A Lesson on Trials

This post probably isn't what you think. Since my mom has been battling with possibly terminal cancer, it would seem likely that this post would be about how hard things have been knowing that she could pass away. This is not that. That was the last post. It was very sad that day, when we were all sure that my mom was going to die, and thought that her last hope for treatment hadn't worked. It turned out that wasn't entirely true; she didn't come back from the cancer clinic in Mexico because they were giving up; they came back because they didn't have the resources to deal with a certain problem she was having, so they gave her some special low-dose chemo drugs and sent her back to the U.S.

The other good news is that since then, she has been to the Huntsman Cancer Clinic in SLC and got a new doctor, and all her blood tests are improving and the chemo drugs seem to be working really well. She got a treatment that allows her to breathe again and is functioning much better and may very well continue to improve. Although her situation is still serious, I consider this a miracle. I said before that I had complete faith that the Lord could still heal her, I just didn't think it very likely that He would. It looks like He is doing that, at least for the moment.

And I am so very, very completely, totally grateful. I feel blessed beyond words or expression. Maybe we just needed to be tested to the very limit to see if we would still have faith when it looked pretty sure that our prayers wouldn't be answered. I don't know. Maybe we will still lose her, but for the moment I am filled with gratitude.

But that is not what I really wanted to write about in this post. Last week was one of the saddest weeks I have ever had, contemplating saying goodbye to my mom and spending the rest of my life without her. BUT I knew exactly what to do when that storm hit. I felt like the rains came pouring down, and I thought to myself, "I have learned in seminary and Sunday school and from the scriptures and prophets that when a really hard trial comes, I should pray and turn to the Lord for comfort, and I will find His guidance and reassurance through the scriptures and the Holy Spirit." So that's what I did, and that's what happened. He was there for me, and though it didn't make me feel happy, I knew I could get through this trial no matter what. I felt comforted and strengthened, even though I was still very, very sad.

But this week has not been like that. This week has not been near as sad, but in some ways harder. It is difficult to explain why. I have been extremely lonely, which usually makes me feel depressed. I weaned Lily last weekend, which went surprisingly well, but she has had a terrible time going to sleep since then. So she stays up really late and I don't end up spending any time with Adam. She has also been waking up really early, so I don't get enough sleep and am really tired (which makes everything worse). And I have just been feeling really, really lonely. I have friends here in Corvallis, but they are busy with their own kids, jobs, families,etc, so Lily and I end up spending most of our time by ourselves. In the end, I am not sure why it's been so bad, but I have felt extremely lonely this week and it has been really hard.

It's not the end of the world. But at certain moments, I have really struggled to know what to do about it. For example, I sang in an Easter cantata yesterday with a very good stake choir, and I was really excited about the music. But no one came to see me in it. There were a few people I knew in the audience, but none of them came to see me. Adam tried to come with Lily, but she was really tired and threw a tantrum during the first number, so he had to take her out and heard hardly any of it. I didn't realize how hard it would be on me until afterwards, when I didn't have anyone to talk to. I just wanted to be able to ask one person, "So did you hear the Hosanna number? Did you like it? It was really difficult and wonderful and I was so excited that we nailed it spot on. And what about the cool gothic-like number in the middle with the awesome loud organ?" But there was no one to ask.

It just made it all the more obvious to me that I am fairly alone out here. Now, really, it shouldn't have been a big deal. Nobody came to my concert, boo-hoo. It's not like I even had a solo or anything special. But it brought to the forefront of my mind how alone I feel here, and I couldn't figure out how to overcome that feeling, which I have been fighting all week.

So, to the point of this post. I guess I realized today that sometimes the less hard trials are actually the most challenging to learn from and face with courage. When I am sitting at home feeling lonely and inadequate and depressed, I don't automatically think, "Wow, I am in the middle of the difficult trial of being at home with my daughter today, so I should pray for help from the Lord and I have complete faith that He will strengthen me." Of course, that is exactly what I should do, but it's somehow not as obvious. I am often more likely to think something along the lines of, "Why am I so depressed today? It's not like my life is that bad. I have a beautiful daughter and a wonderful husband whom I love and who love me. I have the gospel and a home to live in. I have no right to feel depressed today. There are people out there with real trials, like dying from cancer, or their spouses leaving them, or who have no food to eat. I should just be grateful I don't have any of those trials." And of course I just beat myself up over that and feel worse and it doesn't help at all.

Don't get me wrong, I do pray for help and strength in these times, but I don't think it's with the same kind of faith. In the depth of my sorrow last week, I knew what to say: "Please let my mom be healed, but if not, I will still have faith in your plan, and I know that whatever happens is Thy will." I was heartbroken at the thought of losing her, but I knew without a doubt that God would never leave me alone in dealing with something of that magnitude. When it's something like feeling depressed, or disappointed, or inadequate, sometimes I don't even know what to say. In fact, sometimes I even feel like prefacing my prayers with, "Please forgive me for being so unhappy about this when it really shouldn't be a big deal."

Now, please don't think I am saying that my little trial of being lonely sometimes is actually harder than losing a loved one, or any number of other super hard trials that many have gone through. But sometimes it is harder for me to know how to face smaller trials or how to learn from them. Does that sound like the pride cycle? We don't remember that we need the Lord until He gives us something really, really difficult and then we suddenly remember that we can't do it alone. I don't think someone who is "cursed" with riches and fame would easily remember to get on their knees daily to beg and plead with the Lord to help them get through one day of worldly comfort without pride. Although that kind of trial certainly doesn't feel harder, it may ultimately be harder to learn from. If the point of this life is to learn and grow, then perhaps those are the hardest trials.

Maybe it's like preparing for a licensing exam. You could take several really, really hard classes in college and know without a doubt that if you passed those, you would pass the exam. Alternatively, you could take the easiest classes possible and then study on your own for the exam, but you would have to be entirely self-motivated, with no sure way to tell if you are ready or not. In that way, the self-study option almost seems harder even though in the moment it certainly doesn't feel harder.

I am not saying that I would rather go through really hard trials than the ones I am experiencing. Maybe I just need to acknowledge on a more regular basis that the hard things I experience regularly are legitimate, and that I truly do need the Lord every hour, even if it's just to get through spending the afternoon by myself.

The Unexpected

I never thought this blog would be a vehicle to explore death, but I guess that's what it is. I am not really writing this because I care if anyone else reads it, I just need to write how I feel and writing in my journal would take too long. 

My mom is not doing well. I have complete faith that if the Lord still wants to heal her, He is just as capable now as he was a year ago. But it doesn't seem likely at this point. I have been so hopeful. She has received blessings stating that she would recover, and I fully believed them, although I also knew there was a possibility that she wouldn't. When Oliver Cowdery tried unsuccessfully to translate a part of the Book of Mormon, there is a passage in the Doctrine and Covenants that explains that it was expedient for him to translate before, but it is not now. Perhaps it was expedient for my mom to recover before, but it's not now. I don't feel angry or betrayed. I don't feel that the Lord has let me down. I just feel sad. Granted, she is still here, so maybe I will feel all those things in the future. But it's strange to think that this is happening to my family. I just never thought it would. I guess that's how life goes. You never think your house will burn down or your child will get addicted to heroine or your spouse will get Alzheimer's. I just never thought my mom would die of cancer.

I have thought, as I watched people I know suffer through the loss of loved ones, that I could never do that. It just sounded impossible. I have never lost someone close to me, and I have been terrified of what it would feel like. Strangely, I am not as devastated and terrified as I expected to be. Although that's typical of me; I generally think everything is going to be worse than it is (except giving birth--that was one a little harder than I anticipated, haha. :) I have felt so much peace for the last 6 months. I thought it was probably reassurance that she would recover. But I guess it was probably reassurance that this is the Lord's will. How can I be upset about that? He knows what I need to learn, and what everyone in my family needs to learn. Just the fact that He can give me this much peace at a time when such a hard thing is happening has strengthened my faith and helped me to see that He really is in control! He really can carry us through the hardest times. He really is all-powerful and all-knowing. I wouldn't want Him to deprive me of the opportunity to experience the growth I need to become worthy of inheriting all that He has.

But . . . I'm just going to miss her so much. She didn't make it in time for Lily's birth. I just assumed it was fine, and we would make sure she got there earlier next time. Now there probably won't be a next time (not that I won't have any more kids, just that she won't be able to come, physically). I'm so glad she got to become a grandma, but Lily won't remember her. She probably won't be there for my brother's wedding. There are so many things we still want to do together. She never got to go to Europe or take a whitewater trip down the Colorado. We were going to go kayaking in the Puget Sound this summer and take Lily on her first mini backpacking trip. She has so many ways she still wants to help people. She has so much cutting-edge knowledge about trauma therapy and how to help people using integrated techniques from many different fields. That will all be lost. I just feel like she has helped so many people and nobody can help her.

She is #3 on my speed dial, after voicemail and Adam. Who am I supposed to put in that spot? If I move everyone around, I will never remember which person goes where, but if I leave 3 empty forever, it will remind me every time I press the 3 button that she's not there to answer her phone anymore. Who am I going to call for advice about my kids? Well, I guess I can call Adam's mom. She's really great. But she's not my mom. She's not the person who sacrificed so much, probably more than almost anyone knows, for my family. She's not the one in all my memories and photographs. Will I ever be able to look at those pictures without being sad that she's gone?

And of course we will have to figure out how to plan a funeral, which sounds completely awful. It's like planning a wedding, except everybody is sad instead of happy, and you have to do it in like three days, and there are no expos or magazines or newlywed friends to give you advice, and you have to do it in the middle of experiencing one of the hardest trials of your life. Planning a wedding was stressful enough; this sounds just horrid. And of course now I am going to be the person that no one knows how to talk to, because what can you possibly say? "I'm sorry" just doesn't feel like enough, and you can't really do anything to make it better. I have totally been there before. So I am probably just going to feel bad for all the people who feel bad for me and also awkward because they don't know what to say. I'm sure I will appreciate their concern anyway. But then, I am going to be there too, because what am I supposed to say? What should I say to my dad who is facing the rest of his life alone or with someone else? He is only 51. That used to sounds kind of old to me. It is not even close to old. I want more than anything to be there for him and help him somehow, but I can't make it hurt any less. And I can't say that I understand what he's going through because I am not the one who might lose my spouse.

 I was listening to a devotional speech by Elder Maxwell (I really miss him) the other day, and I found what he had to say so profound:

God loves us and, loving us, has placed us here to cope with challenges which he will place before us. I'm not sure we can always understand the implications of his love, because his love will call us at times to do things we may wonder about, and we may be confronted with circumstances we would rather not face. I believe with all my heart that because God loves us there are some particularized challenges that he will deliver to each of us. He will customize the curriculum for each of us in order to teach us the things we most need to know. He will set before us in life what we need, not always what we like. He knows the kind of remodeling in your life and in mine that he wishes to achieve. Now, this will require us to believe in that divine design and at times to accept the truth which came to Joseph Smith wherein he was reminded that his suffering would be “but a small moment” (D&C 121:7).  

Let me remind you [of what we] say in the Church: that life is a school, a testing ground. What we don't accept are the implications of that true teaching—at least as fully as we should. One of the implications is that the tests that we face are real. They are not going to be things we can do with one hand tied behind our backs. They are real enough that if we meet them we shall know that we have felt them, because we will feel them deeply and keenly and pervasively. 

 So I guess I am learning about what it's like to go through a trial. Not that I haven't experienced them before. But I have thought many times that my life has probably been too easy, and I was due for something really hard. I was really afraid of what it might be. It's funny that now that it's here, I am not afraid. But things will definitely be hard. I guess if I don't have my mom, I will just have to rely on the Lord more than ever before. That's not a bad thing. Maybe that's what I am supposed to learn.