My Burning Bush

I listened to a BYU devotional today given by a former professor of mine.

http://speeches.byu.edu/?act=viewitem&id=2221

In his address, he describes an experience in which the Lord confirmed a correct decision. He told his wife, "I know it. I couldn’t be any more sure than Moses and the burning bush.” This address was, in turn, a confirmation to me from the Lord. It affected me in such a personal way that I wrote to the professor and sent him the following email:

Dear Bro Parker, 

I am a former student of yours. I believe I took your Book of Mormon class in 2005, and it had a profound influence on my life. Because of this, when I was browsing the BYU devotionals today looking for something to listen to while cutting my husband's hair, I noticed that you gave a address recently and we decided to listen to it. 

I was particularly impressed by your story about looking for a house in Tucson. I have only been to Tucson once, and I thought it was the ugliest place I had ever seen. I felt like it was sucking the life out of me, and I swore I could never live there.   

Then last week, my husband was offered a faculty teaching position at the University of Arizona. It is his first job after he will (hopefully!) finish his doctoral dissertation. We are thrilled with the offer. However, I have struggled immensely at the thought of living in Tucson, especially after residing in lush Oregon for the past four years. I have wondered if the Lord would really provide a situation for me where I could feel at home. I have prayed continuously to see the good in this opportunity and to be happy about moving there.  

Tonight, as I listened to you describe your dismay at searching unsuccessfully for a place to live amid the unfamiliar territory of desert rocks and cacti, tears began to well up in my eyes. When you described reading in the scriptures the words "Thou hast prepared a house," and then finding that house, confirmed with signs from the Lord, I had to stop cutting my husband's hair because I couldn't see through the tears. Your devotional address was the sign to me that God has a place prepared for us in Tucson, and that this is where I am supposed to go.  

Coincidence? I think not. 

Thank you for sharing this story. I hope it had meaning for many in the audience, but it felt like you were giving it just for me. It was an answer to my prayers. I will go forward in faith, knowing that the Lord is mindful of me in this situation. Thank you for being the medium through which He could send this message.

Grief and Comfort

It's been three weeks since I lost my mom. I haven't been avoiding writing out of distress, I have just been too busy to sit down and record my thoughts. The last three weeks certainly have not been easy. My grandma called me on Thursday, April 11 to tell me that my mom was really struggling and I needed to come out as soon as possible. So Lily and I flew out as soon as we could get to the airport, said goodbye to her the following day, and on Saturday she was gone.

Honestly, the following two weeks are a blur. I planned most of the funeral myself, since my dad was hammering out tax returns for the deadline and all my siblings were finishing their finals exams. My sister and my grandma helped, and my dad had to make a number of decisions. But I definitely kept myself completely busy with planning. I thought it would be awful, but it kept my mind off how sad I felt. And it also felt good to be able to plan everything to be just the way my mom wanted.

After the funeral, which was absolutely beautiful, I spent the following week sorting through my mom's things and dejunking/cleaning my parents' house. For the past four months, my mom had been too sick to do any housekeeping, so it was badly needed. That was also a nice distraction and it felt good to be helping my dad.  Somehow throwing stuff away is therapeutic for me sometimes. It kind of feels like getting rid of baggage from your past. Even though most of this wasn't from my past, I think I convinced myself that the less junk he had to get rid of himself, the less loss he would have to experience. That probably isn't true, but it was a good way to channel my grief.

The most prominent feeling I have had since getting back home to Oregon last Tuesday is that it just feels unreal and strange. In Utah, it was so obvious that she was gone. My whole family was there for an entire week, and she was clearly absent. Since arriving here, my life is exactly the same as it was. It feels like her death should have made more of an impact on my day-to-day existence, but apart from the glaring hole in my heart, nothing has changed. I still have to deal with Lily's pesky little "biting mommy and daddy" problem, I still have to do laundry, and plan upcoming ward choir numbers, and try to actually do some visiting teaching, and make grocery lists and go grocery shopping, and take Lily outside at least twice a day, and make dinner, and try to write about how I feel in my journal and catch up on blogging, and fit in some time for scripture study and exercising, and learn the music I have to teach the chorus at our next stake play practice.

Okay, I just feel overwhelmed. It seems like I have more to do than ever, but now I can't call my mom and talk to her about it when it feels too hard. There was one day this week when I couldn't get out of bed. I just felt depressed and I couldn't make myself get up for an hour and a half after Adam got up with Lily. I just lay in bed and let Lily destroy the room around me, grateful for her diversion. More than once that morning, my automatic response to the feeling of overwhelming sadness was "I just need to call my mom." And then, of course, after a split second, I would remind myself that that is the point of my sadness: I can't call her.

There is just something about talking to your mom that can't be replaced. I suppose some of it was because she was such an amazing, empathetic listener, and so very smart. She didn't speak idly, and when she did speak, it was always something so insightful and intelligent. I know there were many other people who loved talking to her (even besides her clients), but I think most of it is just that she was my mom. I miss saying the word "mom." I never appreciated what a privilege it was to speak that word before. The thought of not being able to have a real conversation with her for probably the next 50 years sometimes feels like more than I can deal with. Often, when a wave of grief hits me, I find myself running away from it and searching for anything to distract myself. I should try not to do that because it's probably not healthy. But it's a little scary to feel that much pain, even if I know it usually only lasts a little while.

As always, the gospel makes it possible to go on. It's incredible that I can feel so much hope and gratitude in the middle of so much grief. I honestly feel joyful to know that she is done with her test, and I know she passed with flying colors. She is happy and with her dad again, and she feels no more pain or fear! I am excited for her! And even for the rest of us who are left to face mortality, the knowledge that we will be with her again changes our situation from a permanently hopeless and devastating loss to a difficult, but temporary, separation. In fact, I have felt her presence just enough that I know I can talk to her whenever I really need to. I know she is listening, and I know she isn't really gone. I just can't see her. It isn't the same, and it still hurts terribly. But the person I know and love is still there, she has just graduated from this life. Without that knowledge, I would not be able to deal with this.

I have felt so comforted. I know she was ready to go. She was happy and at peace. It has also been touching to see how many people care about my mom, and about me. In fact, I have been surprised at how comforting it when people tell me how sorry they are, or that they have lost a parent as well and they know how hard it is. I don't think we are meant to go through things like this alone.

But most of all, as I look back over the past three weeks, I see the Lord carrying me. He has truly gotten me through this. I haven't fallen apart the way I thought I would. Of course I have my moments and hours of falling apart, but I'm still here and still breathing. For the most part, I am still even functioning, and I know it is only because of His sustaining power. Without it, I would be a hopelessly miserable mess. But He never lets me down. He didn't answer my prayers the way I wanted this time, but I know it is in His hands. I know the Lord is taking care of my mom, and I know He will take care of me. He will never leave us comfortless, but will come to us. Somehow, this plan is better than mine. I don't know why this needed to happen, but I know that God understands much better than I do, and I will still trust Him. After those next 50 or however many years, it will all seem but a small moment, and because of the sorrow I experienced, my joy will be more complete when I can be with her again.