The right kind of love

Earlier this year I was on a long plane ride and met a new friend. We talked for hours about: life, love, children, triumphs, and failures. She shared with me a story about one of her children—the one she had always thought was her “favorite” child. She began, “The hardest part I don’t understand . . . is she was the one child I gave everything to. She never went without; I never once told her no. If she dreamed it—I would make it happen. I put her above everyone . . . including my spouse. And now there is nothing to show for it. She is the most miserable person I know. She is never content . . . and no matter how hard I try, she is never happy. All my other kids respect and love me, but the one I thought I loved the most—she is unkind to me, and everyone around her. It doesn’t make since. I gave her everything . . . all of my love, my time . . . my whole world . . . and she despises me.”

I have heard this scenario a thousand times. And yesterday—as I battled with one of my own entitled children—I realized that in some ways I have done it too: asked a child permission to parent them, made excuses, or forgot to be consistent and follow through. I get stuck somewhere between the boarders of parenting and wanting to be their friend.

But the truth is: our kids don’t need friends . . . they need parents.

What they need from us is love, but not in the way we sometimes think. We believe they want us to let them do whatever they want. We think they want stuff. We assume they want us to always have something “over the top” fun planned for them to do. So we ask our children for permission to parent; we buy them things they don’t need. We get scared they won’t want us around, so we over stimulate them with fun—never slowing down and enjoying the little moments that make up the real parts of their life. We allow them to do things we don’t feel good about, and buy them electronics and movies they aren’t emotionally ready for . . . but not because it is a good idea—because we are scared. Scared they won’t be popular with everyone else, scared they will feel left out; scared they won’t think we are cool . . . but mainly—we are scared we are not enough. We become their friends to avoid the hard parts of parenting . . . the most important part of our role. We avoid being the person in their life who needs to teach them what the real world will one day slap in their face. But we don’t want them to blame us for their pain . . . so instead we cover it up with friendly fluff and more and more stuff.

So really . . . we suck at parenting—to protect ourselves.

Each parent has the responsibility to teach and guide our children in love and patience. Sometimes the patience is for the child . . . sometimes it is for us—patience to watch them suffer consequences of their actions; patience to see them chose the wrong road and find the way back on their own. It is hard to watch them solve a problem we think we already know the answer to, but we cannot bail them out of the very things that will teach them their strength.

Entitling, making excuses, and looking past our children’s mistakes and shortcomings—though the world would tell us this is love—these are the reasons we are failing to love our children in the right way. The most balanced kind of parent loves unconditionally (love not based on perfect performance), gives boundaries (for safety and teaching what is appropriate in all aspects of personal and social life), and uses consistency to help implement these things in daily life circumstances.

I had a friend in high school whose parents never gave her any limits. She would come and go as she pleased. She always had an unlimited amount of money and a wallet full of credit cards. I will never forget one night when she was at my house late. My mom was sticking with curfew and shipping everyone home. My friend turned to me and said, “I wish I had parents who cared where I was. ”

I had always thought she was so lucky. She could do literally whatever she wanted, but at that moment I saw my mom’s love a little differently than I had before. She gave me limits and boundaries . . . because she loved me? I had never seen it so clear.  Now all these years later I realize I was the lucky one. My mom cared; she loved me in the right ways. She gave me curfews and budgets . . . and sometimes she told me no.

It matters. Our kids don’t want parents who treat them like they rule the world—they want to know they have a place in it. They want to know where they are safe. Boundaries and rules show them. Realistic expectations—appropriate for each age group—help them find stability and confidence in themselves and in the world around them.

If we were to throw our kids into a lake full of alligators, and had never taught them how to swim or protect themselves—they would fail. Life is no different. It takes teaching and guiding before they have any clue on where they should be. And that is our job. And it doesn’t end once they can walk . . . it is then that it has just begun. 

What if Heavenly Father would have panicked about what a bad parent he looked like to have His only Begotten Son in pain, and He would have said, “Ok . . . wait. Take it all away. He isn’t strong enough to do this. I cannot watch Him any more . . . because His pain is a reminder of how I cannot protect Him. I need Him to be ok . . . so I can be ok.”

He didn’t . . . because He knew that pain, that sacrifice, was going to change everything. He saw the bigger picture of what Christ was going to be able to become . . . because of that pain. He saw a Son making sacrifices—willing to suffer—for others. He saw a Son who was fulfilling the mission He was sent here to live. He saw further than the moment.

And that is what we all must do, because it is in consequences and struggles, and learning to accept personal accountability, and sacrificing for others that our children will find their purpose—their strength, and gifts, and truth. For those are the things that money cannot buy. Those are the things we cannot give to those babies that we love. They have to find them with God. 

So maybe being the cool parent has been your objective—I am guilty here too—maybe you have justified entitled or disrespectful behavior because “they have been through so much”. Yup. We have all been there. But by “protecting” our children and asking them for permission to parent—we are hurting them. If they were ready to make grown up decisions . . . then they would be . . . grown up.

Our children need parents. So let's grow up. Let's prepare them for this world by giving them a chance and teaching them how to live in it. Let's love them enough to sacrifice some of our “free time” we get when they are just running free. They need us to be engaged, and encouraging, and present. They need us to hold them accountable, and teach them right from wrong.

We have to put away our phones—and turn off the video games and movies—and see each other. If we spend more time on Facebook or at the gym, than we do with our kids . . . we need to reevaluate our priorities. If we spend more time worried about what to wear or how to get the best looking picture of our kids making cookies—we probably aren’t making them for the right reason.

Our kids need memories of their imperfect lives—not snap shots of a fake perfect virtual reality.

So to all who have made the decision—or maybe the decision was made for you—either way to those who call themselves parents. Let us step up. We don’t need their permission to parent them. We just need the right kind of love. The love that sees the big picture—the lasting kind of love—the love that gives hope, holds accountable, brings light, and sometimes says no. Parenthood.

It says, “I see you are not perfect—I know I am far from it—but I believe in us. I love you no matter what you do or where you go—because I was created to love you. When you make mistakes I will be here to help you—but I cannot take it all away. You are your own person, but what you do will effect others.  Here are the things my life has taught me—you will learn some of the same lessons, but others will be unique to you. I will expect you to respect me. I will expect you to be kind to other people. You will follow the rules: at home, at school, in society—because you are a person of virtue. You are not the exception, but you are exceptional. You are not always going to be the victim of something else . . . sometimes it is going to be your fault. You can make it right, but first you have acknowledged your role. And as your parent . . . I can help you find it. Sometimes I will make mistakes; I hope you will forgive me. It isn’t perfect, but life can be beautiful. When you follow the rules, and live within the safety of the boundaries we set . . . you will find confidence and love for yourself that can’t come in any other way. I was so blessed the day you came into my life and I am so grateful you are mine. Sometimes I will be your friend . . . but when I really want to show you I love you—I will be doing my job with the right kind of love—I will be your parent. It isn’t always easy telling you no, it isn’t always easy watching you chose a choice I wouldn’t chose myself. I struggle when you do . . . but I believe in you. I see how smart you are, and I know you are going to grow up to be an even better parent than I am, because you are a powerful child of God. He will be with you every moment of your life. And He will be able to give you perfect direction on every road you will need to take. So my job as your parent isn’t to teach you to rely on me. My job isn’t to bail you out and cover for you when you make a mistake. My job is to teach you how to become accountable . . . to Him. I am just a tool to help you learn how to find your relationship with your Savior. I believe in Him . . . and I believe in you.”

Someday we will be the one sitting on an airplane evaluating all that we have done in our life. We will look back with regret—that is enviable—but when it comes to our children hopefully we don’t look back with regret of loving them in the wrong way—protecting them from learning how to stand on their own.

If only we knew how our days were numbered—I bet we would all live them a little differently. So for today, we better just live it like it is our last. Love with all our hearts, and cherish the ones we call family.

Parenthood. You got this.

For Kycie on her birthday

Kycie's family interviewed today about her story and the difference it is making in the world. A beautiful tribute to an amazing little girl on her birthday.

http://kutv.com/features/fresh-living/a-reason-to-stand-kisses-for-kycie

(click on the link to watch the video)

With Grace

 Though I wrestle with the impressions to have to share hard things, I know that these truths come from God. And for that, I am thankful for the opportunity to learn and relearn them. I believe in His plan, though there are so many things I don't know I will ever fully understand, maybe that is all part of the test of life. 

What ever your story, and the pains that you carry. You are enough for Him, and He loves you. 

More than Broken

I remember in college reading about a study done by a psychologist with hundreds of sets of identical twins. He was most fascinated by a set of twin brothers. One had gone to medical school, had a family, and a beautiful wife. The other had been in and out of prison, on drugs, and held no job.

In separate interviews he asked them a series of questions. All of the questions were the same. The last was, "Why are you the way that you are?" The inmate bore his soul as he shared. He said, "You know, when I was a little boy . . . my mom used to beat me and lock me in the closet. I have never really told anyone this. I knew right then and there that I was not worth anything. I knew in those moments that I never would be." 

Then it was the other brother's turn. When asked the same question his answer was powerful. He said, "I have never really told anyone this. . . But when I was a little boy, my mom used to beat me and lock me in the closet . . . And I knew right then and there that I was worth more than she was telling me I was. I knew in those moments that I was going to make something of myself because I deserved to be better than broken." 

We are all going to be given the chance at one point in our lives to be better than broken. We are not made up of the lies others have told us. The secrets do not have to change who we will become. Everyone deserves a reason to stand... Greater than we were before.

Fear with Faith

Tonight after I tucked all the kids in bed Bostyn came running out into the hall. She grabbed on to my hand and pulled me back into the twins' room. She was a little bit shaky and said, “Mom . . . today at school we watched a video about electricity and how if the power lines are down and you get too close to them it can kill you. Bailey and I are sort of freaking out about it and we can’t go to sleep.”

I sat down on their bed and tucked them back into their covers. I wasn’t sure what to say but within seconds these words came to my mind. I said, “Girls . . . I don’t think Heavenly Father gives us knowledge so we can fear. I believe that knowledge is given to us to keep us safe. Heavenly Father wants you to know about the dangers of power lines . . . not so you can be in fear all night—and not so you can be paralyzed in fear when an emergency happens and a power line is down—He wants you to have this knowledge so you can have faith—faith in yourself that if that tragedy were to come up in your life . . . you would know just what to do. I believe that Satan wants us to obtain knowledge so we can fear. He wants you to stay awake all night fearing your new knowledge. He wants you to be so worried that you don’t sleep all night long; then tomorrow you are so tired you don’t enjoy any part of your day . . . and Halloween is no fun at all. He wants you to panic for the rest of your life so much that when one day you come to a fallen power line you are so scared you don’t know how to use your knowledge to keep yourself safe.  I know that this knowledge about the dangers of power lines feels new and unknown—but I think that Heavenly Father sent it to you as a tool to store in the back of your mind for safe keeping. Your new knowledge isn’t to be used right now, because the only use for it right now does not come from God, it is fear. God wants us to use our faith to store that message of safety so one day if we need to bring it out . . . it will be our faith—not our fear—that will help us remember how to keep ourselves safe.”

I have no idea where those words came from inside of me—because I don’t believe they did. The power in my testimony to my daughters tonight about power lines spoke a million words to my own heart. There are so many moments in the past few years that I have taken knowledge and turned it into fear. Even in the little every day information given to me by another person—I have developed a skill to put my fear into motion from the tiniest of “facts”.

Since Emmett’s death especially, I have spent days—sometimes months—thinking that knowledge would bring me faith enough to find the peace I was seeking. Knowledge in itself is a worthy cause, but when that knowledge is coupled with fear . . . the aftermath can be devastating—sometimes just as powerful as the event in which you wanted to obtain more knowledge about in the first place.

The trial for me was that knowledge. I craved the facts; I needed them to live. I never stopped searching for them—and any day that I would take a break from my search . . . the facts would find me. It was as if we were on a hunt for each other—the facts and me—each of us just a step behind one another. Sometimes it was as simple as a nurse in the ER, after getting stitches in Tytus’ finger, pulling me to the side of the building to tell me of some facts she overheard on the night of the murder. Other times it was a random phone call from an unknown caller giving me a tip. Information poured in constantly—but when it didn’t, I searched for it.

Every eye staring my way in the grocery store, was a potential bearer of the truth that I craved; every pretty girl a threat to the marriage I no longer had . . . and worse a trigger of fear in the marriage I was trying to build. I was like a sponge that was drying up, but nothing seemed to make things right inside. No amount of evidence called in by detectives brought me one ounce of the peace I still longed for.

I wanted to know why Rob took a gun.  I wanted to know what was said that night. I craved to see the note that was written to me, that sat on Rob’s front seat as he shot a series of bullets into my husband. I longed to hear the emails. I desired with all my heart to know of the details of the life Emmett was living, while I was rocking his screaming infant in my arms. I wanted to know why Kandi and Emmett were there that night . . . but mainly I wanted to know why I wasn’t enough. I secretly hoped that the trial would be scattered with proof of all the evidence of why Emmett was not choosing me. That way I could piece together in my mind all that I did wrong—so I could change whatever parts of me had not been good enough for him. I hoped that the trial would give me all the parts of my life I did not know—and that knowledge would save me from ever living any of it again.

Each time the trial date was changed, it was like another million pound load was placed upon my shoulders. I waited like a baby bird left alone in his nest. My mouth gapping wide open, thinking of little more than what awaited me. Craving the facts to piece together the broken pieces inside of me.

One day I got a call much different than any I had received. Mediation. Rob had agreed to try to mediate the case. Mediate—like a no fault divorce? You take your truck, I will take ours . . . and we will call it fair . . .? I wanted to throw up, but I agreed. My desire to have the trial over out weighed my need for every nasty detail.

The days leading up to mediation were heavy.  I could not wait to put a face to his mug shot. To me, he was a mystical creature—maybe like a big green hulk—that had come and destroyed my world. I wondered if he even had a heart—maybe he would look like the tin man, who could feel nothing inside.

I hallucinated almost hourly what the mediation would hold. In my mind, I pictured us ending the day in the same room—me screaming and yelling at Rob all of the things I had been through because of his decision. I hoped my words would be given the floor—regardless of anyone’s feelings. I longed to stand in front of the whole room and show them that this “victim” had a voice.

The day of the mediation came. I awoke to an excitement I had never felt before. I was nervous, but even more I was ready to have my voice heard. I had asked my step dad to accompany me to the courthouse. By the time we reached the parking lot I was shaking. The excitement to explode my emotions was like a bomb waiting to go off. My nerves had set in full force. I wasn’t ready to face Rob, but I could not wait.

We were shown our room. Emmett’s parents were both waiting inside with our attorneys. Rob was in a room down the hall. We waited for what seemed like four years before the mediator came to our room. He began to speak. He said something along the lines of, “Well, I appreciate all of you being here today . . . we hope to come to some sort of resolve by the end of the day. I will be going back and forth between the two rooms in hope that we can come to some sort of bargain that we can mediate this case out on. Once I meet with Rob and his attorneys, I will come back in here and discuss with the victims what they are willing to settle with . . . and we will just go back and forth until we reach an agreement.”

My heart dropped. Isn’t this the day when I am no longer just a victim? Isn’t this my time to let it all out . . . and piece together all that was broken by this man?

I couldn’t stop it. I said, “Sir . . . I appreciate you being here and trying to work with all of us. This case . . . is probably just another day on the job for you, but . . . it is a hard one for us. I need you to know something—we . . . we aren’t just victims. I know that your job is to just listen to facts of the case and settle on words . . . but what about us? We are not just victims. I have a picture with me of five of the little “victims” of this case. Is there a time today when you get to see that, or hear about them? They each have names and stories of how this murder affected their lives. So though I am so grateful that you are here to listen to the facts . . . I just . . . I need you to know that this case is not just about facts and victims. It is about people with names, and testimonies of truths that came after the gun. So please, today as you speak with Rob about the hours that lead up to that gun fire . . . please don’t forget us and everything that has happened to us after it—please don’t forget that we are more than just victims in a crime movie . . . we are people and this has been our real life.”

All eyes were on me. Though I didn’t get to tell my stories, it felt good to have a voice. Rob didn’t end up settling on anything that day. I didn’t even get to see his face . . . but for once since he had pulled that trigger I felt like my voice was heard. Maybe not in the way I had anticipated it would be—but that day I showed myself that I did not have to live in fear. I was not a victim. I was a person. Though I still waited silently to find the answers I craved at the trial, I was not afraid of the person who was inside of me.

Fear. It is like an epidemic. Once it settles in us—it is nearly impossible to set it free.

I feared more in those eighteen months—that I waited to break free from the victimhood Rob’s gun had imprisoned me in—than I have in the rest of my entire life combined. Fear robbed me of life. Just like Rob had robbed his victims of the life they once knew, and Emmett of the breath he once took—fear stole my soul from my body every single day.

In one way or another we have all been imprisoned by fear. It drives us to say and do things out of anger. It passively waits silently for us to allow its power to overwhelm our minds. Sometimes in the dark of the night about a truth we have learned—or sometimes in the light of the day about a truth we long to hear.

Just like I testified to my little girls tonight about the power of God, I have whispered to my own heart many times as I was trapped in the plaguing power of fear—He is there. He does not want fear to destroy us. We cannot be exempt from the power of fear, but we can turn it over to God. We can testify to our broken souls that it is through Him we can find faith.

So on those dark nights when fear is caving in—PRAY. Ask Christ to send his grace. Pray for reassurance that the knowledge of this world can strengthen your faith. We will not fear when we are blessed with faith—faith in God; faith in this world; faith in our future . . . and even more—faith in ourselves.

Faith that even when the scores cannot be settled in a day of words; faith that we cannot control the power lines in our lives—but that we can stand tall where ever we are. Faith did not carry me through the mediation day until I realized that I had no need to fear. That moment when I told a room full of people that I wanted to be seen as more than a victim—that was the second I finally did. I saw my strength, for the first time the way God had seen me all along. And I was standing.

Voices

At the beginning of April, after Emmett’s death, it was time for LDS General Conference. We had always made Conference weekends special when I was a kid, and Emmett and I had carried on the tradition. We would sit as a family, listening to every talk . . . snuggled on the couch with our favorite treats and snacks.

I felt uneasy about just sitting around our house and watching it this year. My mom, who was still staying with us, suggested we call my Aunt Diane—who lived just two hours away—to see if we could go and spend the weekend with her. Rob had just been bailed out of jail, so I really felt the need to get away for a while. We decided to go to Diane’s. All of us needed to get out of the house, and I looked forward to some time away to think, and not do anything but listen to the counsel and direction from the leaders of the Church.

As we drove away from the house, it almost felt as if a weight had been lifted off my back. I looked out over the valley. It looked so dark and grey. It felt nice to leave the heaviness of our reality, and drive towards a place where so many people loved us. The kids were calm in the car. Everyone seemed to be lapping up the peace that seemed to have enveloped the car. It felt good to have some time to just think and be . . . not worrying about life, or death, or anything, really. My mind felt at peace.

As we pulled into Diane’s driveway, my phone rang. It was an unidentified number, which usually meant a detective or an attorney on the case.

I stayed in the car to answer the phone while my mother unloaded the kids. I sat watching my family joyfully run in and give kisses to everyone. The call was from the victim’s witness coordinator with the Attorney General’s Office. She was calling to tell me about the upcoming hearing dates, information about Rob, and to update me on everything the office had been working on. At the end of our conversation she said, “So, we were all wondering, do you want to be involved? … Do you want to come to these hearings? … Do you want us to reserve a spot for you, or do you just want us to call you after each hearing and give you an update so you don’t have to sit through them?” I didn’t reply immediately. I just sat there for a minute . . . unsure about what I really did want. What should I do? “Well, I guess . . .” I began. “I’m not really sure . . . what do you recommend to someone in my position . . . what do people usually do? What do you tell everyone else to do?”

She was silent for a minute. “Ashlee . . . you know . . . I don’t know that we’ve ever had anyone who has been in your position before, so this is one of those cases . . . where I can’t really tell you what people usually do, because . . .  well, I’ve never really known anyone who has been where you are right now.”

I hung up the phone. I felt paralyzed. I felt alone. I know she was just trying to help me realize that I would have to make my own decision, but in that moment, her words spoke to my insecurities and doubts. I really was alone. There was no one else who had ever been exactly where I was. It was just me. I felt cold . . . almost bitter. I had no one to call for advice. They couldn’t refer me to the last woman who had walked in my shoes. I was not the norm. Despite all my desires to just have a normal life—the life I had always craved—I was the exception. There was no one who had ever been in my same situation.

My excitement to listen to Conference faded as I picked up my bag and carried it inside. The weight that had been briefly lifted as we had driven away from home, fell once again onto my back. I was all alone. I felt like none of the talks that weekend would be for me. No, they would be for all the perfect husbands and wives. They would be for all the perfect parents raising perfect children. I started to feel like Conference wouldn’t be for me this year. That fear wouldn’t prevent me from listening, but nonetheless, I was certain I would be disappointed. Nobody knew what my pain felt like . . . and nobody had ever been where I had been.

When Saturday morning came, I still had a pit in my stomach. I wasn’t excited about Conference the way I had always been in the past. I sat through the first three or four talks almost purposefully refusing to allow anything to penetrate the wall I had erected around myself. I stared out toward the TV . . . but I didn’t hear a word. I was completely focused inward, feeling sorry for myself—no one had ever been through what I had suffered, or had felt the type of pain that was my constant companion.

Another talk began, and I folded my arms . . . perhaps an unconscious sign of self-pity. Then, I prayed to God for a miracle . . . that I could hear something that would speak to my frozen heart. I pled with Him to lift the black hole surrounding me so I could feel light again. Even though I knew that none of the speakers had ever walked in my shoes, I begged God to inspire one of them to let me know that I was not alone.

All of the sudden . . . my ears started working, and for the first time that day, I listened to the words being spoken and the principles being taught. The speaker, Elder Kent F. Richards of the Seventy, spoke of pain, and as his words filled the room, I felt in my heart that the pain I felt that day had not been forgotten. These are the words Elder Richards spoke to my soul:

The Atonement Covers All Pain

As a surgeon, I found that a significant portion of my professional time was taken up with the subject of pain. Of necessity I surgically inflicted it almost daily—and much of my effort was then spent trying to control and alleviate pain.

I have pondered about the purpose of pain. None of us is immune from experiencing pain. I have seen people cope with it very differently. Some turn away from God in anger, and others allow their suffering to bring them closer to God.

Like you, I have experienced pain myself. Pain is a gauge of the healing process. It often teaches us patience. Perhaps that is why we use the term patient in referring to the sick.

Elder Orson F. Whitney wrote: “No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude, and humility. … It is through sorrow and suffering, toil and tribulation, that we gain the education that we come here to acquire.”

Similarly, Elder Robert D. Hales has said: “Pain brings you to a humility that allows you to ponder. It is an experience I am grateful to have endured. …

“I learned that the physical pain and the healing of the body after major surgery are remarkably similar to the spiritual pain and the healing of the soul in the process of repentance.”

Much of our suffering is not necessarily our fault. Unexpected events, contradicting or disappointing circumstances, interrupting illness, and even death surround us and penetrate our mortal experience. Additionally, we may suffer afflictions because of the actions of others. Lehi noted that Jacob had “suffered … much sorrow, because of the rudeness of [his] brethren.” Opposition is part of Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness. We all encounter enough to bring us to an awareness of our Father’s love and of our need for the Savior’s help.

The Savior is not a silent observer. He Himself knows personally and infinitely the pain we face.

“He suffereth the pains of all men, yea, the pains of every living creature, both men, women, and children.”

“Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.”

Sometimes in the depth of pain, we are tempted to ask, “Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there?” I testify the answer is yes, there is a physician. The Atonement of Jesus Christ covers all these conditions and purposes of mortality.

There is another kind of pain for which we are responsible. Spiritual pain lies deep within our souls and can feel unquenchable, even as being racked with an “inexpressible horror,” as Alma described. It comes from our sinful actions and lack of repentance. For this pain too there is a cure that is universal and absolute. It is from the Father, through the Son, and it is for each of us who is willing to do all that is necessary to repent. Christ said, “Will ye not now return unto me … and be converted, that I may heal you?”

Christ Himself taught: “And my Father sent me that I might be lifted up upon the cross; and after that I had been lifted up upon the cross, that I might draw all men unto me. …

“Therefore, according to the power of the Father I will draw all men unto me.”

Perhaps His most significant work is in the ongoing labor with each of us individually to lift, to bless, to strengthen, to sustain, to guide, and to forgive us.

As Nephi saw in vision, much of Christ’s mortal ministry was devoted to blessing and healing the sick with all kinds of maladies—physical, emotional, and spiritual. “And I beheld multitudes of people who were sick, and who were afflicted with all manner of diseases. … And they were healed by the power of the Lamb of God.”

Alma also prophesied that “he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and … he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people. …

“That his bowels may be filled with mercy, … that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.”

Late one night lying in a hospital bed, this time as a patient and not as a physician, I read those verses over and over again. I pondered: “How is it done? For whom? What is required to qualify? Is it like forgiveness of sin? Do we have to earn His love and help?” As I pondered, I came to understand that during His mortal life Christ chose to experience pains and afflictions in order to understand us. Perhaps we also need to experience the depths of mortality in order to understand Him and our eternal purposes.

President Henry B. Eyring taught: “It will comfort us when we must wait in distress for the Savior’s promised relief that He knows, from experience, how to heal and help us. … And faith in that power will give us patience as we pray and work and wait for help. He could have known how to succor us simply by revelation, but He chose to learn by His own personal experience.”

I felt the encircling arms of His love that night. Tears watered my pillow in gratitude. Later, as I was reading in Matthew about Christ’s mortal ministry, I made another discovery: “When the even was come, they brought unto him many … and he … healed all that were sick.” He healed all that came to Him. None were turned away.

As Elder Dallin H. Oaks has taught: “Healing blessings come in many ways, each suited to our individual needs, as known to Him who loves us best. Sometimes a ‘healing’ cures our illness or lifts our burden. But sometimes we are ‘healed’ by being given strength or understanding or patience to bear the burdens placed upon us.” All that will come may be “clasped in the arms of Jesus.” All souls can be healed by His power. All pain can be soothed. In Him, we can “find rest unto [our] souls.” Our mortal circumstances may not immediately change, but our pain, worry, suffering, and fear can be swallowed up in His peace and healing balm.

I have noted that children are often more naturally accepting of pain and suffering. They quietly endure with humility and meekness. I have felt a beautiful, sweet spirit surrounding these little ones.

Thirteen-year-old Sherrie underwent a 14-hour operation for a tumor on her spinal cord. As she regained consciousness in the intensive care unit, she said: “Daddy, Aunt Cheryl is here, … and … Grandpa Norman … and Grandma Brown … are here. And Daddy, who is that standing beside you? … He looks like you, only taller. … He says he’s your brother, Jimmy.” Her uncle Jimmy had died at age 13 of cystic fibrosis.

“For nearly an hour, Sherrie … described her visitors, all deceased family members. Exhausted, she then fell asleep.”

Later she told her father, “Daddy, all of the children here in the intensive care unit have angels helping them.”

To all of us the Savior said:

“Behold, ye are little children and ye cannot bear all things now; ye must grow in grace and in the knowledge of the truth.

“Fear not, little children, for you are mine. …

“Wherefore, I am in your midst, and I am the good shepherd.”

Our great personal challenge in mortality is to become “a saint through the atonement of Christ.” The pain you and I experience may be where this process is most measured. In extremity, we can become as children in our hearts, humble ourselves, and “pray and work and wait” patiently for the healing of our bodies and our souls. As Job, after being refined through our trials, we “shall come forth as gold.”

I bear testimony that He is our Redeemer, our Friend, our Advocate, the Great Physician, the Great Healer. In Him we can find peace and solace in and from our pain and our sins if we will but come unto Him with humble hearts. His “grace is sufficient.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Maybe nobody had been in my situation . . . maybe I didn’t have a friend to call for advice about how involved I should be in the murder trial, or how best to move forward to find peace . . . maybe I had no one to pave the way along my pathway to healing . . . maybe I was alone in my battle, but as my ears finally opened, and my emotions came pouring out as I listened to that message sent to me . . . from God, I knew He wasn’t very far away. He knew I would have pain. He knew I would be asked to make grown-up decisions—which I felt far too young to make—but He wasn’t asking me to make them without Him. He wanted me to know that, because He needed me to live like I believed every word.

I could feel every single talk after that. I knew the words being taught were not just for all the “perfect couples” surrounding me . . . they were for me, too. The next talk was about women and the strength they possess. At the end, the speaker thanked all those single women struggling to work things out on their own. In another talk after that, the speaker assured me that God “knows you and He sees your sacrifice…” In the afternoon session, there was a talk about a man who lost his wife because the doctor who came to help her deliver her baby transmitted an illness to her from an earlier patient. She died a few days later. Her husband was bitter and wanted to ruin that doctor’s life. He was told by a Church leader to “leave it alone.” Later in his life, he came to understand the wisdom of having followed that advice. He realized he would have ruined his own life—and the life of the doctor—had he not followed the counsel to “Leave it alone.” In each talk, there was a little bit of something I needed to hear.

There are voices all around us . . . telling us how we should feel . . . and who they think we should be. During this difficult time of my life, I heard many voices that tried to bring me down. Some tried to belittle me. Opinions were freely shared about how I should be feeling. People told me I should be moving on . . .  or how to grieve. Some told me I should be moving on more quickly, while others said I should slow down. None of those voices really mattered. Heavenly Father knew what path I needed to take on my journey, and only He had the true answers for my particular situation.

I was alone that day in my own personal grief . . . but I was not forgotten. Every single person has their own story. Everyone of us has our own personal path of pain. Not one of us has a handbook that details what comes next or how we should handle or make decisions. What is right for one . . . might be totally wrong for another. However, I have never been led astray when I have followed the counsel of the Prophets. Their counsel should be our handbook. They speak to us with no agenda. They volunteer their lives to speak truths to us. They care about each of us and about our relationships. They care about how we are living our lives and handling our grief.

During the trial, I had some special visitors ask to come to my home one Sunday afternoon to spend some time with me and my family. These men, who work alongside the Prophet daily, were there in my living room to see if I was okay. One of the first things they said was, “President Monson has asked that we come to see how you are doing . . . and to let you know that we have been praying for you.” They didn’t have an agenda . . . they didn’t come to get the gossip. They came to show me that I wasn’t alone. They were sent by the leader of the Church to remind me that I wasn’t alone . . . and I knew it was true. I didn’t know it because of them, I knew it was true because I felt it in my heart. Heavenly Father’s spirit was so strong. They came to comfort me and help me REMEMBER that He was not very far away . . . He knew right where I was . . . and I was not alone.

I know the words spoken by our Church leaders are true. I know that when I listen to all they teach me, I can feel joy here on earth. I believe that when we follow their teachings, we can remain immovable and true to our faith, even when the pains of this world are more than we can bear on our own.

We are all going to get knocked down. It’s not about getting knocked down . . . it’s about what we do when we get back up. Whatever pain has brought you down, find a way to get to your knees . . . and while you are there, pray for the courage to one day learn how to stand again. It may take years to let it all go. It may take a lifetime to find peace. It may take a thousand prayers to find relief from your pain. All pains in life are covered by a loving Father in Heaven who knows how to heal you. Some pains might take time to heal, some might never leave you while you are on this earth . . . but even through your pain you can find joy . . . if you have faith in Him.

The world will tell us that we are not enough. People will make us feel like we are not measuring up in any of the things we do. And most of the time, we listen. We allow the world to tell us that being a “stay at home mom” is not a worthy title. The world will whisper to us that our potential is so much more than just sitting home changing diapers. Voices are everywhere . . . in every magazine we  read, in every commercial we watch. Voices. Speaking to us. Make sure the voices you hear are the ones speaking words that are worthy of your time. Don’t let the world’s whisperings pull you away from the pathway to true happiness.

All of us walk our own roads. No one has ever been exactly where you are. In this moment right now . . . no one else has felt what you are feeling. That fact can feel overwhelmingly lonely and hard. It is a truth that sometimes leaves you wondering where to turn and what to do next. During those moments when you feel like you have no one to call, and no one to tell you who to be . . . just be YOU. You are the you that He wanted you to be. He has the power to heal the you He still sees inside. And He will. He is the one who has walked your path ahead of you. He has seen the darkness. He has felt the hurt. He walks a few steps ahead, so He is prepared to find a way to wipe the tears from your eyes, and mend the holes in your heart.

You were made to be you. If you are going to disappoint anyone, let it be those who cannot find the goodness inside of you . . . the ones who look for all that is wrong with you. They will bombard you until you lose sight of yourself. Voices are everywhere. Listen carefully. Listen to the ones that lift you up.  Surround yourself with beauty . . . and as you do, you will find your own voice. Listen to the voices that help you stand.