Always the plan

I have been ghosting all of you the past few months. What started with giving some freedom to someone I thought I could trust . . . ended in a reevaluation of what and who I want to be, and what I want this blog and my non profit A Reason to Stand to become. I have never been surrounded by so many “business” people driven by power and money, than I have the past six months; masked in the form of genuine hearts willing to help.

It has been healing to step back and compare watching others try to take something that didn’t belong to them, and realize that I still had a lot of pain from another time someone came and took from me something that didn’t belong to him. I have felt like my walls went back up, leaving me too afraid to be vulnerable—and in protection mode all over again.

After a month of preterm labor, and now a few weeks engulfed in all my efforts being used up in a desperate fight to no longer be pregnant . . . it is no surprise to me that I sit here at six in the morning, feeling a need to get out of my head what has been on my mind.

Protecting our children.

I am about to give birth to a child that is coming into a different world than the other five have lived. The last time I was here, I didn’t know it, but my world was about to shatter. There have been many moments through the last nine months that I almost felt inadequate to give her a home that she deserved. A pure—un-traumatized—baby why would she want a mother who has been so broken? The dude in my head has had a great time brining me back to the fear that I couldn’t protect my other kids . . . why would this time be any different? He has been truly creative at bringing back inadequacy to a new kind of level.

So I as I have pondered these fears, and worked through some of the trauma I thought had long since passed, I have realized a few things . . .

In this world—though she hopefully won’t experience first hand what her brothers and sisters went through—she will still need to be protected from it.

We live in a world obsessed with two things. Sex and Murder. Glorified at every turn, our children are constantly bombarded with marketing full of images depicting the Hollywood version of these two sins, but what they don’t tell you is how murder really feels for the kids who live it every day.

What they don’t tell you is that both of these choices—affairs and murder—shatter hearts. What they don’t tell you is that these kids effected by losing someone close to them at the hand of another person . . . lose their childhood—their innocence—in a single moment. What Hollywood fails to portray is the years that follow. They want us to think that murder is intriguing, they want our children to think that it is just part of life. Little do they know is how it really feels when it happens to you.

So what does growing up in a world of murder feel like? It feels like panic attacks at school when a Hollywood version book about murder is read out loud to a group of 8^th graders. It feels like anxiety for weeks after a 12 year old plays a shooting game with all of his friends. Haunting nightmares after accidently seeing a commercial during a football game—a commercial about a cereal killer. Little kids scared to go up to their room alone. Kids afraid to go to school after a lock in drill. Tears in the night after someone says a simple phrase when not wanting to do a task at school,
Just shoot me in the head.” Words that in any one else’s world seem so simple—to children of murder—brings about an image that is all too real.

So to those in Hollywood who make light of taking a life . . . I want you to know that murder isn’t just a cool topic that—as my daughter’s eighth grade teacher put it—“keeps their attention because kids like this stuff”. Kids only like this stuff, because we have let it become commonplace in their life. I know for a fact that we wouldn’t let them read books about 10 different ways a sex addict raped someone—so why is it ok to have them read a book about 10 different ways a serial killer murdered people?

Our kids are being told lies. They are playing games that take away their view of the preciousness of every life. They are watching movies that glorify and give power to sex and violence. They are surrounded by images that take away the importance of fidelity and protection of life. Then we wonder why young kids bring guns into schools; we wonder why they do it in a way that they have no empathy for anyone else . . . it is because we have taught them that it is ok . . . and not just ok—we have let them come to believe that it is cool.

Our kids deserve more. They need us to care about what we let the world put into their heads. We need to protect them from the numbing effect of stories and games that fog their view of reality and fantasy. They need us to filter out the world, and teach them right from wrong. They need to learn empathy.

I learned the importance of this by parenting what the world might call “broken children”. But guess what . . . the world is the broken one. God wants us to have empathy. And my unlucky children learned that the day their father was shot in the head. They care about what others are going through and how things feel for them. They care about every emotion I feel—sometimes to an obnoxious level. They cry when their friend’s parents get divorced, because they don’t want them to hurt. They ask for an extra ten bucks when their school is raising money for a student with cancer—not because they know him well—but because they ache for another in pain.

Emapthy is what we have to teach our kids, to care about every life that is around them. Empathy—heart for another person’s needs—is what changes everything. Empathy is what this pure child who hasn’t felt the effect of trauma is going to learn from her siblings who have lived a life full of it.

So little baby. You are coming to a family that some days has felt a little broken . . . but what I finally figured out: this was always the plan. You won’t see them as your broken brothers and sisters—you will see them as brothers and sisters who learned at a young age what it is like to care. They will protect you on a fierce level at every turn, because they will never want you to hurt. They will be your warriors, because they learned a long time ago that life is precious. They will give you their hearts, because they know what it feels like for hearts to be broken. You won’t see them as broken, because it is in their broken past that they learned how to love.

Empathy is love—caring about the life and needs of another person. In a world full of empathy there is no room for the world’s view of what makes us broken. God doesn’t make any mistakes . . . so little baby, I am ready to be your mom. I am worthy to be your mom. This was always the plan. My heart is ready to do it again, and I have faith that this time it will be different. It won’t be perfect—no life is—but what I can promise you is that it will be beautiful. A perfect kind of mess. The world isn’t what we are bringing you into . . . you are coming straight into our hearts—and we can’t wait.

God’s plan is beautiful . . . and I am so glad you choose us. This was always the plan.

ENOUGH

Tiffanie had gone home for the weekend, and I had just gotten the kids down for a nap. It was just me and a quiet house and I was almost excited to have nothing to think about. I couldn’t wait to just relax and not move. I sat down to turn on the TV and turn off my brain. However, just as I found a show to watch, my phone rang. The caller ID showed it was an unknown caller.

     

I was disappointed to interrupt my quiet moment and I was always reluctant to answer calls from anonymous callers because my new reality meant answering random calls from all types of people, including crazies. However, I was also anxious to hear about any progress in the legal case. Everything inside of me was waiting for the trial to be over to be able to move on with my life . . . and any progress brought it closer to its finale.

   

I accepted the call, and sure enough, it was the principle detective on the case calling from the police department. “Ashlee,” he said, “I have some good news. We’ve been waiting and waiting for the results of Emmett’s blood work to come back, and they’ve finally come in. His blood was clean, Ashlee. There wasn’t a sign of anything in his blood but those supplements you told us he was taking. There was none of the stuff the Defense has been trying to suggest he was on. Nothing. His blood was totally clean!”

   

I stared at the floor as he spoke. My mind raced back to that final night and the way Emmett had treated me. “Yeah . . . that . . . that’s good . . . I just thought . . . he . . . yes. No DRUGS. That’s a good thing . . . right? Yeah.  Thanks for letting me know. I’ve also been waiting to hear about the results, and it means a lot that you called to tell me yourself. … It’s hard when everyone else learns about things at the same time as I do, and it’s nice to hear something from you guys . . . before the whole town reads it in the paper and sees it on the news. So thank you. Really, I appreciate your call.”

   

The detective let me know he would call back when any other test results came in to ease my mind about hearing the information from the police first before it was made public,

I hung up the phone. Good news? Right? This was good news . . . wasn’t it? Then why were my eyes burning and my heart pounding? Why was I on the verge of a meltdown?

  

All of the emotions I’d been bottling up about the possibility of drugs being involved came seeping out of every pour of my body. I let out a sigh filled with fear and pain . . . and then took a deep breath. I held it in for a few seconds as it whirled around inside of my lungs. Panic overtook my body.

   

I had to be certain I’d understood the detective correctly. I had to be sure! I grabbed the phone from where it had fallen to the floor and called him back. He answered, “Hey Ashlee . . .did you have another question about the results?”

I burst into tears. “Hey . . . no . . . so . . . what am I supposed to do now? … I . . . I . . . I just kind of hoped . . . that there might have been something . . . anything . . . that they found. Are you absolutely certain he hadn’t been smoking pot . . . or that he hadn’t taken some prescription pills or something. Isn’t there anything? How can there be NOTHING? It just doesn’t make any sense . . . there has to be something! Because why was he yelling at me . . . and why was he acting so distant? …Why was he gone all the time? … Why was he spending time with her? …Why didn’t he want me? It had to be some type of drug . . . or something that was making him act that way. Why was he being so mean to me, and why wasn’t I enough for him? …I need you to tell me that you found something . . . so that it wasn’t me he was rejecting. If he wasn’t taking drugs or doing something else that was altering his thinking . . . then that just leaves HIM. I have nothing to blame for the reason he didn’t want me. This isn’t good news for me . . . like I thought it would be. If there was no sign of drugs . . . it means . . . it means he didn’t want me! I can’t breath . . . I can’t breath . . . I . . . I . . . I just . . . I just hoped . . . a part of me just needed to know that there were drugs in his system, so they could be the reason he wasn’t coming home. … They could be what I’m mad about . . . and they could be what I blame when I look into the mirror tonight . . . all alone . . . and wonder WHY I wasn’t enough.”

   

“Ashlee,” he replied. “I am so sorry.  I . . . I . . . was just trying to help give you what I thought would be some good news for a change. ... I thought . . . I thought this might help you.”

And that was the moment I hated Emmett. I hated everything he was, and everything he’d been in the past. I hated the fact that there weren’t any drugs in his system . . . and that any excuses about why I hadn’t been good enough for Emmett were now gone. There was no longer anything else to blame. I hated the fact that Emmett left me, and I hated that he died. I hated that he refused to see me when I was standing right there, waiting for him. I hated that every time I looked into the mirror I just saw nothing, not because I was nothing, but because he had treated me like I was nothing. I hated hearing his name. I hated the fact that there was a town nearby named E M M E T T, spelled just like his name to the letter. I hated that he chose to share the intimate part of our marriage with another woman. I hated the fact that that other woman had held my baby, and that he had let her! He slept with her . . . not because he was high on drugs . . . but because he wanted to! He did this to me . . . and I hated him for it.

The bitterness swelled inside of me like a sea of ice cold blood. While my babies slept soundly in their rooms, hatred filled my heart. I looked up at our mantel to the giant family portrait that graced the room. I didn’t want to see his damn face. I ran over to the photo and tore it off its perch. It had no place in this room. I had no desire to stare at it any longer. I didn’t want to feel him near me. I didn’t want to hear his voice.

   

I no longer craved his presence at my side, but just in case he was there, I screamed at him to let him know how much I was hurting inside . . . and how much I hated him!

“Emmett . . . I know you can hear me . . . and I need you to listen to me right now. I didn’t deserve any of this. YOU did this to me . . . and I hate you more than anything I have ever hated before. I hate your face, I hate that I gave you my heart . . . and that you ripped it right out of my chest. I hate that I saved myself for you, and that you spit at my feet. I hate that everything I see in this picture means NOTHING to you. You did not deserve us . . . and I hate you for making me believe that I should have shared it with you. I TRUSTED YOU! This family deserved the world, EMMETT . . . and our children deserved to see us live up to all the covenants and promises we made. ... They deserved to know that we believed in them! We created them together, Emmett, to give them a wonderful life . . . and you chose THIS . . . and I hate you for it! YOU did this to us . . . you brought us down . . . and we deserve to fly. WE didn’t push you away! … We were there waiting for you. YOU chose her . . . her? Why weren’t we worth it? …Why . . . why . . . why wasn’t I . . . WHY WASN’T I ENOUGH?”

After that day, I never wore my wedding ring again. As broken as I had felt before, I was now at the lowest point possible. Before that day, in the back of my mind, I truly believed Emmett must have been taking drugs and that I could blame drugs for the changes in him. It wasn’t really that he didn’t want me . . . it was that the drugs had clouded his thinking. But, that call from the detective changed everything. I could no longer blame drugs for Emmett’s behavior, and that hurt more than I could have ever imagined.

   

In addition to never again wearing my wedding ring, I never put that family picture back up on the mantel again. The pain and anger mounting in my heart took on a whole new aspect that day. The feeling of not being enough seemed to be growing deep inside my soul. My hair began to fall out; my skin was a mess. I spent most mornings trying to push the nausea aside long enough to force myself to eat. Hatred was my constant companion, and fear was its best friend.

I remember the first time I really felt hate in my heart. I had been invited to a good friend’s birthday party. She was turning eight years old. I was so excited to go and was counting down the days until the big event. One day at lunch time, on my way to recess, I stopped in the girls’ bathroom and was taking my time in the stall when I heard two girls walk in. It was my friend talking about her upcoming birthday party with another girl. All of the sudden, she said in a snotty little voice, “Well . . . I wish I didn’t have to, but my mom made me invite stupid Ashlee . . . so that is the only bad part . . . but we can still have fun.”

   

Never in my life had I struggled with friends, and I didn’t know what to say or do. I sat quietly, slowly pulling up my feet so that they wouldn’t notice me inside the stall. I stayed in that bathroom the entire recess . . . wishing I could get that feeling of hate out of my heart. I didn’t even cry . . . but just sat there angry that my friend was not really my friend after all. We had made so many great memories together, and I was shocked and hurt that that was how she talked about me when I wasn’t there. It didn’t make any sense to my little third-grade mind. Why didn’t she like me? What had I done to make her not want to be with me? Why wasn’t I enough for her?

  

Since Emmett’s death, I have spent hundreds of hours asking myself those kinds of futile questions . . . questions that cannot be answered. Why wasn’t I enough for Rob? … Wasn’t the fact that I existed . . . another spouse suffering from the pain of infidelity . . . enough for him to know how badly those two bullets would impact me? Bullets. … Why didn’t the fact that he also had children help Rob to understand that he should have used words in their place? At the trial, I would later learn that Rob had reminded Emmett of his five children at home . . . just minutes before he aimed at Emmett’s heart. Why didn’t Rob tell that gun that it had better stay hidden . . . because Emmett was a father of babies . . . babies who still wanted and needed him, in spite of the poor choices he was making? Why weren’t we enough for Rob to just stay home and wait . . . as we were doing.

Why wasn’t I enough for Kandi? She knew I existed. She saw the picture Emmett once proudly displayed of us. She shook my hand and looked me in the eyes. Why wasn’t that picture enough for her to know that Emmett had a great life . . . one that had no place for her? Couldn’t we have been enough for her to just stick to her job description and then go home to her own family?

These three individuals—the creators of the crossroads that destroyed my world—proved to me that I was not enough. Not one of them thought about me as they took that next step along their chosen paths. I was not worth any of their time or consideration.

To all of you who have ever felt like you were not enough for someone else, I want to share what I have come to learn in the last three years. It isn’t about you. It is about the selfishness of others.

     

Emmett didn’t cheat on me because I wasn’t enough for him. … He cheated on me because he gave in to selfish impulses. However, until I found that out for myself . . . I hated him because I believed it was his fault that I couldn’t find myself again. Kandi didn’t have an affair with my husband because she wanted to punish or hurt me. No, she only had one person in mind, and that was herself. Rob didn’t stop to think about me when he reached into his pocket for that gun . . . because he was only thinking about himself and his own anger.

   

Until about four months ago, I walked around with hate permanently implanted in my heart. I dreamed about it, I cried about it, I ran from things because of it, and I couldn’t let myself be fully happy . . . with it in my heart.

Hate will destroy you. Its power is greater than almost anything that has ever brought me down before. Hate will make you want to turn everyone else’s worlds upside down . . . merely to make their views match your own. Hate will take hold of your heart . . . and it will try to ruin you.

My hate was a REACTION to the selfishness around me, and not an ACTION that I intentionally chose.

We must learn that there will be explosions in our faces. In one way or another, there will not be anyone who lives in this world who will not suffer from one of life’s nasty blasts. What I wish I had known before having to walk down the aisles of the school of hard knocks, is that I could have chosen to stand. But I know it now. I can stand. I can stand against hate. I can leave no place for it in my heart. I can stand against the actions of others. I do not have to react to anyone else’s choices, or words. I can stand in the truths that I know. I can stand even when others’ selfishness tries to pull me down.

   

Sometimes—because of the selfishness of others—the answer that is the most difficult to find is to the question: AM I ENOUGH? The damage others may cause us leaves a pain that is hard to console. At times, we are left not only with the fear that we are alone . . . but with the belief that we were not worth fighting for . . . that we were not enough.

     

However, the truth that can prove us wrong in our thinking is always close by. There is a message of hope that we can all seek, and it will teach us what is real:

I am enough, for myself . . . and I am enough for God.

  

Everything else, well . . . frankly doesn’t really matter. Husbands may cheat; wives may leave. Bosses may fire employees; children may mock. Strangers may steal; neighbors may offend. Spouses may die, and tragedies may come . . . but even after the dust settles . . . you are still you. No person or event can take that away from you or determine who you will become.

     

The selfishness of others may make you feel as if you are being thrown into a pack of wolves . . . and you may feel like you are all alone with just a stick with which to fight them off. But . . . YOU ARE NOT ALONE. The wolves may snap at you. They may even take a bite out of your heart . . . without a second thought as to how it might affect you. They may slink away, leaving you to die alone, or they may howl out to the world that you weren’t enough for them. You may be left with nothing but your insecurities and despair . . . and even after the blood dries and the wounds close . . . their voices might still echo in your heart. They may even howl each night at the moon . . . and you may wonder if it is your nothingness that they continue to shriek about. Their powerful wails may be heard for years to come . . . but their lies do not have to define who you view yourself to be.

   

I have two words for you about all the wolves in the world who have tried or continue to try to bring you down: who cares? It doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. Even if you are standing alone . . . at least you are not falling into the darkness with them.

   

Their cries may be overpowering . . . but you do not have to listen. You may feel the darkness as their howling seeks you out . . . but you can move back into the light. You will be presented with many reasons to doubt yourself and Satan will keep sending the wolves . . . over and over to convince you of the worthlessness of your soul . . . but you can remember who you really are. The wolves may claw at your door every hour of every day . . . but you can FIGHT.

     

Satan does not own you, and he hates you for that, but he will continue to send selfishness and hate to consume you. He will send packs of wolves to try to rip you to shreds. FIGHT.

And don’t stop fighting.

  

You are enough. I was enough then . . . and I am enough now. I have to tell myself that every single day. I am not alone, and I am worth dying for. Emmett may not have died fighting for me, but Jesus Christ did.

Every time I want to just give up, and every moment I focus on the fact that Emmett was shot fighting for her . . . darkness envelopes me. All the months I let those thoughts fester and focused on my pain . . . I was literally eaten alive and consumed by hatred. Once I realized that my pain wasn’t worth living with, and that my hatred was not allowing me to breath . . . I felt free. The only way I was going to live through it . . . was by letting it go.

     

I fight the darkness now when it surrounds me. I try hard not to let it find a corner inside my heart for even a second. When I feel it come, I immediately get down on my knees and pray for Christ’s light. I have felt Him send Angels to take my pain back to Him. He promised He would carry me when I could not stand alone . . . and He has. He died for me because I was enough, and He wants me to live for Him . . . because He is all I need. He is enough for me.

      

He wants each of us to know that we are worth dying for. He wants us to know that He loves us. He wants us to fight to be on His side. His way does not always come easily . . . especially when we have made a home for hatred in our hearts. When the “good news” of the world brings you to your knees in pain . . . Christ is the only one who can help you let go of the hate in your heart. The world will tell you that His way is not enough. It will promise you a life full of passion and excitement and lead you to believe that you deserve better than the simple life you are living. The world will try to convince you that it isn’t enough. The world is wrong.

You are the perfect creation of a perfect Heavenly Father. He sent His Son to die for you . . . because you are enough for Him.

Why?

After his father’s death, it took Teage several months before he would even go into his bedroom. I’m still not sure quite why. One day, I went shopping with my sister Ali to buy Easter presents for the kids, and I decided that rather than giving them the usual baskets this year, I would buy them new scripture cases. We picked out a case and a set of scriptures for each of my children. I even found a cool tie pin for Teage that said ‘Future Missionary.’ For the twins, I got them each their own mini Children’s Songbook. They seemed like the perfect gifts this year to help the kids remember the true meaning of Easter.

As I was walking up to pay, a picture of our temple caught my eye. I stared at it for a minute. I could see the exact spot where the kids and I had sat and touched the temple wall that day not so long ago. As I walked away to go to the cash register, I was drawn back to the picture again. In my mind, I could feel the spirit telling me that we needed this picture. I asked for the clerk to grab it off the wall so I could pay for it with the scripture cases. At $150.00, it was kind of pricey for my thrift store shopper’s mentality, but I just couldn’t let go of the feeling that I needed to take it home with me. When the cashier scanned it, she said, “Wow, this must have just gone on sale because it is marked down to $25.00!” I asked her to double check and, sure enough, the picture was on a huge sale that day!

As we drove home, I thought about where I should hang my new purchase. Teage’s little face popped into my mind. When we pulled up to the house, I marched inside, my prize in my arms. I found Teage and asked him to come with me. We sat on the stairs right outside of his bedroom. I held up the picture. I looked into his eyes and said, “When I was out Easter shopping with Ali I saw this picture of the temple. I bought it for our family. As I drove here, I realized that Heavenly Father wanted you to have it for your room. I know you haven’t gone in there for a while, and that is okay . . .  but I want you to know that this picture is going to be hanging in there when you decide it’s time to go back.”

He set his hand on the picture, in the exact spot where he had put his hand on the temple wall when we had gone there. “Mom . . . that is where we were, right there! Remember we held our hands on the outside right there, and you and Tytus were sitting right there . . . and Bostyn was right here with Bailey, and me and Kaleeya were sitting right by you? Remember? … You promised we would be okay.”  “I remember, Buddy. That was such a special day for me, too.”  A tiny tear fell down his face, his eyes stared deep into my soul, and he said “Mom, I have an idea. What if you hang this picture down low, and then if I ever go in my room and I don’t feel safe, I can just go over to it and touch my spot on the side wall right here.”  I had chills all over my body. “Buddy, I think that is exactly what we are supposed to do with this picture.”

That night, he slept in his own room for the first time since Emmett’s death. He knew he had a safe place to go when he felt scared. A few weeks went by and Teage seemed more and more settled every day with the idea of sleeping in his room. He got to the point where he wasn’t afraid to go in there. He began to sleep . . .  not all through the night, but there were stretches during the night when he actually closed his eyes and let his body relax. Baby step by baby step, our nights became smoother as he finally viewed his room as a safe haven.

One night, I sent him in to bed to read before it was time for me to tuck him in. When it was his turn, I jumped down the stairs and as I rounded the corner to enter his room . . . I froze in my tracks. It was like I was looking into the eyes of darkness. He almost looked evil. There was a feeling of heaviness in his room. Teage’s eyes were fixed on the wall . . . but it was as if he was staring right through it. I sat down on the side of his bed. “Hey, son. You doing okay tonight? You seem different than when I sent you in here to read. Is there anything in particular you’re thinking about tonight?”

       

His eyes remained fixed . . . looking through the wall, “Yeah.” His face had no expression, just an angry scowl. “Why do police have guns?” I knew where this conversation was headed. I braced myself for tears . . . trying hard not to get too emotionally involved. I hadn’t even said the word ‘gun’ in a long time. “Well, buddy . . . um . . . Police . . . see, they carry . . . um . . . guns with them so they can protect themselves and other people.”  My heart was pounding; my throat burned. I hoped my answer would satisfy him.

“WELL . . . MOM . . . that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Why? I ASKED WHY, and you said ‘to protect people.’ Why?  So if they have guns to protect people . . . then WHY didn’t they protect DAD? WHY would they even bother carrying guns if they aren’t going to use them to protect people who need protecting. If they carry guns to protect people . . . then why didn’t they use their guns the night Daddy got shot? WHY weren’t they there for HIM? WHY wasn’t he good enough for them to protect? Why wasn’t their gun stronger than Rob’s? WHY are guns even real . . . and why do the stupid police even carry them, if they couldn’t even protect Dad? Why would Heavenly Father give us police and GUNS to protect us if he wasn’t going to ask them to protect my DAD? Why would he let Rob shoot my dad in the heart and in the head? I hate the police, I hate Rob, I hate guns. …Heavenly Father lies . . . and WHY did you lie? You said they have guns to protect people. WHY would you lie to me? That isn’t why they have guns or else my dad would not be dead!”

Sometimes we will have fear stop is in our tracks. Sometimes we will doubt in our core our very existence, and everything that used to make sense. Teage used to want to be a policeman, but now he had found that even they aren’t perfect; even they will not be there on some dark nights to protect us; even policemen sometimes find themselves overpowered by the power of a bad guy. Where did that leave Teage’s faith in the world? Lost. Unprotected. Scared. Lonely. Dark. 

For the first time in his life, Teage questioned God. He wondered why his Heavenly Father hadn’t sent the police with their guns to be stronger than Rob’s. He asked WHY. 

I realized that night that it is okay to question.  It is okay to find answers for yourself. Sometimes for a night, or even for a few years, we cannot find any faith inside of us. My little boy’s questions were hard for me to hear that night, but it was his questioning that made me understand that the power of my faith couldn’t reassure his. He had to develop his own faith. He had to find answers to ‘why’ all on his own. He had to seek his own way to build the foundation of a testimony, not only of the law and the things of this world . . . but of God. I could be there to help him when he needed me, but ultimately his finding answers would have to come for him . . . in his own time. 

We will all ask ‘why’ at some time or another. I have pondered over many questions. Why do we get married if that vulnerability can leave us broken? Why do we take leaps if most of the time we fall? Why bother loving if we don’t always get love in return? Some might question . . . why do we have kids if the work is hard and the pay is nothing? Why should I believe in God? Why can’t I feel God in my life? Did Jesus Christ really live? Why must we struggle? Why must people we love die? Why can’t I live forever? Why do we feel pain? Why do we fight? Why should I care about others’ needs, when my needs are never met? Why is the world so cruel? Whey do accidents happen? Why do bad things happen to good people?

There will be moments when we lose sight of the faith we once had. There will be days when we stand paralyzed by fear, void of the peace we so long to feel. Teage had come so far, but that night, he almost seemed worse off than when we had started along our journey of healing. It was like for every step we had taken forward, we took ten steps back. It was getting old! Sometimes, it almost seemed easier to just give up, and spend less energy on moving forward that one step. Falling back ten was so much easier. But eventually, for every step forward . . . we would only fall back nine steps . . . and then eight . . . then seven . . . and eventually we started to see that our baby steps forward started to carry us higher up that black mountain, the summit of which had once seemed impossible to reach.  

     

Questioning is part of our journey; seeking answers is part of our task here on earth. Did Jesus really walk the earth? Does Heavenly Father really know me? Am I really a child of God? These are questions we all must ask, and for which we all must seek answers. We cannot progress using anyone else’s faith. The answers to their questions will not answer our questions. Each of us has our own road to pave and our personal testimonies to build. Riding piggyback on someone else will only work for so long, and eventually we will come to a crossroads where we will be left standing alone. If our own faith is not strong enough . . . we will fall. 

When the ‘whys’ of the world seem to weigh us down and the answers seem to be miles away . . . all we can do is have faith that answers will come. We must pray that our patience will lead us to the answers we seek. Faith is believing in something we do not see. Teage didn’t believe in the power of policemen’s guns to keep him safe because he never saw them first hand. He had just heard that policemen were there to protect him. Just because they failed to protect Emmett that night, didn’t mean that they weren’t doing their best . . .  it didn’t mean that the law had abandoned us. Just like the policemen’s guns, Heavenly Father isn’t always going to stop us from feeling the pains or taking the bullets in our lives . . . but He will be there to carry us out . . . or carry us home.    

Why? Because he loves us. He loves the homeless man in a gutter. He loves the CEO of a large corporation. He loves those who are surrounded by people who adore them. He loves the person who is all alone. The answers we seek will come. They may not come today or tomorrow . . . or even this year . . . but He will send them when we are ready for them. There are moments when even when He does send them, we are too prideful or too bullheaded to accept them in the form in which they present themselves. We must stand humbly, willing to accept answers to our prayers, however they may come.   

Focusing on the ‘whys’ of our journey will not get us far. We need to start asking ‘how?’ How can I believe? How can I fix this problem in my marriage? How can I be there for my neighbor who is suffering? How can I find freedom from my addictions? How can I help my husband know he is loved? How can I reassure my wife that she is enough? How can I find a way to get my seventeen-year-old to open up to me? How can I bear this physical pain? How can I help my autistic son with his struggles? How can I build a testimony for myself? How can I know I am one of Heavenly Father’s children?

Asking why comes naturally . . . but really seeking the HOW is when our prayers can be answered. Sometimes, we are guided to the people or the doctor who has an answer for HOW. Sometimes, we are given the words to say to our teenager, or two-year-old, to comfort them in a moment when they fear the world. Some days, we will be guided to find the ways to have faith, when all hope seems lost. 

Answers to our prayers do not always come as a silent whispering or a loud booming voice in a moment in our closets. Sometimes, the answers come through a picture of the temple—which just happens to be on sale—that brings peace to a four-year-old boy when all of the ‘Why’s’ seem to leave him feeling alone. Sometimes, it is someone else’s pain and questions that help us see HOW we can be there for them. 

     

There were many moments when it was easy for me to ask God the “why” questions. Why did I have to answer questions such as these on a continual basis? Why did I have to raise broken children who had no trust in this world? Why did I have to face reality? Why wasn’t I enough for Emmett? Why didn’t he tell me about what was going on? Why did Rob use a gun in his anger? Why did Emmett and Kandi hurt their spouses? Why did Rob know about the affair, but I didn’t? Why didn’t Rob send me that letter instead of waiting in his car with a loaded gun? Why didn’t I have any answers until after Emmett was dead? Why did I have to move forward? Why did I have to get out of bed? Why did someone always seem to need me? Why did I have to feel like I was all alone? Why did I have to sit here and listen to my baby boy question God?  

     

On that day, I didn’t ask why. Instead I asked Heavenly Father HOW to answer my son . . . and HOW to bring peace again to my home. There are enough people in the world sitting around asking WHY.  Let us be the answers they seek as we silently show them HOW. For every time we ask God WHY in our lives . . . let us also remember to ask him HOW.  He might not answer us as to why . . . but He will send us ways to find the ‘HOW.’  I know that Jesus Christ lives. I know He loves each one of us individually. I know He mourns when we mourn, and that He has suffered all of our pains for us. He will comfort those who stand in need of comfort. Without Him, we are nothing. He knows we will have questions on WHY we have to go through the pains of this world . . . but don’t leave Him asking WHY we have forgotten HIM. We must turn to Him and ask him HOW we can make it through. He is HOW and He knows WHY . . . and he cares . . . because he loves YOU.