Rain, Umbrellas, and Faith

Fact: life is challenging. And some days, "challenging" is an understatement! You fight just to keep your proverbial head above the water every minute of the day. Yeah, I know that feeling. I bet you do, too.

So life is challenging. I can easily lose sight of what it's all about. Have you asked yourself that question recently? "What is it all about?!"

It's all about the faith we have in our Savior, Jesus Christ, and our Heavenly Father. Faith that Heavenly Father has a plan for us. And not just the all-encompassing plan he has for all His spirit children (pre-mortal life, earthly probation, etc.). I'm talking about the plan He has for you. Yes, you! Reading this right now. You are His child and He has a beautiful plan custom-made just for you. Do you believe that? Do you believe you can strive to understand that plan a little bit better every day?

I confess, the plan can be mysterious. You can be going on your merry way, pretty confident that you're headed in the right direction, doing the things you're meant to be doing. Then something comes out of nowhere and knocks you off your tracks. These obstacles and trials are sometimes a thing we do to ourselves through our misguided, short-sighted choices. And other times it's just life throwing you a curve ball. Or it's a stumbling block in our path that's been designed to refine us. Sometimes it's hard to tell which is which.

This is where faith comes into play. Prayer takes a tremendous amount of faith! You make yourself totally vulnerable when you supplicate your God for divine help in your life. It's not always easy to do that; we like to hold onto our pride for some reason (think umbrella--it'll make sense later). We tell ourselves we can fix something on our own and hold onto our pride stubbornly like some kind of OCD security blanket. 

You can pray to your Father for the trial to be lifted from your shoulders. Sometimes He'll remove the burden, and sometimes He won't. You can pray for patience until the trial is over. He may make you stronger to carry the burden. Or He'll help you develop new skills and gifts to help you deal with your challenges. This process can often be painful. 

(I think of it as a rock-tumbler...did you ever have one of those in your classroom? Basically, you toss a bunch of rocks into this tumbler, and it goes 'round and 'round and 'round, bashing the rocks into each other. It's loud. Eventually all the rocks have lost their sharp edges and rough surfaces in the tumultuous tumbler as they've bashed and smashed against each other for hours. And in the end you have beautiful, smooth, polished stones.)

Sometimes we think, "Heavenly Father, this trial is making me really unhappy. If you love me so much, why do I have to go through this?" People are usually mistaken in the belief that a loving God doesn't ask His children to go through hard things, or asks us to do things that don't make sense in our realm of understanding. If you're a parent, you might have a better understanding of why this belief is false. On a daily basis I have to help my children understand why we do and do not do certain things. 

This very morning my 4-year-old found a pair of crocks in her closet (d'oh, I thought I removed all the summer clothes!). She wanted to wear them to school. Here's a little update for everyone who doesn't live in my corner of the universe: it's COLD in southwestern Idaho right now. We had record snowfalls last week, and we're not supposed to get above freezing temperatures for days. So I told my daughter she needed to wear boots today, or at least sneakers. But the crocks were a no-go. And of course she didn't like that answer. She's 4 and she can be stubborn and I had to gently explain again and again why she couldn't have what she wanted. She needs to trust that I don't want her little toesies to freeze off and that's the force behind my guidance. 

I also have a six-year-old who is learning to read. I love listening to her read to herself and sounding out words she sees all around her. But she only has a first-grade understanding of language. Sometimes she'll encounter a new word and sound it out, and it will be wrong. Let's take the word comb. There's that silly silent b hanging out at the end of the word. My first-grader may pronounce the b, even argue with me that she must say the b because it's there! I'm not intelligent enough to explain why there's a b when we don't say the b, but I know it's silent! She also needs to learn to trust that I have more experience in reading and that I know the right way to say the word.

Unlike my skills as a mother, Heavenly Father does know the purpose behind all things. When the situation is appropriate, I let my kids learn their lessons the hard way, and Heavenly Father lets us do this, too. In fact, He will always let us learn things the hard way if we choose. After scraping our knees a few times, we remember about faith and prayer and we get down on our bleeding, scabby knees and say, "Father, thy will be done and the glory be thine forever."

This post is becoming much longer than I intended, but bear with me. There is a culminating point to all this. I have been thinking about faith and prayer a lot lately. There's something I've been praying for for a long time now--years, even. And several times something has happened where I think, "Yes! The prayer is answered! This is what I wanted! Thank you, Father!"  Just to have it, a short while later, taken away again. More prayers ensued, more supplication. Another blessing came our way, and I said, "Yes! Thank you, Father! I understand I needed to learn more patience, that that first path wasn't right for us. Thank you! What a blessing!" Then that, too, was taken away. Another short-lived blessing. It seems this cycle has been endless. I have found myself asking, Does He really listen? Does He really care? Because this is really hard right now and I don't think I deserve this and I'm kind of over carrying this burden.

He hasn't taken it away yet. Why? I honestly don't know. But there's one thing I cannot deny as I strive to endure through it:

HE LOVES ME.

Just as an earthly parent has to deny some of their children's desires, so does my Father in Heaven. BUT HE LOVES ME! I know this through the subtle whisperings of the Holy Ghost. It fills me to the point where I almost can't contain my joy, and it often slips out through my eyes. There are tender mercies (love notes, I like to call 'em) every day where I see just how much love He's trying to rain down on me (remember that umbrella). We really tend to disparage parents who grant their children's every whim; what kind of God would my Father be if He did the same for me?

Can I share two personal things that tell me He loves me? The other day I was driving and a Christmas tune came on the radio. And I started thinking about the birth and life of my Savior. Oh, how can you not feel the Savior's love for us this time of year?? And that love filled me. It was whispered into my heart and my mind, I love you.

The second happened yesterday when a neighbor of mine asked if I wanted to look through some boxes of little girl clothes she was getting rid of. They were just the right sizes for my two youngest girls. Which has been on my mind a lot lately in this cold weather: having good, warm clothes, but especially pants for my youngest. Everything my little girls needed were in those boxes, and then some. This neighbor couldn't have known I wanted good pants for my little girl to wear. I hadn't mentioned it to my husband or anyone, except on my knees in prayer. I had whispered, Father, you know what we need. I don't know how you'll do it, but I know you'll take care of us.

So, the big thing I've been praying years for is far from coming to pass. I know He can, but I don't think Heavenly Father is going to rectify that one any time soon. There is a light at the end of the tunnel; I just have to be exceedingly patient for it. But because of this challenging time, how much more faith have I exercised in my Father? How many small love notes and acts of mercy have been showered upon me because my prayers haven't been fulfilled about "the big one"? I could let myself be consumed with this one dilemma, but how much more would I be missing?

He loves me. And He loves YOU as His own unique, beloved child. 

So, life is challenging. Don't let those challenges block you from receiving His divine blessings.

Fifty Cent Love Note

And when I say "love notes," I mean tender mercies from Heavenly Father exhibited in my day-to-day life that show He's looking over me and just trying to express His love in ways that can sink into my mortality-limited, thick-skulled brain.

I took my kids to the library today for the first time in weeks! At the checkout (with a few dozen books on the counter, blocking eye contact between the bewildered checkout gal and myself) the clerk said I had a fifty cent fine. My library will NOT let you check out books if you have any kind of fine, fifty cents or fifty bucks. I had zero cash or change on me, so I started whipping out my checkbook from my purse (silly, I know, but I was desperate). The clerk peeked around the book mountain and said they don't take checks for less than a dollar. 

(Hmmmm, I'm PRETTY sure I've been in the same boat before and I'm PRETTY sure I've written checks for less than a buck before...because I'm lame like that. Must be a new policy, maybe?) 

I began digging through my purse hoping for a miraculously hidden quarter or two--which I knew wouldn't be in there because I cleaned my purse out last week, plus my kids bum change off me all the time--wondering if I'm going to have to drive all the way home to dig up fifty cents so I can borrow these books for my kids. School's officially out for summer as of today, I need my kids to have these books!

I turned when I heard a familiar voice behind me saying, "Are you in trouble, Amy?" I looked and it was an older sister from church. My kids call her Grandma H_____ (because her son and daughter-in-law to go our church, too, so there are technically two Sis. H_____s, so they call her Grandma H______ to avoid confusion). She gave me the fifty cents to pay my fine. I pledged I would repay her as soon as I could. She smiled, shook her head, and told me to pay it forward next time I saw someone fumbling for change at the library counter. 

What a relief! What a rescue! And for what? Something she had ample of that I was lacking. What does it cost us to show a little bit of love for our fellow man? How many times do we see others in need around us, whether great or small, and we turn our eyes because we're either embarrassed to acknowledge what we saw or we're afraid of doing something wrong in trying to help? We should never be afraid to do what is right. 

Thank you, Grandma H_____, for your kindness and helping me remember this principle of the golden rule, of loving my brothers and sisters. 

Numbers

I've had the tendency to be a big Debbie Downer as of late, so I'm trying to focus on the things in life that I'm grateful for to counterbalance the things that make me fret. So today I'm sharing the following story with you. I fondly have titled it, "Numbers."

A few weeks ago, during a pleasant spring afternoon, I was sitting in my favorite reading/writing spot in my front room. From this chair I can see out the window that overlooks my front porch and driveway. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a little car pull up to my curb and stop. I wasn't a car I recognized, and I told myself that although he parked in front of my house, he was probably visiting one of my neighbors. I watched him get out of the car--for the briefest moment I thought it was my dad, even though the car was all wrong. From the back, they have the same hair cut. But this man turned around and I could see he was older than my father, and I was disappointed. And a little exasperated with myself that I would believe for a nanosecond that my dad would show up out of the blue unannounced. First off, Dad lives out of state, and second, most of the time he visits me he's on his Harley. But I digress. 

The old gentleman made his way up my driveway at a slow gate. I was confused--I told myself he'd reexamine my house number and realize he was at the wrong place and turn back to his car. But he kept approaching at his snail's pace. Finally the knock came to the door, and my preschooler, who always gets excited when a visitor comes, ran into the room and danced and sang, "Who is it?! Who is it?!" I know she imagined it was one of her little friends wanting to play.

I opened the door and smiled at the old man. He had papers in his hands, which he held out to me. It was when I saw what was on the papers that I started having one of those out-of-body type experiences. Like time slowed way down, like someone else was standing in front of my open door, not me. You know when you watch the news and it talks about a court case, then an image of the court documents shows up on the screen listing the plaintiffs and defendants? That's what I was holding in my hand, a court document listing my husband as a defendant in a small-claims case over an undisclosed amount of debt. 

I had worn a friendly smile when I opened the door to the strange man, but now the blood drained from my face. I looked at him blankly. He said this was the second notice of the summons, and it's for Derek Beck only, not for me. That didn't make me feel any better at all. He said he had to record who he delivered the court summons to, so he asked my first name. I answered, and he walked away. 

I sat back down in my favorite chair and looked at the court documents. I was so confused. How on earth could someone accuse Derek of owing them money? That's not to say we don't have any debt, but we are always on top of our payments and we had never received collections calls. Had I forgotten some account I should be making payments to? My head was spinning. I am entirely unfamiliar with legal cases, and the language in the papers made my head spin more. I called Derek.

He was just as baffled as I was. "There must be some mistake," he said. I sure hoped he was right, but I didn't know what to do. I was afraid to call the attorney's number at the top of the page...should I have my own legal representation before I make a move? I really didn't know what to do. I wanted to call my dad, as he has been involved in a handful of lawsuits, both as the plaintiff and as the defendant. Derek told me to just call the number. When we got more information, then we would decide if we needed my dad's advice or not. 

It was a little after lunchtime, so I wasn't surprised when my call went to the attorney's voice mail, though I was disappointed. I started to Google words in the papers that were unfamiliar to me, but their meanings didn't shed any light on why this was happening. How could we owe anyone money? I was certain we didn't, but how could anyone claim we did? I didn't recognize the plaintiff's names nor the name of the other defendant. I looked at all the types of documentation the summons said he needed to bring to court on the date: 3 years of tax returns, titles to our vehicles, months and months worth of pay stubs, and the list went on. I wanted to cry.

I went to Facebook to see if I could find out who this other defendant was. She lived in my area, but I have never met her. I also did a search for Derek Beck, and found there was another Derek who lived in the county. There was nothing on the paper that tied the case to MY Derek, no address, date of birth, etc. I grew more hopeful, but I was desperate for the attorney's office to call me back. They finally did around 3 o'clock, about 2 hours after I left the message. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't talk to you about the case without your husband's permission. Your name isn't involved in the case at all."

"How could you deliver the summons to me, then?"

"We can leave the summons with any adult 18 or older at the residence." Ugh, dumb rules. I was hoping if I could receive the documentation, that they would let me discuss the case over the phone.

Before she could hang up on me, I blurted, "But I don't think you can talk to my husband about this case either, because I believe you have the wrong Derek Beck!" I knew it sounded stupid, because how often do guilty people deny what they are accused of? But I was going to be persistent.

She paused. "One moment, please."  After a short break she said, "Can I have the last 4 digits of your husband's social?" I gave them to her. "Uh huh. And his date of birth?" I prattled off Derek's birth date. "Hmmm," she said, "and has he ever resided in Marsing, Idaho?" I confirmed he had not. 

"We're sorry," she said, "but you're right, there's been a mistake. We're sorry for the inconvenience. You can disregard the summons." She didn't sound sorry. 

I wanted to scream with mixed relief and anger. I wanted to give this lady a thorough tongue-thrashing for her office's horrible mistake, for the hell I had been living during those long two hours. Honestly, every horrible situation passed through my mind. Losing the cars, losing the house, jail time, a broken family. And all because this law office didn't know who on earth was supposed to receive the summons.

Instead I said, "Thank you," and hung up the phone. 

I said a quick prayer of gratitude that the ordeal was over. Then I called Derek and told him the good news. Even though I knew he was innocent of these charges, preparation for the court date would have put an unreasonable amount of pressure on my family. I can't express how grateful I was to be free from that burden. Yeah, it was only two hours. But I consider it a huge tender mercy it wasn't longer.

All because of a few numbers distinguishing my husband from the real accused man. 

Miracles and Guardian Angels

On May 14, 2008 my husband drove our minivan through downtown Boise a little after 2 o'clock in the morning, blaring through red lights and stop signs at roughly 80 miles per hour. I was sitting in the passenger seat, trying to be calm but not succeeding. The baby was coming, and she was coming NOW. My water had broken at home just minutes before, and I was overwhelmed with the surges that rocked my body. I think I remember shouting over and over, "She's coming! She's coming!" About 15 minutes after my water broke I delivered Maren in a single push on a gurney in Labor and Delivery at the hospital. The nurses were in such a rush to make sure the baby and I were healthy that no one had checked the clock for actual time of birth. We decided 2:15 a.m. was close enough.

Yesterday afternoon, a little after 3 o'clock, my husband drove our minivan on the freeway, weaving through cars as fast as after-school traffic would permit. I was sitting in the back seat with Maren under the buckle with me on my lap, wiping the tears from her cheeks and begging her to keep her blue eyes open. We kept asking her questions to check her coherency, trying to piece together what had happened just minutes before we loaded her into the car.

Derek and I had been at home, sitting next to each other on the couch in the family room and updating his resume on the laptop. The children had just gotten out of school and had all gone upstairs to their rooms soon after coming home. A few minutes later I heard Maren crying. It sounded distant and strained, and I told Derek it sounded like the wind had been knocked out of her. I don't run to my kids over every scrape and boo boo, I usually let them come to me. But this time Maren's cries felt urgent. I jogged up the stairs and went to her bedroom, calling her name. Her cries still sounded distant, which was confusing. Shouldn't her voice have gotten clearer, louder as I ran to her? But a quick sweep of her room told me she was not there, and then I saw the open window. The open window with the bent screen dangling outside, like the last fall leaf clinging to a branch. I don't remember moving from the bedroom door to her window, but there I was, sticking my head out the open window, and there I saw my little girl, down on the cement patio, red-faced, gasping for breath, crying.

I screamed.

"DEREK!  She fell out the window!"

I ran.

Derek was quicker than me. He had sprung up off the couch, the laptop landing with a clunk on the floor. He was already at the sliding door before I made it to the bottom of the stairs. We ran to her and she was rolling onto her knees, trying to get up. Her legs were shaking. I registered that she was in shock. She was responding to us, trying to talk through her cries. Derek said we were taking her to the ER. I ran inside and slipped on my shoes.  "Alayna! Isaac! Stay home!" I shouted. Alayna and Isaac were fine to be left at home by themselves. I was grateful Kristen was already playing at a neighbor's house, so I didn't need to worry about her. Derek and I went to the garage, and Derek strapped me in the van with Maren on my lap.

"Don't move her neck," he said.

By the time we got to the ER, she had settled down quite a bit. One thing I admire about medical professionals is their ability to keep calm when everything around them is chaos. Derek and I were cool and collected when we took her in and got her admitted, but I'm sure panic was in our eyes. I'm grateful the staff didn't act the way I was feeling inside, or else I might not have held up. Everything went smoothly from there. They had me lay her down in a bed and the nurses did some preliminary exams. Maren looked scared and she didn't want to talk to anyone, but she could talk and she could move all her limbs. Derek and I were scared of injuries that we couldn't see. A doctor came and took a look at her himself. Everything was looking fine, but CT scans and x-rays were ordered, as I was anticipating. After those had been conducted we were back in her little room, and by now Maren seemed totally herself again. She got bored with the show on the television, and we started playing I-Spy with her. (Say, "I see something red," in an ER triage room--it'll take the others forever to guess what it is, because everything in there is red.)

She was getting really restless, but Derek and I made her stay on the bed until the doctor came. After the scans and x-rays, it was over an hour before we heard back from the doctor. We weren't worried anymore, but we were very tired and had to talk to each other to keep from dozing off in our chairs. The doctor came, announcing that everything checked out--no internal injuries from the fall. We were so happy, so relieved, so grateful. We speculated about our niece who had fallen off a picnic bench a few summers ago. She had shattered her elbow, which required surgery and pins to piece her joint back together. And here was our daughter, who fell from a 2nd story window, and all she had were a few bruises on her back side and a headache. Not even a bump on her head where she hit the cement.

The day before Maren's fall was Easter Sunday. We had been eating Easter dinner with Derek's family when we got the phone call that his grandmother has just passed away in Seattle. She had been the last living grandparent between Derek and me. And I don't know if it was her, or any of our other beloved grandparents who are already on the other side of the veil. But someone who loves us very much was with Maren yesterday afternoon when she fell out that window. I don't dare to write all the what ifs...it would be too much to bear if I dwelled on what could have happened, although I can tell you it's been festering in some small corner of my mind ever since I saw her down on the concrete below her window. But I do know that my daughter was protected by some divine intervention.

I rocked Maren on my lap last night after the other children had been put to bed. She was eating one of the cookies a thoughtful neighbor had brought by the house after hearing about her accident. Maren told me she really liked chocolate chip cookies. I agreed with her and I held her tighter. I asked her if she knew what a miracle was. She shook her head. I told her stories about Jesus from the Bible. He healed a blind man, He healed broken bodies, He raised the dead. Some things happen that we simply can't explain, although something special in our hearts tells us that God had a hand in it because He loves us. And I told my little girl that the fact I was holding her in my arms at home that night was nothing less than a miracle. We told her what could have happened when she was kneeling on her window sill with nothing more than a flimsy screen between her and gravity. And the fact that the worst of her injuries were just bruises and soreness she'll feel for the next few days baffles me. Humbles me.

It is beyond words to express my joy that she was protected from all the what ifs and could haves yesterday. As well as the outpouring of love from friends and neighbors who rushed to my family's aid when they heard about our crisis. I can't describe how blessed I feel right now, despite the other very real trials my family is coping with. The love our Father in Heaven and Savior have for me, have for each one of us, is incomprehensible. And I feel that love so keenly.

I think we'll have chocolate chip cookies for breakfast today.

Derek and Maren with their matching "bracelets"

Maren's 2nd story bedroom window and where she landed next to (and thankfully not on top of) the grill.

emotional regurgitation

I'm trying hard to be grateful for my blessings. I have so many, I don't know where to begin. But my heart is heavy and my mind wanders to all the things I think are wrong in my life. It's the wrong attitude, I know. I have a weakness (one of many) where I fixate on a problem, thinking that if I just dwell on it to death it will magically be resolved. I need to let it go.  Let go, and let God.  It's something that would look good on a refrigerator magnet, but it's the honest-to-goodness truth. As I get older, I learn more how deeply the Atonement applies to my life. Not just sins and transgressions, but my mortal weaknesses. The fact that I don't have all the answers. That I don't know how to parent my out-of-control 5-year-old. I Need Him EVERY Hour. I don't know why I forget that He is always there, but I get wrapped up in my little fog of discouragement and I grow horribly short-sighted. It's a new day, a new hour, a new minute.  I must choose to stick my head above the fog and see the eternities.  And when I miss the mark, to remember that my Father in Heaven, my perfect Father, does know the eternities. So, I'm picking myself up by my bootstraps, slapping a smile on my face, whispering a prayer, and pushing forward. My world isn't going to end because I have problems.  Never has, never will.