The Ways We Deal

The last present I got from Emmett was a pair of running shoes. It was probably about two weeks before he died.  He came in late one night from work and threw the box toward where I was sitting on the couch.  I picked it up and said, “What are these for, Em?” He replied, “You said you want to feel like you are loved . . . so there you go.”  
        

I stared down at this expensive pair of shoes; they were shiny and new. I had wanted a pair of lavender shoes at the store a few months before, but these were bright blue. I searched the box for what I was longing to find inside . . . LOVE. After I removed the shoes from the box, only tissue paper remained. Nothing inside that box gave me the feeling of love that I wasn’t feeling in my marriage.
        
In that moment, I realized that my desire to feel love through Emmett’s time and emotional connection was not something I was going to be receiving. I tried so hard to see where inside that box full of ‘stuff’ I could feel his love for me. He didn’t, after all, have to buy me these shoes or take the time to bring them home to me. Yes, I guess—somewhere intermixed in my apparent despair for the feelings I was not receiving—I found myself holding tight to the love that had deceitfully put itself inside of a box.
        

I have never been the type of girl that could be bought; gifts have never been my love language. Emmett, on the other hand, had experienced much of his love coming in the form of gifts. That was one of the ways he showed love, and the way he knew how to receive it. I didn’t relate to this form of love through either giving or receiving gifts. I wanted to feel Emmett’s love through his actions; I wanted to hear it in his words; I wanted to see it in the time he spent with me . . . and I had no idea how to show him love through purchases or things.  
        

The different ways we show and are able to receive love are not bad . . . they are just different, but as I sat on the couch that day with the shoes on my lap, I almost burst into tears. I longed to be held in his arms and to be told how much I meant to him. These shoes, to me, were just reminders of the time we were not spending together. I didn’t need new shoes to be happy. We had spent years together with no money . . . and I had loved every minute of it. We had found love in the simple pleasures and kind words of our days; we had found peace in the small embraces and tender moments of being with our family. In my mind, it was money that had ripped us apart.
        

The day after Emmett was shot, and the kids had been told he was gone, the house felt scary and empty. There was an eerie feeling from which I wanted to run. My friend Emily and my sister Ali were sitting with me in the living room, when all the sudden, I had to get out of the house. They said they would come with me. We drove. I yelled. I cried. I don’t even remember all that I said, or all that I did . . . but they just silently listened. I screamed at Emmett; I yelled at Kandi; I cried for Rob and the pains that must have put that gun in his pocket. I cursed that gun; I swore at the air . . . I pounded the dashboard.
        

When my fits came to an end, we were still driving and I craved a taste of normal life. Soon, I had talked them into going into Costco with me. I walked into the store in a daze. I had made up my mind that I was going to buy the new vacuum I’d been wanting. We walked up and down the aisles. With every row I went down, I became more and more aware of the fact that I was losing it. Why one earth was I making myself walk around Costco? I was trying so hard to be normal . . . and yet inside I was dying.

          

I turned a corner and there was the mother and sister of one of Emmett’s best friends. They said hello and gave me a hug. I could tell they had not heard the news. I burst into tears. Even more out of my mind, I said, “Emmett died . . . he died last night . . . I have no idea what the heck I’m doing here . . . just had to get out of my house and I need a vacuum . . . and he died, he got shot last night at Walgreens. I can’t sit in that house any more today . . . I don't know why I am here . . . I just . . . I just need, I needed a vacuum.”  
     

They were in shock; they had no idea. Their expressions matched my feelings inside . . . like, ‘what the heck is she doing here?’ I was wondering the same exact thing. A vacuum . . . really? It couldn’t wait for another day? What was I doing here? Why did I think that stepping into the store where I’ve spent many normal days would all the sudden make everything right inside of me? 
        

Grief and fear were like a plague causing me to lose control over any rational thought I had left. And Costco was just the beginning of the many searches I would take to try to find the missing pieces of my heart.  
        

I was returning from downtown one day after a particularly long afternoon talking about elements of the murder trial, I was at a low point. I had just gotten off the freeway when an RC Willey furniture store caught my eye. I pulled into the parking lot and threw my car into park. I marched inside and searched. Somewhere inside this building there had to be something I could buy that would make me feel better about my life . . . something they had to offer just had to be the ticket to what I needed.  
        

And there it was: a giant entertainment center! Emmett and I had been talking forever about how much we wanted a huge, black entertainment center for our living room. I walked up to the clerk, and within minutes I was writing a check for three thousand dollars. I was so excited for it to be delivered; I couldn’t wait for it to be set up so I could admire its magnificence.
        

The delivery day finally arrived, and it was brought in piece by piece. The delivery men assembled it and got my TV hooked up perfectly. It did look amazing, that was for sure. It seemed to be worth every penny I had paid. It was beautiful, and I was so proud of the fact that I had bought it all by myself.  
     

That night when my house was quiet and everyone else had gone to sleep, I sat on my black couch to admire my purchase some more. It was astoundingly breathtaking; it was just as I had always pictured it would be. I didn’t move, just took it all in . . . waiting for some positive emotion to fill my empty heart. I longed for the feeling I thought it would bring . . . but it never came. The house was still empty, the room was still lonely, and my heart still hurt.
        

This expensive, massive collection of wood didn’t come with a promise of joy . . . it wasn’t surrounded with love. It was just a big, giant THING. It wasn’t capable of receiving or giving me any of the tender moments I wanted it to share. That feeling I had inside of me, the one screaming for attention . . . it was still there. Nowhere inside  did anything change for me that night, except for the feeling of regret that I had been looking for the love I still sought . . . in a giant, overpriced stack of wood.  
        

To anyone who has ever felt afraid, alone, or filled with grief or remorse—so to all of us who have ever lived—sometimes we just have to deal. Our emotions have to find their own way of coping. Some people deal with sadness by eating; others cope with grief by diving into work. Some buy new cars or move to bigger houses; others shut out everyone else. Some search for peace in drinking; others can’t seem to make themselves even leave their homes.  Some of us smother the people around us to try to squeeze out every ounce of love they have for us; others grab onto something that isn’t really theirs to take.
        

On some days, I dealt with my grief by searching in stores. I went to Costco the day after Emmett died . . . not to buy a vacuum, but to search for something I thought I might find to fill my emptiness. I ordered an entertainment center, not because I needed it or even really wanted it . . . but because I was hoping for a happiness that I didn’t seem to have at home. I bought clothes for the kids and knick-knacks for my house. I spent hours rearranging furniture compulsively, and moving kids to different rooms, not because I hated the way the house looked . . . but because I hated the way I felt inside.
        

I have never been one who could be bought off or who loves gifts.  All of the sudden, I craved the type of  “love” Emmett had given me, which was now gone. That was one of the ways he had shown me love . . . and now I found myself searching for love in things. My gifts to myself  never once brought me any lasting peace or love, but I didn’t know where to look . . . and  I couldn’t find it anywhere else. I searched the stores for love, and each time I came home with a package that was void of it, and my loneliness was accompanied by regret.
        

One of my favorite movies in the entire world is called The Ultimate Gift. It is about a young man whose grandfather passes away and instead of just giving his grandson his fortunes, he sets up a series of events for his grandson to learn to appreciate what he already has. It is an amazing movie that teaches the lessons of being grateful, learning to serve others, and finding yourself. In the end, the ultimate gift turns out to be way more than money or things . . . it is a change that the grandson finds inside of himself . . . a change in his heart.
        

Our desperate desire for love, and our longing for healing will not come from the things of this world. First, we must change the way we view ourselves; we must seek for a power greater than those of this world to help us see our purpose in it.
        

It is easy to buy things to show our family members that we love them. After all, we work hard for them to have the things they need. We go to school to become capable of providing for them and then we go to work to make money and become successful. Shouldn’t that be enough? Shouldn’t the fact that the clothes they are wearing, and the food they are eating come from our pay check be enough for them to know that someone loves them? It would seem that that could be true . . . but it isn’t. Our families need more than a paycheck and bank account to feel our love for them.

        

Our children deserve to know that at the end of every day, the ultimate gift we are giving them is more than just money and things . . . they want ALL of us. They need our smiles; they want our time; they desire our hearts. It may be grand that they are being tucked into bed in a four thousand dollar California King . . . but if our hands are not the ones that pull up the silk sheets around their necks . . . do you really think they care about how much the bed cost? They may act like they enjoy the new set of wheels they are driving, but if we aren’t there to teach them how to drive it . . . do you think it is the car they will remember?  
        

They don’t want your money. Maybe on the outside they ask for it, even beg for the ‘things’ that fill up their days . . . but on the inside . . . all they want is YOU.
        

Gifts are fun; toys are exciting; new cars are thrilling; a giant house is amazing; every guy loves a new TV in his bedroom; every girl craves a new pair of heels . . . but what they really NEED . . . is you.
        

We all need to hear that we are enough; we need you to show us that we are worth your time; we long to see you check us out from across the room. We crave to be looked into the eyes and told we are beautiful, or handsome, just the way we are.  To me, that is the ultimate gift. The gift of love.
        

Things will not bring you the happiness for which you are searching. New jeans will never make anyone fall in love with you; a new hair cut will not hide the pain you hold inside. Surrounding yourself with the prizes you obtain will not bring back the people you have lost; swiping that credit card one more time will not erase the pain of the past. Drinking that entire bottle calling your name in the fridge might numb your emotions and hide your fears for the night, but they will still be there in the morning. Ordering that last piece of jewelry at the amazing price on the gem network will not bring you the final peace it seems to promise you. Stuff will, in the end, be just that . . . stuff. Once it has lost its value, it doesn’t mean a thing. Once the soles of those shoes wear out, they are not even worth keeping in your closet. Once a trinket shatters . . . it no longer shines.  
        

Giving in to these gifts that attempt to promise you lasting happiness is just a temporary fix. Things of this earth will never bring you eternal happiness . . . only a longing for more of its temporary pleasures. Don’t let the things of this world entice you into thinking that they are all you need.  
        

When something is really broken inside . . . don’t try to disguise it with stuff. Time after time, ‘things’ will try to draw you in for a temporary fix, but deep down . . . something is wrong. Seek to heal the parts of you that are broken . . . and not for things of the world that try to fill in the cracks. Even if all your stuff is taken away . . . the real emotion will still be there inside, trying to destroy you.
        

Don’t spend your days walking around the Costcos and RC Willeys of the world searching for the peace you will never find inside of their walls. True peace doesn’t come with a price tag and real love cannot be bought.

        

Christ has given us the ultimate gift. With all my heart I promise you, that He is the gift we must seek when we cannot find the peace for which we are searching. He is the light and the life of the world. He is the maker of eternal happiness, and only He holds the gifts that can help us find eternal peace. Search for the gifts that He is wrapping for all of us who have ever felt alone, who have felt we are not good enough, or that we are broken. Let His gift of love and Eternal Life bless your heart with peace.

        

To quote from I Will Follow God’s Plan,* a favorite children’s song:

1. My life is a GIFT; my life has a plan.

My life has a purpose; in heav’n it began.

My choice was to come to this lovely home on earth

And seek for God’s light to direct me from birth.

I will follow God’s plan for me,

Holding fast to his word and his love.

I will work, and I will pray;

I will always walk in his way.

Then I will be happy on earth

And in my home above.

(*Children’s Songbook, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1989, p. 164, Music and Text by Vanja Y. Watkins)

The gift of your life has been given to you by a loving Father in Heaven, and the ultimate gift of Eternal Life has already been bought by Christ. The ultimate gift is love. Deal out His love to everyone you meet, and when you are dealt love by someone else . . . let it be enough. Don’t search for the love you already have right in front of you in a temporary pleasure or a new smile. Maybe you cannot feel from others the love they have for you, but for a time, pray that you will be blessed to see it . . . and don’t let it go until you do. The pathway to eternal love and happiness will have bumps . . . but find a way to deal with those bumps together. When the days get dark and the mountains get too hard to climb, turn toward each other, and to Jesus Christ. Any temporary excitement you find . . . to cover your pain . . . will not last.  Seek for the wholesome kind of love that can last forever.  

        

Don’t wait for tragedy for your heart to be softened. Don’t spend your days dealing and coping . . . and miss living. You have beautiful gifts of love all around you. They come in imperfect packages . . . but they are perfect for you. Seek to see them as He does, and someday you will be blessed to see their value. Your life is a gift, and so is every one you have been blessed to touch. The hand you have been dealt in life is yours alone . . . but Christ has made a deal that He will always be near.

1. I will follow God's plan for me