over and see what we have learned from our experience, but the challenge is to gain that eternal perspective while we are going through our tests.
Thank you today to Elder Eyring, Elder Martino (a member of the seventy and also my dear friend and mission president), and the Book of Mormon where my reading today was 2 Nephi 2 about opposition in all things.
22 And now, behold, if Adam had not transgressed he would not have fallen, but he would have remained in the garden of Eden. And all things which were created must have remained in the same state in which they were after they were created; and they must have remained forever, and had no end.
24 But behold, all things have been done in the wisdom of him whoMoses 1:39a knoweth all things.
39 For behold, this is mya work and myb glory—to bring to pass thec immortality andd eternale life of man.
Do I want to return to my Heavenly Father just the way I left Him?
No.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
mountains.
I haven't wanted to blog my journal lately. Just feel too…I don't know. I just haven't wanted to put things down. It made it too real.
It's been hard because I feel a desire and almost social consideration to tell people how I'm doing since I've burdened them with my trial that I haven't been doing well. That when I'm doing well I feel I should tell people too. But then I say I'm doing well, and five minutes later things take a turn. And the discouragement makes it worse.
In general, I am doing better. The sun is coming out. I had almost two weeks of good days, then took a turn down. Like I said, the discouragement that I thought I was getting "better" made the downturn twice as bad as it really was.
Discouragement is a tool of the devil. Not from God. So I have to try hard to remember that.
Elder Eyring:
Many of you are now passing through physical, mental, and emotional trials that could cause you to cry out, “When I have tried all my life to be good, why has this happened to me?”
It's been hard because I feel a desire and almost social consideration to tell people how I'm doing since I've burdened them with my trial that I haven't been doing well. That when I'm doing well I feel I should tell people too. But then I say I'm doing well, and five minutes later things take a turn. And the discouragement makes it worse.
In general, I am doing better. The sun is coming out. I had almost two weeks of good days, then took a turn down. Like I said, the discouragement that I thought I was getting "better" made the downturn twice as bad as it really was.
Discouragement is a tool of the devil. Not from God. So I have to try hard to remember that.
Elder Eyring:
Many of you are now passing through physical, mental, and emotional trials that could cause you to cry out, “When I have tried all my life to be good, why has this happened to me?”
If the foundation of faith is not embedded in our hearts, the power to endure will crumble.
That curing does not come automatically through the passage of time, but it does take time. Getting older does not do it alone. It is serving God and others persistently with full heart and soul that turns testimony of truth into unbreakable spiritual strength.
Now, I wish to encourage those who are in the midst of hard trials, who feel their faith may be fading under the onslaught of troubles.
That particle of faith most precious and which you should protect and use to whatever extent you can is faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.
If we have faith in Jesus Christ, the hardest as well as the easiest times in life can be a blessing.
Interesting. I said a prayer after this talk was given in April 2012. A prayer about mountains.
It has been hard for me to trust myself. I'll receive what I think is revelation about a direction to take, then I find myself in that direction and feel it's not working out, so I surrender, turn around, and doubt myself and my ability to receive revelation. I wonder how I can be expected to know what is revelation and what is not when my mind is so clouded and unclear. I wonder how I can possibly listen to and have confidence that what I am feeling is indeed from God when I feel so disoriented and unable to relate to my own self.
No one would have ever thought that Candice Andrus would have thoughts of worthlessness, yet there I was. "I don't know why I'm living. I don't know who I am. I'm ruining everybody's life. I just want to go away and stop ruining everybody's life."
Depression is real. It's not child's play. It's not something one can flip a switch on and off about. How I wish it was. It feels so strange to feel completely out of control, not knowing where Candice is, if she'll ever come back. It feels so strange to have zero joy in life when just six months ago and for most of the first thirty years of my life, I found joy. Loss of interest. Loss of purpose.
Loss of purpose has been probably my biggest load to bear most recently. As I have been sick and unable to help others, unable to care for my own kids and husband, even myself, feeling like a burden to everybody else and not a blessing in any way, just a piece of the universe that sucks the life out of everything she touches…
What is the purpose of life? Why am I here? I don't like this!
Six months ago you would have heard me saying, multiple times a week, "I love life! Life is so wonderful!"
The thing is, it has nothing to do with pain. I had pain then, I have pain now. Everybody has pain. So it doesn't have to do with the presence of trials or the absence of them.
But this trial, it has controlled my mind.
It is so hard for me to understand why there must be opposition in all things, even the sanity and control of one's mind, when life is a test. But I believe in it. I have faith in it. I can at least see that joy in control of one's mind is available when one knows the pain of not having control.
When I had postpartum depression, the biggest blessing for which I thanked my Heavenly Father through that trial, was the ability to gain compassion. I understood depression for the first time. I understood sitting on a living room floor, knowing I should get up and go outside and take a walk or do something, and feeling it was impossible for me to do one thing. I had no choice. I had to keep sitting there.
Mental trials overpower physical will. Physical trials effect mental capacity.
So compassion. I knew I needed a good dose of that for I was lacking. And I received some through the tender mercy of learning through that trial and I was so grateful for learning compassion that it would bring tears to my eyes.
What things am I gaining now that I will one day say, "great blessings...come from adversity to more than compensate for any cost." Cause I already know that. I already know that is true. I've seen it more than once in my life. So I really look forward to that day.
Today as I was driving and the sun was shining, I felt hope again. Hope that one day sooner or later I would be looking back on this and not in it.
It's tricky to draw the line between what is my responsibility and what is the devil's responsibility in this. Sometimes I wonder, "Did I bring this on myself? Am I not putting enough effort into my healing? Am I prolonging because I haven't been doing this or that or I have been doing this or that? How is sin involved? Is sin prolonging this or making it harder?" Some of that is true. Some is my responsibility. But I know the devil is going to try to exacerbate these lies so that my progress is hindered. That's a hard line to try.
I have always hated the line, "Just one foot in front of the other." It's just so doomsday. But that is actually how I am feeling. I don't know what will be in a month or a year, but I must keep going. I must go on. I don't know when I'll be back and what I'll look like when I am back, but for today, I must keep going. One foot in front of the other.
Sincere prayer, even when I can't feel Him, first. Sincere scripture study, even if I can't feel Him, do it anyway, and do it first.
Then service. The answer to finding my purpose in life again…is service. "For He that loseth His life for my sake, shall find it. (Matt 5:26)" How many times have I cried out, "Where am I? Where am I?" I will find myself, whomever that self will be, that new and fortified and better version of me, with purpose, as I serve others.
Please don't misunderstand this for me saying that depression can be cured through serving others. For clinical depression cannot. And it is a large mistake and myth for people to think that. That was never taught. But for someone who has lost her purpose, and someone that is trying to find it again, my personal revelation has been that I will find it again as I serve.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
a new me.
I haven't written My Story yet. And the truth is, it's just too exhausting to think of doing it.
I've told "my story" to maybe ten different doctors and nurses, etc., over the last month, and I'm just so tired. I think it's important. But I just can't do it right now.
Right now is an interesting time. It's like before six months ago, there was the "normal" Candice. The things I felt. The thoughts I had. The tasks in my mind. Then these last six months she's been gone. So strange. So sub reality. Dark. Cloudy. Confusing.
Mostly confusing.
I feel so confused about where I am. I feel so out of touch. Where once my soul and body and spirit and mind were in touch and in sync, now they are all separate entities pulling for attention.
But I feel them all trying to pull themselves back together now at times.
Last night, as I sat in a room with people of the world that seemed to have no purpose to life. And thus no joy. I pondered, analyzed, escudrinar-ed (spanish word that is exactly what I want to say) life, and people in the world, and God's purpose, and us being His children, and my place in His plan, and how I can help.
That was me. That was Candice. That is how my mind is normally thinking most hours of the day.
Wow. Me. I was back.
I went to church today. I felt so disoriented. "I" have been gone so long. So confused.
As I sat and started to feel how amazed I am by the wonderful people I have met in this ward in Boise and how amazing they are and how much they inspire me, my heart was filled with gratitude for God giving me the opportunity to meet and be around them, where not having moved here I would not have had that chance. And that feeling felt foreign. Cause I hadn't had that "Candice" feeling for so long. It wasn't that I felt the opposite, or had any different feelings for the wonderful people around me. It was that I'd had no thought at all. I'd been gone. And so in this moment, that gratitude I felt last summer, that God-like feeling of gratitude, was again permeating my soul. And my mind wandered and realized the last time I felt those feelings was last summer. That's how long it's been since I've felt out of touch.
Cause the last six months I've just had such a clouded and non-Candice mind.
And I realized in that moment, Oh wow. It's me. I'm back in this moment. It's me.
Yet at the same time I realize, I don't think I am suppose to be trying to put the pieces back just the way they were. Some of the good pieces will come back, but a lot of me has been shaped and changed and converted and realigned. Perspectives and situations have changed. A lot has happened. So I shouldn't clamor so badly to "put the pieces back together" cause I don't think that is what God has in mind.
I think He actually wants me to build a new me…
…so I'm at a loss. I've never seen this new me. I'm not sure what exactly the pieces of my puzzle entail. I'm not sure exactly how those pieces fit together. I don't know what the finished product looks like.
I'm not gonna be the old me. So I can't simply reverse the process of "falling apart". But I have to create a new me.
Is it a puzzle? Is it a sculpture? Is it a maze? Is it flat? 3-dimensional? Or something I can't even fathom with my human mind to analogize to?
So it's confusing.
It's like a blank sheet of paper as to who I will be, yet that blank sheet of paper is in a dark room. Cause there is still darkness. There are still shadows. There is still a lot of confusion.
But what I do know is that as I continue to move forward, and continue to try to "become" whatever this "Candice" is to be, that with each effort I put forth, He will light the way.
He will tell me if I should pick up a paintbrush and paint "quiet" into my being. He won't light up the room, but He'll light up that paintbrush.
He will tell me if I should take clay and mold meekness. He won't open the room to the shutters just yet, not until I have submitted the sufficient amount of of faith to Him in this trial. He will light where the clay is, then He will light how to start molding it.
He will tell me if I should grab just the outline of what Candice used to be, all the light I had and the talents I had developed in my spirit up to that point, and then help me fill in the rest of what is to be the new me.
And I just don't know what it looks like. And I just don't know how to put meback together...together for the first time.
Cause it's supposed to be a new me.
Before this trial, I feel like the lights were all on in that room, in that self-molding art studio. I knew who I was, what my goal was in this life, and the direction God wanted me to go. And I was trying with the capacity I had at the time to shape, the best I knew how, me.
But during this trial, the room has been dark. So dark. At times, even pitch black. So pitch black where you can't even see your hand in front of your face. So dark. So lost. So completely lost.
But today, right now, that room is just dim. There is not enough light provided to cast shadows, but just enough light that I know and am aware that I am in that room again. And in that room, I feel like He is showing me a flashlight. Certain points in the room where He has placed some tools. Just enough light to show me where to use that tool on my being and how to start working it.
I believe one day, a day sooner than it is later, He will not only turn the old lights in the studio back on, but that he's punched out some space in the ceilings for some new skylights, He's revealed that there are windows on each side and He will open the blinds, He's replacing my incandescent light bulbs with bright, clear fluorescent ones, and He will give me some magnifying lenses so I know exactly what He wants me to do to shape me, Candice, Candice Theresa, Candice Theresa Calder Andrus, His daughter.
It's not that when this trial is "over" I will have arrived or be where I want to be, but I believe I'll have the light back that will allow me to continue shaping myself, molding, creating, and becoming. It will require work, and inspiration. But the lights, more lights, will be on than ever before.
And today, it's not today, that He has turned on and revealed all those sources of light. But there is the flashlight. And I know that day is coming.
I've told "my story" to maybe ten different doctors and nurses, etc., over the last month, and I'm just so tired. I think it's important. But I just can't do it right now.
Right now is an interesting time. It's like before six months ago, there was the "normal" Candice. The things I felt. The thoughts I had. The tasks in my mind. Then these last six months she's been gone. So strange. So sub reality. Dark. Cloudy. Confusing.
Mostly confusing.
I feel so confused about where I am. I feel so out of touch. Where once my soul and body and spirit and mind were in touch and in sync, now they are all separate entities pulling for attention.
But I feel them all trying to pull themselves back together now at times.
Last night, as I sat in a room with people of the world that seemed to have no purpose to life. And thus no joy. I pondered, analyzed, escudrinar-ed (spanish word that is exactly what I want to say) life, and people in the world, and God's purpose, and us being His children, and my place in His plan, and how I can help.
That was me. That was Candice. That is how my mind is normally thinking most hours of the day.
Wow. Me. I was back.
I went to church today. I felt so disoriented. "I" have been gone so long. So confused.
As I sat and started to feel how amazed I am by the wonderful people I have met in this ward in Boise and how amazing they are and how much they inspire me, my heart was filled with gratitude for God giving me the opportunity to meet and be around them, where not having moved here I would not have had that chance. And that feeling felt foreign. Cause I hadn't had that "Candice" feeling for so long. It wasn't that I felt the opposite, or had any different feelings for the wonderful people around me. It was that I'd had no thought at all. I'd been gone. And so in this moment, that gratitude I felt last summer, that God-like feeling of gratitude, was again permeating my soul. And my mind wandered and realized the last time I felt those feelings was last summer. That's how long it's been since I've felt out of touch.
Cause the last six months I've just had such a clouded and non-Candice mind.
And I realized in that moment, Oh wow. It's me. I'm back in this moment. It's me.
Yet at the same time I realize, I don't think I am suppose to be trying to put the pieces back just the way they were. Some of the good pieces will come back, but a lot of me has been shaped and changed and converted and realigned. Perspectives and situations have changed. A lot has happened. So I shouldn't clamor so badly to "put the pieces back together" cause I don't think that is what God has in mind.
I think He actually wants me to build a new me…
…so I'm at a loss. I've never seen this new me. I'm not sure what exactly the pieces of my puzzle entail. I'm not sure exactly how those pieces fit together. I don't know what the finished product looks like.
I'm not gonna be the old me. So I can't simply reverse the process of "falling apart". But I have to create a new me.
Is it a puzzle? Is it a sculpture? Is it a maze? Is it flat? 3-dimensional? Or something I can't even fathom with my human mind to analogize to?
So it's confusing.
It's like a blank sheet of paper as to who I will be, yet that blank sheet of paper is in a dark room. Cause there is still darkness. There are still shadows. There is still a lot of confusion.
But what I do know is that as I continue to move forward, and continue to try to "become" whatever this "Candice" is to be, that with each effort I put forth, He will light the way.
He will tell me if I should pick up a paintbrush and paint "quiet" into my being. He won't light up the room, but He'll light up that paintbrush.
He will tell me if I should take clay and mold meekness. He won't open the room to the shutters just yet, not until I have submitted the sufficient amount of of faith to Him in this trial. He will light where the clay is, then He will light how to start molding it.
He will tell me if I should grab just the outline of what Candice used to be, all the light I had and the talents I had developed in my spirit up to that point, and then help me fill in the rest of what is to be the new me.
And I just don't know what it looks like. And I just don't know how to put me
Cause it's supposed to be a new me.
Before this trial, I feel like the lights were all on in that room, in that self-molding art studio. I knew who I was, what my goal was in this life, and the direction God wanted me to go. And I was trying with the capacity I had at the time to shape, the best I knew how, me.
But during this trial, the room has been dark. So dark. At times, even pitch black. So pitch black where you can't even see your hand in front of your face. So dark. So lost. So completely lost.
But today, right now, that room is just dim. There is not enough light provided to cast shadows, but just enough light that I know and am aware that I am in that room again. And in that room, I feel like He is showing me a flashlight. Certain points in the room where He has placed some tools. Just enough light to show me where to use that tool on my being and how to start working it.
I believe one day, a day sooner than it is later, He will not only turn the old lights in the studio back on, but that he's punched out some space in the ceilings for some new skylights, He's revealed that there are windows on each side and He will open the blinds, He's replacing my incandescent light bulbs with bright, clear fluorescent ones, and He will give me some magnifying lenses so I know exactly what He wants me to do to shape me, Candice, Candice Theresa, Candice Theresa Calder Andrus, His daughter.
It's not that when this trial is "over" I will have arrived or be where I want to be, but I believe I'll have the light back that will allow me to continue shaping myself, molding, creating, and becoming. It will require work, and inspiration. But the lights, more lights, will be on than ever before.
And today, it's not today, that He has turned on and revealed all those sources of light. But there is the flashlight. And I know that day is coming.
Friday, February 22, 2013
At times it's been hard for me to feel the Spirit when I am depressed. The depression is the pavilion that covers His hiding place, only I don't alway have the capacity to remove it. That's been hard for me. I know He's there, I just can't feel Him. And I normally significantly can.
But today felt good. I was listening to a conference talk, sitting, being still, and my Sprit started to smile again.
He's back. The Spirit is coming back.
But today felt good. I was listening to a conference talk, sitting, being still, and my Sprit started to smile again.
He's back. The Spirit is coming back.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
peace.
The sun came out today. It beamed through my front windows and across the hard wood floors like it was stretching as far as it ever had.
My favorite tunes were on surround sound. I was making dinner for my family. The kids were running and jumping and laughing, all three of them, in the living room in my peripheral.
I opened the cupboard door to get out the ground mustard. And I smiled.
I smiled.
Somehow the air was clear around me. I wasn't bitter about the need to make dinner when all of my other To Dos weren't done. I wasn't procrastinating and waiting so it had to be a freezer meal again. Somehow I was feeling that feeling. Oh what is it? Fulfillment. And it almost seemed foreign it had been so long.
As I turned in the kitchen, pivoting with each progression of my meal, I felt light. Somehow I wasn't carrying the rock of Atlas on my shoulders. Somehow my world wasn't crashing in on me because of the dirt spots on the ground and the crumb in the toaster drawer. Somehow it was all going to be okay to have those imperfections under my watch care.
...
A friend told me recently, one of the few I talk to, that she started to celebrate when she was able to let imperfections go. Instead of trying and forcing to let go of the imperfect things around her, she would praise herself. "I'm so proud of you that you were able to walk away from the kitchen, knowing it wasn't in perfect condition before you left. Good job, self. Way to go. You can do it."
I worry now as I write my journal. I worry about the people that are reading and judging me and don't know what it's like to have Clinical Perfectionism like I do. I wonder about those people that just want so bad for me to "let it go" and "don't sweat the small stuff". The people that don't get it.
Oh how I wish I could.
When I'm sick, everywhere I look is a reminder that I'm a failure. The dust on the entertainment center, even though I dusted it yesterday. That dust tells me that not only is my entertainment center dusty, but what else in my life isn't in order. I'm also not cleaning the bathrooms and haven't for four weeks. I never make dinner. I haven't been out for a walk and to see the sun with the kids in several days but have kept them cooped up inside. One small imperfection is a downward spiral of failures because it's just not one failure to me, but it means my whole life is out of control.
My last therapy session, we talked about redefining failure. My therapist talked to me about how my life is really about choices since there are so many things I could do with my time. He asked me, when I see the dust, instead of seeing that as a failure, why not see it as a choice.
"Look at that dust. That dust means that I chose, with my time, to play with my kids and do puzzles with them today over dusting, even though the dusting hasn't been done in five weeks. That dust means I made a choice to choose best over good. Good job. Good choice."
We know from Sister Julie B. Beck that each day we are faced with too many opportunities to do good than there is time for. So about four years ago a switch went off and I made over my life and truly, madly, deeply, reordered my life into essential, necessary, and nice to do, and I have stuck to that gospel truth almost completely consistently since then. It clicked. And it made over my life.
So now, with my illness, I use that conviction from my life makeover to reward myself when I see the little failures. That is not a failure, but a choice I made to do something better with my life.
It seems like child's play, a no brainer, for probably most of the population. But for people like me, it's not that we don't want to do the more important or fun or meaningful things before the menial. It's just that our minds tell us life is out of control until we can get everything in control. And it becomes debilitating. And when we are so debilitated that we have gotten to the point of non-functional, we breakdown.
Retraining your thoughts is sometimes impossible. And I mean Not. Possible. Not! possible! I'm not saying this to be cliché. I'm saying this to try to emphasize that clinically, within my mind, to let go of things and force myself to not act on an impulse, is most of the time not possible. It's like this floating ball above my head that won't let me rest until I act on it.
If I have a question I want to ask someone and I've forgotten what it is, that ball floats above my head until I ask it and get an answer. If I have something I want to do but don't have a paper or my planner to write it down in, that ball floats above my head until I do, even if I forget what it was. That empty, floating, yet heavy ball of the unknown, floats above my head until I can get it in control. If I have an untidy house or an enormous To Do list, I can't relax, I can't feel peace, until it is all done.
And it is never going to be all done.
And if I forget what the balls are that are floating above my head, they don't just go away. They still float. All ten of them, then fifty, then one hundred, until I remember them and put them on a to do list or take care of them.
As so I am a collector. A collector of lists. A collector of impossible lists.
And those balls. One hundred balls. One hundred lists. They get heavy.
Probably it doesn't make sense. "Well just stop making lists. What's the worst that could happen? Is there an impending catastrophe if you don't take care of those balls?"
Yes. For me there is. It is called a mental breakdown.
…
Sunshine. Sunshine beaming in through my windows. And peace. Peace with the imperfections. Clarity. And a shield from the demons.
Happiness. Peace. I hadn't felt those in so long. And at the hardest hour of the day. 4 pm.
I danced with the kids. We laughed. They giggled. I swung them as we danced. I looked in Ainsley's eyes. I clapped and snapped and swayed. And when I returned to the kitchen, I was still smiling.
Somehow those beams of sunshine were just for me. Those beams stretching from the entry way and all the way back to our dance party. Those beams of sunshine that just got brighter and brighter. Those beams through my window were just for me.
I hadn't felt that feeling since last August.
My favorite tunes were on surround sound. I was making dinner for my family. The kids were running and jumping and laughing, all three of them, in the living room in my peripheral.
I opened the cupboard door to get out the ground mustard. And I smiled.
I smiled.
Somehow the air was clear around me. I wasn't bitter about the need to make dinner when all of my other To Dos weren't done. I wasn't procrastinating and waiting so it had to be a freezer meal again. Somehow I was feeling that feeling. Oh what is it? Fulfillment. And it almost seemed foreign it had been so long.
As I turned in the kitchen, pivoting with each progression of my meal, I felt light. Somehow I wasn't carrying the rock of Atlas on my shoulders. Somehow my world wasn't crashing in on me because of the dirt spots on the ground and the crumb in the toaster drawer. Somehow it was all going to be okay to have those imperfections under my watch care.
...
A friend told me recently, one of the few I talk to, that she started to celebrate when she was able to let imperfections go. Instead of trying and forcing to let go of the imperfect things around her, she would praise herself. "I'm so proud of you that you were able to walk away from the kitchen, knowing it wasn't in perfect condition before you left. Good job, self. Way to go. You can do it."
I worry now as I write my journal. I worry about the people that are reading and judging me and don't know what it's like to have Clinical Perfectionism like I do. I wonder about those people that just want so bad for me to "let it go" and "don't sweat the small stuff". The people that don't get it.
Oh how I wish I could.
When I'm sick, everywhere I look is a reminder that I'm a failure. The dust on the entertainment center, even though I dusted it yesterday. That dust tells me that not only is my entertainment center dusty, but what else in my life isn't in order. I'm also not cleaning the bathrooms and haven't for four weeks. I never make dinner. I haven't been out for a walk and to see the sun with the kids in several days but have kept them cooped up inside. One small imperfection is a downward spiral of failures because it's just not one failure to me, but it means my whole life is out of control.
My last therapy session, we talked about redefining failure. My therapist talked to me about how my life is really about choices since there are so many things I could do with my time. He asked me, when I see the dust, instead of seeing that as a failure, why not see it as a choice.
"Look at that dust. That dust means that I chose, with my time, to play with my kids and do puzzles with them today over dusting, even though the dusting hasn't been done in five weeks. That dust means I made a choice to choose best over good. Good job. Good choice."
We know from Sister Julie B. Beck that each day we are faced with too many opportunities to do good than there is time for. So about four years ago a switch went off and I made over my life and truly, madly, deeply, reordered my life into essential, necessary, and nice to do, and I have stuck to that gospel truth almost completely consistently since then. It clicked. And it made over my life.
So now, with my illness, I use that conviction from my life makeover to reward myself when I see the little failures. That is not a failure, but a choice I made to do something better with my life.
It seems like child's play, a no brainer, for probably most of the population. But for people like me, it's not that we don't want to do the more important or fun or meaningful things before the menial. It's just that our minds tell us life is out of control until we can get everything in control. And it becomes debilitating. And when we are so debilitated that we have gotten to the point of non-functional, we breakdown.
Retraining your thoughts is sometimes impossible. And I mean Not. Possible. Not! possible! I'm not saying this to be cliché. I'm saying this to try to emphasize that clinically, within my mind, to let go of things and force myself to not act on an impulse, is most of the time not possible. It's like this floating ball above my head that won't let me rest until I act on it.
If I have a question I want to ask someone and I've forgotten what it is, that ball floats above my head until I ask it and get an answer. If I have something I want to do but don't have a paper or my planner to write it down in, that ball floats above my head until I do, even if I forget what it was. That empty, floating, yet heavy ball of the unknown, floats above my head until I can get it in control. If I have an untidy house or an enormous To Do list, I can't relax, I can't feel peace, until it is all done.
And it is never going to be all done.
And if I forget what the balls are that are floating above my head, they don't just go away. They still float. All ten of them, then fifty, then one hundred, until I remember them and put them on a to do list or take care of them.
As so I am a collector. A collector of lists. A collector of impossible lists.
And those balls. One hundred balls. One hundred lists. They get heavy.
Probably it doesn't make sense. "Well just stop making lists. What's the worst that could happen? Is there an impending catastrophe if you don't take care of those balls?"
Yes. For me there is. It is called a mental breakdown.
…
Sunshine. Sunshine beaming in through my windows. And peace. Peace with the imperfections. Clarity. And a shield from the demons.
Happiness. Peace. I hadn't felt those in so long. And at the hardest hour of the day. 4 pm.
I danced with the kids. We laughed. They giggled. I swung them as we danced. I looked in Ainsley's eyes. I clapped and snapped and swayed. And when I returned to the kitchen, I was still smiling.
Somehow those beams of sunshine were just for me. Those beams stretching from the entry way and all the way back to our dance party. Those beams of sunshine that just got brighter and brighter. Those beams through my window were just for me.
I hadn't felt that feeling since last August.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
the law of compensation.
Yesterday I wrote this post about the law of compensation and about the feeling of bitterness, and this post is in continuation of that.
…
So I've been thinking lots about the law of compensation. Relying on it in these last few weeks. I haven't had postpartum depression with this baby, and haven't experienced the dark and awful guilt-enducing feelings I experienced with my second child, but I have felt like I've missed out on the last five months of life.
I know life is about trials, but the last five months of my normal, mothering, giving attention to friends, neighbors, my ward, my family, and especially my husband and kids. I feel I have been gone for five months and I've turned around and 5/8ths of Ainsley's life have gone. And I missed it. I wasn't here. The real me was floating around somewhere up in the atmosphere. And I missed it.
And it doesn't seem fair. And I have always liked things to be fair. I'm an oldest child ya know.
And I'll never get those five months back.
Yes I know. The things I'll gain because of those five months are worth infinitely more than having my "normal" and less-spiritual-gift-enhancing-and-developing-trial five months. I know that already it.
But I'm still human.
So here I am like, ugh, this isn't fair, those five months, gone.
Then the immediate next thought, the law of compensation.
So I've been thinking about the law of compensation. And about some possibilities Heavenly Father might give me as a compensation for this hard time. And I've been thinking about how those five physical months of my girls' lives will never happen again.
And I know I'll be able, if I'm worthy, to have infinite numbers of children for the rest of eternity.
Then I thought, "But things will be different. I may be having more solely-spirit children in that day. And I won't perhaps have the physical children that I need to hold, console, give medicine, feed, rock. And I will have still missed out on that time with my physical children…"
Then I think, "Hmmmm…It's so fulfilling as a mother to nurture and meet the needs of our children. And in that day, when I have infinite numbers of spirit children, perhaps I won't be physically nurturing them. I will be spiritually nurturing. And I will have missed out."
Wait. Spiritual nurturing. Yes I feel good when I nurse my baby, change her, dress her, clean her up and make her smell good. Yes I feel good when I do Hadley's hair, take Trent to gymnastics, and cuddle with them to a movie. I love to physically rock my Ainsley and read all of them stories and console them when they cry. But seriously, I don't love to cook dinner and brush their teeth. I love it in the way that I love them. But I don't actually love, love, love those acts. But there is still a sense of fulfillment to them. There is still joy in them.
But what do I love, love, love? I love to teach my children. I love to tell my son, Trent, that that was the Spirit that spoke to his heart when he knew he could say a special prayer when he was locked in the garage by himself. I love to teach Him that that was Heavenly Father that answered Hhs prayers and sent his Dad to the garage and found him there. I love to tell my Hadley how smart she is and how good of a mama she is. I love to bear my testimony to my newborn as I listen to the voices of the Apostles in general conference talks. As my eyes well up with tears because the church is so true and I have that church for them! I, as their mother, have that church to offer and teach them and testify of to them. "It's true, my son. It's true. Your mama knows this man talks to God."
I love to spiritually nurture. Spiritual nurture is infinitely joyous and fulfilling to me. Even several times more joyous than the joys of physical nurture!
Spiritually nurturing, if that is what I will be compensated with for the time I was not able to physically nurture, well wow. Spiritually nurturing. I love spiritually nurturing my children.
Is that one way the law of compensation might work in my life in regards to this trial? That in the eternities, when I am bearing infinite numbers of spiritual children, I will be given the gift of the opportunity to never stop spiritual nurturing and teaching them? How joyous is that? How unspeakable joyous is that.
What are the other ways the law of compensation may work in other areas of struggle and trial in my life? If His plan is that much more joyous than anything I might think I'm missing out on, then stop. Just stop. Never, never doubt his plan.
And what are the other ways that the law of compensation might work in behalf of those I love and for whom I feel their life has seemed "unfair"?
Wow. And wow again.
Sacrifice? No. Not really a sacrifice. Not really a sacrifice.
He's got a much bigger plan for us. His plan, His plan of happiness, is worth infinitely more than any plan we could ever, ever come up with for ourselves.
His plan of happiness is worth infinitely more.
He loves us. He loves us. He loves us infinitely.
I'll leave you with a few words from Elder Henry B. Eyring that have been on my mind since my hospital stay and on my mind as I have wondered how long this trial will go and what God's timing is:
His time should be soon enough for us since we know that He wants only what is best.
He loves us.
He loves us.
…
So I've been thinking lots about the law of compensation. Relying on it in these last few weeks. I haven't had postpartum depression with this baby, and haven't experienced the dark and awful guilt-enducing feelings I experienced with my second child, but I have felt like I've missed out on the last five months of life.
I know life is about trials, but the last five months of my normal, mothering, giving attention to friends, neighbors, my ward, my family, and especially my husband and kids. I feel I have been gone for five months and I've turned around and 5/8ths of Ainsley's life have gone. And I missed it. I wasn't here. The real me was floating around somewhere up in the atmosphere. And I missed it.
And it doesn't seem fair. And I have always liked things to be fair. I'm an oldest child ya know.
And I'll never get those five months back.
Yes I know. The things I'll gain because of those five months are worth infinitely more than having my "normal" and less-spiritual-gift-enhancing-and-developing-trial five months. I know that already it.
But I'm still human.
So here I am like, ugh, this isn't fair, those five months, gone.
Then the immediate next thought, the law of compensation.
So I've been thinking about the law of compensation. And about some possibilities Heavenly Father might give me as a compensation for this hard time. And I've been thinking about how those five physical months of my girls' lives will never happen again.
And I know I'll be able, if I'm worthy, to have infinite numbers of children for the rest of eternity.
Then I thought, "But things will be different. I may be having more solely-spirit children in that day. And I won't perhaps have the physical children that I need to hold, console, give medicine, feed, rock. And I will have still missed out on that time with my physical children…"
Then I think, "Hmmmm…It's so fulfilling as a mother to nurture and meet the needs of our children. And in that day, when I have infinite numbers of spirit children, perhaps I won't be physically nurturing them. I will be spiritually nurturing. And I will have missed out."
Wait. Spiritual nurturing. Yes I feel good when I nurse my baby, change her, dress her, clean her up and make her smell good. Yes I feel good when I do Hadley's hair, take Trent to gymnastics, and cuddle with them to a movie. I love to physically rock my Ainsley and read all of them stories and console them when they cry. But seriously, I don't love to cook dinner and brush their teeth. I love it in the way that I love them. But I don't actually love, love, love those acts. But there is still a sense of fulfillment to them. There is still joy in them.
But what do I love, love, love? I love to teach my children. I love to tell my son, Trent, that that was the Spirit that spoke to his heart when he knew he could say a special prayer when he was locked in the garage by himself. I love to teach Him that that was Heavenly Father that answered Hhs prayers and sent his Dad to the garage and found him there. I love to tell my Hadley how smart she is and how good of a mama she is. I love to bear my testimony to my newborn as I listen to the voices of the Apostles in general conference talks. As my eyes well up with tears because the church is so true and I have that church for them! I, as their mother, have that church to offer and teach them and testify of to them. "It's true, my son. It's true. Your mama knows this man talks to God."
I love to spiritually nurture. Spiritual nurture is infinitely joyous and fulfilling to me. Even several times more joyous than the joys of physical nurture!
Spiritually nurturing, if that is what I will be compensated with for the time I was not able to physically nurture, well wow. Spiritually nurturing. I love spiritually nurturing my children.
Is that one way the law of compensation might work in my life in regards to this trial? That in the eternities, when I am bearing infinite numbers of spiritual children, I will be given the gift of the opportunity to never stop spiritual nurturing and teaching them? How joyous is that? How unspeakable joyous is that.
What are the other ways the law of compensation may work in other areas of struggle and trial in my life? If His plan is that much more joyous than anything I might think I'm missing out on, then stop. Just stop. Never, never doubt his plan.
And what are the other ways that the law of compensation might work in behalf of those I love and for whom I feel their life has seemed "unfair"?
Wow. And wow again.
Sacrifice? No. Not really a sacrifice. Not really a sacrifice.
He's got a much bigger plan for us. His plan, His plan of happiness, is worth infinitely more than any plan we could ever, ever come up with for ourselves.
His plan of happiness is worth infinitely more.
He loves us. He loves us. He loves us infinitely.
I'll leave you with a few words from Elder Henry B. Eyring that have been on my mind since my hospital stay and on my mind as I have wondered how long this trial will go and what God's timing is:
“For there is a time appointed for every man, according as his works shall be.”5
We remove the pavilion [that keeps us from God] when we feel and pray, “Thy will be done” and “in Thine own time.” His time should be soon enough for us since we know that He wants only what is best.
His time should be soon enough for us since we know that He wants only what is best.
He loves us.
He loves us.
honesty.
Honesty is refreshing, right?
It's refreshing to write it.
It's refreshing to read it I think.
(I just have to say this after posting the booger post.)
boogers.
You know your kids are on the right path to humanity when you start finding dry boogers on the walls.
Parenthood success.
Parenthood success.
ha!
This is what I look like as I'm writing this post. Dang Photo Booth had to be turned on.
…and it made me laugh that this is what I look like...
Thumbs up.
beds.
This is kind of a weird post.
Oh I am so thankful I have a good mattress.
Timothy and I have been through the ringer when it comes to mattresses. We have been through three sets in our seven years of marriage. Tossing. Turning. Just no bueno.
Several months ago we weren't willing to make another mattress mistake. We sold the farm to get the right one, for reals.
Now instead of getting one amazing night's sleep about once a month. I get an amazing night sleep nearly every single night. The only nights I don't it is because it is due to insomnia from the meds or a racing mind, but usually, and before this last rough month, I got an amazing night sleep every. single. night. Good, deep, meaningful sleep. I never had to wonder if my emotions were due to lack of sleep, and that was really nice. One thing checked off the trigger list. I never had one single regret about this bed and still don't.
We got the Latex Bliss pure natural Beautiful mattress. Something like that. And we splurged and got the adjustable frame. The mattress was the essential part. But man, that adjustable frame is sweet. We lift our head a little bit, our feet a little bit. Once you sleep that way you can never go back. If you don't want to get caught in an adjustable frame trap, never let a salesman demo it for you. hahaha
Anyway, I'm just so grateful to be getting good, meaningful sleep nearly every night. I'm so thankful to have had the means to get a good mattress and to have made it a financial priority. I know it is a great blessing.
Oh I am so thankful I have a good mattress.
Timothy and I have been through the ringer when it comes to mattresses. We have been through three sets in our seven years of marriage. Tossing. Turning. Just no bueno.
Several months ago we weren't willing to make another mattress mistake. We sold the farm to get the right one, for reals.
Now instead of getting one amazing night's sleep about once a month. I get an amazing night sleep nearly every single night. The only nights I don't it is because it is due to insomnia from the meds or a racing mind, but usually, and before this last rough month, I got an amazing night sleep every. single. night. Good, deep, meaningful sleep. I never had to wonder if my emotions were due to lack of sleep, and that was really nice. One thing checked off the trigger list. I never had one single regret about this bed and still don't.
We got the Latex Bliss pure natural Beautiful mattress. Something like that. And we splurged and got the adjustable frame. The mattress was the essential part. But man, that adjustable frame is sweet. We lift our head a little bit, our feet a little bit. Once you sleep that way you can never go back. If you don't want to get caught in an adjustable frame trap, never let a salesman demo it for you. hahaha
Anyway, I'm just so grateful to be getting good, meaningful sleep nearly every night. I'm so thankful to have had the means to get a good mattress and to have made it a financial priority. I know it is a great blessing.
"the mom stays in the pictures".
Another link that was very meaningful to me.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/allison-tate/mom-pictures-with-kids_b_1926073.html
Why moms should take pictures with themselves in them.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/allison-tate/mom-pictures-with-kids_b_1926073.html
Why moms should take pictures with themselves in them.
link.
I'm adding this article to the "links worth my five minutes" list.
https://www.lds.org/youth/video/things-as-they-really-are?lang=eng
This is Elder Bednar, an apostle of Jesus Christ in my beliefs, sharing about virtual relationships v. real relationships.
It had a huge impact on me a few years ago when I read it. So if you haven't taken the time, it's worth five minutes in my book. (I spent more than five minutes on this one.)
https://www.lds.org/youth/video/things-as-they-really-are?lang=eng
This is Elder Bednar, an apostle of Jesus Christ in my beliefs, sharing about virtual relationships v. real relationships.
It had a huge impact on me a few years ago when I read it. So if you haven't taken the time, it's worth five minutes in my book. (I spent more than five minutes on this one.)
Saturday, February 16, 2013
A message a friend sent to me, and what she says to one I believe she says to all:
"We are pioneers paving the way for generations to wade through the emotional battles of our day. God has chosen the strongest to battle the worst. Always remember that!"
Ya know what? I do feel like a pioneer.
Am I paving the way for generations so they will know better how to wage this war, one of the wars of the last days, the emotional war?
Wow. Maybe I am.
Maybe we are.
"We are pioneers paving the way for generations to wade through the emotional battles of our day. God has chosen the strongest to battle the worst. Always remember that!"
Ya know what? I do feel like a pioneer.
Am I paving the way for generations so they will know better how to wage this war, one of the wars of the last days, the emotional war?
Wow. Maybe I am.
Maybe we are.
links worth my five minutes.
Time is precious. These ones were worth my time.
- I Love Being a Mom More Than Ruling the World, my personal mommy boost
bitter.
Bitterness.
Any tinge of bitterness I start to smell coming around in my heart, I stomp it out. I just can't feel that way.
And it's true. That's how I feel, that I just cannot feel bitter. I should not feel bitter.
1) Because I believe my Heavenly Father loves me and knows what's best for me and that there this unspeakable joy in this trial that I would not be able to receive any other way.
and 2) Because I believe in the law of compensation. Especially that,
“All that is unfair about life can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”
I have pondered this often.
I have pondered this when I feel for people I love that have "unfair" things in their life. "They don't deserve this." That is when I mostly ponder it.
But this has been meaningful to me in mental illness.
When my daughter Hadley was born, I suffered a very painful period of postpartum depression for five months. Even now, even in this journal, I don't want to talk about the feelings I felt.
I'll mention a few. I had no connection to my daughter. I didn't feel she was mine. The guilt for not feeling connection and ownership magnified the loss to depression.
This was a very painful time in my life.
I remember sitting on the floor sometimes, not being able to lift my arms, just sitting there. Can't move a muscle. Just sitting there.
I remember acute pain that I didn't feel she was mine.
I went through postpartum depression for five months. That felt like two years. And when I came out of it, and I was finally looking back and saying it was something that "happened" instead of something that was "happening", I had an immense connection to my daughter. I was insanely in love with her.
And then the talk of bitterness.
I was kind of considering that bitter feeling to become a part of my heart. The first five months of my daughter's life. Her most precious months. Five months as a newborn which I would never have back in all of eternity. Those five months were spent without connection or joy.
I held her. I fed her through the night. I took care of her. But no joy. No connection. No sense of her being mine.
Those five months. Gone.
It was like she didn't become my daughter until she was five months old. Like our bond, our relationship, didn't form until five months. And I was hurt.
Why? Why did I not get my newborn? Why did I "adopt" her at the age of five months and miss out on all that precious, sweet, straight from heaven, tiny stage of loving and rejoicing?
I will never get those five months with her again.
It is extremely painful for me to remember this reality, these feelings, and admit to them. I think that is why postpartum is so painfully suffered in silence. The feelings a mother should not be having are felt. And to admit them is self-suicide. It destroys your self-image of the meaning of the word "mother", it hurts to voice feelings you have tried not to feel and realize that means your admitting to their reality, and it sounds so bad once those feelings come out of your mouth or onto paper that you compound the depression cause now others can judge you.
Postpartum depression. A silent and acute pain.
At least that's how I felt.
So I'm kind of forcing myself to write this post, for all those reasons in the above paragraph I mentioned, cause I don't want to remember these feelings were real. I don't want to feel that pain again. And I'm opening a box of pain.
Forcing myself…Forcing.
So all I had to go on, in the middle, the deep middle, of the feeling called Bitterness that was trying to become a part of the makeup of my heart, was, "Hey. Stop. The law of compensation."
"Everything that is unfair about life can and will be made right." And I know that. It not only will be made right, but God is an overly-generous paymaster. Overly-generous is an even insulting word to put to that. He compensates then adds to to the extent there are no words that can come from my mouth for what He has done for me.
Haha. It makes me laugh to think I thought when I left for my mission that I was "sacrificing". Not a good laugh. But a, "wow. that was pathetic I even though I might be sacrificing." laugh.
Sacrifice? SACRIFICE?
There are no words.
I have stood to bear my testimony about my mission, only delving into the challenge of speaking the unspeakable gratitude I feel for my mission a few select times, when I've felt inspired to take on that challenge, and there I stand. Tears welling up in my eyes. Welling up and welling up. Then welling up again. My throat is caught. There is nothing I can say.
So I stutter.
"There are no words." And I swipe my hand across the air in front of my body like I'm smoothing out a tablecloth with excessive force…"No words to describe what my mission did for me…I thought I was sacrificing?"…more tears…more cat's got my tongue and my throat is suffocating…"Everything I thought I was sacrificing, my Heavenly Father gave it back to me and more when I returned from my mission."
And those blessings just continue to get bigger and bigger and more meaningful and more crucial to my spiritual existence in this world, and as a mother in Zion and as a wife.
No words.
And so here comes Bitterness and I say, "No. Yes I didn't get to be 'here' for the first five months of my sweet eternal daughter's life, but there is a law of compensation. What I think I've "sacrificed" will one day appear to me as nothing compared to the eternal compensation that awaits me. I know that. I've lived it. No Bitter."
And here I am again. The first three months of my sweet baby Ainsley's life were amazing. Heaven. AMAZING. And then the next five? To this day?
Where have I been. Where is Candice. She is only here 20% of the time.
I've turned around and seen my daughter. She jumped from three-months old to eight-months old in a day. She is threatening to crawl. And 5/8ths of her life I have spent…sick.
Bitterness. It tries to creep up. Then I beat it back.
THE LAW OF COMPENSATION.
Any tinge of bitterness I start to smell coming around in my heart, I stomp it out. I just can't feel that way.
And it's true. That's how I feel, that I just cannot feel bitter. I should not feel bitter.
1) Because I believe my Heavenly Father loves me and knows what's best for me and that there this unspeakable joy in this trial that I would not be able to receive any other way.
and 2) Because I believe in the law of compensation. Especially that,
“All that is unfair about life can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”
I have pondered this often.
I have pondered this when I feel for people I love that have "unfair" things in their life. "They don't deserve this." That is when I mostly ponder it.
But this has been meaningful to me in mental illness.
When my daughter Hadley was born, I suffered a very painful period of postpartum depression for five months. Even now, even in this journal, I don't want to talk about the feelings I felt.
I'll mention a few. I had no connection to my daughter. I didn't feel she was mine. The guilt for not feeling connection and ownership magnified the loss to depression.
This was a very painful time in my life.
I remember sitting on the floor sometimes, not being able to lift my arms, just sitting there. Can't move a muscle. Just sitting there.
I remember acute pain that I didn't feel she was mine.
I went through postpartum depression for five months. That felt like two years. And when I came out of it, and I was finally looking back and saying it was something that "happened" instead of something that was "happening", I had an immense connection to my daughter. I was insanely in love with her.
And then the talk of bitterness.
I was kind of considering that bitter feeling to become a part of my heart. The first five months of my daughter's life. Her most precious months. Five months as a newborn which I would never have back in all of eternity. Those five months were spent without connection or joy.
I held her. I fed her through the night. I took care of her. But no joy. No connection. No sense of her being mine.
Those five months. Gone.
It was like she didn't become my daughter until she was five months old. Like our bond, our relationship, didn't form until five months. And I was hurt.
Why? Why did I not get my newborn? Why did I "adopt" her at the age of five months and miss out on all that precious, sweet, straight from heaven, tiny stage of loving and rejoicing?
I will never get those five months with her again.
It is extremely painful for me to remember this reality, these feelings, and admit to them. I think that is why postpartum is so painfully suffered in silence. The feelings a mother should not be having are felt. And to admit them is self-suicide. It destroys your self-image of the meaning of the word "mother", it hurts to voice feelings you have tried not to feel and realize that means your admitting to their reality, and it sounds so bad once those feelings come out of your mouth or onto paper that you compound the depression cause now others can judge you.
Postpartum depression. A silent and acute pain.
At least that's how I felt.
So I'm kind of forcing myself to write this post, for all those reasons in the above paragraph I mentioned, cause I don't want to remember these feelings were real. I don't want to feel that pain again. And I'm opening a box of pain.
Forcing myself…Forcing.
So all I had to go on, in the middle, the deep middle, of the feeling called Bitterness that was trying to become a part of the makeup of my heart, was, "Hey. Stop. The law of compensation."
"Everything that is unfair about life can and will be made right." And I know that. It not only will be made right, but God is an overly-generous paymaster. Overly-generous is an even insulting word to put to that. He compensates then adds to to the extent there are no words that can come from my mouth for what He has done for me.
Haha. It makes me laugh to think I thought when I left for my mission that I was "sacrificing". Not a good laugh. But a, "wow. that was pathetic I even though I might be sacrificing." laugh.
Sacrifice? SACRIFICE?
There are no words.
I have stood to bear my testimony about my mission, only delving into the challenge of speaking the unspeakable gratitude I feel for my mission a few select times, when I've felt inspired to take on that challenge, and there I stand. Tears welling up in my eyes. Welling up and welling up. Then welling up again. My throat is caught. There is nothing I can say.
So I stutter.
"There are no words." And I swipe my hand across the air in front of my body like I'm smoothing out a tablecloth with excessive force…"No words to describe what my mission did for me…I thought I was sacrificing?"…more tears…more cat's got my tongue and my throat is suffocating…"Everything I thought I was sacrificing, my Heavenly Father gave it back to me and more when I returned from my mission."
And those blessings just continue to get bigger and bigger and more meaningful and more crucial to my spiritual existence in this world, and as a mother in Zion and as a wife.
No words.
And so here comes Bitterness and I say, "No. Yes I didn't get to be 'here' for the first five months of my sweet eternal daughter's life, but there is a law of compensation. What I think I've "sacrificed" will one day appear to me as nothing compared to the eternal compensation that awaits me. I know that. I've lived it. No Bitter."
And here I am again. The first three months of my sweet baby Ainsley's life were amazing. Heaven. AMAZING. And then the next five? To this day?
Where have I been. Where is Candice. She is only here 20% of the time.
I've turned around and seen my daughter. She jumped from three-months old to eight-months old in a day. She is threatening to crawl. And 5/8ths of her life I have spent…sick.
Bitterness. It tries to creep up. Then I beat it back.
THE LAW OF COMPENSATION.
poop.
I'm up at 4 am.
Well, I was up at 2…and now it's 4…and I just can't sleep.
I guess I'm gonna get up, eat a cupcake, and journal.
…
What?! What is this amazingness!! A treasure trove of…TREASURES… in every one of these cupcakes.
Amazing.
Um!?!! What is that chocolate chip?!! It's like a ganache chocolate chip! What?!!
I'm serious. I need to start a business with that cupcake sweetheart friend of mine, Savvy. Like for reals.
She bakes. I eats. And we're in business.
…
So I'm up. And I'm a vision of beauty. A vision of someone that's not sleep deprived and didn't just find out she has a Corneal Ulcer!?!!
For reals?!!
My eye hurt so bad I was moaning. I think I've maxed out on my priesthood blessing requests like…well…I guess you can't. But help me. Help.
My sweet Hadley girl woke me up at 2 am cause she lost her blankie. And boy do I have sympathy for a girl who loses her blankie!
We couldn't find it, so I got her a substitute. And as I walked out the door…"I love you, Mommy."
Deep sigh. Wow.
…
But then I couldn't get back to sleep cause I'm constipated.
TMI.
But I guess if you're poisoning your body with meds trying to get stuff figured out well then, there's gonna be some fall out.
I need another bite of cupcake.
…
I will fight obesity for the rest of my life because I have become friends with this cupcake girl.
Well, I was up at 2…and now it's 4…and I just can't sleep.
I guess I'm gonna get up, eat a cupcake, and journal.
…
What?! What is this amazingness!! A treasure trove of…TREASURES… in every one of these cupcakes.
Amazing.
Um!?!! What is that chocolate chip?!! It's like a ganache chocolate chip! What?!!
I'm serious. I need to start a business with that cupcake sweetheart friend of mine, Savvy. Like for reals.
She bakes. I eats. And we're in business.
…
So I'm up. And I'm a vision of beauty. A vision of someone that's not sleep deprived and didn't just find out she has a Corneal Ulcer!?!!
For reals?!!
My eye hurt so bad I was moaning. I think I've maxed out on my priesthood blessing requests like…well…I guess you can't. But help me. Help.
My sweet Hadley girl woke me up at 2 am cause she lost her blankie. And boy do I have sympathy for a girl who loses her blankie!
We couldn't find it, so I got her a substitute. And as I walked out the door…"I love you, Mommy."
Deep sigh. Wow.
…
But then I couldn't get back to sleep cause I'm constipated.
TMI.
But I guess if you're poisoning your body with meds trying to get stuff figured out well then, there's gonna be some fall out.
I need another bite of cupcake.
…
I will fight obesity for the rest of my life because I have become friends with this cupcake girl.
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