Greater Miracles

I woke up one morning in a funk. Nothing in particular had sparked my foul mood, but I could not seem to stomp it out. It was a normal day. The little kids and I played and cleaned the house while the big kids were at school. I tried hard to ignore the dark gloom that seemed to be tugging at me, and I carried on with my normal routine with it constantly hanging over me.

As morning turned into afternoon, I got a call that brought a smile to my face. Rob had had his bail revoked, and was heading back to jail. It was a miracle!!! I was giddy as I went about the rest of my day. Finally, something was going my way, and he was going back to where he had belonged all along. He had killed my husband and he deserved to be back in jail. Just knowing I no longer had the possibility of running into him on the streets brought peace to my soul, but on an even deeper level, I was happy justice was being served.

The alarm on my phone soon sounded to remind me to go pick up the big kids from school. I loaded the little ones in my car and drove to the school. I couldn’t wait to tell the twins about Rob’s new “home.” I knew it would calm some of their fears, as it had mine.

As I drove, I thought back to the nights they had tapped me on my shoulder to ask about “the bad guy.” I thought of the hours spent holding them as they cried in my arms about the father they would never again see, and about their fear of the man who had taken him from them. I thought of their whispers in the silence about a stranger they would never meet and never be able to forgive for the pain he had caused. I thought about all that Rob did to deserve his time in jail. I was happy he was getting locked up again. I was angry for the punishments my children had been forced to endure because of him, and I was grateful that the justice system was sending him back to the life he deserved.  

I pulled up to the school. I could see the twins walking toward our meeting place. I jumped out of the car and with a skip in my step I ran toward them. Once their hands were in mine, I kneeled down to whisper the news. “Girls, so you know how scared you have been since you found out all those months ago that the man who shot Daddy was getting out of jail? Well . . . guess what? Today . . . he . . . he made some choices that got his bail taken away . . . and so, he has to go back to jail!” I was grinning and excited for my babies who had cried through all those nights, worried this man would somehow come into their rooms. I was happy to tell them that the man who had shot and killed their dad was back in jail, locked up. I was proud that I got to deliver this declaration of their safety to them.

They didn’t look up; both of them still stared at the ground and didn’t say a word. Almost in desperation to see their excitement, I announced it again. “Girls . . . doesn’t that make you happy to know that justice is being served . . . that he . . . is . . . in jail?” I tried so hard to get them to make eye contact with me. “I thought this might make you guys happy that the man who killed Daddy is not going to be out of jail anymore. They are putting him back in jail! . . . So . . . he . . . is . . . not . . .out . . . of jail anymore.” Still no response.

A few seconds went by, and finally a sound came from my silent crowd. Bailey burst into tears, and sobbed “But what about HIS kids mom? They still have a chance to have a dad. If he goes back to jail, they don’t get a dad . . . just like us.” I was dumbfounded. This little girl I’d held in the night as she had sworn up and down she would never forgive “the bad guy,” was now in tears for him?

Bostyn finally looked up at me. “Mom, Bailey and I have been talking a lot about this,” she said as a small tear fell from her eyes, “and we . . . we will forgive him now. We just . . .What about his kids? They might need their dad. If we could have Daddy back, we would . . . but they still can. If he goes back to jail, then all of us lost our dads.”

My heart dropped. All the excitement that had gotten me through the day quickly faded. Because of my bitterness and desire for revenge, I had spent my afternoon excited that Rob had been punished for breaking the rules and was getting sent back to jail. I had anticipated that the moment I told my children about it would be healing and uplifting for them, but it wasn’t. Not because they knew him personally, or would benefit from his remaining free . . . but because they had learned to have compassion.

It wasn’t until my two six-year-olds took my hand and taught me about empathy and forgiveness that I realized how wrong my celebration had been. I had spent months building up more hate and bitterness, while my daughters had taken those same months to find love and compassion for a man who had wronged them—a lesson, I had taught them . . . but had forgotten to apply to myself.

What a humbling moment I had that day. I was not the exception to the lessons of truth I had preached. Maybe Rob had hurt me, and maybe his poor choices had gotten him where he was . . . but I had to learn to let it go. Though his actions had shattered my family, it was my hatred that was killing my heart. I had to become like my little daughters: patient, compassionate, humble, and full of love . . . even for the man who had killed their father and made me a widow.  

We are all here on earth together. We are going to wrong each other and cause others to feel pain. Sometimes we will be the one in the wrong, and other times we will be the ones who are wronged. Does that mean we can’t still have compassion for each other? I learned that afternoon that forgiveness is real, not just in words . . . but in our hearts. Empathy is possible, even through our pain.

My twins walked in Rob’s shoes that day, and felt the loss his family was going to have to live with. I wasn’t that strong, but their reminder of empathy was not just enlightening . . . it was humbling. I was the mother—and yet they were my teachers.

What does it mean to walk in others’ shoes? It means actually trying to feel what they feel, and trying to see what they see. It means taking a step outside of ourselves to see another point of view. As adults, we have trained ourselves to think that our way is the best way. We have become stuck in what we can see, and we think that we have the only answers. It usually isn’t easy for us to look at something from a new perspective.

Often, it’s our children who show us what it means to have empathy: empathy for a family member, a friend, a stranger, and even a murderer. They can show us how to see the world while standing in someone else's shoes. 

A lesson I had taught a million times with words became real that day. As I walked hand in hand back to my car with my babies, I felt strength from them to develop that empathy myself.

Forgiveness is real. Being able to achieve it is within our reach. Maybe it isn’t as simple as it was for my two little twins, crying tears for the children of a man who had killed their father . . . but if they can do it—so can we.

Have compassion for those who have hurt you. Find love for those who have let you down. Seek to feel empathy for those who need it the most. God will be the ultimate judge. It is Him who will have the final say. We aren’t required to be the judge for anyone . . . but ourselves.

In the Doctrine and Covenants 64:10, we read this commandment from God:

I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.

It is a lesson I am still learning, and one that hasn’t come easily for me. To truly forgive, we must have compassion. To have compassion, we must be able to love. And to truly love, we must give God our whole heart. He is the only source of eternal love we will find on this earth. The power He can give us can strengthen all the relationships with which we have been blessed, and can help us develop love for complete strangers, even for those who may have caused us pain.

Jesus Christ has felt your pain. He has counted every tear. He died for you that even you can be forgiven for the wrongs you have committed. Even you can be forgiven for the times when you have been too full of pride, hatred or anger to forgive.

We may never forget our pain. Sometimes the scars run too deep to completely disappear . . . but we can rise above our pain. The atonement of Jesus Christ truly covers all pain. It diminishes the scars; it eases the burdens. It can bring miracles to our lives.

There is a song I have sung many times in my life. I love it for its simple message.

  Greater Miracles by Hilary Weeks

Have you any that are sick? Bring them here, He will heal them.

Have you any that are lame, bent in pain, hurt or yearning?

Bring them all old and young and He will lift them up.

He will make them whole.

And if they put their faith in Him they shall see greater miracles than these.

Have you children who are blind? Bring them here, He will bless them.

He will truly make them see wondrous things when you let them.

Go to Him on bended knee and He will lift them up.

He will make them whole.

And if they put their faith in Him they shall see

Greater miracles than these.

Did you know that He can heal the widow's broken heart?

That His love can change your life, save a world torn apart?

Did you know that He holds the earth and sky at His command?

But when you feel forgiveness come, then you'll understand.

That's the miracle. The greatest miracle.

Do your burdens weigh you down?

Go to Him. He will lift them.

As your brother as your friend, He has love enough for all men.

Trust in Him, take His hand.

And He will lift you up, He will make you whole.

And if you put your faith in Him, you shall see

Greater miracles than these. Greater miracles than these.

The miracle that day was not that Rob was going back to jail. It was that my daughters showed me how to feel empathy. They taught me, by their example, about forgiveness and love. They showed me what true compassion is, and what I could strive to become one day. They reminded me that even the sinners deserve to be set free—maybe not into the world—but from the hatred in our hearts. They showed me that even I, a victim, could find a way to be a survivor.

And that was the miracle . . . the greatest miracle.

Bailey and Bostyn (age 6)

Gravity

There came a time when the Attorney General’s office contacted me about participating in a Grand Jury. I didn’t know exactly what that meant, or what my role would be. They explained to me that it was kind of like a practice for the real thing; almost a mock trial to see what facts they had and how a jury would sentence the accused with the evidence they had collected. It sounded like a good way to see how prepared the prosecutors were to try Rob with the evidence and facts about the case they had gathered. I knew the defense would be requiring me to take the stand at the actual trial, and that thought was frightening, but I even felt anxiety about participating in this practice trial for the prosecution.

   

I was scared of the unknown. I spent the next few weeks nervous and skeptical about the questions I would be asked to answer. I imagined the moment over and over; I even asked myself questions and practiced my replies. They were always playing inside of me; it was like a weight that held onto my ankles and squeezed my heart everywhere I went. These questions were always in the back of my mind. I rehearsed in the shower, I stumbled over them as I changed diapers. Any moment when I was alone in the car, I would cry my answers out loud . . . usually ending in screams and anger, overwhelmed by the thought of taking the stand.

   

I was paralyzed by the fear that seemed to have taken over my thoughts. I went over and over all my memories of that night. I wished so badly that it had all been different, but the truth was what I had to state. I hated that the truth was so hard, and so humiliating. I knew I had to be prepared if I was going to be able to get on that stand and not break down. I knew it wasn’t the real deal, and that it was just a practice for the trial . . . but I worked myself up about it night and day.

   

I was very nervous about going to the courthouse. I was afraid that I would be there at the same time as some of the other witnesses. In all of our conversations about my participation, I made it very clear that I did not want to have even the possibility of running into Kandi in the halls. … I wanted to be in the building at different times than her. They assured me over and over that that would be the case.

   

An attorney friend of mine made arrangements to drive me down to the courthouse on the day the Grand Jury was set to take place. I was told they would start with Kandi’s testimony—since she was the only witness of Emmett’s death—and they would end with my testimony, Emmett’s wife. They had asked me to arrive around 2:00 p.m.

   

When we got to the office of the Victims’ Witness Coordinator, I was so scared that I was shaking. The thought that Kandi had been in the office earlier that day made my stomach turn. Since Emmett’s murder, I had not been in public once when I hadn’t searched for her. I looked in every car that passed me, making sure we were not driving on the same road. I hadn’t gone anywhere without the fear that we would meet, and now, here we were in the same building . . . on purpose. It seemed out-of-this-world and unreal that if, by chance, I took the wrong elevator or went down the wrong hallway . . . we could actually meet face to face.

   

The girl in the front office told me to sit in the waiting room chairs. The coordinator finally made her way up to tell us what was going on. She looked distraught, “Hey . . . I am so sorry that we had you come this early. She is still on the stand and she has been for hours. We are just scratching the surface of what they need her to share. You will have to wait here until she is done, and the other witnesses get their chance to take the stand and be questioned. We still have you on the schedule as the final witness.”

So I waited. My heart pounded and my body shook as I sat in the quiet, alone with my thoughts.

Everyone in that courtroom was being told facts that I didn’t even know: facts about how my husband died, truths that only Kandi knew. I didn’t know anything. I hadn’t yet learned that Emmett had driven her in his car, and that they had spent the evening together before they met up with Rob at Walgreens. I hadn’t learned that the two men didn’t even touch each other when Rob confronted Emmett. I didn’t hear Emmett’s last words. He wasn’t there to fight for me. I didn’t hear the gun shots or see the blood dripping from his wounds. I wasn’t there to hold his head as he took his last breath . . . but she was there.

     

I hated the fact that as I sat up in this quiet office waiting, she was sitting in front of a group of people telling them all the things I didn’t even know. I hated the fact that complete strangers were in there being given the answers to all the questions that still played out in my nightmares. They were getting answers to the questions they asked . . . while I sat in silence.

   

What seemed like hours passed, and my turn finally came. I was almost excited as I walked into that room full of strangers. They didn’t know me. … I was just another victim to them. They hadn’t sat in my living room, on my black couch, with the detectives that night. They didn’t see the looks on my babies’ faces when they were told that their dad had been shot; they hadn’t seen the tears running down my cheeks for weeks after Emmett’s murder. It was almost as if I couldn’t wait to let it all out . . . and show them that this victim still had a voice. That gun had nearly destroyed me . . . but I still had a pulse.

   

I raised my hand and promised to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth. With my heart pounding, I took my seat.

“Please state your full name.” I opened my mouth to speak . . .  but my emotions began to take over, and no words came. The bailiff asked me to repeat. “Ashlee Corrigan . . . A S H L E E   C O R R I G A N.” My voice cracked as I pronounced each letter; it was as if my mouth were filled with saltine crackers. My throat was so dry, and the words that rolled around inside of it had no way to get out.

   

As soon as my name left my lips, my eyes began to burn. How could this be real? This couldn’t possibly be my life I was going to be questioned about. It couldn’t be my husband who died. …This wasn’t our story! Suddenly, I didn’t want to be here. The fight or flight mechanism programed inside of me set off its alarm . . . and I started to panic. The attorney could tell I was losing it. He said, “You are a little emotional. … Are you doing okay? … Do you . . .  want . . .”

   

I tried so hard to get my voice to come out again. “Yes, I just . . . this is . . . I . . . I . . . I . . . I will be fine.” I was shaking hysterically. I took a few deep breaths, hoping to put on my smile and not let my completely distraught internal freak-out be witnessed by all. Everything inside of me wanted to scream. I wanted to tell them everything that WE had been through . . . everything I had been forced to witness my kids live through. I wanted to shout about all the nights I had been tapped on the shoulder, and about all the tears that had been shed by me and by my children huddled together in my bed. I wanted to let all these strangers know that I wasn’t just a victim . . . I was me . . . I was his wife . . . I was the mother of his babies. And we were still here . . . and we were still trying to figure out how to live. We had been forced into accepting our sentence. We hadn’t chosen this life . . . and they all needed to know about it!!! Forcing myself to be silent, I sat . . . and waited for my opportunity to let my voice be heard.

   

The jury was told they could ask me any questions they wanted. I don’t really remember much about their questions or any of my answers. I have no idea of how long I was there or how many questions I answered. I know that I spoke a lot about the events of that night, before he left our house. My soul ached for the Emmett I loved, as I told the story about the last words he spoke to me. My heart broke because of the unavoidable truth . . . that it had been her he was fighting for, not me.

     

I never did get to say all that was in my heart; their questions didn’t allow my needs to be fulfilled. All they needed to know about is what transpired that night. The questions seemed to finally slow down, and I thought my time on the stand was coming to an end. My body began to settle down.

   

And then it came: the question I knew I would have to answer . . . the question to which everyone wanted to know the answer . . . the question I will never forget. “Before your husband died, did you know that he and Kandi were having an affair?” Everyone froze . . .

     

I looked around the room. Every set of eyes was staring at me. Those eyes seemed to be boring in deeper than my skin; they were fixed on my soul. Everyone in the room waited . . .

   

As I answered, everyone’s eyes dropped. All of the sudden, nobody could look me in the eye!

  

I felt almost ashamed of myself. How DID I NOT know? What was wrong with me? They all seemed to be looking around the room wondering how the heck I could be married to this man . . .  who died because of this affair . . . and I DIDN’T KNOW?!!!!

   

This group had been sitting here all day listening to the obvious facts about how my husband had been cheating on me, and how he had died. They knew everything that I hadn’t learned before Emmett died. I stared at all their darting eyes, knowing they must have finally learned the truth about me. … I WAS stupid. The facts were as plain as day, and I had missed them when they were right in front of me. I was living them . . . but I was too stupid to figure them out. I could see the thoughts of the members of the Grand Jury, as if they glared out of their eyes as they focused on everything in the room . . . but me. “She should have known . . . and if she’d had any brains, she would have.”

   

I walked out of that courtroom feeling depressed and alone. The findings of the Grand Jury that would come to settle the minds of the prosecutors, only set off more alarms of fear in me. I walked out of that courtroom even more humiliated than before. There was going to be a murder trial . . . and it wouldn’t involve just a small group of random strangers staring at me and wondering how the crap I didn’t know . . . it would be the whole town . . . and eventually, the entire country.

     

That night as I lay in my bed, I replayed all the questions over and over in my mind. How I wished I could change my story. I could pretend I knew about the affair; I could say that Emmett had been at home fighting for me that night before he left. I longed to tell the town that I wasn’t as stupid as I looked. I had known there was something wrong, and I had been trying hard to figure it out . . . but I just hadn’t put all the facts together in time. That night, I drowned in my tears as I considered how to change my past to make myself feel better about it . . . and to reassure myself that I wasn’t dumb.

    

The next morning, I kept having this urge to go downtown again. Ha! That was the last thing I wanted to do. In the days that followed Emmett’s murder, I had placed holds on all of our accounts, but I had yet to go down to the bank to make sure everything was secure. It was just another thing on my “to do” list that I had purposefully avoided in a feeble attempt to pretend that none of what I was going through was real.

   

By late afternoon, I knew I couldn’t fight the urge any longer, and I made the decision to drive down to our bank. I was nervous the whole way there. I didn’t want to talk about financial matters; I didn’t want to see people who knew Emmett at the bank . . . and I certainly didn’t want to go into a public place where more people would find reasons to remind me of how stupid I was.

   

I parked my car outside the bank and walked inside. I asked to speak with the man who had helped me place holds on all of our accounts. The minute we sat down in the privacy of his office, he said, “I was literally going to call you this afternoon. Earlier today, another woman was in here trying to make withdrawals from these accounts. I am so glad you came in today.”

   

My heart dropped. My mind freaked out. I wasn’t safe . . . in any way. Now, not even my bank accounts seemed to provide me any security. My fear of the unknown seemed to be multiplying and invading every dark corner I had forgotten to check.

     

That day, I closed every single account. Maybe that was irrational . . . maybe I was just being stupid like everyone seemed to think I was, but in that moment . . . it was my only option. I had to protect the assets I had left. For me, that meant making some big decisions in literally just a few seconds. I had felt inspired to go to the bank that day, but I hadn’t realized that it was going to result in my finding even more reasons to doubt the world.

When I look back on those dark moments . . . it was like I was living in a haze. I thought I had made it past the hardest days . . . but then, something else would come along to pull me down even more than before. The force that tugged me down was stronger than just a sensation of falling. It felt like a darkness blacker than anything I had felt on earth was trying to suck me in.

    

The scientific definition of gravity is: the powerful force that attracts a body to the earth. During those dark days, it wasn’t just the force of gravity that held me, and it wasn’t just grounding me. No, it was a power that was pulling me down . . . down . . . down.

   

Everything I once thought was a given, seemed so uncertain. I was scared. I was stupid, and I was alone. My bank accounts were not safe . . . and somewhere between teaching my children how to properly grieve and function in their lives . . . we were going to have to live through a murder trial. I was going to have to take that stand again and tell the world all that I didn’t know. All those things I once counted on to be constants in my life . . .  now seemed to be not only undependable . . . but worse than that, they were failing me.

I wasn’t even sure if the natural law of Gravity was going to be a constant for me . . .  because I could not see where on the earth I was still connected to it.

There is a force in this world even stronger than the constant force of gravity. It is a darkness that swirls around us . . . and even when we feel we have been pulled farther down than we knew was possible . . . it tries to wrench us under even further. I was surrounded by darkness on those days, and there was no place inside of me that remembered that God was still there. I did not feel Him by my side as I sat at the bank and was told that I couldn’t even depend upon my bank accounts. I didn’t feel Him give me a voice as my heart pounded out of my chest so forcefully that I couldn’t breathe while I was speaking the truth on that witness stand. The truth was destroying me inside . . . but there was nowhere to hide from it. I felt completely alone and I felt scared to death.

     

The darkness of this world seemed to be chasing me, knowing I was weak, and I was buying every word of it. I didn’t know how to keep ahead of the darkness. Fear was my motivating factor. It drove me to arise in the morning and it kept me from falling asleep at night. I could barely eat, and I had to force myself to move. Every day, I spent hours replaying the questions that were asked as I sat on the witness stand, and I knew that the questions that would be written for me at the actual trial would be even more difficult. They would pull me down with even greater force.

   

Every single day . . . being pulled down . . . thinking; rehearsing; practicing; hallucinating . . . and feeling scared. But most of all feeling Humiliated.

There are many powers that pull at us: Hate, Pride, Fear, Jealousy, Anger, Doubt, Rage, Humiliation, Despair, Pain, Rejection, Doubt, and they are all powers of darkness. Darkness is always waiting to grab us in its clutches; it always knows just how to make its lonely walk . . . and it has the ability to make us long to join it for that walk. It waits for us along all the roads we tread and at all the crossroads where we stand alone. It is not willing to sacrifice for us, but it is willing to sacrifice US for the power it wants to hold over us. Satan is not constant. … He doesn’t stick around when we reach our breaking point. He walks away when he gets us to the spot where we cannot stand, and he hopes we will forget the light we once had. More than anything, he wants us to give up and forget. He willingly takes control when we feel we have lost it. The only thing that is constant when he steers our course . . . is our ultimate defeat. He promises nothing more than his own gain.

   

However, we don’t have to choose to fall under his power . . . for he will only bring us down. We are the ones who hold true strength . . . and darkness can only control us if we give our power away.

       

God’s love for us is the constant we must seek. Its power is the force that can keep us grounded. Even in the moments when we stand and feel that all the truths we once thought were consistent are falling through our grasp . . . He is still there. I didn’t let Him comfort me in that courtroom that day. I let other forces pull me down. I let fear take control of my body in every car I rode in and in every elevator I exited. I sat at that bank feeling alone and overwhelmed by darkness.

     

Gravity is a force that exists no matter what we do. We can try to fight it . . . we can try to pretend that its power cannot control us . . .  but ultimately, no matter how many times we try to leap off that barn’s rooftop . . . we will fall to the ground. No matter how many times we try to fly out of that tree . . . we will hit the grass. It was created for us for that purpose, and our questioning its existence, will in no way change its power. It will always be there.

   

However, our Heavenly Father is just as constant as gravity. He is always there. He walks with us into all the ‘banks’ that threaten our peace and make us feel like our security is about to be destroyed. He helps us close the accounts when we are not safe. He wipes our tears when the humiliation of the world tries to make us feel like we are stupid, and He is holding us up when we feel we cannot take another breath . . . as we speak the truth.

   

I have no idea why I wouldn’t allow myself to see His power in those moments, but I could easily feel the darkness. Looking back, I guess I needed to forget His love momentarily so that I would be driven to remember how to fight for it again. I thought I was walking all alone. The days when, in my mind, I was traveling solo . . . served as anchors to tug at me and remind me to seek His light again.

     

There are powers that pull us to and fro; there are forces that try to bind us. When we seek for the power that comes from the goodness inside of us . . . and from the Love of our Savior, that is when our paths seem to be surrounded by the hope we seek. Darkness will never bring us peace; it will never leave us full of happiness.

   

My hope in myself was lost; my hope in this world seemed to be impossible to find . . . but somehow, it found me. I didn’t seek it on those days full of darkness . . . but it was still there.

     

Gravity will hold you anchored to the earth, but only Christ will keep you grounded as you travel along life’s roads. Let the power of His mercy be the one that anchors your ship when the storms of the sea try to shake you. Let the gravity of His love hold you to the truths that only He can teach. You are smart. You are enough. You are the you He always wanted you to be. You have the power to choose the light.

   

Don’t let your fear of walking alone keep you from taking the next step. You are not alone. He is there. His power is real, and He holds it just for you. Gravity may bring you down, but Christ’s love can lift you higher.

Gravity by Abbey Roll (my little sister)

I dream

One night as I slept, I had a series of dreams.

   

The first one was with me and Emmett and our children. It was a sunny Saturday morning, and Emmett was cleaning his new truck. The kids were playing in the street while we were outside washing the vehicle. Rob pulled up in his truck and without saying a word, he pulled out his gun and shot two bullets at Emmett. The babies and I sat there watching the entire thing . . . with no way to get away from it. We ran towards Rob, but he jumped back into his truck and drove away. Emmett just lay on the ground and didn’t move. I fell down beside him. He had a bullet in his forehead and one in his chest. His lungs were not moving. He was covered from head to toe in blood. He was dead. I sat with my face on his chest and screamed and cried . . . while my babies watched. I did not wake up.

   

In the next dream, we were at a park and Rob walked up to us. Without saying a word, he shot Emmett in the heart and in the head. Still asleep.

   

In the next one, Emmett and I and had stopped at Walgreens to grab some drinks on the way to the movie theater. As we walked out to our car, there Rob was . . . waiting for us. Without saying a word, he shot Emmett in the heart and in the head. I still didn’t wake up.

The next dream started out with us at a family reunion. All of Emmett’s family was gathered at the cabin on Bear Lake. We were laughing and talking, and the kids were running around everywhere. It was a perfect day, just like many others we had spent at the lake. We were all getting ready to head down to the water when a truck pulled up. Without saying a word, Rob got out of his truck and ran toward us. By now, I knew what was coming and I started to scream. “Rob . . . No . . . please, please let this just be a dream. … Please stop. Just talk with him Rob . . . and he will listen. I am right here, I need you to stop. Rob, I know you are scared. I know you are hurting . . . but please put down that gun and look at me. You have never met me before . . . but I know why you are here . . . and I need you to stop. I hope this is just a dream. Please Rob . . . I am begging you. I need him. … Please don’t shoot!”

   

All of Emmett’s family members were frozen. They had no idea of what I knew was coming. It was like everyone was moving in slow motion: Rob running toward Emmett, my words, his family looking at me like I was crazy, and the kids following me as I chased him. Without saying a word, Rob took out his gun and he shot . . . in slow motion . . . two bullets. One hit Emmett in the head . . . and I watched it sink into his skull. The next bullet came immediately afterwards, and I saw it pierce Emmett’s skin and sink deep into his heart.

 

Wake up Ashlee . . . Please wake up. This is just a dream. It isn’t real. Everything is going to be okay. You just have to WAKE up. I couldn’t wake myself up. I walked around, and everyone was still moving in slow motion. Every tear fell like it was made of syrup. Every scream was drawn out and deep. The pain inside of my heart felt as if I were watching all of these people grieving for the very first time. We sat there on the beach staring at Emmett’s dead body, with no one knowing what to do. Our five children knelt at his side weeping tears over his dead, lifeless body.

When I finally woke up, I lay back in bed, sick to my stomach. That dream wasn’t real . . . but the ending was real, and it had already happened. Emmett had been shot by a gun: once in the heart, and once in the head. As much as I tried to ignore it, that fact was real . . . and that was why he was gone.

   

I had a dream . . . but it wasn’t a dream for the betterment of this world, or a dream where I could make a difference for anyone. No I had a dream that haunted me. Its power weighed heavily on my mind. Emmett was gone . . . and that wasn’t going to change. No matter how many times my dreams tried to change the scenario . . .  the ending was always the same.

    

I lay in my bed for a long time . . . not knowing how to get out of the horrible cycle. I thought of all my life’s dreams that had been shattered by those two bullets. I thought about the hopes that had built my family and the dreams for our future, which were now just a distant memory.

I can remember exactly where I was, when as a young teen, I experienced the moment when my dream was written. I was sitting in a Young Women’s class and we were talking about setting goals and reaching for our dreams. Our teachers had given us a photo of ourselves with a transparent picture of the temple covering our photo. I knew right then and there that I would not give up until all of my dreams had been fulfilled. On that day, I wrote out in my mind a laundry list, a bucket list, of all the things I would do before I died.

   

Getting married was at the top of it my list. I had dreamed of the life I would have as a young mother and an adoring wife. I imagined what my children would look like, and I pictured growing old one day and becoming a grandmother.

I never dreamed of having anything more than the life I actually had on the afternoon of March 11, 2011. I was living my dreams. I never wanted to change the world or become the first female president. I never hoped to run a corporation. My dreams were about dirty diapers and spit-up on my shirt. I had dreamed of being surrounded by little arms that needed me in every way. I even loved being a poor student with Emmett. I wanted to struggle through school together . . . because that meant we needed each other. I loved that we had lived in tiny apartments with a bunch of little kids. We had cooked Top Ramen and eaten it by candlelight. We had pinched pennies to buy bookshelves from thrift stores. My dream had always been to have my own garden and to teach my babies how to make things grow. I loved preparing meals and scrubbing floors. I dreamed of nothing more than a simple life . . . and it was right there. I had it. I had reached my dream.

   

On that fateful day, I spent my morning picking out laundry baskets for a new and improved laundry system I had developed for my newly-expanded family. I was so excited to have matching baskets in which I could organize and separate everyone’s laundered clothes. As I walked to my car—giddy that I had found exactly what I’d been looking for—I couldn’t wait to show my purchases to Emmett . . . and I hoped the baskets would be as exciting to him as they were to me.

   

However, what I didn’t know as I skipped to my car that morning, was that my dream to make my laundry room beautiful and new . . . would be a dream I would never have the opportunity of sharing with my husband. He would never see those baskets full of clean clothes that I couldn’t wait to show him. That little dream . . . was one I would never enjoy.

 (One of Tytus' only pictures with him.)

I remember a few times as a child going to a Broadway show with my father called Les Misérables. It has become one of my all-time favorite memories with my dad, and I have grown to love the show’s music and storyline. It is about a man who went from being a prisoner to becoming a prominent and successful businessman in his society. There is one particular song from Les Misérables that has come to my mind a lot in the past three years, a song, which unfortunately, I have been able to relate to on many levels. One of the female characters in the musical, Fantine, sings about the dreams she had hoped for as a young woman, after those hopes have all been destroyed

I Dreamed a Dream   (by Herbert Kretzmer)

There was a time when men were kind


When their voices were soft


And their words inviting


There was a time when love was blind


And the world was a song


And the song was exciting


There was a time


Then it all went wrong





I dreamed a dream in time gone by


When hope was high


And life worth living


I dreamed that love would never die


I dreamed that God would be forgiving


Then I was young and unafraid


And dreams were made and used and wasted


There was no ransom to be paid


No song unsung, no wine untasted





But the tigers come at night


With their voices soft as thunder


As they tear your hope apart


As they turn your dream to shame





He slept a summer by my side


He filled my days with endless wonder


He took my childhood in his stride


But he was gone when autumn came



And still I dream he’ll come to me


That we will live the years together


But there are dreams that cannot be


And there are storms we cannot weather



I had a dream my life would be


So different from this hell I’m living


So different now from what it seemed


Now life has killed the dream I dreamed


   

At times, life will seem to kill our dreams. The night Emmett was shot in the heart and head will forever stand in my memories as the pinnacle moment of losing my dreams. It was my darkest hour. It was the moment when I lost hope in all my plans . . . and the moment when all the darkness of the world seemed to destroy the passion I had for any dream I have ever hoped to achieve.

We all have dreams we hope to realize. We spend our lives creating them in our minds . . . praying they will all come true. Some of these dreams will remain inside of us . . . while others will play out just as we planned.

There will be many of us who wait a long time for our biggest dreams to come true, and there will be times when we aren’t able to achieve even our smallest dreams. Life doesn’t always wait around and ask us what our dreams are . . . because usually, life just happens.

   

Some of us might have every single dream we have ever wished for when we’ve blown out a candle or wished upon a star . . . unfold before our very eyes. Everything we ever thought we wanted . . . actually staring us in the face. We have our dreams in our laps . . . and everything feels close to perfect. Aside from the fact that in his last few months, Emmett seemed to be struggling with what I thought was a mid-life crisis . . . I had reached that point. I was living every single dream I had ever dreamed. I was scrubbing toilets and I was buying laundry baskets . . . and it was amazing. I was living my dreams . . . but on that horrible night, all of those dreams were shattered by two shots of a gun.

Dreams can be as big as five kids and a mini-van . . . or as small as celebrating the hard work of redoing your laundry room. It doesn’t matter how small our dreams seem to others, they are all significant to us. That is what makes them OUR dreams. We made the plans, we had the hopes . . . and we are making them happen.

   

Some walk this life constantly seeking a dream they may never receive; sometimes even the worthy goals we set for ourselves will not be met on this earth. The yearning for a dream that may never come is a lonely cry. At some time or another, we will all experience the moment when we realize that a dream we have been seeking will never be, or when a dream we have lived is lost forever. It is a desolate feeling that you can only understand after you have been there . . . standing alone.

   

Dreams will come every single night as we sleep . . . but other kinds of dreams will also be in our minds, as we hope for bright future paths to walk.

    

Christ’s love for you is not based on your merits in mortality, and He doesn’t love you any more just because you reach your goals. He may be excited that you have worked hard and have consequently received certain blessings, but His love for you is not because of your titles, degrees, recognitions, or medals. His love is unconditional. He loved you long before you even set your goal. He believed in you before you got the prize. He saw worth in you long before you gained the recognition, earned the degree, or received the title.

Heavenly Father knows there are moments when you stand alone . . .  feeling like you haven’t accomplished any of the things you set out to do when you were younger. He hurts that you cannot see your worth even when you have not achieved the merits you seek. He isn’t sad that you aren’t where you want to be . . . He hurts because you can’t see that where you are is enough.

   

Even if every dream you have ever hoped for feels like it is impossible . . . or if every dream you have ever lived . . . feels like it has been taken away . . . you haven’t reached the end. Tonight as you go to sleep, a new chapter of dreams might begin. Don’t spend your life waiting for the dreams you long to be living; live the dreams that you wake up with each morning. Don’t wait for your dreams to come true to see His hand in your life. Yes, it is good to have goals and hopes for yourself . . . but don’t let the dreams that remain to be achieved . . . hold you back from living the roles you are playing right now.

   

Dreams are meant to add to your happiness . . . not to be the goal you must achieve before you can be happy. Happiness is where you are, right now, today. Maybe you are working at a job you hate with people who annoy you. Maybe you are “just” a mom and you dream of a life that you see on the big screen. Maybe you are a dad who wishes your kids could see how hard you work for them. Maybe you are a single parent doing it all alone . . . with no one there to cheer you on or give you praise for your sacrifices. Maybe you are a grandma who lives across the ocean from any of the tiny hugs you long to receive. Maybe you are a young high school boy who sits alone in your room . . . wondering why you don’t have any friends, or a teenage girl who has never had a first kiss. Maybe you are a lonely man sitting in a jail cell wondering why you made the decisions you made that got you there. Whoever you are and wherever you stand . . . find a reason to smile. Today may be all you have left of the dreams you have already achieved.

   

Those dreams that night freaked the crap out of me. They shook me to the core for days, but one thing they helped me realize is that it could have been worse. What if Rob had brought a gun to our house and we had all been forced to watch as he shot Emmett? What if we had been at a family reunion and Emmett’s cousins and aunts and uncles had witnessed his death? Our story was tragic . . . but what if it had been even more tragic? I came to understand that its plot was the simple version of what could have been even worse.

Life is going to be hard. It is going to knock you down. There will be days when you will not see the good in the moments you stand . . . but eventually, you can still find a reason to smile again.

   

I have a dream that one day, selfishness will not destroy families. I have a dream that we will be true to the promises we make. I have a dream that people will be real, honest, and kind. I have a dream that no one will ever feel abandoned, rejected, or not good enough. I have a dream that the people of this world will fight the darkness that tries to destroy us . . . and hold fast to the power that can make our dreams come true. Dreams never die.

   

There will be days when it feels like all of your dreams are lost. You may be standing in your darkest hour right now . . . waiting for hope that even your smallest dream can still exist. I promise you that better days await you. Don’t give up on yourself . . . and don’t give up on the light that is still all around you. Even if every dream you have ever dreamed seems to have been shattered before your eyes . . . you still have a reason to live. You are enough . . . all by yourself. Jesus Christ has felt your pain. He has heard your cries. He knows where it hurts . . . because he has been right where you are. Don’t give up on Him. He is right there. Pray for the light to help you see His hand extended to you through the darkness. And when you find it . . . grab on and never let it go. He will carry you to the dreams He has prepared for you. They may be different from the ones you planned for yourself . . . but they will be perfect, because His plan is greater than any we could create for ourselves. He is the healer of our pain and the writer of our script; live the dreams he has orchestrated just for you.