The Birth of Our Angel, 03/31/15

This is the (VERY long in coming) story of my baby's birth. There will be talk of birth related things, such as dilation and placentas. If this bothers you, stop reading here. :)

For the rest of you...

We had everything necessary packed and ready by 37 weeks along, because that is what you do. We had the carseat installed in the car, with help from our local police station (they offer free carseat installation help), our bag for the birth center packed, and all of my "labor food" bought.

With that said, I was CERTAIN I would be pregnant a good while yet. Most first time moms go a week or two "late," and my mom always did. So I really only had things ready because that is what I was supposed to do. Ha ha ha. Now, while I had everything necessary packed, I had nothing extra that was wanted. I planned to have a playlist of soft hymns to listen to, index cards with inspirational scriptures written on them, and some essential oils just in case I decided to use them (which honestly I doubted, but I wanted to be prepared!). I planned on getting those things ready as things got closer.

My "39 Weeks Along" picture

On March 30, stuck in bed (as I was every morning, due to extreme dizziness and weakness, but none of the doctor's tests came back with any indication of why...), I decided that since I was 39 weeks along that day, it might be good timing to decide on what songs and what scriptures I wanted, though I planned on putting together the playlist and writing out the scriptures later. I spent most of the day, and came up with two good lists. I really thought I would get to use them...

I'd been having Braxton Hicks for a while. They were not a big deal, but sometimes distracting. That afternoon we went for a brief walk. This was because it was nice outside and I was actually feeling up to it. It was NOT an attempt to start labor. I was perfectly happy being pregnant, and was still pretty comfortable. I started seeing a pattern to my Braxton Hicks during the walk though. They were about 5 minutes apart, and about a minute long. We got home and I called my midwife, Kathy, just to apprise her, but was sure it was nothing. As I rested they faded, which is a good sign that they are not real contractions.

We ate some seven layer dip and a fruit smoothie (maybe that was before the walk?) for dinner. I took a shower and then lay in bed for a while, texting my midwife before going to sleep:

I'm about to head to sleep, but just so you have an update... 

They got closer together during my shower; about 1:40 apart. 

Then when I got back in bed they have been getting further apart, 

back to maybe 5 minutes, although I haven't been lying down for long. 

I'm still thinking it's nothing, and sleeping will probably make them stop,

 but I'll text/call you if I think I need to in the night. 

-8:26 PM

I tossed and turned for about an hour, finally giving up and texting again. I knew that my midwife recommended a Tylenol PM if you couldn't sleep in early labor, because she knew you would need the rest later on. 

At what point would you have me take a Tylenol PM? 

I can't seem to relax enough to sleep, and I'm still getting regular contractions 

(although I'm not sure how regular as I haven't been timing). 

If this isn't it, I'd rather have a sleepless night than take Tylenol. 

But if I'm really going to need my strength later, I would rather get the sleep. 

Thoughts?

-9:31 PM

She texted back that I should call her. I felt bad as it was the middle of the night. Yes, that is what I thought. Now I look at the time stamps and laugh at how early in the night it was! I wish I went to sleep that early nowadays!

I snuck out of the room (of course my sweet husband was fast asleep and had been for an hour), and called her. We chatted for a bit, and determined that I should take the Tylenol PM. We both knew that if this was the real deal the contractions would wake me soon, but that I would need all the sleep I could get. She told me at the end of our call that this did sound like the real thing to her, and she was pretty sure that I was in early labor, but to try to sleep. 

I didn't believe it even then. 

I went to bed, excited at the thought, but not getting my hopes up. After all, I was sure I had 2-3 weeks left, and most moms have a bunch of false alarms the first time, right?

I woke up at 1:17 and texted Kathy to let her know. Every pregnant woman understands waking up in the night to use the bathroom, and I was pretty sure that was all it was. I got back in bed and tried to go back to sleep. Another hour went by, and again I gave up.

I can't fall back asleep. Contraction are continuing and

 getting more intense. They feel really crampy, and make me 

want to go sit on the toilet or take a hot bath like 

I used to when I was on my period.

-2:12 AM

I just timed a few so I could tell you, and they seem to be 

about 3-3 1/2 minutes apart, but that is only based on a few. 

It's also weird because they are only painful for about the 

first 30 seconds or so. Then the pain fades away, and I would

 think it was over except that my stomach stays tight for another 

30 seconds or more. If they are still going and I can't sleep when 

Michael gets up at 3, I'll probably give you a call.

-2:15 AM

Oh yeah. THAT'S why we were in bed so early! My sweetie worked early morning custodial, and had to be to work at 4. This meant leaving around 3:30, so he got up at 3. 

Kathy wrote back quickly that I should call her. Now I look at this and think, "really?!" My contractions were 3-3.5 minutes apart while I was resting, and I was going to wait 45 minutes to call her?? Sheesh. I think I was just so afraid of being disappointed, and it was a lot earlier than I was expecting...

We talked on the phone, and she agreed that it would be good for me to be seen to get a feel for where things were at. I think this is when we agreed that I should call my mom who was going to be there, but had a two hour drive to make. I think this is also when Michael woke up, but I don't remember any exciting whisper of "It's time!" in his ear... I think he just woke to me on the phone or something? Our midwife's apprentice, Dani, was already at the birth center doing laundry from another birth, so we headed there to have her check me. We arrived around 3:40, because I was frantically telling Michael what essential oils and so forth I hadn't packed yet. Between contractions of course. It was too hard to focus during. I also downed a greek yogurt, hoping to have some calories to be working on if this was the real deal. 

We got to the birth center and visited for a while. She saw me in a few contractions, and we chatted about symptoms, and what the night had looked like so far. She said that she was pretty confident that I was solidly in early labor, based on how aware I was during contractions and so forth. She asked if I wanted a cervical check but I declined. She checked the baby's heart, which was good, and the baby's position. It was funny to me, because the baby had still not dropped and engaged in my pelvis, nor had he turned so his back was in the middle--he was still hanging out with his back on my right. She said we could stay if we wanted, but that she thought I'd be more comfortable at home, which I agreed with. She told me to try to rest, and try not to get out of bed until 8. 

We headed for home around 4:20. I was really discouraged. I really didn't feel that my contractions were painful, but I really had thought I was further along, and they were getting very intense. As we drove, I turned to Michael and said, "I don't know if I can do this if it gets much harder." My poor sweet husband just bit his tongue. 

I had coached him the whole pregnancy that when a woman says she can't do it anymore that she is usually in transition, so if I ever said that he should tell me that meant I was almost done. Well, we had just been told we were far from done, so he bit his tongue and also wondered how much harder it was going to get. 

The moment we pulled onto the freeway I told Michael to pull over, as I had to throw up. We stopped just in time, and I got back into the car even more discouraged. Throwing up is also a sign of transition. I texted Dani and asked if that worried her, but she wasn't too concerned and told me to get some rest and be gentle with my stomach so early in the morning. 

We got home and I climbed into bed, knowing my mom was not far away. The plan was for her (and my dad, as mom doesn't like driving at night, and he wanted to be there to see baby afterwards) to just walk in and head to sleep on the couch. We left the door unlocked for them, and tried to get to sleep. I really don't think we had even been home for 10 minutes when we heard the door. I felt a contraction coming, and told Michael quickly to go out and greet them, but shut the door so I could have privacy during my contraction. 

My contractions were getting really intense, and laying in bed was SO uncomfortable. It was probably only about 5 or 5:30 by now, and I just wanted my mommy. After the contraction I hopped up and went in to say hi. I was so much happier up that I didn't want to go back to bed, and it was so nice to see my parents. My dad was already laying on the couch with a blanket, because we had told them we would be in bed. He thought he got to go back to sleep, but I was not that kind. We all sat out there for a while, everyone talking quietly, and me enjoying the conversation. During contractions they all did a good job of talking even softer, but not making me feel watched. Mom even double checked that they were still okay to talk to each other during contractions, and I assured her they were fine!

A while passed, when during a contraction I felt my uterus tighten in a 2 second long push. I KNEW that was not supposed to be happening yet, and so gathered all my strength and focus to say (still in the middle of a contraction) "There is NO way I am pushing already." 

Everyone sprang into action. Michael texted Dani telling her what I had said. I asked everyone to be calm (still contracting and needed to focus on relaxing). My poor mother sat there KNOWING that we needed to go, but thinking that I didn't feel the urgency. She joked later that she was NOT going to catch that baby, but she was afraid that we didn't realize that this was a big deal. I felt the urgency (enough to talk during a contraction), but needed calm at the same time. 

Here is what Michael sent...

Kendyl has been having some powerful contractions and just 

said she was wondering if she could be pushing. (Which, by the way, 

is NOT what I said. I WAS pushing, and had no control over it! :D) 

Her contraction lengths have stayed about five minutes 

between and 1:30 average duration. 

-6:18

She wrote back saying we should come back in. Michael told her I just wanted a hot bath. Sadly, the rule was that I couldn't get in the bath unless the midwife was there, because it tends to speed things up. So I knew I couldn't, but I really wanted to. She said that we should come and we could make a decision about the bath once there.

I did NOT want to make the 20 minute drive again only to have to go home (yes, I was still doubting how far things were), but I knew that there was little choice. We headed back, arriving around 6:50. Yes, it took 20 minutes to get out the door. My poor mom nearly had a heart attack, but we all made it. :)

I think I had three contractions between the car and the room. I remember leaning against the front desk, swaying and moaning through a contraction, and being vaguely aware of Dani on the phone, telling Kathy it was time to come now. I felt myself pushing a little bit with each contraction still, but had no control over it. 

When I finally got back to the room, Dani asked if I could get on the bed for a few contractions so she could check my dilation and monitor the baby. I was fully dilated (thank heavens! I never had to deal with being told I was only a 2!), and the baby was doing great. He had turned properly, and was fully engaged. I kept asking if the tub was ready yet, but they were still filling it, and I couldn't get in until Kathy was there anyway. 

I think it was the second contraction on the bed when my water broke. It was around 7:14. This made things more intense, and I was DONE with the bed. I couldn't get in the water yet, so they had me try the birthing stool. I HATED it. I mean, I really hated it. A lot. I think a lot of that was because my water had just broken, so I could feel everything a lot more. I think the other part was that it was not the water, so I hated it. :D I think I had two contractions there before we FINALLY heard Kathy walk in the door. It had been almost exactly 20 minutes, which is how far she lives from the center. I thought it was so much longer, but she probably jumped in the car right after Dani called and booked it to the birth center. 

Around 7:16 I FINALLY got to get in the wonderful, kind, happy, warm, loving water. I'm telling you, that was the best thing since sliced bread. I was SO happy to be in the water, finally, finally, FINALLY. 

They continued to check the baby's heart rate between and during contractions, though I barely noticed. My mom sat on the edge of the tub behind me, and I lay back in her lap between contractions. She stroked my hair and helped me relax. Michael was directly in front of me, and I was able to see him and draw upon his strength. He encouraged me, loved me, held my hand, and talked to me between contractions. Kathy, Dani, and Lauren (another assistant who got there sometime before Kathy, but I'm not sure when) were also around the tub, stepping in from time to time to check the baby's heart rate, offer me water, or help me wipe my face (I kept throwing up), but mostly giving me my space. 

This time was a blur. I remember being able to totally relax between contractions, but during pushing hard. It was not deliberate though. This whole time my body was pushing. I couldn't stop it anymore than I could have stopped the waves of the ocean. I just went with it and trusted my body. 

I remember hearing myself moan while pushing (just because the air being expelled had to do something), and once hearing it get rather high pitched, almost like a moaning scream. I knew it still wasn't hurting, so I wasn't sure why I made that noise, but as soon as the contraction was over I looked at Michael and told him calmly that it sounded a lot worse than it felt, and that I was still doing great. He smiled and said he knew, and we continued riding the waves together. 

I also remember thinking at one point, remembering how people say that after you have a baby, hormones come in to make you forget how much it hurt, and how hard it was, so that you will be willing to have more babies. I really was doing fine, and I wanted to remember that, and not just assume that I had just forgotten how bad it "really was." So, thinking of that, I said that it really wasn't hurting, but required a lot of concentration, and that I was feeling great! This statement has given me reassurance many times since then. I just wanted to remember!

It wasn't too long before they could see the very tip of his head making it's way in and out, working past my pubic bone. I reached down to feel it, and remember being distracted by a bubble from his sack that was still full of fluid, and slightly to the side. It stayed there a long time and bugged me every time I tried to feel my baby. Feeling his head was encouraging but surreal. 

Finally I knew his head was really coming. Feeling a slight ring of fire was THE ONLY time during labor that I described as at all painful, and it really wasn't bad. I tried to not push, but again, I had no control over it, so push I did. I felt something give on the right, and knew I had torn a little, though I knew it wasn't bad. 

At 7:55 his head was delivered. I remember being surprised as his head came out, and he immediately turned his neck. I knew that he would turn, but I guess I thought it would be gradual. As he turned his head, it finally hit me that I was having a baby. Like, a real, living baby. Who could move his head! Most of his body followed right after, during the same contraction. 

I knew that usually once the head and shoulders are out, the rest of baby comes immediately. So head and shoulders were out, and I could see him, but I couldn't figure out why they wouldn't hand him to me. They told me he had stopped at his hips (how is that fair!?), and that if I pushed a little (between contractions) that he would come the rest of the way. So I did (my first deliberate push), and out he slithered at 7:56 AM (and yes, we have all laughed at the irony of being told to stay in bed until 8 AM).

They lay my sweet little one on my chest, and I was so happy to see him! He was so perfect, and very purple. :) They told me to rub his back to stimulate him a little, as he wasn't breathing yet. I half-heartedly did, but I had so little energy left that my rubbing wouldn't have stimulated a snail. After a moment Dani took him and gently tilted his head below his feet, hoping to help him breathe. That didn't help either, so finally she asked for the ambu bag. The moment he heard her state that, he decided he'd had enough, so he let out a hearty cry. Everyone seemed relieved, but Michael and I realized later that neither of us had been remotely worried. We both had peace and knew that it was fine. 

Our little one pretty much cried nonstop for the next two hours... But at least he was breathing!

A little time passed, and my placenta detached, but I still wasn't feeling any contractions or urges to get it out. They had me try to push it out, but that did nothing but make us all laugh. I had NO muscle tone or strength left, and had no contractions to help. Eventually, somehow, it was out at 8:14. 

Our first family picture

At 8:16 Michael cut the cord, then he took the baby while I sat on the shower stool and they helped me to get washed off. They told me to tell them if I got even a tiny bit dizzy. After a couple of minutes I told them that I was a little bit dizzy, but wasn't worried about it. When it didn't pass, they had Michael pass off the baby (probably to my mom?), and lift me out of the tub and onto the bed. 

We got nice and settled, cleaned things up (okay, they did that. I didn't help with clean up. ;D), and got comfortable. My dad came to see the new baby, bringing breakfast, and I loved seeing the look on his face as a brand new grandpa. 

My two loves

Eventually everyone left, and the midwives went out to see their other clients for the day's prenatal appointments. We were supposed to rest, but I just lay in bed, watching Michael holding our sweet new baby, both asleep, and I marveled at the love I felt for them. It was truly a beautiful moment, and a nice picture to have solidified in my mind as the day that we first met our son.

He Lives!

As Easter approaches, reminders of Spring are everywhere. The grass is green, flowers are blooming, and sunshine is everywhere. The birds are singing, the air is fresh, and I am feeling grateful to be alive! Everywhere are beautifully decorated eggs, chocolates, and people in the grocery store dressed up as bunnies (How is that cute? Am I seriously the only one terrified of the Easter Bunny!?). There are so many reminders of new life, but I think we often forget why we celebrate Easter. Yes, it is about new life, but in so much more of a beautiful and significant way than an Easter egg can say!

Our Savior suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane for us. He bled from every pore. He felt every pain, sickness, sorrow, and suffering that any of us would ever feel. He also felt every joy, happiness, pleasure, and delight that any of us would ever know. He felt it all. He truly understands YOU, and EXACTLY what you are feeling and going through, whether good or bad. He suffered for every sin that would ever be (or had already been) committed. He drank the bitter cup that we might live with him again. He then died on the cross for us.

All of this is true, and all of this is vital. Without his Atonement for us, not a single one of us would be able to return to live with him. But there is more.

On the third day after his death, he rose from the tomb, breaking free from the bondage of death. An angel proclaimed to his friends, "He is not here, for he has risen" (Matthew 28:6)! What glorious news!

Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ was resurrected! He has risen, and he lives today. I know that he atoned and died for us, but I also know that he was resurrected and lives for us! Because of him, we may live again, and live with him!

Yes, I know I'm using a lot of exclamation points. Yes, I know that annoys some people. But when you cannot see my face, and cannot hear my voice, I have limited options as to how to communicate the importance and beauty of these words with you.

He lives!! Can you not feel your heart thrill within you? Can you not feel the Spirit testifying that what I am saying is true? I know that if you will pray about it, you will receive an answer. You will come to know this. Our Savior lives for us. He lives for me, and he lives for you.

As you celebrate the new life that Spring brings, and the fun and excitement of hunting for Easter eggs, finding baskets, and dying eggs, try to remember the new life that Easter is really about. And remember that even today, he lives!

It is Enough

I have always loved the story of the Widow's mite. It is the story of many rich men bringing of their wealth to contribute to the treasury. My understanding is that they were basically paying their tithing. As Christ and the Apostles watched, a poor widow arrived, and cast in her two mites. While there is some argument about how much that would equal in today's economy, the point is that it was a very small amount. Then the miracle happened. Our beloved Savior declared, "Of a truth, I say unto you that this poor widow hath cast in more than they all: For all these have of their abundance cast in unto the offerings of God: but she of her penury hath cast in all the living that she had."

The Websters 1828 dictionary defines Penury as "Want of property; indigence; extreme poverty." So
in her "extreme poverty," she cast in all the living that she had. 

This story has always reminded me that it doesn't matter how much or how little tithing I have to offer. What matters is that I give. 

But this time, reading of the widow's mite, I realized a huge part I've been missing - this story is not about tithing! Yes, that is included, but it is referring to any offering. As I realized this, I began to weep. My offering is sufficient.

On the days when we find out we are moving and only have two weeks to pack everything we own. On the days when we end up in Urgent Care with a baby who has a fever of 104.9 that won't go down. On the days when my sweetie comes home to a messy house and no dinner. In the moments when I wake in the middle of the night only to hear our little one crying in pain or fear, and I have so little strength to help him. On the days that driving, or even getting out of bed is more than my anxiety can handle, or my depression has me in the depths of despair "because" I never vacuum, or "because" my sweetie had to make dinner again. In the moments when I am the "worst person in the world" because I forgot to visit teach that month or don't know why baby is crying. In all of these days and moments when what I have to offer couldn't possibly be enough....

It is enough.

The Lord doesn't ask us to offer enough money to build a temple, or a church, or even the podium single handedly. And he doesn't expect us to offer "enough" in our lives and emotions either. We need to offer what we have, even in our penury of spirit and weakness of body and heart. Even when we can't give enough...

It is enough.

You are enough. What you have to offer is enough. Your gifts and talents are enough. Your virtues and strengths are enough. Everything that you have to give, whether you are "wealthy" or "poor" in this season of life. It is all enough.

It is enough because the Lord makes all the difference.

He Shall Open the Windows of Heaven

Often I wonder, "Why am I such an unprofitable servant to the Lord?" It's always bothered me. Those of you that know me know that I can't stand being indebted for anything. I don't like loans, and avoid them whenever possible. I don't like owing someone a favor, or an egg, or anything else that could be avoided by any other choice. But then I think of the Lord, and all I owe him. I try to "pay him back," and have no success.

Good morning world, how are you today? I think. Okay... How can I work to repay my debt to the Lord today? I know I need to pay my tithing, so I'll do that. I need to [teach/visit teach/sing in choir/whatever my current calling is]. I need to take care of my family, so I'll make dinner, and try to be more present for my husband and baby. And maybe I can invite a new ward member over for dinner?

Sounds like a basically good day, right? Lots to do, lots of people to bless, lots of hearts to cheer. So let's do this!

But by the time I can pay my tithing, I have discovered an extra $20 in my pocket. I fulfill my calling, but find that my [lesson] blesses me far more than anyone else. I try to be more present but immediately realize the incredible blessing I have in having a wonderful husband and precious baby to be present for. And I invite the new ward members over for dinner, only to be blessed by a loaf of homemade bread, and a dear new friend.

This is only a tiny example. The Lord promises us that as we obey him, he will "open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it" (Malachi 3:10). And that has been my experience over and over again. So many times it is even literal. He just pours blessings for me, and there is not room for them all.

Matthew 19:29 reads, "And every one that hath forsaken houses, or bretheren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life."

This scripture greatly helped me during a difficult time in my life, when my family moved far from the home I love (high five if you get my reference!) partway into my first semester of high school. I felt a reassurance that the Lord would continue to bless me, and that as I had given up my friends and home for Him, that He would someday bless me an hundred fold, and give me everlasting life.

Another time comes to mind. A story I will probably share more fully in a future post, but I can sum it up here. I had just returned to school for my third semester, and realized that my financial aid had not come through. The school assured me that it would be in within 4-6 weeks, but I knew that I only had about $20 to get me through until then. I begged the Lord for help, and then chose to pay my tithing, even though I needed every penny I had. The first day of the semester came, and one friend came over with bags and bags of groceries for me (totally out of the blue), and my roommate came home with a big box of food, from "some guy" that asked her to give it to me (yes, she lied about not knowing him, yes, I figured out who it was by the end of the semester, but that is not what mattered). The tiny pantry shelves that were assigned to me were literally overflowing with food. I had enough and to spare. As a side note, my financial aid came in very quickly--I think it was by the end of that week.

When we sacrifice for and trust in the Lord, we are blessed beyond measure, and often more than we have room for. The moment may seem totally hopeless, we may feel lost and confused beyond saving, but he still will save. He still will bless us, and he still cares.

And I am coming to find peace in the fact that I can never pay him back. I continue to try to be somewhat worthy of the blessings that he so generously bestows, but I know that I will never really be worthy. And that's okay. He loves me anyway, and delights in blessing me. And he feels the same way about you.

Help Thou my Unbelief

In Mark 9 we read the story of a desperate father, pleading with the Lord to save his son. His son was possessed by an unclean spirit, and had been since he was "a child." This makes me wonder how old the boy was? Perhaps a young teenager? This spirit was constantly plaguing this poor family, throwing the boy in the fire or the water to kill him. I cannot imagine the stress as a mother! Trying every moment of every day to protect your son, who is no longer a tiny baby. However old he was, I am sure it was physically taxing as well, to constantly pull him out of trouble, and try to restrain him for his own safety. As a 2 year old, that would be really hard on either parent. If he were a teenager, it would have been nearly impossible, even for both parents!

This father had obviously heard of Jesus, and had come to find him (possibly even traveling a long way with his son), knowing that he could heal him, and thus bless the entire family. He met with the disciples, as Christ was not there at the time (he was on the Mount of Transfiguration), and, knowing that they also worked miracles, he asked them to heal his son. I'm sure that having heard of the miracles that had been performed, he felt like his long journey was finally at an end.

But the disciples could not heal him.

Amidst the chaos and (I'm sure) frustration that ensued, Christ arrived. People ran to him, and the father was among them. He begged our Savior to save his son. He told him the whole story--all that happened to his son, what the spirit did to him, the fact that the disciples couldn't heal him... I can only imagine the hope that this father felt, and yet the fear he probably had. When this is the very last hope you have in the world for your son, and the rest of your family, to every live a happy normal life, how do you not quake in fear that it won't work out?

"Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth." (Mark 9:23)

"And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief." (Mark 9:24)

The part that has always struck me in this story is the humility of this incredible father. He didn't hesitate, he "straightway" responded. He did believe. He didn't doubt his faith. As Jeffrey R. Holland said, "I am not asking you to pretend to faith you do not have. I am asking you to be true to the faith you do have."
https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2013/04/lord-i-believe?lang=eng

Then, this father followed up quickly by recognizing that his faith may not be enough. He knew it was there, but he did not know if it was enough.

Our wonderful, loving, faithful Savior cast out the evil spirit, and lifted the boy up, returning him to his father, whole, for the first time in a long time.

While I am still profoundly struck by the humility of this father, something else caught my attention this time. The Lord told him that if he could believe all things were possible. This man did believe, but still had unbelief. Jesus did not say, "Okay, you don't believe enough, but I'll let it go this time." He knew that it was possible according to this father's faith. We are also told that if we ask we can receive. I can only assume that, quietly, and without fanfare, or too much of an audience, the Lord did exactly as this man asked, and helped his unbelief.

All things are possible if I believe. But if I have any unbelief, but I want to believe fully, Jesus Christ can (and will) help me with that first! I simply have to ask.

So many times throughout my life I have questioned things. I have wondered if this gospel REALLY is true. I have wondered if Heavenly Father really loves ME. I have wondered if I can really make it back to Heavenly Father's presence, and if the Atonement is really enough for ME and MY sins. (Spoiler Alert: It is. He does. I can. It is.) I want to believe it. I want to be enough. But something in me (or an evil spirit, whispering in my ear) says I am not enough, and I can't do it. I can't believe enough.

Especially when my depression was at it's worst... I knew that I had a lot to live for. I knew that I have a wonderful family who loves me, and that I have promise and potential. Alas, in those dark, hellish moments, I didn't really believe it. But I did want to believe it.

And in that desire to believe, and that wanting to even want to live, the Savior was able to save me. My depression is far from behind me, but the worst seems to be past. And I didn't believe enough. I know I didn't. But I wanted to.

As I asked the Lord to help my unbelief, and to save my very life, he did. It wasn't a fast recovery. It wasn't an immediate help. I didn't feel better immediately, or I guarantee you my depression would be long over, and would have lasted about 5 minutes, rather than 5 years. But he helped my unbelief, and he saved me. He did all that and more for me, and I know he can and will for you too. You just need to want to believe, and ask for his help. 

Catastrophe Turned Blessing

Every day, in a million tiny ways, we have the opportunity to be the Lord's hands in helping those around us. 

While I have heard that concept countless times, it has been on my mind a lot this week, following a beautiful experience that the Lord gave me through some incredible mothers I have the privilege to associate with. 

On Monday I went into Little Man's closet to grab another can of formula. I was shocked when I realized that it was the last. We have plenty of money budgeted for food each month, but because I had purchased a LOT of formula the month before, I somehow thought that I had enough to get me through to the end of the month. I was wrong. 

Immediately came the self-doubt and criticism. Immediately came the voice of the adversary, telling me I wasn't enough. 

We made a decision this month to start eating more healthy, but for anyone that knows me, you know that bothering to eat at all is usually not on my mind. So we deliberately splurged, going out and buying a lot of good, healthy food that was easy to prepare and sounded appealing to me, so that I would actually bother to eat it. Because of this, our food budget was gone for the month, but we knew it was plenty to get us through. But I forgot to check how much formula we had left...

 When I realized that we were out of formula, I immediately thought of this shopping trip, and all of the money we spent on food for us, and specifically food to cater to me. "I chose to feed myself over my son." The words echoed in my mind, torturing me, condemning me, and refusing to let me go. Of course this was ridiculous. I had thought of our son, and I did plan ahead. I was just wrong on my amounts. But, as we know, Satan uses whatever tools he can, and this one worked well. The next painful thought was that this would never have happened if I were only breastfeeding. As a lot of you know, I walked through hell for 6 months, trying to make breastfeeding work. We worked with at least 9 different health professionals, put baby through 3 tongue tie clippings, and spent countless hours praying and researching. We finally stopped trying the night I ended up in the ER for my depression. I had to choose between breastfeeding and living. But still, if ONLY I had "stuck to it," I would have not been in this position! I spent a lot of time sitting by the closet crying at what a terrible mother my poor baby had been cursed with. 

Eventually I got up, dried my eyes, and started thinking. There was enough formula to get us about 2.5-3 days. We needed about 6. I knew we had two gallons of milk in the fridge, and wondered how bad it would be to give Little Man 50/50 formula and milk for just a week. He is 10 months old. I knew it wasn't recommended until 12 months, but I wondered if a week could hurt. I also knew that if it really came down to it, I could pull money out of savings. Of course, that would hurt, but I would much rather drain some of our small savings than have our baby go hungry! Still, I hoped it could be avoided. 

In desperation, I reached out to some of the parenting groups I am in on facebook. All I wanted to know was if I could give my baby 50/50, or if there was something else I could add to make my own "formula." I deliberately didn't post in any local pages. I didn't want to worry any friends, and I wasn't looking for a handout. I simply wanted direction and answers. 

Over the next hours (and into the next days), my facebook exploded with love. There were so many ideas (talk to local bishop/food bank, call pediatrician for samples, do 50/50 milk and formula, etc.), and so many offers to mail out samples that they had. There were even a number of requests to know what formula we used so people could buy us some on Amazon and have it shipped. I sat with tears streaming down my face at all of the good in this world. 

These were mothers I had never met. People that I had never seen and never contacted. They didn't know me in any way, shape, or form. But they stepped up in love, and offered their help and friendship. 

Over the past few days I have received private messages informing me that samples and even full cans of formula are on their way. I even received one message making certain that my husband and I had food too. 

I am simply overwhelmed by the goodness and love that these people have shown me and my family. People from totally different walks of life, different stages, different parts of the world. People who don't know me. But they all stood up and made a difference. 

One of the moms on the group that had by far the most responses and help offered summed up the situation quite well, and with her permission, I quote, "This is why I love this group. In a "mommy wars" world, there's something so very touching and special about mamas coming together. We're meant to be this encouraging and supportive, and it's a beautiful, beautiful thing. Proud of you, mamas!!" 

Her words rang true to me, even outside of the world of parenting. I would like to add to what she said. In a world at war with itself and the adversary, there's something incredible about people coming together to take care of one another. And as she said, "We're meant to be this encouraging and supportive, and it's a beautiful, beautiful thing."

This is a huge part of what we are meant for! In Doctrine and Covenants 81:5 we are commanded, "Wherefore, be faithful; stand in the office which I have appointed unto you; succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees."

I testify that as we do these things, we will have the privilege and blessing of being instruments in the hands of God. Even if something seems small, like sharing that formula sample in the back of your closet, you may be literally or figuratively saving a life. Don't be afraid to follow in the footsteps of our Savior, step up and make a difference. 

Is It Enough to Know?

This is a question that we don't hear very often, but that I have pondered frequently.

It is not uncommon to hear someone say that they "know" something. Whether it is someone they know, a subject they are familiar with, or even just that they know that they should start exercising more.

In my church (the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints), we have a testimony meeting every month, and it is open for anyone to go up and testify of the truths they know pertaining to the gospel. We always hear that you, "know the church is true," and that you, "know Joseph Smith was a prophet." We know that you, "know that God loves us," and that Jesus Christ lives.

I, too, know these things to be true. I know that the church is true. I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet, and that he restored the same gospel and church that Christ revealed and formed while he was on this earth. I know that the Book of Mormon is true, and I am thankful for it's teachings. I know that Thomas S. Monson is God's prophet on earth today, and that he leads us to Christ. I know that families can be together forever through the sealing power available in holy temples, and I am so grateful to know that my family has been sealed. I know that our Heavenly Father loves us, and wants us to return to Him. I know many things, but most of all, I know that Jesus Christ lives. He lived to show us how. He suffered and died for us, and atoned for our sins so we can be worthy to live with Him again. And He LIVES AGAIN! He was resurrected that we too, may live again. I know that Jesus Christ lives. I testify of these things with all of my heart. I know them to be true.


But is that really enough?

Does it really matter that I know those things?

Does it really matter what you know?

Let me ask you a question. Does Satan know anything?

Does he, for example, know that God lives?

Does he know that God loves us?

Does he know that Jesus Christ atoned for us?

Does he know that our Savior lives again?

Of course he knows these things! He once lived with God! He knows the plan! He knows that God loves us! He knows what Christ did, and the significance of it! He knows it all!

So let me ask you again. Is it enough to know?

Obviously not.

What else has to be there?


A long time ago, I was taught about two very important virtues: sensitivity to truth, and love of truth. Sensitivity to truth is exactly as it says; being sensitive to and able to recognize truth. This is the "knowing" part, if you will. But I would like to propose that what is missing is love of truth.

While Satan is certainly sensitive to and aware of the truth, he does not love it. In fact, he hates it with a horrible, burning passion. This is how he has fallen, and this is what we must fight against if we desire to come back to our Father.

When you love someone, you want to spend time getting to know them, coming closer to them, and talking about everything. When you aren't together, you think of them, come up with new questions for them, and wish you were together. What if we loved truth in the same way? What if we loved the things we know? What if we wanted to understand truth better, come closer to it, and be in line with it? What if we sensed when it was missing, and mourned it's loss? What if we strove to find it again, and to keep it with us always?

When we apply this to the gospel, and the truth that we know and believe about the Lord, and about the people we must be to be closer to Him, strength comes. We are able to grow closer to God, and to the truths that He sends us through His prophets. We are able to become "that guy"/girl (as my husband puts it). That person you see when you think of who you want to be, the person that God intends for you to be.

Close your eyes, and picture your soul. Who is he/she? What does he/she look like? How do they carry themselves? What does their face tell you of who they are? Do they have joy? Wisdom? Confidence? This person is who you can become, and the person (or as close as we can imagine--obviously the Lord knows more than we do) that we must be in order to return to the presence of our Heavenly Father.

As we pursue truth and grow to love it, rather than to just be sensitive to it or know it, we will be able to grow closer to the Lord. We will not just know. We have learned that it is not enough to just know. Rather we will love truth. We will fight for it, search for it, pursue it, and RUN to meet it. And as we search, we will find.