Some Timely Reminders

I was in a really weird head space when I wrote that last blog entry. Not sure it’s such a great idea for me to be processing through things so late at night (especially in a public forum), when without other things to occupy or distract me some of those unsettling memories can so easily force themselves to the surface. In reading back through it the next day I was tempted to erase or at least edit a lot of that post, but I opted to leave things as they were in my effort to be completely open and honest about where I’m at in my journey through grief, widowhood, and even PTSD. So there you go.

It continues to surprise me how much benefit I am still deriving from old journals, letters, tapes, and other things I’ve been rediscovering from the past. How applicable the experiences, feelings, and insights from my college years in particular are to my life circumstances now. I was reading through some journal entries and was struck anew by an entry from February 5, 2000. For context, that previous year I had been having quite a few health issues that had taken a turn for the worse, and I was dealing with some pretty big challenges and setbacks that were really stretching and humbling me.

“I may take this statement back later, but part of me is glad Kenny hasn’t been here with me throughout all of this. I know I would have turned to him and relied on him much more and the Lord much less had that been the case. Don’t misunderstand me. Part of me yearns so strongly that he was here. Of course I know he’s where he’s supposed to be, but I still miss him terribly…”

Would I honestly say the same thing now, that I’m “glad Kenny hasn’t been here with me throughout all of this,” with everything that has happened, is still happening? (Yesterday was really tough, guys.) I can readily admit that his dying has been a good thing for me, forced me to rely more on the Lord than I likely would have otherwise. There have been many times I’ve felt grateful he didn’t have to live through or deal with the variety of trials the last two years have entailed, or that he wasn’t asked to live the rest of his life with a broken body and mind. I do feel that Kenny is where he is supposed to be now, and I am too. But I have caught myself a few times recently wondering if there really had to be SO many difficult experiences I’d be asked to handle without him? That burden has felt oppressively heavy at times during the past week and I’m feeling worn out. It’s already getting hard to remember what it was like to co-parent, to need to (or get to) consider a spouse in decisions, or to not have to always be “on” with and for the kids. Or to not be so terrified of burnout, feeling like my safety nets are one by one being taken away. All while new diagnoses (several new ones received just yesterday) and trials and upcoming challenges now on the horizon for our family, some I don’t know yet how we’re going to navigate, all keep piling on.

In light of all that, I found a great deal of comfort from reading the following words from that very same journal entry:

“There were some interesting things said in the [priesthood] blessing. It said that this trial has been given to me so I can learn from and be strengthened by it. That’s something I have come to understand throughout this experience. But it also said that through this experience I would be able to be a positive example and uplift the people around me. That’s not anything I had ever considered. I’ve done my best to be positive and to keep a good attitude throughout all of this. I’ve tried not to complain, but mostly so I wouldn’t get discouraged. But how can I have this experience help me uplift people around me? That is definitely something to think about. I have learned so much over the past seven or so months. I’m glad that things don’t go according to my timetable, that the Lord is the one who’s in charge. If it had been up to me I would have stopped everything last June, at the first sign of any pain or discomfort.

“Oh, how much I have learned and grown. It’s hard sometimes to not want to say to Heavenly Father, ‘OK, I’ve had enough. I am stronger, I have learned things. I’m ready for this to end.’ But there are so many things I don’t understand. I really don’t understand the Lord’s timetable, but that’s O.K. I want to do what the Lord would have me do. I want to understand His will for me. I want to understand the plan He has for me, but if now is not the time for me to understand that, I want Him to help give me the patience to trust in Him and have the faith that everything will turn out as it should. That is something I want so badly, not just something I’m saying when I pray or writing about right now.

“Heavenly Father loves me so much. How can I ever feel alone? How can I ever feel discouraged? I know, it’s one thing to say that and quite another to always be able to keep things in a proper perspective.

“I’m not being asked to bear anything nearly as hard as some, but I will admit that it has been a trial for me. My faith is not perfect, and I am still learning. Maybe that’s why this particular burden has not yet been lifted from me. My understanding I am supposed to gain is not complete. I don’t know what lessons I will learn in the future from this experience and others I will have.

“Life is such an amazing thing. So many opportunities to learn. Everything can be an opportunity to learn from. Wish I always looked at life like that… It is such a humbling experience, knowing that people who care about me are praying for me and fasting in my behalf. So humbling. If they are doing those things for me, how can I not be willing to do all I can to follow the Lord and have faith in Him?”

I really needed those reminders today, that all trials can not only work for my own good, but perhaps positively impact and uplift those around me. That I do still have people in my life, many of them, and it doesn’t all have to rest on my shoulders. More importantly, however, I know I can put my faith in the Lord. There have been so many times when things have miraculously worked out, throughout my entire life. Now is no exception. Those miracles are still there, each and every day. I can trust that they will continue to be for me and my family, if I will just open my eyes and recognize them.

As far as facing things “without” Kenny, I think I’ll be surprised to someday learn just how involved he (and my mom) was able to be with our lives here, how much they have been assisting us. We still miss them terribly, of course, but we can choose to keep that eternal perspective. Such a blessed thing to have that knowledge and assurance.